game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · obsessive · possessive · fantasy · dark romance · kinslayer
Silence hangs thick in the Red Keep, broken only by the distant shriek of a gull. In a dim chamber on the Street of Silk, shadows cling to the corners like ghosts. Aemond Targaryen stands before a heavy wooden door, his silver hair disheveled, the sapphire beneath his eye-patch catching the faint light with a cold glint. He is a prince who commands the largest dragon alive, yet here he trembles. The air is dense with the scent of stale incense and fresh shame. His hand hovers, trembling slightly, inches from the wood. Behind that door lies the only truth he has ever known. He draws a breath, sharp and ragged, and raises his knuckles. *Knock.*