#infamescoronam

[waveswallowed]

༄࿔*·⋅ starter for @infamescoronam.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀THE CLOCK READ 4:02 in glimmering white letters against a bleak, black background, before the upward swipe of a thumb opened the most recent message from ben blackwood, which had arrived just minutes prior with a subtle vibration sounding against the fabric it had been buried in, its contents announcing that, though he had ran into some issues with the train carrying him from ravenhall to king's landing, he would be arriving shortly — when the ferry came. riverlanders. hand disappearing beneath the seam of his jacket again, the phone was stored away and replaced with a half-empty pack of cigarettes being withdrawn from the pocket instead, one soon being placed betwixt cold lips and lit, glowing orange embers scantly enough to cast light onto the dark expanse of a vast harbour, silent save for the clanking of near-empty liquor bottles passed between them, the scrape and flick of the lighter igniting and the faint swaying of docked ships and boats. his gaze fell upon the shadowy shape of the siren's whisper before them as he smoked, a sleek cargo ship which had served her purpose well in his grandfather's trade for many decades now, and which, without failure, would dock at driftmark's harbour once a month carrying a plentitude of goods from across the narrow sea that would be distributed to spicetown and across westeros, amongst it a special order placed by none other than his stepfather to his rather questionable, unknown connections in pentos, a secret neither daemon, nor corlys, could have possibly kept from luke for long, even if they had decided to put in the effort — which they likely hadn't, at least not with much vigour, knowing that, in time, he would follow in his grandfather's footsteps and inherit the great empire corlys had worked tirelessly to build since his youth, playing a huge part in making the velaryons one of the wealthiest houses to exist, neither suspecting that he could be doing anything other with the acquired information than perceive it silently and keep his quiet as he would know he was expected to. at times, it felt like betrayal, and it was, truly, even more so since there was no explanation he could readily provide should his grandpa ever discover the truth and question him. why was a question there was no answer to, really — it was not as if they needed the money, having both been born into the wealthiest, most powerful families of all of westeros. therefore it was more of a matter of seeking the thrill, maybe, a twisted pleasure found in doing something forbidden, something dangerous. and dangerous, luke has been chasing his whole life, in the winds and in the waves, though there was no denying the fondness he had in particular of the former, never giving anyone much reason for concern ( until the ‪‘ accident ’, at least, but even that he had come back from, somehow, enough to soothe the worried minds of those closest to him over time ), and in the close bond that had been forged in childhood and carried into adulthood with the uncle who was known for the trouble he seemed to find and cause at every corner. back in the day, those of targaryen descend had been said to be mad, perhaps it was owed to that, perhaps luke had inherited parts of it, and the fierce determination and restless urge to do something stemmed from none other than the famed blood of the dragon, or, perhaps, there had always, for some reason, been something like an underlying death wish buried somewhere deep within him.

the dull thumps of footsteps carrying across the pier caused his gaze to shift, leaving the white-and-blue facade of the towering ship and travelling to the side, soon enough making out the distinct silhouette of someone approaching them, despite the shadows encasing them, someone that could not have possibly been ben when he had mentioned only moments prior that he had yet to arrive in king's landing. and someone that was not a captain or dock worker making a surprising appearance, as he had assumed for a moment, either.

he could tell by the arrogance in his stride alone who it was, even before he came close enough and the dark hood of a long coat fell away from his face, exposing familiar features, bearing the same trace of a self-satisfied grin that he always wore in such moments, moments where he was certain he had caught them redhanded in doing something they should not have been doing, where he thought himself a winner, and that, in his opinion at least, made him appear more than just a little punchable. a cloud greyish smoke passed through lips in a dragged out, exasperated exhale, slowly dispersing in the chilly air as it spread away from his face, vaguely flushed with heat still from the consumed alcohol, a step leading closer to aegon beside him, though the gaze of dark brown eyes never wavered from the approaching figure, a final drag taken before the remaining cigarette was flicked off the dock, landing in the water somewhere out of sight with a quiet splash as he straightened himself whilst he regarded his other uncle, bristling almost, luke rarely one itching to start an unnecessary fight, but certainly not someone to shy away from violence to end them, sensing already then, and knowing from previous, utterly frustrating situations of the same sort, that aemond had likely not come merely to taunt, but to cause needless trouble. “ great, your brother invited himself again. ”

“ now look who we have here. ” aemond's voice then carried across the stillness of the empty harbour, and it did not take any particular set of skills to notice how much he was enjoying this already, “ my brother and my nephew, sneaking around as usual. does daemon know you're wasting his hard-earned money? ”

[waveswallowed]

༄࿔*·⋅ starter for @infamescoronam.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ WHILE LUCERYS HAD KNOWN some, enough to steer the blacks towards a seizing of king's landing that very day, he had known little for certain — aegon could have lied, spoken but hollow words, could have set a trap, could have done anything but what their last exchange, a little over a week ago, had suggested he would do, what luke, over the duration of several moons and countless of secret meetings within the capital, had slowly convinced him of being the right course of action. and he had been prepared for it all, even been, albeit only for a moment, when they had descended on the capital on dragonback and bells had rung out through the streets in warning, more certain of facing a betrayal than his uncle keeping to his word. however, he had. the red keep had seemed strangely quiet when they, at last, had reached and entered it, the throne room vacant, safe for a letter sitting atop of the seat of the iron throne, sealed in the colours the usurper had taken for his banners, penned by his own hand, a fact soon and easily confirmed by the one person he seemed to have entrusted with his intentions. clearly, his uncle had taken careful measures to ensure that its authenticity would be recognised, that it would, without doubt, be recognised as aegon ii yielding the throne to his sister rhaenyra, and, with it, he had disappeared.

it was not at his mother's behest that men streamed out to seek and capture the once usurper king, not initially — it was a suggestion that came from the lord commander of her queensguard, one she, only after a moment's hesitation, had agreed to with a nod the white-cloaked knight had seemed only all too thrilled to see. and so the swarm of guards and queensguard had set off, determinedly searching castle and city for the king who had abdicated, who never should have been king in the first place. whilst his mother had stayed within the throne room, letter clutched in her hand, her son and heir had followed the guards outside, soon discreetly detaching from them and heading down a narrow slope of serpentine stairs and along a dusty, dark corridor to a different part of the castle, one few were aware of, particularly those that were not of targaryen descend, that had no possible ways of knowing of the secret tunnels maegor i had built a century ago.

perhaps they'd gotten to know each other far more closely over the course of the bygone moons than either of them would be able to recognise, much less willing to admit, or, perhaps, aegon had intended to be found, but lucerys discovered his uncle still within castle walls, not too far from the unknown passage he himself had oft used to slip inside the keep during the time of their secret meetings and conversations, unmistakably him, despite the dark hood concealing his features.

“ aegon. ” he said as quick-paced steps slowed, mindful to raise his voice no louder then necessary, aware of the heavy footsteps echoing in the stony corridors located above their heads. for a moment, he merely stood there, gaze latched upon the figure before him, but had he intended to seize the former king himself, deliver him to queens and queensguard and, without doubt, condemn him to execution, or worse, a punishment he easily could push for as son to the queen and heir to the iron throne, break every promise he had made and prove right there that he had only lied for the sake of earning his mother's throne back, that he had been as ingenuine as aegon, too, could have been, but had not, he would've.

instead, with a brief glance thrown behind him and up at the ceiling, from which tiny particles of dust descended with each shuffling of heavy boots above, he stepped closer, the sharp blades at his belt remaining untouched, “ come, we need to get out of here. they are looking for you. ”

[bitterglories]

@infamescoronam sent: [ REFILL ] sender refills receiver's drink before they can ask or do it themselves

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ THE EVENING UNFOLDED at a languid pace, dragging on slowly as the sky beyond the vast windows of the red keep darkened, a slow, gradual progress daeron had been watching absently from his spot at the table — empty, save for him and aegon. somehow, it felt no different than it had years ago, when he'd last been here, resided here still, during a childhood long past, overlooked by a father who, for all his wishing for sons, always had seemed like he'd found little to be fond of in the three that were born to him by his second wife, but a shadow in the corner of the eye of a mother whose attention lingered on convincing the father of the equally ignored heir's abilities, too little in common with either of his brothers to participate in their antics, and their sister always detached from . . . everything. during that time, a full table could feel empty, and now . . . it was just that, were it not for the presence of the eldest and youngest of the late king's sons.

he'd just begun to reach across the table for the bottle of red that sat upon it, when his brother's hand draped around it, prompting him to halt, arm suspended midair, before slowly lowering, palm settling flat against wood. half-expecting aegon would fill his own cup and take the wine for himself, he could not deny the flimsy trace of surprise he felt course through him when his brother poured the wine for him instead.

head moving in a slight nod, he reached for the full chalice, pale fingers draping around it, dragging it closer to himself, careful not to let the red liquid sloshing within spill across the rim. “ thank you. ” ever mannered, polite . . . different in too many ways that he likely never would have fit in, not here. a pause, before he broke the silence again, “ i don't remember you being so quiet when we were children. ”

[bitterglories]

@infamescoronam sent: “You’ve   got   something   on   your   cheek.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ HE DID NOT NOTICE . . . not until his brother pointed it out. silver brows furrowed slightly in a display puzzlement as targaryen lilacs met the elder's, seeking answers words would not provide as a hand moved up towards his face, fingertips pressing lightly against pale cheek, collecting the damp he felt there, gazing at his hand then as he moved it back, the fallen TEAR he'd swiped up sitting wet and evident on his skin, a glistening pearl, its hue pinkish from the dried blood coating fingers it had blended with.

daeron did not say anything then, merely lowered his hand, the wetness quick to disappear as fingers subconsciously and subtly rubbed together at his side. there was no shame, the way he'd been raised there was no weakness to be seen in such natural occurrences that simply happened, whether one wanted it or not, rather ways to discover new strength, but that had been by his uncle, the only person he knew for certain he could be vulnerable in front of, knew he could trust to never judge or shame him, and he was not here, as much as daeron wished he was, wished he could hear his voice, seek his advice, of which there never had been a shortage in the time he'd known him. he had always been there for him, in the joyous moments, the sad, the angry, the hopeless, always brought a guiding, encouraging hand up to rest upon his shoulder and shown him the way when he had struggled to find it on his own. but gwayne was gone, dead, and he hated how utterly out of his control this onslaught of emotion in the wake of loss and battle was, even more so in front of his eldest brother.

an involuntary blink caused another tear to fall, roll wet and heavy along his jaw, quickly swiped away by the back of his hand, as though it could be ignored if he didn't let it linger long enough on his skin.

“ it's not about him. ” he said after a moment passed, palpably slowly in the situation, a name not mentioned, but the truth of who he meant hung between them, should be clear. their father.

[doronlaes]

[ anger ] sender takes their anger out on receiver (infamescoronam)

@infamescoronam sent a prompt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ NOW, AEMOND WAS WELL ACCUSTOMED to his brother's moods, his outbursts, that fickle blaze of a temper and the blame that oft came with it; he'd been witness, as well as receiver, of it oft enough throughout their lives to know it and how these situations usually went. where it may easily have struck a nerve within another, aemond knew exactly what to expect, and what not to expect when it came to aegon, and so he let him ravage and howl whilst he himself sat still in his seat, eye facing the table where the flickering reflection of the candles danced across the polished surface just beyond his line of vision, long fingers draped around the bottom of his wine cup, never glancing aegon's way, never replying, merely listening as he paced around the room behind him, as glass smashed and shattered somewhere next to him, as he went on and on . . .

if aemond possessed only half of the immaturity his older brother never seemed to quite have grown out of, he may have laughed at it — the way aegon strutted about the room like a roused rooster, an agitated cock with too shrill of a crow, the very kind people who were unkindly woken by the loud scream of in the early morrow would consider twisting the neck of and serving for supper . . . only when his brother's hands fell upon his shoulders none too gently, and his arm was jostled to where the fine arbor he was grasping spilled and soaked into a black sleeve, did he decide he'd heard enough and to rise. swallowing down the last of the wine within his cup, the goblet sounded dully against the wood as it was set down upon the table, and aemond stood, chair scraping, hands braced against the table's edge.

“ are you finished? ” too calm.

with that, he turned to his brother, eye seeking him where he'd moved in the room, falling upon his angered features, “ i believe a reminder is due that nothing was expected of you here. nothing . . . and you certainly never disappoint, do you? ”