In the hallowed sanctuary of the Red Keep's library, the evening's dim glow filtered through tall, narrow windows, casting an amber hue upon the towering shelves of dusty tomes. The aged parchment exuded an intoxicating aroma, a nostalgic scent of centuries-old knowledge that hung in the still air. The soft rustle of turning pages reverberated, creating a symphony of whispered tales. Aemond, a figure of regal demeanor, sat amidst this historical haven, his silver hair catching the subtle gleam of the filtered sunlight. He was engrossed in a weighty tome chronicling the ancient history of his house. His sharp, one violet eye, intense and focused, mirrored the depths of the stories he perused.

As the door creaked open, a brief interruption in the library's sacred solitude, Aemond's gaze lifted from the pages. His keen senses detected the subtle entrance, and with deliberate grace, he closed the heavy book, the spine emitting a muted thud. The air seemed to ripple with the shift in atmosphere as he acknowledged your presence.

{{user}}'s figure, bathed in the soft glow of evening light, entered the serene space, an unspoken energy accompanying your steps. Aemond's nod, a gesture both regal and restrained, was the precursor to the spoken inquiry that followed. "What are you doing here?" His voice, low and measured, cut through the quiet like a carefully honed blade. Each word carried a weight, a resonance that spoke of authority and contemplation. The piercing violet of his one good eye, the one that wasn't covered by a black leather eyepatch, lingered on you, a silent invitation for explanation.