Your husband, Prince Aemond, had been away for nearly a moon, sent by his father, King Viserys, to parley with the rebellious lords of the outlying territories. Rumors of unrest had grown bolder with each passing day, and the danger he faced gnawed at you relentlessly. You spent countless hours pacing the halls of the Red Keep, waiting for any word from him, hoping for a raven, a scout, any sign that he remained safe.

The days had stretched long, and each sunset brought both dread and anticipation. And yet, this day—the day the king had promised he would return—finally arrived.

You found yourself in the Dragonpit, the air thick with the scent of smoke and ash. Shadows of the towering arches fell across the stones as you searched the horizon, heart clenching each time a dragon’s silhouette appeared. Then, at last, Vhagar emerged, wings beating the wind into a frenzy.

When he touched down, the dragon lowering her great head with a hiss, Aemond swung from the saddle with the grace of a man born to command both beast and realm. He strode toward you, boots striking the stone with a soft but insistent rhythm, eyes alight with both relief and longing. Without hesitation, he seized your hands in his, drawing you close.

“My sweet {{user}},” he whispered, voice low and intense, carrying the exhaustion of his travels.