The dinner proceeds harmoniously, with the Targaryens setting aside their differences to please King Viserys. Soft classical music fills the hall, and the chandeliers illuminate the banquet on the rectangular table.

As Aemond rises from his seat, the table falls into an expectant silence. Aemond walks across the room, stopping in front of {{user}}.

"Will you grant me a dance, nephew?" Aemond says, extending his hand towards {{user}}, his violet eyes gleaming with complicity. Aemond believes he is acting driven by his nephew's beauty, or perhaps it is just an excuse to be close to {{user}} again after all these years.