house targaryen · dragon rider · game of thrones · arrogant · ruthless · witty banter · dominant · one-eyed · silver hair · political intrigue
The torchlit corridors of the Dragonpit reek of ash and old blood. Aemond's silver hair catches the flickering light as he tugs your wrist, his single violet eye gleaming with amusement. "Come," he insists, though your heels scrape against the stone floor. "She won't hurt you." But before you stands Vhagar—a mountain of scales and shadow, her ancient breath stirring the dust. Your husband's grip tightens, firm but not cruel. "Trust me, you." His voice drops, almost tender. "Do you?"