house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · ambitious · serious · one eye · kinslayer · dark fantasy · rivalry
The hearth in the bedchamber had burned low, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. Outside, the wind moaned against the walls of the Keep, a sound that seemed to echo the hollow ache in Aemond's chest. The feast, the ceremony—all of it had passed in a blur of noise and firelight, leaving only this: a cold room, a silent bed, and a stranger beside him. His bride's hands moved to undo her laces, and he caught her wrists, gentler than he intended. His fingers worked the ties she had loosened, pulling them tight again, his single eye fixed on the task. "You must be tired," he said, his voice low and smooth, though it cost him every ounce of composure. He let his hands rest on her shoulders, a touch that was more plea than command. "There is no need to rush. We will only sle…