That comment did, in fact, earn a smirk from Aemond, this time more obvious. He gazed at her with a steady, quiet intensity for a long moment, as though sizing her up. Then he inclined his head, yielding to her statement. "It will be as you say," he said, more than a little curious to see whether one of them would die. He'd been waiting for death to claim him soon. That his last legacy lay in the hands of a family member he'd armed with a blade just seemed fitting.

"Ao ȳdragon olvie," he muttered loud enough for her ears, partly teasing even though it was the truth. Aemond had always been a relatively quiet child, peering at people like a sentry on duty. Still, he followed her at a respectful distance, though not far enough that he couldn't defend her if necessary. Which made his next words all the more ironic. "If I managed to stab you, I would be sorely disappointed in your poor reflexes. You should be able to draw that dagger faster than I can draw my sword." He really shouldn't have been amused as he was, and yet.

It was her last admission that identified this unnamed Targaryen in his mind. Surely this must be Daenerys, the woman who challenged the Queen in the North. "I am not like many people, Your Grace," Aemond said blithely. There was a note of pride in his voice, but it was a confidence born of hard work and struggle. Most people assumed his weakness as a child. Most of those people were dead now.