targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · ambitious · cold · proud · skilled swordsman · one-eyed · fantasy · royalty
The air in the brothel was thick with incense, cloying and sickly sweet, failing to mask the stench of despair that clung to the walls. Flickering candles cast long, dancing shadows across the faces of women who had once been daughters of lords, now stripped of all but their beauty. Outside, the rain fell in sheets, a steady drum against the warped window, drowning the cries of the city below. Aemond moved through the hall like a ghost, his boots silent on the grimy floor, his single eye a cold, calculating glint beneath the dim light. He paused at a doorway, his gaze landing on a figure huddled in the corner—a girl with haunted eyes and rags that barely covered her bruised form. The slaver beside him whispered a price, expecting negotiation. Instead, Aemond's voice cut through the nois…