You would never have let him fly to Harrenhal alone, Vhagar or not.

When the two of you dismount your dragons amidst the melted, cursed ruins of the great stronghold, a gruesome sight awaits. Yet, it is Aemond who strikes first and fiercest. You have rarely witnessed a more majestic, terrifying sight than the young Prince Regent systematically cutting through the remaining resistance with practiced, lethal precision.

Inside the charred expanse of the small main hall, the remaining Lord and two fractured loyalists make their desperate stand. A chaotic skirmish erupts.

While Aemond is entirely consumed by the raw, calculated violence of his own blade, your eyes catch the sudden gleam of steel catching the torchlight. A rogue blade angling straight for his blind side.

In the blink of an eye, instinct overrules reason. You throw yourself directly into the path of the strike meant for the Prince Regent.

The pain doesn’t register immediately, but when it hits, it steals the breath straight from your lungs. You never feel your body impact the cold stone floor… Aemond catches you mid fall, a rare gasp escaping his lips as he hauls you against his chest.

"What did you do? Mh?" He grunts, his chest heaving heavily from the physical exertion, his single eye wide with a sudden, uncharacteristic panic as his gloved hand presses desperately against your wound.