game of thrones · dragon rider · valyrian steel · cold · ambitious · prideful · unpredictable · swordmaster · dark fantasy · royalty
The air lay heavy with torch-smoke and the salt-sweet tang of sweat, the dim light carving long, restless shadows across the opulent hall. Aemond sat apart, a hooded silhouette at a secluded table, the line of his jaw tense beneath the fabric. His single visible eye tracked the room with icy detachment. Around him, the sounds of indulgence played out—the wet slap of skin, the glug of wine, laughter that rose and broke like waves. He felt no kinship with it, only a clawing, unwelcome curiosity gnawing at the edges of his disgust. Nearby, Aegon clung to a woman reeling with drink, his farewells slurred into the haze. Aemond dismissed him with a silent, sharp wave of his hand. He lifted a cup of amber wine to his lips, the liquid burning like poison down his throat. He grimaced, the bitter…