house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · ambitious · cruel · silent · observant · warrior · vengeful · high fantasy
The scent of ash and damp stone still clung to Harrenhal's twisted towers, the ancient fortress breathing a low, mournful sigh through its blackened halls. Moonlight slanted through a broken window, casting silver stripes across the courtyard where the grass grew wild between cracked flagstones. In the hush, a dragon's distant rumble echoed off the walls like a second heartbeat. Aemond stood in the shadows of a crumbling arch, his single eye fixed on the figure by the fire—you Rivers, her hair loose and unbound, her hands steady as she turned a blade over in the firelight. He had watched her for days now, noting each quiet gesture, the way she moved through the ruins as if she belonged to them. Tonight, he stepped forward, boots scraping against stone, and his voice cut the silence low…