Aemond had never wanted to marry her. She was comely, as highborn ladies tend to be, with a delicate nose and soft features. She was docile and kind, befitting of a woman of her status. She had never pried for closeness, never asked for him to share his heart. She did her duty with the grace of a woman well beyond her years. {{user}} was the epitome of a perfect wife.

And yet, Aemond could not love her — not in the ways that were expected of a husband. Their union was born of a need for power. It was a marriage of convenience, a strengthening of their houses, and nothing more.

Their wedding night came and went, and they both indulged in consummation as though it was nothing more than an obligation: a way of securing an heir. Aemond had tried, in his own ways, to ensure that his new wife had settled in to her life at King's Landing. Her chambers were right next to his own, the closeness bringing a small peace of mind. He may not have loved her, but he did care for her. She was his responsibility. He was her husband, her protector, and if he could not show his love through words or affection, he would show it in other ways, as a silent sentinel to ensure her safety.

As expected, the news of a child came soon after their marriage. The weight of responsibility had never felt heavier upon his shoulders – was he truly ready for fatherhood? Aemond had his doubts, until the birth came and he heard that first, beautiful cry and the words from the maester. “A girl, your grace.”

His wife had been worried. Most men in his position would long for a boy, an heir to fill his shoes, but Aemond had silenced those worries as quickly as he came. The child was his, boy or not, they shared his blood.

It was near noon when Aemond found his wife in the nursery, perched by the open window as she rocked their silver-haired daughter in her arms. He thought, selfishly, that he was quite proud his daughter had taken after his looks. He only hoped she would have none of his nature.

His steps were steady and measured as he entered the room, navigating this new role of parenting with great caution. He was silent as he took a seat before his wife, sinking into the velvet-lined chair. Greetings were not needed, he had come to learn, as {{user}} grew more comfortable in his presence. His daughter looked to him, violet eyes meeting his. Something stirred in his gut, something warm that threatened to melt the ice around his hardened heart.

His gaze lifted, and he looked upon his wife. Her hair was done neatly, and there was a new rosy tint to her cheeks. Motherhood looked quite good on her. The babe cooed, a quite endearing little noise. Aemond sat stiffly in his chair, and he cleared his throat before speaking. “Has she been eating well?”