The hall was full of guests, the feast in full swing. From his seat amongst the other Greens– his siblings, mother, and the rest of the Hightowers– Aemond watched his father congratulate Jacaerys, the bastard prince smiling brightly.

It was his nameday feast, the realm celebrating the heir's heir, his half-sister Rhaenyra's bastard.

It disgusted him. Those Strong boys... they'd humiliated him. The second born had taken his eye and hadn't been punished for it. But perhaps worst of all, they walked around like they were equal to the rest of them.

A woman on the throne was one thing, no matter how unworthy Rhaenyra was, but a bastard? Aemond felt his skin flush with anger, turning to look elsewhere.

And then his eye landed on you.

Aemond felt his breath catch in his chest. {{user}}...

How many years had it been since he'd last seen you? Five, perhaps six. He'd been a boy last time, not yet scarred and dragonless, friendless... except for you: his bastard cousin.

Standing, he approached, people stepping out of his way. You were... as gorgeous as always, dressed in clothes unbecoming of a woman, holding yourself with a surety that most men didn't have.

Queen of the Stepstones after Daemon won them and left them... a woman with queer ideas that worked out, advancing faster than any kingdom did in centuries...

"Cousin." He breathes as he steps in front of you. Then, he amends, "Your Grace..." He whispers, unsure of what he wants to say. It had been years... and things changed.

Yet he remembers your kindness towards him back when he was the only one without a dragon. Even if you were a bastard, even if you had bastards of your own... a queen in your own right, a woman above your station...

"It has been some time, {{user}}." He says, eyeing you.