holyposition | IC Inbox

I know that you're devoted. I just question if your friends can be given. Pierce is his own man. So am I, or...whoever else.

[ Does Aemond have other friends? Probably not. Better, for the sake of argument, fewer variables. Tim turns towards the mirror now that he's laced up, admiring Aemond's work. He almost looks like a proper knight. ]

I love my family. I'd do anything for them. But it's complicated right now. And we're not under attack, besides.

I am a dragon. I am fire and blood. The rest does not matter.

[ but there is something hollow about it, the way aemond says it now. like he's seeing beyond it, and not entirely liking what he sees. how it cannot always be fair to give everything to a cause that will never give anything back. ]

I do not have the same luxury. But maybe — you always say that we do not have to be who we were back home, while we're here. That this is different.

Why is it not different for you as well?

[ Tim notices that the response seems automatic. Not felt as strongly as it has been in the past, a script that he's reading from, instead of from the heart. Despite his own urging, it carves out an ache in his chest for him. It's easy to forget how young Aemond really is, and how little he knows of things that many take for granted, due to his particular circumstances. Tim's own first taste of disillusionment wasn't pleasant.

He smiles gently, and reaches carefully for Aemond, to cup his cheek the way he had in the hallway last month, when he first declared Tim a brother. Valonqar. ]

I am different here. I'd be disowned if they knew what I was. But here, I'm free to love. I'm free to learn. I worked in an office for a lawmaker before, and now I'm in a contest of swords, under the tutelage of a prince. Everything is different.

[ Except for Hawk being here with him. Even that, while still complicated, isn't complicated for the same reasons that it had been back home. ]

Mm.

[ a soft hum, this time. a gentler hand over tim's own, not the sharp touch from before. there is no bite this time, no painful grip. tim deserves to be free. a kind heart in true, just as his mother had said; he sees the truth of it now.

tim is worthy, proved himself again and again.

it only takes a simple pull forward as aemond leans in and presses a soft kiss to tim's forehead. ]

I appreciate your listening to me.

Win your games, brother mine. You do not need your family to cheer for you, when I am here. Show no mercy.

[ The sharp touch is something he’s gotten used to, and truly, he doesn’t always dislike, even with his ambition to prove to Aemond that it isn’t always necessary. His brush with death has taught him to be more careful, that despite the strides he’s made in learning to stick up for himself, there will be times when he needs to physically defend his person and not just his emotions. He can throw Tim around on the mats all day, and he’ll still have felt rougher, hands around his neck with a true intent to kill.

Being prepared for something else and receiving true softness instead makes him smile, his heart swelling something pleased and proud. His own lessons for Aemond are not so flashy, perhaps, as swinging swords around, but they’ve been heeded and have value all the same. Even his words are sweet. Tim fights to keep the shock from showing on his face, leaning to press a kiss to his cheek in turn, right at the bottom point of his scar. ]

Any time. I mean that. Oh, hold on. [ Reaching behind him around his neck to unclasp the token he was given at the start of this – it's not easy, with gloves. ] Um, my family name, Laughlin, it comes from the old country. We crossed the sea to America three generations back, in search of better opportunity. But it means ‘from the lakes’ - a lush, watery region that we came from, originally.

[ And so the token of his favor, now that he’s managed to unhook it, is a necklace with an opal pendant on it, in the shape of the lake on the grounds that they’re back to running around before dawn breaks, now that Tim isn’t spending his days moping in the graveyard. Whether his family by blood would cheer for him does not matter, since they’re not here, and Aemond is. ]

We’re no noble house, but I’d like you to have this anyway. For good luck.

—Your favour.

[ the look of surprise on aemond's face is shockingly plain. he hadn't expected to receive any favours, had not even thought of it at all when he laid his own favour at his mother's lap. he was not someone people thought to honour; if the scar did not scare people off, then it was his reputation as a cruel and exacting fighter that intimidated any ladies who might have thought him worthy.

aemond receives the favour, cradling it in his hand, and perhaps stares at it for far too long than should be healthy.

when he looks back up, there is a dark look in his eye, but it isn't cruel or harsh. aemond doesn't know how to communicate or feel in half-measures; this is no different. ]

Tim from the lakes. Hensenāvar. Thank you.

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