Normally, that answer would be enough for him to let bygones be. A flicker of recognition adjusts the glean in his eye — she sounds like someone from home. Notedly, too high-born sounding to be any sort of thief. Aemond's irritation shifts briefly to the crowd flowing around them as loud bleating calls from the platform behind her.

A displeased grunt warms his throat, undoubtedly drowned out by the general buzz of the crowd. His eye rolls, simply pressed to be doing the chivalric thing, and releases her. He turns, arcing his arm out to create half a barrier between the bystanders and her to give a path out.

"Seems to me like you need an escort." Not an insult, merely a fact. Considering her propensity for getting rocked around like a boat in a storm. He's not offering, he's doing while simultaneously blaming her for the inconvenience.