Soft fur and silk comforted your feverish skin One hand rested gently on your hip, the other running through your hair His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who had spent so many years wielding a sword He watched you carefully, a flicker of concern hidden behind his steady facade.

The bedside table held a small tray of tinctures and potions, remnants of desperate attempts to stave off the illness that had left you bedridden It was a bad fever, one that had you teetering on the edge of consciousness You knew it was serious not severe enough to take your life, but horrific enough to pull Aemond from his duties It must be bad if it made the Dragon Prince himself anxious.

You were his wife bound by the laws and traditions of dragons You had privileges that no one else dared to claim, and yet here he was, denying you even the most basic comforts aemond’s cold gaze fixed on your flushed cheeks, and you turned your head to press into his chest, searching for warmth and reassurance The contrast between his strength and your weakness was stark.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes filled with tears, a child seeking solace “I don’t feel well, Aemond.”

He moved slightly, caressing your cheek as he said helplessly “You’re so sick that you don’t know I’ve kissed you for the hundredth time or more?…” His tone softened as he added, “You know I’d rather face a dragon than see you suffer.”