It didn’t take long for your daddy to find out about Aemond. He burst into your room one evening, eyes glinting with something unholy beneath the veneer of righteousness. “Mrs. Callahan saw you, girl!” His voice was sharp, slicing the air. “Saw you sneaking into that boy’s trailer!”

He slammed the door behind him and turned the lock with a metallic click that echoed like a curse. Without even thinking you went to the window, forcing it open before dropping down to the dirt below.

By the time you made it to Aemond’s trailer, your white cotton dress was streaked with dirt, a stick had tangled itself in one of your braids, and tears threatened to spill from your eyes. He was there, sitting on the trailer steps, sleeves rolled up, knife in hand, carefully skinning a deer he’d caught that morning.

He didn’t need to ask you what happened when he saw the look on your face, just lifted his arm up so you could tuck into him. And by morning, before the sun had even started to rise, the two of you were on the road.

The hum of the road filled the silence between you, gravel crunching beneath the tires, wind tugging at your hair through the open window. Aemond’s thumb traced idle circles against your thigh, steady, grounding, his other hand on the wheel.

Aemond’s lips curved just enough to betray amusement. “Think your daddy’d still call you pure, seein’ you like this?” His thumb pressed into your thigh, teasing.