#but ofc she has to go to school so aegon can have brunch with rhea :-)

[bronzebtch]

and there it goes — the reason.

i'd hate for her to see me like this, confesses her nephew, and rhea lets it wash over the atmosphere in stride. it is shame then, that has him begging for his mother to go undisturbed. there is a certain ... virtue in shame, rhea believes; because without it, your actions remain cruel, or selfish, or self-important. there is a recognition of guilt in shame, though the terrible thing about it is that shame never quite stops one from never committing the same mistake again, isn't it ?

still, a confession is a confession. rhea allows aegon to take in the used cotton pad from her  — she will soon resume her treatment — but for now, she lets him take the lead, while she leans back; rests an elbow on the island of this pristine home to take the exterior of him in. ❝  that is a comfortable couch,  ❞ she'd laugh though, not loudly nor mockingly - but amused, short. ❝  it was expensive too. still is. maintenance, you see.  ❞

rhea stands then, heads to the refrigerator to pour them both cold water. she takes a third glass, for when she'll put it by daemon's bedside before she retreats to her own bed later. ❝  stay the night. your uncle and i have a very comfortable guest bedroom, as well.  ❞ rhea implores, without looking at him, ❝  —but have breakfast with me in the morning. you still like pancakes, don't you ?  ❞

it is still not a promise to not call alicent; but she'd like to see if he would try. or if he would choose his ghosts all the way to an early grave.

   “i don’t—fear.” not anything tangible.   he fears to see just how reliable he is to disappoint her.   and it’s by his own design, too.   why not change it then?   cut a piece here, sew a button there, lace new color through.   well—this was his role and he had accepted it with a wilful spirit.   he could be trusted with naught else—not the burning determination of aemond, which he never understood.   not with the delightful spirit of his dear sister, or the drive of their youngest brother.   no, he couldn’t.   he didn’t have the devotion, or the will.   he was too lazy, too irresponsible, too disinterested.   he wasn’t cut out for it.   not like his siblings, or his mother.   or auntie.   rhea always held herself with such poise, such elegance.   like his mother, she held on to what was expected of her.   because here she was, looking after a stray.

  “i’d hate for her to see me like this.” he’d hate to see her frown, hear her scolding.   he then shrugged indifferently, hardening all of the turmoil back into its solid form, waiting to eventually be thawed throughout by alcohol or other ungodly substances.

  “after all,” he heaved, reaching out to take the cotton pad from his aunt’s hand, to gently rub the raw skin of his knuckles.   oh, how it stung.   “it’s way past midnight.   why disturb her at this hour?   i will… lounge here, in your much comfortable couch, auntie,   and in the morning it shall be like you never saw me.”