he whispers, "ēdā naejot sagon riddan syt bisa urnēptre hen kustikāne. visenya Targārien iksin zirȳla kipagīros"

daemon's lips dare to brush against his, just as his eyes open, carrying disdain and hurt and a rare vulnerability within them.

"īlis pirta"

"īlen . lēdan lēda hoskagon, se tubis mazēdā vhagar hen gō mirre hen velaryon laesi. Se īlvon, ñuhon se rhaenyra's"

directing him with a gentle palm till he faces him, till their noses touch, +

and yet, of all of his family, aemond felt the closest to him. in spirit. in heart. in ambition. .

daemon always reserved high valyrian for those he had a deep fondness for, it was the language of his people, he held a great pride in speaking it. +

but perhaps this was his way of apologizing, for causing him pain, for saying the things he'd said, knowing it would cut him deeply.

he'd always been an impulsive, hot tongued man. it had cost him so many important and dear relationships. including those with his family.

+

while firm, warm fingers push through silver hair and cup against aemond's scalp. the back of his neck. up and down, soothing strokes. it was madness to think he was comforting himself, in another's body. a disease like no other.

+

he could feel the gnawing pain in his heart, beating through his chest, waiting to jump right into his uncle's. how many times had he himself been in such a place.

daemon closes his eyes, letting his lips and the tip of his nose brush against the other's cheekbone, the corner of his eye. +

leans into his.

so he hadn't imagined it. the burning gaze from his nephew across dinner tables, his own keen interest, admiration, almost, if he was capable of such a thing.

it was wrong, for so many reasons. but daemon had never cared for them before, he doesn't quite care for them now. +

outside. he was instead, pestilent from within his bones.

he thumbs at the corner of his lips, all of the fight and rage leaving his body in an instant. ashamed of his petty behavior.

the hand at his neck lingers, daemon sighs heavily between them and looks to his chin. and then, his forehead +

over the young man's lips.

"i took mine, like a rat would from a corpse. . i 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙 all she gave me, she was no 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙮"

for any 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥 of love afforded to you."

the smell of him filling his lungs, seemed to stay his anger. his skin so warm, his cheeks supple despite how they looked. and his hair, so much like his own. .

the fingers around his throat loosen. the grip at his jaw softens, and a thumb presses harshly +

and held tightly to. will not educate me on what love fucking means. you insolent, hightower bastard."

he grasps his nephew's sallow cheeks now. lips graze against pale skin when he whispers.

"look at you. . you're 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙. would you not fall to your knees with your mouth hanging open +

a dragon cornered, burns all to ash. he had learnt it like religion. something awful clawed at his gut yet again.

viserys, his face half eaten and miserable. and the last time they had laughed as boys together in the dragon pit.

"you. grown on scraps of love which you scrounged and saved +

"did he look like he gave a 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 when you lost that eye to his daughter's son. ."

an evil snicker lashes its way up his throat, his other hand moving quickly now to stay his jaw from closing.

"do you think he 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 you on his death bed? he called 𝙧𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙣𝙮𝙧𝙖 his only child. . ."

+