I call this “An essay nobody asked for about a two-minute scene”
For weeks now, the conversation around Alicent and Aemond has largely revolved around whether the kiss would happen, whether it was “in character,” whether the writers had misunderstood Aemond, whether it was shock value, fan service, incest for the sake of incest, and every other flavour of discourse imaginable. Having now watched the episode and listened to both Ewan and Olivia discuss it, what strikes me is that the kiss itself is almost the least interesting thing about the scene. Because what both actors seem to be describing is something we’ve actually been watching for two seasons.
Aemond is, fundamentally, a parentified child. One of the most telling scenes in the entire series remains the aftermath of him losing his eye. A child has been permanently mutilated. His mother should be comforting him. Instead, Aemond ends up calming Alicent down. He becomes the adult in the room. The emotional labour runs in entirely the wrong direction. And it never really stops. Which is why I’ve always found Ewan’s comments from from 2024 to today so interesting when he talked about Aemond increasingly viewing himself as the father of the family. A lot of people interpreted that as arrogance. I don’t think it is. I think it’s tragedy. Parentified children often end up occupying roles they were never meant to fill. They become caretakers instead of being cared for. They become emotionally responsible for people who should be emotionally responsible for them. They don’t know what healthy love and boundaries are.
The thing that stood out most to me from Olivia’s interview was her saying they wanted it to feel like Aemond’s first kiss. That one comment suddenly made several previous scenes click into place. We know Aegon took him to a brothel when he was thirteen. We know Aemond speaks about that experience negatively. We know it isn’t remembered fondly. We know it isn’t something he associates with warmth or affection. Then in Season 2 we see him with Sylvi. At the time, what stood out to me wasn’t the nudity but the intimacy. Specifically the lack of it. When she tried to kiss him, he turns his head away. Before today there were a dozen ways to interpret that moment. Shame. Vulnerability. Embarrassment. Self-loathing. But if Olivia is right, and this was intended to feel like Aemond’s first genuine kiss, then suddenly that earlier scene looks very different. Perhaps what we’re actually seeing is somebody who learned to separate sex and intimacy a very long time ago. Somebody who understands physical acts but has almost no experience of emotional closeness. Somebody who has spent years being needed but very rarely being loved.
And that brings us back to Alicent. Because whether people like it or not, she is probably the person Aemond associates most strongly with affection. Not healthy affection. Not uncomplicated affection. But affection nonetheless. The person whose approval matters most. For all of Aemond’s confidence, competence and certainty, he is desperately insecure. Not in an obvious way, but in the way second children often are. He’s spent his entire life being overlooked despite frequently being the most capable person in the room. He was bullied as a child. Mocked by Aegon. Humiliated by his peers. He grew up feeling weaker, smaller and lesser than everyone around him, only to become arguably the most disciplined, educated and dangerous member of his family. Yet none of that changes the fact that he’s still the second son. The throne still passes him by. Less capable people still inherit power before him. His competence becomes both his greatest strength and his greatest frustration. This is a man who has openly stated that he believes he should be king. And the uncomfortable thing is that, in many ways, he’s not entirely wrong. He’s more disciplined than Aegon. More strategic. More driven. The tragedy is that he knows it. Which means he is constantly searching for validation that never quite arrives.
That is why I found the Harrenhal conversation so fascinating. Alicent tries to persuade him to go by telling him that Harrenhal can withstand dragonfire. The problem is that Aemond almost certainly knows that isn’t true. This is a man who studies history obsessively. He knows exactly what happened during Aegon’s Conquest. He knows Balerion damaged Harrenhal. He knows the castle’s reputation for invincibility is more myth than fact. At best Alicent is mistaken. At worst she’s lying to him. Either way, Aemond knows she’s wrong. And yet he agrees to go anyway.
The interesting question isn’t whether Aemond believes her. I don’t think he does. The question is why he goes. Part of the answer is probably utility. Whatever Alicent’s motives, Harrenhal offers something Aemond genuinely wants. Distance from King’s Landing. Autonomy. A theatre of war where he can operate independently. The argument gets him somewhere useful even if he doesn’t buy the reasoning behind it. But I don’t think that’s the whole story. Because the wound we’ve been discussing all along is still there. Alicent is asking him. Alicent needs him. And for all of Aemond’s intelligence, all of his strategic thinking and all of his ability to recognise ulterior motives, he has spent his entire life wanting his mother’s approval.
The parentified child doesn’t stop showing up simply because they’ve figured out the dynamic. Sometimes understanding the pattern doesn’t free you from it. Sometimes it just means you suffer through it with your eyes open. The tragedy is that I think Aemond knows something isn’t right. He knows Alicent has another motive. He knows she’s withholding something from him. What he doesn’t know is why. And that, to me, is what makes the scene so sad. Because even the one person he has spent his entire life believing loves him unconditionally is manipulating him. Not necessarily out of cruelty. Not necessarily with malicious intent. But manipulating him nonetheless. Aemond is intelligent enough to recognise the lie, but emotionally vulnerable enough to follow it anyway. He’s smart enough to see the trap, but proud enough to walk into it. More than that, he’s desperate enough to prove himself that the possibility of success outweighs the risk. Success would mean validation. Success would mean proving that he really is the son who should have been trusted all along. Success would mean finally earning the recognition he’s spent his entire life chasing.
And there’s another layer to this that I suspect we’ll continue to explore throughout the season. Aemond knows about Helaena’s prophecy. He knows about the God’s Eye. Exactly how much he believes it remains to be seen, but unlike us, he isn’t walking blindly towards that future. The possibility has already been placed in his mind. Which makes the decision to go to Harrenhal even more interesting. Because if part of him suspects where this road leads, then once again we’re forced to ask the same question: why go? The answer, I think, is the same answer we’ve been arriving at all along. Because not going would mean retreat. Not going would mean admitting fear. He tells alicent “I am not afraid” Not going would mean allowing uncertainty to dictate his choices. And Aemond has built his entire identity around being the person who doesn’t flinch. This is the boy who claimed losing an eye was a fair trade for a dragon. The boy who turned humiliation into ambition. The boy who transformed himself into the warrior everyone feared. There is a recurring pattern throughout his story. He sees the cost. He understands the danger. He often understands the consequences better than anyone around him. And then he walks towards them anyway. Not because he’s reckless. Because he’s proud. Because he’s determined. Because he’s desperate to prove himself. Because some part of him would rather march towards a known disaster than live with the possibility that he was too afraid to try.
Which is also why I don’t entirely buy the idea that Aemond is simply going to become Alys Rivers’ puppet. Aemond is many things. Stubborn. Angry. Impulsive. But he isn’t stupid. He knows people have motives. He knows information is power. He knows Alys is withholding things from him. The question isn’t whether Alys is manipulating Aemond. Of course she is. The question is whether Aemond believes he can use her just as effectively as she believes she can use him. That’s a far more interesting dynamic than simple seduction or manipulation because it allows both characters agency. They are both playing a game. The tragedy, as always with Aemond, is that his greatest weakness isn’t ignorance. It’s the emotional wound sitting underneath all that intelligence.
The scene with alicent was just… sad to me. Neither character is really getting what they need. Alicent wants absolution. Aemond wants love. Neither is capable of giving the other those things. So while much of the discussion has focused on whether the scene is romantic, sexual or shocking, what struck me was how profoundly lonely it was. Aemond reaches for love and finds manipulation. They leave the scene having given each other something, but neither leaves with what they were actually looking for.
So where does this leave us?
It leaves us with a young man who, for all his intelligence, confidence and military competence, is in an extraordinarily vulnerable place. Aemond has spent his entire life trying to prove himself. Trying to earn approval. Trying to convince himself and everyone around him that he is worthy of the role he believes he should have had. And now, at the very moment he should feel most secure, he’s discovering that even the relationships he thought he understood are far more complicated than he realised.
I keep coming back to something Ewan said about Aemond hearing what he wants to hear. Because how else do you navigate a situation like this? If the person whose approval you’ve spent your entire life chasing tells you that you’re needed, important and capable, some part of you is going to want to believe it, even when another part of you knows there may be more going on beneath the surface. That’s what makes him so tragic to me. Not that he can’t see what’s happening, but that he can see it and still be vulnerable to it anyway.
This is why Harrenhal suddenly feels much more interesting than it did twenty-four hours ago. Because Aemond isn’t arriving there as a conquering prince at the height of his confidence. He’s arriving there carrying uncertainty, loneliness, wounded pride, a desperate need for validation, a prophecy hanging over his head, and the growing suspicion that even his mother’s love may not be as straightforward as he once believed. And if that’s the emotional state he’s taking into Harrenhal with him, I have a feeling what happens next is going to be far more interesting than whether a kiss happened at all.
If you’ve made it this far, congratulations. You’ve just read several thousand words about a scene that lasted approximately two minutes.
I should also confess that I have an entirely separate thesis rattling around in my head involving the idea of a Judas kiss, betrayal, and whether the scene can be read through that lens as well. But my fingers hurt, my coffee is gone, and at some point I do need to stop treating every Aemond scene like a doctoral dissertation.
We’ll save that one for another day.
