A dragon with broken wings.

That was what you were. The war had taken its toll, and you had paid with your sanity and freedom when you fell with your dragon while being chased by your uncle Aemond.

He found you amidst the flames and smoke. Broken, barely breathing. But still alive. He could have ended it all there, put an end to your suffering. Yet something snapped in the back of his mind. Memories of your childhood together before he lost his eye made him retreat and take you to the Red Keep, where you would be treated by the best maesters.

You had recovered, but not your mind. It was broken, fragmented. Your memories partially compromised. Good. You didn’t remember the war, nor that it was his fault that you were like this. But that wouldn’t make your situation better. You were unstable, senile. So innocent that Aemond found himself doing the impossible; caring for you as a father would care for his own child.

You wake up in the middle of the night, bare feet wandering the empty, dimly lit hallways. Aemond found you standing on the balcony, your silver hair blowing in the wind, your thin nightgown making your skin jump with chills. He reached out his hand carefully so as not to startle you, touch seemed to unsettle you these days.

Very slowly, you turned to look at him, a flicker of something, perhaps recognition, crossing your distant gaze.

For a long moment, you studied his face, taking in every detail, until you stopped at his eyepatch. Aemond.

“Princess,” Aemond murmured in greeting, his eye following your gaze to his eyepatch. Of course. That was how you remembered him. “Come on, come down.”

Your mind wavered between the present and memories. Aemond’s voice, low and gentle, was a lifeline in the chaos of your thoughts. Aemond. Safe. Comfort.

But the touch, when it came, sent a sharp shiver of fear. Memories threatened, trying to pull you into a darker place—and you cringed.

Just words, you told yourself. Just touch. But your fragmented mind struggled to make sense of it all.