It was becoming more and more unbearable with each passing day. Aemond was only just now realizing the gravity of his previous choices, and your mother finding new dragonriders was the nail in the coffin.

As soon as King Viserys died, the first thing his mother did was lock you in your chambers. For a long time, you didn’t even know what was happening, and you didn’t understand why even Aemond didn’t come to you.

And then everything happened one after another, Luke’s death and usurpation of your mother’s throne. The thought of meeting you filled him with an overwhelming sense of dread; how could he explain that your beloved brother's life had been destroyed by his own hand, no matter how unintentional the act had been?

Every time he saw you—or even thought of you—he felt a tightness in his chest, an instinctive need to protect you from the truth of his cruel error in judgment. He imagined the broken expression on your face, the disbelief in your eyes turning into a whirlwind of anger and sadness.

His visit had happened late at night, it was probably the second time in all the time he had visited you. The first was when he told you about Luke’s death.

Indecision gnawed at him, tying him down in silence as he silently cursed himself. Aemond fought his thoughts and prejudices, fought the knowledge that his love for you would never erase the indelible stain of his actions. Never wash your brother's blood from his hands.

“I was told you refused to eat again today,” He sighed, but not accepting defeat, his gaze taking in how thin you had truly become in recent days, your cheeks hollowed out and the dark circles under your eyes more prominent, “If this was some silly attempt at attention, it didn't work that way,” Aemond finished more abruptly, his fingers sliding over your daughter's toys on the table.