[ Aemond's silence is as comforting as a punch in the gut. He would rather have been given cruel words in return, chastised for being foolish, but instead the non-answer forces him to entertain the implausible. Although little of their faith resonated within him, thoughts of hell frequented his mind, even now vaguely entertaining the notion that the eyes boring into the back of his skull belonged to his mother. He imagined her observing them from between the trees, poised to unleash a divine punishment upon them.
He instinctively draws closer to Aemond as they begin to move again, rattled, wanting to be within arm's reach should some devil come. There could have been a worse hell, at least, finding solace in the fact they would be enduring this together rather than in bitter isolation. Each time amethyst and sapphire cast a glance in his direction, a brief flicker of emotion still elusive to him before he settles into his customary icy, unyielding stare, he wonders if his brother would prefer it the other way.
Aegon knows better than to spiral, unable to swat dark thoughts away with his cups, redirecting his attention to the boundless woods ensnaring them. Perhaps, he muses, it might have been preferable if a malevolent force were to confront them, sparing them the ordeal of this seemingly interminable journey.
He allows the quiet to settle between them for some time, the only audible backdrop being the crackling of branches and the wind coaxing trees to shiver. The king, eventually, audibly groans, making a show of how tired he felt as he drags his feet through the muck, whining as he speaks: ]
no subject
He instinctively draws closer to Aemond as they begin to move again, rattled, wanting to be within arm's reach should some devil come. There could have been a worse hell, at least, finding solace in the fact they would be enduring this together rather than in bitter isolation. Each time amethyst and sapphire cast a glance in his direction, a brief flicker of emotion still elusive to him before he settles into his customary icy, unyielding stare, he wonders if his brother would prefer it the other way.
Aegon knows better than to spiral, unable to swat dark thoughts away with his cups, redirecting his attention to the boundless woods ensnaring them. Perhaps, he muses, it might have been preferable if a malevolent force were to confront them, sparing them the ordeal of this seemingly interminable journey.
He allows the quiet to settle between them for some time, the only audible backdrop being the crackling of branches and the wind coaxing trees to shiver. The king, eventually, audibly groans, making a show of how tired he felt as he drags his feet through the muck, whining as he speaks: ]
Carry me the rest of the way.