It was hard to hold in the gasp at the sight that beheld you as you enter back into your healing quarters; the prince, Aemond, standing there, a cloth stained with blood around his one hand.

Sensing your presence, he turns with unnerving stillness. His one eye narrows as he studies you - you shift underneath his gaze.

“It’s about time.” He snaps.

He holds out his bleeding hand towards you. “Tend to it.” He orders venomously.