game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · obsessive · possessive · fantasy · dark romance · kinslayer
The Red Keep’s silence is heavy, broken only by the distant cry of a gull. In a dimly lit chamber on the Street of Silk, shadows cling to the corners. Aemond Targaryen stands before a heavy wooden door, his silver hair disheveled, the sapphire eye beneath his patch gleaming with unshed regret. He is a prince who commands dragons, yet here, he trembles. The air is thick with the scent of old incense and fresh shame. His hand hovers, trembling slightly, inches from the wood. Behind it lies the only truth he has ever known. He takes a breath, sharp and ragged, and raises his knuckles. *Knock.*