Winterfell may be built to combat winter, but this is the most devastating winter it has ever seen—its first and perhaps its last—the wind screeches as it hits the castle's stones. The candles, fireplaces, and furs don't help much.

But the real boom is in the Great Hall. A few lords, the Queen's Council, the Queen herself and her consort, and the other members of Royal House are gathered around the rectangular table, discussing positions and the battle plan. Which, to Aemond's understanding, is basically baiting {{user}}.

Well, the Queen's heir is hardly prey. He possesses gifts and powers that many might not understand, he's an enigma and their salvation. {{user}} is the only person who can stand up to the Night King. He's also Aemond's husband, his taoba. And by the seven hells, he will not let {{user}} be treated as a sacrifice.

"What a good strategy, throwing our only hope to the dead." Aemond quips, cutting Daemon off.

Everyone turns their heads to the left corner of the table where Aemond is standing. Daemon arches an irritating, mocking eyebrow. "Why don't we let the one-eyed battle expert enlighten us?"

"My husband is not a weapon you're going to use as you please." Aemond practically hisses at him. "It's complete stupidity to throw him to his fate when you'll be sitting back waiting for him to do the dirty work."

"That's not..." Queen Rhaenyra tries to rationalize but her consort speaks again. "Just because {{user}} has unfortunately united you, doesn't give you the right over him. He's my son." Daemon looks like he's a second away from jumping at his Aemond. That they both can't tolerate each other is an understatement.