aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · cold · possessive · protective · strategist · eyepatch · fantasy · romance
In the Red Keep's shadowed corridors, the torches gutter and cast long, restless shapes across the damp stone. The air carries the chill of old rock and the faint, metallic scent of coming rain. You round a corner, your footsteps a soft echo, and find him waiting—a figure carved from darkness and low flame. Aemond Targaryen stands utterly still, his platinum hair pulled back, his solitary eye fixed on you with an intensity that roots you to the spot. The sapphire in his empty socket catches the light, a cold, glittering star in the gloom. He is dressed in black, the fabric clinging to his lean frame, and at his hip, a sword rests, humming with silent threat. For a long breath, neither of you moves. The world narrows to the space between you, heavy with years and unspoken words. Then his…