ELLIPSISM, aemond targaryen

[068] the green council

"YOU LOOK AWFUL," AEMOND pointed out as he observed Aemma and put the goblet with wine to his lips.

Aemma, who was standing in front of the mirror to hang an emerald earring on her left ear, froze and her sharp eyes moved away from her own reflection to glare at Aemond.

"No offense," he added calmly, but when her glare lingered on him, he turned back to the food on the table and pretended not to notice.

She rolled her eyes and looked back at her reflection to put the earring to its place. "Well, I'm sorry to ruin your ideas about women, Aemond, but most of us don't look perfect shortly after we wake up."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"It just seems to me that you look different than yesterday morning," Aemond said as he watched her reflection. "More . . . tired, perhaps."

Although it was obvious that she didn't want it that way, Aemond saw that her expression grew serious as if she remembered something unpleasant. A second later her face was back to her neutral expression as she pulled her hands away from her left ear and moved them to fasten her dress at her back. Pretending she didn't hear anything. That nothing happened.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked her when she didn't say anything.

"I slept just fine," she retorted dismissively, biting her lower lip in frustration as she struggled with her dress.

"You don't look like that," he stated and she scoffed. Her glare met his calm gaze in the reflection of the mirror as he slowly walked behind her and his fingers brushed against hers. "May I?"

She felt the urge to tell him no, but the longer she looked into his eyes, which, unlike hers, held no irritation or coldness, she felt her anger disappear and guilt replace it. Even when she tried to get into that feeling again she couldn't. Aemond was able to get her out of her rage even faster than he got her into it.

Damn you, you son of a bitch, Aemma cursed him silently and let her hands fall to her sides as she avoided his gaze.

Aemond quietly began to fasten her dress, faster and more successfully than she did, but he was clearly not willing to drop the matter like she was. "I'll ask one more time. Did you sleep well, Lady Strong?"

"No, I did not," she muttered with slight irritation but he heard her.

"And why is that?"

Aemma hesitated. All the options and reasons she could offer him instead of the truth ran through her mind, one less appealing than the other. It was then that she realised how much she actually wanted to tell the truth, how much she wanted relief from the things that had been running through her head all night.

How dearly she missed talking about the things she saw with people who didn't think she was crazy.

"I was just dreaming about some stupid stuff," she finally admitted, but she decided not to tell him directly what she saw.

He hummed, "Everyone dreams about stupid things sometimes. They're just dreams."

"This is different," she shook her head stiffly as she stared into emptiness. "Two thirds of my dreams are not just dreams. They are things that are somehow . . . important for the future."

She felt his fingers stop buttoning the buttons on her back for a moment, as if he was thinking about something. "That may be true, but there's still that one third of your dreams that doesn't mean it's going to happen, right?"

"How --"

"I'm not trying to convince you that your dreams are stupid, Aemma," Aemond stopped her and their eyes met in the mirror. "I just don't think you should overthink every single thing that happens to you."