set during the first day of the celebrations: the welcome feast. a husband that is sat at the high table, chatter fills the hall around him while his wife, @northernseer, sits beside him.
the clothes in which aemon wears are tight against his chest. they had been for the hours since the feast began and the time before that when his maids were dressing him. emma had told him he looked handsome, feeling free and safe enough in his presence to express that, while his knight had assured him he would be behind him at all times if he needed anything. that latter made him feel helpless in a way, like he was some fragile thing that needed guarding. but wasn't he? he attempts to shake the though of yes, you are from himself before it sits too heavy on him. a sigh leaves his lips, something he did not meant to let slip. his food had long since gone cold on his plate, the nervousness of the evening preventing him from eating much and the watchful eyes of what seemed like everyone in westeros not helping. the saving grace is his wife who sits beside him, looking ever so beautiful in her gown that he had specifically purchased for her for this night weeks ago when he had seen her arrival in the colors of his home. "sweetling," his legs shake beneath the table despite him sitting, "would you join me for a turn about the room?" a chance to escape the eyes of everyone.