[ how is it possible for a man with one eye to communicate so much judgemental disappointment through a gaze, and with so little facial movement involved? ]

You threw the match. I could tell.

[ especially now that he's played with the man. aemond is no stranger to well-meaning fighters and lickspittle sycophants both trying to make training "easy" for him, either thinking the young prince needs the help or to make themselves seem magnanimous. they would be fools to do so; aemond strikes to kill, always, and he makes sure his intent is forewarned.

many fighters and training companions have learned the hard way to always take him seriously, armed or not. which is why he's disappointed in hawk — the man is clearly skilled, perhaps even holding himself back on account of his progressing age. it stands to reason that he should have won easily against his mother and her partner in their earlier match. ]

You do yourself no favours, behaving like this.

You are old enough to settle on your victories, are you not? With a family of your own somewhere quiet, grandchildren running about your knees. Perhaps a son to inherit your name, a daughter to marry off for wealth and fortune. Your legacy will be all that remains of your name when they leave you, and you should guard it fiercely — your friends true should understand that your pride does not make you disloyal.

You don't even prefer my mother in the way of a marriage bed, so why throw the game in her favour?