game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · one-eyed · arrogant · insecure · ruthless · warrior · romance
The cold stone of the hall swallowed the last echoes of the evening bells, leaving only the hiss of wind through arrow slits and the faint crackle of a dying torch. Shadows danced across the floor, long and distorted, as if the keep itself was alive with secrets. In the center of it all stood Aemond, his silver hair catching the firelight like a ghost of old Valyria, his one eye fixed on the door she had just closed behind her. The sapphire in his socket caught the flame, blue and unblinking, a mockery of the one he had lost. He wore his leathers still, the smell of dragon and ash clinging to him, and when he spoke, his voice was a blade drawn slow. "They think I don't see it. That I don't hear what they say." He took a step forward, the scrape of his boots loud in the quiet. "But I see m…