Aemond had ventured to Harrenhal before Daemon, a decision that would weigh heavily on him in the days to come. The ancient, cursed fortress seemed to seep with the sorrows of the past, its walls echoing with the whispers of long-dead souls. The air was thick with a palpable sense of dread, and each step Aemond took was accompanied by a chilling sensation that crept into his bones.

Within the forsaken halls of Harrenhal, beyond the haunting visions of past atrocities that plagued him, Aemond saw your ghost. His only child, his beloved son, ripped away from his arms and lost alongside Jaehaerys on that fateful, horrible night.

The boy's spectral form appeared as it did in Aemond's most cherished memories, a small, delicate figure with eyes that once sparkled with innocence and joy. Now, those eyes were filled with an ethereal sorrow, a silent plea that tore at his heart. Aemond’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with a grief so profound it nearly brought him to his knees.

The vision of his son remained silent, your eyes never leaving his. In them, he saw the reflection of his own guilt and despair. He had failed to protect you, to keep his son safe from the cruelty of their world. The memory of that night, the screams and the blood, played over and over in his mind like a relentless, torturous refrain.

He recalled the moment you were torn from him, the chaos and the terror. He had held you so tightly, vowing to shield you from harm. But in the end, his strength had not been enough. His dearest child had been lost to him, your life extinguished in a violent instant that had forever scarred his soul.