⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ HE WOULD BE LYING if he claimed that there wasn't some form of satisfaction to seeing aegon's reaction — a twisted kind, a sick pleasure in watching the light vanish from his eyes, trickle from violet hues like the spilled wine making its way to the table's edge in a narrow rivulet of thick scarlet droplets now, when before it had burned all too brightly with that well-known flame of rage, one that would be half as prone to showing its face if aegon didn't ask for it, didn't need to be taken down a notch when he let his temper run its course like that, nigh caused the corner of his mouth to curl upwards. but all he did was seize up his elder brother and keep him locked in a cold, blank gaze, trailing his figure to the table, unflinching as the jug slammed against the wood and filled the room with noise.
all too gladly, he would have heeded the request and left right then, let aegon wallow in self-pity and drink until the morrow — then wallow some more in the deserved consequences of his nights spent drinking far beyond thirst. it would've done naught but been in aemond's favour; to not see, nor hear from him until at least the noon as he slept off his inebriation, plenty of time to run errands without that agitating voice sending ripples of a rapidly forming ache through his temples, or his clueless brother breathing uselessly down his neck, asking what he's doing, where he's been, tampering with plans he did not fully understand, and wasn't expected to understand. aegon wasn't expected to do anything, but leave aemond be, accept that some things were beyond his capabilities, and leave them to his little brother to handle. trust him with that much.
frustrated rage sank its claws deeper into his chest, pulling, unfurling rapidly, the urge to kick the chair behind him and shatter the wood suddenly all too tempting, but that was how aegon would handle such sentiments, and how he'd just been handling them, ravaging and ranting into the stillness of eve. and aemond never would be aegon. equally tempting was the knowledge of the door to his right, the promise of at least of semblance of peace until the following day that lay beyond it, but no, if he was already serving his brother necessary reminders tonight, he might as well seize the opportunity to also remind him that he was not one to be pushed around, to heed orders — he did what needed to be done, and he did it efficiently, more than that, but he did it on his own accord. his brother could have his throne, his idling about with his drinks and his whores and treat each day like a feast to honour whatever the fuck he deemed worth celebrating on that particular day, but aemond would have this. the freedom to make his own decisions, to what he did best; strategise, plan, then climb aback vhagar and set off towards the sky to execute.
“ you are quiet all of a sudden, brother. ” was all he said after a moment of pressing silence that lingered palpably between them, charged with the raw current of a brewing thunderstorm, broken up only by the continuous crackling of the fireplace, an observation stated calmly across the table, eye still fixated upon his brother, lingering for an equally long amount of time as before the silence had come to an end, before shifting down as he reclaimed his seat, smoothening out the wine-stained black fabric of his sleeve. it hadn't been deliberately provocative — there was no need, aegon would rile himself up enough on his own, it didn't need aemond's sharp words for that when his presence already may do the trick now that he'd opted to overstay his welcome, but, still, the mutter that followed could not be suppressed, not this time, “ it seems the gods have a heart, after all. ”