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text — @aemond

[provoke]

[ with the house undergoing repairs, it seems a good time to ask this now: ]

Are you well, Dorian?

[wines]

I was feeling sorry for myself, but I find myself perking up, with your words gracing my fingertips.

[provoke]

Now why would you feel such a way for yourself? You are a blessed man.

Speak to me, Dorian. How have you been feeling of late?

[wines]

I suppose the sorry feelings are less for myself and more for Halsin. Much as I know resurrection is the usual in this place, and despite my own familiarity with necromancy... Death is still not an easy thing.

[ And the weight of Aemond's, as well, no matter how much Dorian tries not to linger in his prophecy. ]

I miss you, amatus.

[provoke]

And I you, vatan.

I only meant to keep distance from you, so that you might keep your privacy. It's been a harrowing month past, hasn't it? With deaths and the undead, and the loss of your magics — I do not pretend to understand the weight of it, only that it must be heavy on your heart.

Death is a cruel friend to make, no matter where we stand.