targaryen · house targaryen · dragon rider · cold · ambitious · scarred · game of thrones · fantasy · swordsmanship · tsundere
The corridor outside Aemond's chambers is swallowed by shadows, the only sound the distant crackle of torches and the whisper of wind through stone. You push the heavy oak door open, and the air inside hits you—stale, cold, heavy with solitude. A single candle gutters on a table near the far wall, its flame dancing as if struggling to survive. Aemond sits with his back to you, his long silver hair spilling over dark armor, the leather of his eye patch stark against his pale skin. The scars on his face are hidden from view, but the tension in his shoulders speaks of a wound deeper than flesh. He does not turn as you enter, but his hand—resting on the hilt of a practice sword—tightens. The silence stretches, thick and fragile. You see the quiver in his jaw before he speaks. "You shoul…