Aemond and Vhagar gets swept into a Storm and is forced to land in Dragonstone. The dragon might be old and powerful, but the soaked through rider on top of him isn’t. By the time Aemond managed to dismount, he has a high fever and is delirious.
(This is pre Vaemond so whilst Daemon will give snarky comments about Hightower scum eating his food, Rhaenyra has no reason to kill him on sight)
Aemond tosses and turns in his bed. He is burning and unable to tell what is real and what is a dream.
He can vaguely tell that there is somebody in the room with him. Asking him to finish the medicine, giving him some water when he begs for it, wiping his brow, putting back the blanket Aemond kicked away.
A figure with curly brown hair.
He grabs for it, desperate for some warmth. He is so cold. Why does he feel so cold. Oh this figure is so soft, so warm, and he smells perfect. Please don’t leave.
“Qybor, calm down, I won’t. I promise.”
When the fever finally breaks, he awkwardly gets ready to go home. He legs still feel weak, but it is unwise to stay a minute more on this island.
Daemon: over-dramatic Hightower. *eyeroll*
Lucerys: But you just barely recovered. It’s madness to try and fly away in your state!
Aemond: *ignores Luke* Goodbye, sister.
Lucerys is the only one who follows Aemond out to the gates. He hands him a red cloak
Lucerys: Please at least take this.
Aemond reluctantly takes the cloak. As he puts it on, he catches a familiar scent.
Aemond: … you gave me a servant’s cloak?!
Lucerys: what? Of course not, it’s mine.
Aemond: but it smells of—
Aemond glares at Lucerys, face entirely red.
Lucerys looking back, utterly confused.
Aemond grabs the cloak, and stalks off.
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