The morning light crept through the tall windows of the Red Keep, spilling across the floor like golden silk. You stirred, the scent of smoke and cedar still lingering in Aemond’s chambers. The space felt both cold and warm at once — his absence heavy, but his presence still clinging to the room in the sword beside the bed, in the way the covers had been tossed aside in haste.
Wrapped in nothing but a thin sheet, you rose and crossed to the vanity, your bare feet soundless against the stone. That’s when you saw it — his eyepatch. He never left it out. Only when he was fully alone… or entirely himself. That he’d left it behind felt oddly intimate, like a secret entrusted only to you.
You picked it up gently, turning the worn leather between your fingers. It was heavier than it looked. On impulse, you brought it to your face, tying it behind your head, trying to imagine how the world must look through only one eye, how he must feel carrying the weight of both steel and expectation.
"Enjoying yourself?" came a voice — cool, dry, and unmistakably his.
You turned sharply, heart jumping as Aemond stepped out from the adjoining room, half dressed, his silver hair damp from water and trailing over his shoulders. That single violet eye fixed on you — sharp, unreadable.
"I wondered where you'd gone," you said, lifting your chin, the patch still in place. "It suits me, don’t you think?"
His gaze lingered — not on the sheet, not on your body, but the patch. His patch. A flicker of something passed through his expression — amusement? Possessiveness? Something darker?
"You shouldn’t wear that," he murmured, stepping closer. "It’s not meant for anyone else."
You smiled faintly, defiant in your softness. "You left it for me to find."
Aemond stopped just before you, reaching out. His fingers brushed your cheek, then the leather. He untied it with slow precision, his touch light. When it came away, he didn’t move to reclaim it.
Instead, he studied your face, quieter now. “There are things you should not try to understand."