green lies, black hearts

XXXVIII

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and so, war it shall be

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a/n ~ thank you for your patience, and I hope y'all have had a good holiday season and new year! thank you to all of my new readers, and for all the comments! I greatly appreciate every one of you :)

~+~

Aemond

Aemond sat at the end of the council table, watching his brother play with their father's dagger. A king's dagger, it was-and yet, Aemond couldn't help but think his brother looked nothing like what a king should be. Aegon was foolish and a bumbling idiot, and here he was, stabbing the dagger into the tabletop like he was Jaehaerys come again; only here he was the beheaded one, not the conciliator. It made his lips twitch with a smirk, and he had to dip his head, absently listening to the conversation around him.

Ser Gwayne was nearly returned from his time scouting the crownlands. Ser Otto had been deposed by Aegon. Ser Criston was now Lord Hand.

What a busy few days the king had been up to.

Aemond pursed his lips at the sight of bloody nails, and he gently pried at his skin, peeling it away from the nail bed to spy if there was any fresh blood. He did not blink nor hiss when a bubble of the red popped up, escaping its own fleshy grave, but he did frown. All of his fingers would face the same fate; and he knew that if he took a close look at his mother's hands, she too would mirror his.

(And she would too, the whore.)

The doors opened behind him, and Aemond need not look to see it was the new Hand of the King who entered. He watched his mother's words slowly trail off, her hazel eyes focused in on Ser Criston, and for a moment, Aemond just stared. He just stared as his mother lost all interest in everything else. He cocked his head for a moment, and only when Ser Criston climbed the stairs and rounded the table for the empty seat, did he break for the Lord Commander. Lord Hand. Ser.

Which would Criston prefer now?

"Good morrow, Your Grace. My lords," Criston greeted. Aemond's lips twitched. There was a sense of... Was that confidence in Ser Criston's voice? He grabbed his marble and made his way to the seat of the Hand, adjusting his pristine white cloak so he may sit.

And Aemond looked to his mother once more.

Her hands were clasped together, elbows propped on the table, and she fiddled with her rings as she no longer stared at Ser Criston. There was a small frown on her face, heightened only by the auburn curls pulled and held away by twisted braids along the sides of her hair. She glanced down at the table, deep in thought, and certainly ignoring Criston as she cleared her throat, not even deigning to tilt her head in his direction.

Aemond furrowed his brows. Odd.

"Forgive my lateness," Criston muttered.

Aegon yanked the dagger from the table and he pricked the point of it on his finger. "Important business, no doubt, Lord Hand."

"You've appointed new knights?"

"To replace the ones we lost."

"The last one needlessly," Lord Jasper noted with a sigh and roll of his eyes, "some might say." His gaze landed on Ser Criston.

Aemond leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the wooden arms, and he watched as all turned to face the new Hand. Even Alicent thought to spare the knight a glance, unimpressed and unamused as it was. The young prince could hardly hold back a snicker, and he would not deny he enjoyed watching Criston writhe under the attention. Their relationship was not mended, of course, and they had their truce, but for a moment, just a moment, Aemond thought it fitting that Criston was now the one under scrutiny.