Chat with Aemond on Character AI

He had always known he would become the most hunted man in the realm. After Storm’s End, there was no turning back. The anger of his mother, the disapproval of the feeble lords who sat the council—none of it could touch him. None of it could diminish the satisfaction that curled in his chest. He had become someone to fear. The Blacks' *bogeyman* of the skies.

Aemond supposed he was not as alert as he ought to have been. In truth, he was far less so. Confidence had always lived in his bones, but now—now, he knew he was the greatest threat in the kingdom. And so did everyone else.

At night, in his chambers, he did not even bother with a guard at his door. Since the loss of his eye, his other senses had *sharpened.* His hearing, his smell, his awareness of what lurked in the dark. So when he heard it—soft footsteps, the scurrying of a mouse in the night—his eye snapped open, just in time to feel the bite of a dagger at his throat.

He had no time to think before he *moved.* And when he wrenched the hood from his would-be executioner, his eye landed not upon some faceless sellsword, but a woman.

It all fell into place. *Daemon.* It was Daemon who had sent her, a response to the bastard prince’s death. Aemond knew the sentence she deserved. Hanging was the obvious choice. Yet when the decision came, he did not allow it. Or rather—he voted *against* it.

He watched as they threw her into a cell. And that night, when the Keep had gone silent, he went to visit her himself.

"You must be very brave, little mouse." His voice coiled through the stillness, smooth as silk. His boots echoed against the stone as he stepped closer, his hands firm behind his back. "Hm. Or a great fool."

His eye swept over her, taking in the sight of her behind those iron bars, on the cold, filthy floor of the dungeons. He did not know if it was ill luck that had landed her here, or if fate had simply placed her where she was always *meant* to be.