It was an eve of spring, a gentle breeze whistling through the corridors of the Red Keep. A particularly strong gust rippled the bandanna atop the maid's head- she slapped a hand to the crown of her skull, pulling it taut once more.

She shouldn't be getting knocked over by a mere gust of wind- in the South, no less. The newly appointed maid was a young girl of nineteen name-days passed. She was known by Rosemary; Rosemary Stone. Originally from the Vale, more specifically, she was raised in the Eyrie. Her mother was a handmaiden to Lady Jeyne Arryn- the two women were particularly close and Jeyne took Rosemary under her wing as if she were her own after her mother passed. Rosemary knew there had been a deep love between her lowborn mother and the Lady of the Vale.

Rosemary's mother spoke little of her father, if at all- she had heard rumors swirling around the Eyrie that it was a bannerman of Lady Jeyne's, but she paid no mind to it, it didn't matter to her either way. She was raised as well as a bastard could be and received much love from Lady Jeyne and her mother.

"Rosemary, you must listen to me, my dear," Lady Jeyne had said just a few moons prior, "The world is changing. You've grown in the safety of the Vale, but I fear that... you are unprepared for your future. You're a young girl, beautiful and you could become something one day, something beyond your name," she paused, taking Rosemary's hand in her own, "You must leave the Vale."

Rosemary blinked, recoiling slightly as if she'd been hit with a physical blow, "W-what? What do you mean, 'leave the Vale'?" she asked, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly, "All I know is the Eyrie- all I know is you, all I know is... is..." she sniffled, clenching on Jeyne's hand tightly before letting go.

Jeyne let out a small sigh, getting a bit closer to her, their knees touching, "My sweet girl- that is exactly my point. I... cannot in good conscience let you live out the rest of your life here. You're young, you have no titles, no land," she paused, "No blood relatives keeping you here- you may see your bastardry as a hindrance and in some ways, it may be- but you have more freedom than anyone else in this Keep. More than I have, more than your mother had."

The girl wiped the tears now pooling at her lashes, "I don't wish to go- I don't know anyone, and if... if I do, where would I go?"

Lady Arryn took Rosemary's hands in her own once more, rubbing small circles on them in a soothing manner, "I've been corresponding with King's Landing- I believe you may be a good fit in the Red Keep, mayhaps as a handmaiden or a servant. I will make the necessary arrangements," she let out a small sigh, "Between you and I- I've heard that King isn't well, and that it is the Hightowers who sit the Iron Throne now. The Vale is impregnable- but it is also where information goes to die. I shan't be uninformed, up here in the Eyrie with none the wiser if a war is brewing right under our noses- I wish for you to send me letters of anything you deem noteworthy. We are safe from legions of soldiers but we are nothing against dragons- Maegor saw to that."

Rosemary's brow furrowed, "You wish for me to... spy?"

"In a way- think of it as your secondary goal," Jeyne hummed, "Your priority is socializing, getting acquainted with other people and mayhaps finding a nice lover or two along the way, hm? You shan't find any of those in the Eyrie, dear."

The girl cracked a smile, albeit a small one. Slowly, she nodded. She didn't wish to disappoint Jeyne. In a way, she was another mother to her, and she felt a strong desire to please her.

But she still felt a deep pit in her stomach- she didn't know what to expect in King's Landing.

Rosemary was pulled from her reverie by a tap on her shoulder. It was Magelle, one of the older serving ladies.

"Wake up, girl," she whispered in a harsh tone, "Take this tray to the prince." the older woman shoved a silver platter of hot water and tea leaves at her.

"The... prince- y-yes, the prince," Rosemary stumbled, "Which one?"

Magelle rolled her eyes, "Do ye see wine on this tray? I told ye- the older prince only drinks wine. I'll be rolling in my grave when that boy asks for tea. This is for the younger prince, Aemond. Remember what I told ye- no eye contact, especially with the second son. Ain't a pretty sight none anyhow. Now get goin'." she huffed, swatting the younger maid on the bottom, practically spurring her into action like a horse.

Rosemary stumbled through the halls with the tray, getting lost a few times- what was the point of all of these damnable hallways?

Eventually, she found her way to Maegor's Holdfast, where the royal apartments were. She counted, Aemond's chambers were third from last.

A gentle knock on the door was heard as she walked up to it. Her hand was shaking ever so slightly as she adjusted the hood of her kerchief , pushing up a single, errant hair. The teacups rattled on the tray she was balancing with her other hand. She was to serve the prince- the second prince, to be clear. If she were to serve the first prince, she would've just had to come with a decanter of wine and call it a day. But this prince- Prince Aemond 'One Eye'-- was an enjoyer of tea, apparently. Rosemary thought it a much better choice than wine- she found the liquid to be sour and unappealing.

"Your g-grace," she murmured, then cleared her throat, enunciating once more, "Your grace- your tea."

"Enter." a voice said- it was quiet, but something about it made her want to prick at her nail beds.

She opened the door with her shoulder, scurrying into the room with her head down. As a servant of the Red Keep, she was taught to not make eye contact with her betters unless addressed, especially Aemond, as Magelle had warned.

"Do you require sugar or cream, your grace?" Rosemary asked, putting the tray to the small wooden table, looking down at her feet.

She heard shuffling from her right, the creaking of leather and light footsteps growing closer. The scent of sandalwood and fire permeated her nostrils- it wasn't unpleasant, just different.

"You're new," Aemond said, not even facing her. He walked past her to the table she placed the tray upon, pouring the rich brown liquid into his cup, "Are you not?"

Rosemary put her hands together, sinking her thumb nail in the soft of her palm, "Y-yes, your grace," she replied, blinking profusely, "I've just come from the Vale less than three days ago."

"The Vale?" he hummed, "Hm," he dropped two cubes of sugar in his cup, stirring it, tasting it, before adding another two cubes.

She watched from below fettered lashes, her eyes landing upon his hands- they were large and calloused. She heard that he was a proficient swordsman and rode the largest dragon in the world- and yet he took his tea with four sugars. Quite curious.

"If... you needn't anything else, my prince," she bowed slightly, "I will leave you to your tea." Rosemary began to move, eager to escape. He was quiet enough, but something about him unnerved her- as if she was being taken apart in his head.

"Wait," his voice broke through the silence like a whip, "Come here, girl."

Her heart stopped in her chest- she was surely dead. She must've done something wrong, and he was to execute her. Rosemary was not an optimistic thinker. The maid turned towards him, head bowed.

"Eyes up, little lamb," he murmured, his already quiet voice rasping slightly, like flames licking at his throat. His hand, calloused and all, tucked under her chin, tipping her head up.

Rosemary, ever diminutive, raised her eyes to him- her two deep, brown eyes met his one violet. She wasn't breathing, her fingertips shaking ever so slightly.

From her briefing about the royal family, she thought she was to look out for the older prince, Aegon, as he was known to be handsy with maids and servants alike. But no one had told her of Aemond except the warning not to look at him- and if they had, they said he was reserved, quiet and broody.

Magelle said that he was a sight for sore eyes- and after looking at him now, she wondered if the old bat was blind. He had chiseled features and a pleasantly shaped mouth, like a taut bowstring. She glazed over the nasty scar over the right of his face, but didn't pay it much mind.

"Your name, little lamb?" he asked then, turning her head to the side, up and down, back and forth, as if appraising her like a slab of meat.

"Rosemary, my prince," the shaking maid replied, so quickly and quietly that she thought that she almost didn't speak at all.

The only indication that she had spoken was the tug of the prince's upper lip in something akin to a grin. "Fitting. Lamb goes well with rosemary- or so I've heard."

She felt a bead of sweat fall from her brow, "I don't much like lamb, your grace."

He snorted at that, "You valemen, or valewomen, raise sheep, do you not? My uncle once said that the sheep of the Vale are prettier than their women," he let go of her face, but not without looking at her a bit more, "He never had any taste, truly."

Rosemary felt her hands twitch as they came back together. What on earth did that mean? Was he calling her a sheep- more beautiful than a sheep? Was he calling her ugly? She was truly puzzled by the prince's words, but said nothing of it.

"Thank you for the tea. You may go now." he hummed, turning away from her, attending back to his tea.

A sigh of relief was felt throughout her body as she curtsied- it was still shaky from her nerves, but she managed to keep herself upright. "Have a good evening, my prince." she murmured at last, leaving his chamber.

She heard him once more, emitting a small 'hm'. She could practically see the twitching sneer on his face like before.

As she descended down the hallways, she unwrapped her kerchief from her head, her light cream colored braids falling out of their delicate shape and strewing across her back. Something about Aemond unnerved Rosemary so completely and her skin crawled as she left.

She had never met a dragon before- how could she have? - but she felt as if he was an embodiment of one, bones made of obsidian and ash. And she was just a lamb in the face of a dragon.

Descending back to her room- a chambered closet with a straw filled mattress- she curled into her bed, tossing her apron and dress aside. One of the things she brought from home- if she could even consider the Eyrie 'home' anymore- was a quilt sewed with thick, blue threads. It had depictions of the stars and moon, with little lambs and nightingales and dusk roses, sewn by her mother- with contributions from Jeyne- before her birth. Her hands traced the stitches, eyes filling with tears. The hem was frayed slightly from her habit of doing this very thing over the years.

It was the only thing she had left of her mother, both of her mothers. Her chest ached at the thought that she would likely never return to the Eyrie, never see Jeyne again- never have her hands held by her, never have their knees touch, never have her kiss her forehead and tell her that everything would be okay.

She was alone. A lamb alone in a castle of vipers and dragons.

How truly precarious.

Her sleep, when it came, was fitful. Tossing and turning, she dreamt of nightingales and lambs being torn limb from limb between dragons, some black and some green. Her skin was charred ash, her chest skewered by a stag's horns until she bled out, wolves coming to feast upon her corpse.