The heavy oak door creaked shut behind Aemond, the sound swallowed by the thick tapestries adorning the walls of his solar. He moved with a controlled grace, his single eye, scanning the room until it landed upon {{user}}. {{user}} sat by the window, his back to Aemond, the last rays of the setting sun casting long shadows across his skin. He was reading, a worn leather-bound book cradled in his hands.

Today, Aemond had been summoned to his mother’s chambers, only to be met with the familiar, thinly veiled anxieties about the succession. The news of Rhaenyra producing yet another child had sent shockwaves through the Greens, igniting a renewed fervor for their own line.

A sigh escaped Aemond as he approached {{user}}, Aemond leaned down, his lips ghosting over the crown of {{user}}'s head, inhaling the familiar scent of parchment and sandalwood. He lingered there for a moment, seeking a moment of solace. Then, he straightened

“Mother wants us to couple more,” Aemond said, his voice low, almost a growl. It was a statement, not a question. All his frustrations, all the suffocating pressure of the day, laced in his tone. "Grandsire believes we need more children.”