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[unapparent]

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USERNAMe
@hightower

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forward-dated to march. ( a text. )

[provoke]

[ it takes him a while - truly a while, taking his time to confess to his mother what he'd done. helaena had received it sweetly, welcoming lauralae like she's always known his lady; perhaps her dreams have made it so. and aegon does not mind anything yet; aemond doubts if his brother has noticed, just as he chose not to notice that lauralae had stayed to aemond's side while they held vigil over their mother.

but alicent is back alive, and alicent is his mother. she remains queen dowager over his regency. ]

Mother. I have a confession to make, if you will hear me.

[unapparent]

[ well, that's ominous. ]

I'll hear you, son of mine.

[provoke]

Perhaps I might visit you, and speak with you in person? No one has been harmed, I assure you.

'Tis a matter of the heart. In my eagerness, I worry I've forgotten courtesy along the way.

[unapparent]

[ ah, now she has an inkling what this is about. ]

Then you shall find me on the lawn, enjoying the improved weather.

[provoke]

I come to you in peace. Please wait for me.

[ peace; he means he comes unarmed, as her son instead of her regent. please wait; a request instead of a command, as he's been wont to speak since their war has begun.

aemond appears to his mother dressed, finally, in his lighter garments, the heavy wintertime coats replaced by his usual surcoat and linens. for once, he waits to invited to sit. ]

Mother. Do I find you well?

[unapparent]

[ what a pleasant change it is, for her boys to come to her in supplication (though she mislikes it, too, when they ought never be cowed, even by their mother). she meets him not in the colours of their house but the robin's egg blue of spring (of her mother), a silk dress tied into a ribbon at her neck, legs bare and tucked beneath her, where she sits upon a blanket. embracing this place more than she ever has before (and hiding the marks of the beast, clawed into her chest). as she tips her head, the wisps of hair framing her face flutter in the breeze, her curls otherwise tied up and back.

for a moment, she only looks at him, burnished by the morning light. her beautiful, dying boy. ]

You may. [ she sets her book aside — poetry, from daniel — and peers up at him. ] And you need not linger in pleasantries, when you yearn to speak of more.

[ she knows her son; fiery and impatient, cutting through whatever might delay him from his desired end. the very instincts that led to him making this call. ]