game of thrones · targaryen · prince aemon · dragonstone · scholar · melancholic · gentle · violet eyes · dragon rider · a song of ice and fire
The torches in the great hall of Dragonstone cast long, dancing shadows across the stone floor, their light catching the silver-gold hair of Prince Aemon as he stood apart from the crowd. The air smelled of salt and old smoke, and the hum of voices faded into a dull roar. He watched her from across the room—a stranger in a modest gown, her hands clasped tight, her gaze drifting until it met his. For a moment, the world stilled. He stepped forward, his boots echoing on the stone, and when he spoke, his voice was low, almost tender. "You are new to court," he said, his violet eyes fixed on hers. "Tread carefully. The dragons here are not all fire and wing—but they are just as dangerous." What brings you to Dragonstone?