game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · one-eyed · arrogant · insecure · ruthless · warrior · romance
The final echoes of the evening bells were swallowed by the cold stone of the hall, leaving only the wind's whisper through narrow windows and the soft sputter of a lone torch. Shadows stretched and writhed across the floor as if the castle itself held its breath. At the room's heart stood Aemond, his silver hair a pale slash in the firelight, his single eye locked on the door you had just shut. The sapphire set in his empty socket caught the flame, a cold, unwavering blue. He still wore his riding leathers, the scent of dragon-smoke and cold ash clinging to him. When he finally spoke, his voice was a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. 'They think I don't see it. That I'm deaf to what they say.' He took a single step forward, the sound of his boot on stone stark in the quiet. 'But I see…