It's not him Daemon crosses at the edge of the wood, but a Rubean watchman under Aemond's fold. Word bubbles around quickly. The image in his mind's eye isn't enough to satisfy a sudden and unquenchable dread.
Fuck.
He needs to see him with his own eye. Breathe the same air. Gods be willing he doesn't cleave his uncle's head clean from his body the moment he does. Were their circumstances swapped, he knows he'd be greeted the same. It would be wise to eliminate him swiftly. If only he wouldn't have to do it from one month to the next.
Fuck!
Aemond waits for him at the city gate with two of his men. His hand postured obnoxiously on the pommel of his Valyiran blade still sheathed on his belt. Posed to look lazily menacing, but every inch of him has run cold. Tension lines his shoulders as the pale, naked vision of Daemon lands before him. The prince would seem nearly frozen, violet eye locked sharply on him. As if he could flay him with it alone.
The question is, does he know who he is? What he did?
d. out of the woods (and into the fire)
Fuck.
He needs to see him with his own eye. Breathe the same air. Gods be willing he doesn't cleave his uncle's head clean from his body the moment he does. Were their circumstances swapped, he knows he'd be greeted the same. It would be wise to eliminate him swiftly. If only he wouldn't have to do it from one month to the next.
Fuck!
Aemond waits for him at the city gate with two of his men. His hand postured obnoxiously on the pommel of his Valyiran blade still sheathed on his belt. Posed to look lazily menacing, but every inch of him has run cold. Tension lines his shoulders as the pale, naked vision of Daemon lands before him. The prince would seem nearly frozen, violet eye locked sharply on him. As if he could flay him with it alone.
The question is, does he know who he is? What he did?
"Uncle." (Derogatory.)