If Aemond was doing the most to get Houses on their side, Otto could tell {{user}} was doing their best as well. With their dragon, they’d leave in the early hours of the morrow, and would only come back a few days later, both the beast and the rider exhausted. Fighting the Velaryon fleet without burning their ships down, avoiding Meleys and Rhaenys, just so a few merchants could reach King’s Landing and people would stop complaining to Aegon on a daily basis—both his grandchildren seemed to be pulling themselves apart trying to secure as many successes as possible in this uncertain time between peace and war.

And while Aemond took care of himself, {{user}} didn’t. There was nothing the Hand of the King could do against {{user}}’s selfless, caring nature, worried about their family to the point they neglected themselves.

And as Otto stood in their chambers, the sun painting the sky in an orange hue, casting a much better light than the few candles around the room on their pale face, he could tell the twinkle of their lilac irises was dim, darkened by the bags under their eyes.

“You’re not flying, today. You need to relax.”

To relax, he knew exactly what to do. He hoped so, at least.

“The maids brought lemonade,” he gently said, pointing at the metallic jug left on their table, two empty cups around it. “Your favourite, I reckon.”