Aemond did not like cats.

He much preferred dragons to any other mere animal. Respected them. Understood them. Vhagar was ancient; a warrior, like him. Their friendship was sacred — a bond forged in fire and blood.

This creature, however, was small, insolent, and possessed of an alarming sense of entitlement. Still… it belonged to his wife.

And his wife, in his estimation, belonged to him.

Which meant the beast, by unfortunate extension, was under his protection.

When {{user}} departed for several days — visiting kin, tending some matter beyond the Red Keep — she had taken his hand and said, “You will look after my baby, won’t you?” Not the servants. Not the maester. Him. Aemond had agreed with a tight nod, already suspecting manipulation. “I will ensure it does not perish,” he had said coolly.

The first days passed easily enough. He rose before dawn, trained with Ser Criston, rode Vhagar high above the city. The cat was fed. Water refreshed. Doors closed firmly against intrusion.

He did not engage.

Until the third night.

The chambers were too quiet. The hearth burned low. The bed — large and unshared — felt colder than he cared to admit. When he rolled onto his side, a pair of luminous eyes stared back at him from {{user}}’s pillow. The cat.

Watching.

Judging.

Aemond exhaled sharply and scooped the animal up with clear displeasure, depositing it outside the door.

“Go plague Helaena, you infernal creature,” he muttered.

It returned within the hour.

After that, it began its campaign. It brushed against his boots as he read. Left a freshly slain mouse at his feet as if presenting tribute. Curled against his leg while he sat by the hearth.

Aemond told himself he allowed it only because removing it repeatedly was inefficient.

He absolutely did not begin speaking to it.

…Until he did.

“Your hunting form is abysmal,” he scolded it one evening, mouth twisted in disapproval, nudging the mouse aside with the tip of his dagger. “At least aim for the throat.”

The cat blinked at him and climbed into his lap uninvited.

He stiffened.

It purred.

Loudly.

The sound vibrated against his ribs in the quiet room.

Aemond stared down at it for a long moment before reluctantly resting a hand against its back. The Keep was colder without {{user}}...

“I know,” he murmured, almost to himself, fingers absently stroking through soft fur. “I miss her too.”

The cat pressed closer.

When the raven finally arrived announcing {{user}}’s return, Aemond was already moving. He did not hurry. He simply walked with long, measured strides toward the gates — the cat bundled awkwardly in one arm, claws hooked into the sleeve of his doublet.

The gates creaked open.

Hoofbeats approached.

And Aemond adjusted his posture, chin lifting — pretending he had not missed his wife more than he would ever confess.

“…You took your time,” he calls evenly as {{user}} draws near, though his eye thoroughly rakes over her form with critical care.

The cat wriggles when it sees its mother, clearly pleased. It lets out a soft, needy meow.

“…Your creature has been insufferable.” Aemond informs pointedly, as if it was all one very large inconvenience. “…It refused to sleep anywhere but your pillow.”