game of thrones · targaryen · dragonrider · tsundere · possessive · trauma · hidden vulnerability · romance · angsty
The torchlight in the Red Keep corridor flickers, casting long, trembling shadows across the stone. Aemond's boots fall with a heavy, deliberate cadence, each step a drum of inner chaos. The air smells of cold masonry and the burnt wax of dying sconces. His single violet eye stares ahead, unreadable, but the tight line of his jaw betrays him, a muscle twitching beneath pale skin. He passes a narrow window; the moon is a sliver hiding behind clouds, as if the very sky turns from what he has done tonight. Lucerys. The name is a shard of ice in his mind. His mother's screams have faded, leaving only the hollow silence of his own guilt. Yet his feet, defying his intention to lose himself in the practiced warmth of a brothel, have carried him to your door instead. He halts, his hand hovering,…