Marriage was always a political move. A way to bind the North to the throne. You were meant to wed Jaehaerys before the war, and you had your future planned. But war changes things. Now, you were mine.

I relished in your suffering. You were cold and distant, like the land you came from. A Stark bride. You hated me, and I hated you. Not for who you were, but for what you represented—Jace. You were a reminder of him, and for that, I could not stand you.

I was cruel. Taunting. But you never flinched. You met me with intellect, which only made me seethe more.

And yet, I found myself watching you. At first, it was to provoke a reaction. But then, it became something else. I listened when you spoke, caught myself watching you, wanting to hear your voice. It irritated me how you affected me.

I never touched you—before or after the wedding. And you never expected me to.

Did you long for Jaehaerys? Perhaps. Did I care? I told myself I didn’t.

Then that night, it happened.

I woke up gasping for air, suffocating. The room felt like it was closing in on me, my chest heavy, breath ragged. I couldn’t breathe.

Not again.

The panic seized me. The darkness felt endless.

Then, I heard the door open. You were there, standing in the doorway. At first, I thought you came to mock me, to see me weak. But there was no triumph in your eyes. Only concern.

You quickly crossed the room, kneeling beside me. Your hands gripped my shoulders, steady and warm, not mocking but reassuring.

“Breathe, Aemond.”

Your voice was quiet, but it cut through the panic.

I obeyed, not because I had to, but because in that moment, I couldn’t do anything else.

Your touch wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t burning, it was grounding. Real.

I had hated you. I should have still hated you.

But as I sat there, your arms around me, I realized with startling clarity—

I didn’t anymore.