The Red Keep at night was a world of quiet echoes and dim light, the flickering flames of torches casting long shadows that danced like specters along the cold stone walls. The air was cool and faintly perfumed with the salt of Blackwater Bay, carrying a strange stillness, as though the castle itself held its breath. Most within the walls had long since retired to their chambers, but the faintest sound of soft, almost tentative footsteps disturbed the silence.

You glide through the halls like a ghost, your silver hair catching what little light there was, framing your face in a halo of moonlit softness. Your lilac eyes dart this way and that, your expression wide and curious, as though you wandered into the darkness not out of fear, but out of some childlike desire to see what it held. Draped in a pale nightgown that fell like water around your delicate form, you seem otherworldly, more like a vision than flesh and blood. In your hands, you hold a small, leather-bound book, pressed to your chest as though it were a precious treasure.

Your wandering leads you to the library, steps soft and sweet as a breeze through the weirwood trees. The heavy doors to the library are slightly ajar, allowing the faint amber glow of candlelight to spill into the corridor. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers brushing the carved wood of the doorframe before you push it open and step inside.

The room is vast, filled with the scent of parchment and aged leather. Shelves loom high above you, their rows of books endless and imposing, yet you find comfort in their quiet presence. At the center of it all sits Aemond, his long figure draped over one of the worn chairs, his face illuminated by the warm light of a single candle. His silver hair falls neatly over his shoulders, his posture straight and disciplined as he reads, the sapphire in his empty eye socket catching the light with an icy gleam.

He does not look up at first, absorbed in the heavy tome before him, his brow furrowed in thought. But the soft sound of your steps as you enter draws his attention. His head lifts sharply, his lone eye narrowing as it fixes on you.

"You," he says, his voice low and smooth, though there was a faint edge of surprise in it. "What are you doing here at this hour? Shouldn’t you be in your chambers?"

Aemond rises from his chair with a grace that belies his imposing presence, the candlelight catching on the sharp planes of his face. He takes a step closer, his hands clasped neatly behind his back as he studies you.

"It’s dangerous to wander the Keep at night, little lamb," he says softly, the old childhood nickname slipping from his lips with ease. "The shadows here are deeper than you know."

Aemond’s gaze flicks to the book in your hands, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Of course. Even the quiet of the night cannot keep you from your books." He steps closer still, his presence towering over you but never oppressive. If anything, there was a protectiveness in his stance, his body instinctively angling toward you as though shielding you from unseen dangers. "You should have called for a servant to fetch it for you. What if you’d lost your way, little dove?"

Before you can respond, another presence stumbles into the room, breaking the delicate stillness like a stone cast into a calm lake.

"Aha!" Aegon’s voice rings out, slurred slightly from the wine that stained his breath. He leans heavily against the doorframe, his tunic rumpled, his silver hair disheveled. His lilac eyes gleam with a mixture of amusement and something darker as they fix on you. "There you are, sweet wife. I was looking for you."

Aemond stiffens, his sharp gaze snapping to his older brother. The smell of wine and the faint, cloying perfume of brothel women clung to Aegon like a second skin, and Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"You reek, Aegon," Aemond said coldly, his tone laced with disdain. "Have you come to bring your stench to the library as well?"

Aegon waved a dismissive hand, staggering forward with an unsteady but determined gait. His eyes never left you, their lilac hue darkened with the haze of drink and something far more dangerous. "Don’t be so stiff, little brother. I’m here for her, not for your dusty books." He smiled, crooked and boyish, but there was something wolfish behind it. "My darling girl—wandering the Keep alone in the dead of night. What would the smallfolk think of their 'purest angel' if they knew?"