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finding rise as her familiar fingers sprawled across his chest. elevating by a single beat, but such was enough to know he cared.
“ I’m sure I’ll remember such. ”
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head dips, allowing the other easier access to his cheek. falling further into a nod afterwards, eyes closing for a single moment.
the beating heart within his chest was less like a war drum, more like a soft melody. each thump a reminder of his existence, —
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her fingers. Her own fingers were calloused from dragonriding and archery practice, but Daemon's were rougher... though very skilled.
“That is good practice, my love. Remember to add a smile once we host Lord Cregan for dinner.”
She chuckled, placing a kiss onto his cheek.
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he would have allowed it to continue on, unimpeded. for all the time he spent as a ruler, he never did learn anything. unsurprising that it carried on to his progeny.
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not at all. but i do not believe that my father would have had you dispense justice by simply filling the streets with blood.. nor that even aegon would order such a thing.
that seems to be your style — rather than a command he would give.
however.. you know best. apparently.
@flameconsumed 𐙚 ⸺ tᥲᥣᥱs
oh, they’re incredibly similar! both carry the most bravado of their lineage, honing themselves in battlefield skills and martial adeptness. Aerion would absolutely be the ‘ poor reflection ’ of himself because of how you adapted him to HotD.
Daemon would—
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hound, further pressures mounted against muscle. )
there exists only a fine line between your usefulness and my annoyance with it. remember that, yes?
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( it is the duty of the son to pine after the approval of a father; present or not.
annoyance strikes as shoulder does, urging lip into a sneer. fingers strike out, grasping harshly at bicep and squeezing. )
careful where you tread, Aerion. ( knuckles —
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﹙truthfully, why does he even bother .ᐣ the thought creeps in like a wraith, to strike him, but he only collects the sourness on his tongue as a spurn and shoves past.﹚