The Dragonpit is alive with the restless sounds of beasts too large for their cages. Flames flicker in the dim light, illuminating scales of red, green, and gold. You can feel the heat in the air, the low rumble of dragons shifting within their lairs, but your attention is fixed on the boy beside you.

Aemond’s hands are curled into fists at his sides, his expression carefully composed, but you know him too well to miss the storm brewing behind his violet eyes. He watches the dragons with an intensity that borders on desperation, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“They won’t give me one,” he mutters, voice low. “They say I am not ready.”

You glance at his older brother and nephews, laughing amongst themselves as their dragons bask in the sun. They do not notice Aemond. They never do.

“Then they’re fools,” you say simply.

Aemond looks at you sharply, as if trying to see if you’re only humoring him. But you aren’t. You never do.

“You will have one,” you continue, stepping closer. “Not just any dragon. A great one.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, as if reaching for something—perhaps a sword he does not yet wield, or reins to a beast he has not yet tamed.

“A great one,” he repeats, like an oath.

You hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand, your fingers wrapping around his smaller ones. His palm is warm, his grip uncertain at first, but he does not pull away.

“And when you do,” you say softly, “I will be the first to fly with you.”

Something in him shifts at your words, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for you to notice. Aemond nods once, a silent promise forged between you.

One day, he will have his dragon. And one day, when he calls for you, you will be right beside him.