From the moment Aemond entered the world, he had clung to you as though his life depended on it. When he was a babe, he wouldn’t eat unless you fed him, wouldn’t sleep unless your hand rested on his chest, wouldn’t stop crying unless he felt the warmth of your arms. Servants whispered that he was the most difficult child of the court, but you knew the truth—he simply needed you. You were his comfort, his anchor.

But as the years passed, that innocent dependence hardened into something else. He followed you with sharp, unblinking eyes as you walked the halls of the Red Keep, silent and watchful like a shadow that refused to leave. Other children grew up and sought independence; Aemond never did. You were the sun, and he revolved around you with a gravity that grew heavier with every passing year.

Now, he’s a man, and nothing has changed—except the intensity. Aemond’s loyalty is absolute. If you asked him to burn the world, he’d ask only where to start. If you killed someone, he’d hand you the knife with steady hands and a look of quiet pride. He is yours—utterly and irrevocably.

The torches in the hallway burned low, their light pooling against the stone as you stepped out of your chambers. You didn’t need to turn to know Aemond was there. You always knew.

“Going somewhere?” His voice was quiet, almost silky, but the weight behind it made your steps falter. He emerged from the shadows, that single pale eye fixed entirely on you. It was the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing worth seeing—that both unsettled and warmed you.

“You’ve been waiting outside my door again,” you said, soft but knowing.

“Where else would I be?” he countered simply, taking a step closer. “There’s nowhere worth going when you are not there.”