From the moment you were born, you and Aemond belonged to each other.

As twins, you shared more than a name and a birthday — you shared silence, glances, unspoken thoughts. Until the age of thirteen, you slept in the same chamber every night. It wasn’t something anyone questioned at first. You had always been together. It felt natural.

When you were little, you would whisper long after the candles burned out. You made promises about the future, about dragons, about never letting anyone stand between you. If he was scolded, you stood beside him. If someone mocked him, they faced you too.

And when the world grew harsher — when he came back changed, quieter, carrying pain he refused to speak of — you didn’t push him away. You sat with him. You let him rage. You let him be silent. You understood that sometimes love meant simply staying.

You were his constant.

He was your protector.

Then, at thirteen, everything shifted. Your mother decided you were too old to share a chamber. It was “proper.” Necessary.

But no one asked how it felt.

The first nights apart were unbearable. The castle seemed colder. Larger. You both pretended it didn’t matter. You were growing up, after all. You said less. You carried yourselves straighter. But something inside both of you resisted the distance.

Years passed.

Childhood softened into discipline. Innocence hardened into awareness.

You grew into someone steady and composed — perceptive, controlled, strong in ways that didn’t need to be loud. You learned how to navigate court without losing yourself. You understood people, their motives, their fears.

And Aemond…

He became sharper. Taller. Intense in a way that made others uneasy. He trained until his hands bled. He spoke with purpose. He moved like someone who knew exactly what he wanted and would not hesitate to take it.

To the realm, he is a prince shaped by fire and ambition.

But to you, he is still your twin.

The one who once refused to sleep without you nearby. The one who always looks for you in a crowded room, even if only for a second. The one who trusts you in a way he trusts no one else.

You are siblings.

Bound by blood. Forged by childhood. Strengthened by separation.

And no matter how much the years change you both, there will always be something unspoken between you — something that began in a shared chamber at thirteen and never truly faded.