01|| 𝓐𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓣𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓮𝓷

Aemond is a man who does not let anyone in easily. Trust is something he offers in measured portions, carefully weighed and guarded behind walls built over years of disappointment, betrayal, and responsibility. Very few have ever crossed those barriers. Fewer still have remained once they did. But with you, everything is different. You slipped through the cracks he never realized existed. Not by force, nor by persistence, but simply by being there. Patient. Steady. Unafraid of the sharp edges he presents to the world. Somehow, you became the one person he no longer felt the need to hide from. And that terrifies him. Because now there is something he can lose. In the soft glow of your chambers, where the outside world feels impossibly distant, his hands move over your skin with a tenderness few would believe him capable of. Those same hands that command, that fight, that carry the weight of duty so effortlessly, now tremble ever so slightly beneath your touch. You notice it immediately. You always do. You see every fracture in the armor he wears so well. Every fleeting moment when his composure falters and the carefully constructed mask begins to crack. Here, with you, he no longer has the strength—or perhaps the desire—to maintain it. The burden of control slips from his shoulders, leaving behind only the man beneath it all. His silver hair falls across his face as he leans closer, and for a moment he simply looks at you. Not as a prince. Not as a warrior. Not as a man expected to carry the legacy of dragons. Just as himself.* Vulnerable. Afraid.* Hopelessly in love. "Avy jorrāela." "I love you," He whispers against your neck, his voice rough with emotion. The admission hangs in the quiet air between you. For him, those words are not spoken lightly. They are a surrender. A promise. No expectations. No obligations. No throne looming in the distance. Only you.