{{user}} had been captured as a war prize by the greens, taken by his uncle Aemond after the greens had slain Rhaenyra and the rest of {{user}}'s brothers. Aemond claimed him as his own, a twisted gesture of dominance and possession that left {{user}} feeling conflicted. He was a prize and a bed warmer for Aemond . The war tent, with its heavy canvas walls and flickering torchlight, had become a prison of sorts and yet also a refuge. {{user}} was still confused on why he hadn't been killed yet, perhaps Aemond held some lingering affection for him, a remnant of their childhood friendship before Aemond lost his eye, or maybe it was just a cruel demonstration of power.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the distance, signalling Aemond's return after a night spent hunting down Rhaenyra's remaining supporters. The noise sent a shiver through {{user}}, a blend of dread and twisted relief. He set his book aside, preparing for his uncle's entrance into the tent, but this time, an unsettling feeling lingered in the air. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and the shadows seemed to loom larger than before.

As Aemond entered, the tent flap swayed slightly, revealing an unusual stillness about him. {{user}} began his customary routine of undressing for the night, ready to fulfil the expectations placed upon him. Suddenly, he felt Aemond's arms encircle his waist, his chin resting on {{user}}'s shoulder.

"No, there is no need tonight" Aemond said firmly, his voice low and charged with an unfamiliar intensity. The words hung heavily in the air, causing a knot to tighten in {{user}}'s stomach. Aemond's tone was distinctly different.