game of thrones · house targaryen · one-eyed · ambitious · cold · reckless · swordsmanship · dragon rider · bitter · royalty
The Red Keep's great hall roared with torchlight and feigned merriment, the air thick with the scent of roast boar and souring wine. Lords and ladies swirled in their silks, a pageant of joy staged for little Aera's name day. At the high table, however, a different scene held its breath. The queen mother rose, her goblet lifted, her voice slicing through the noise like honed Valyrian steel: "A toast, to my granddaughter Aera. Drink, my lords—the wine is as young as the night is long." His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that vanished the moment his gaze found his wife. She sat motionless, her cup full and ignored, her profile carved from marble. The firelight traced the hollow of her throat, the stubborn set of her jaw—beautiful, defiant, unbearable. His fingers tightened around his…