#squiree

blood & bruises.

“ you think yourself capable of using one ? ”   the older of the two bites back, an immediate snap that he regrets only for the shooting pain it brings him.   his fingers are painted red where they press to his shoulder, where a blade had sunk into the muscle before wrenching free.

a mess of his own making, a fight he'd instigated.   he'd pushed, and he'd pushed, and he'd pushed further still.   not that he'd admit to any of it.   in a brief moment, when his opponent was down, he'd turned his back to boast.   the man's blade had met his flesh but a moment later, tearing a snarl from the prince's lips.   aegon had found him first, for better or for worse, when aerion limped back to the security of home.

sharp teeth are bared when he sinks down into a seat, when aegon's small hands help peel back the rich fabric of his tunic to free his arm and shoulder.   despite the initial hostility, there's an odd docility to him now, his uninjured hand moving to cover his mouth, staring off into space in an effort to disconnect from the pain. he cares not for the blood he smears in their wake.

the cut was clean through, from the back of the shoulder to the front.   the only upside was that the blade had been thin, missing anything truly important.   his arm would be useless to him for the time being, though.

he doesn't argue, he doesn't fight.   perhaps this is the only way they can ever truly be brothers, in blood and bruises.