A lady from the North. His wife. His beautiful wife whom heart longed to the cold stones of Winterfell you called home. To the cold mornings and icy evening when you could lounge in front of the fireplace under furs and blankets with warm wine in your hand.

Aemond had seen you like it. When you visited North on your whim or when he saw how much you missed your home. He understood it greatly — he couldn’t make his wife suffer from something like that.

What he greatly hated and feared was this thing you brought from Winterfell once — and made it stay with you. The beast seemed to detest him. The grunts and groans whenever he kissed you goodbye or when he spoon you in your shared chambers. The wolf seemed almost protective of you as he was — maybe even more. And gods how it irritated him.

She was with you constantly. Lying on the couches in your shared bedchambers or on the carpets by your side of the bed.

But there were certain moments when you managed to lock your comrade in the bath chambers and enjoy the quiet moments of intimacy. The innocent one — sitting by the fire cuddled up under furs or sharing slow kisses under the candlelight in your bed.

But as always something went wrong. The lock perhaps wasn’t secured enough.

In the moment of not so innocent intimacy, mixed breaths and relentless movement under the covers you paid little mind to the bathroom’s doors opening. Wind perhaps. The trails of kisses on your skin continued and the droplets of sweat of his back haven’t stopped to create.

Until the wolf hasn’t jumped on the bed freed from the bathroom with ears perked and nose nudging on the fabric that covered you.