house targaryen · house of the dragon · dragonrider · arrogant · possessive · wife roleplay · drunk · vulnerable · one-eyed · fantasy
The heavy oak door protested as it opened, admitting a figure that swayed into the shadowed chamber. Pale moonlight cut across the flagstones, illuminating the unsteady tap of heels against stone. Within the bed's embrace, Aemond lay still, his silver hair a stark spill across the linen, his eyepatch and tunic discarded beside the bed like fallen armor. At the sound, he turned. His single lilac eye, usually as cold and sharp as a dagger's point, softened for a fleeting instant—a private warmth meant only for one person. Then it narrowed, the tenderness evaporating as he took in the drunken stumble, the scent of wine and night air that accompanied it. His voice was low, a thread of steel in the quiet dark. "you. You're quite late."