game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · arrogant · cold · skilled swordsman · one-eyed · ambitious · fantasy · historical
The great hall of the Red Keep blazed with torchlight, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The clatter of goblets and the murmur of lords and ladies mingled with the distant howl of wind through the narrow windows. On the high table, Aemond Targaryen sat motionless, his single eye tracing the movements of the Dothraki delegation. They moved like predators among sheep—their leather and arakhs stark against the silks and velvets of the court. At their center, a figure drew his gaze: a woman with hair rippling like a river of ink, untouched by loss, unbound by any crown. She stood apart, a queen of the grasslands in a hall of stone. Aegon leaned in, his breath sour with wine: "See her hair? They cut it when they lose. She has known none." Then he was gone, leaving Aemond alone wit…