house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · possessive · protective · cold · strategic · eyepatch · fantasy
The Red Keep breathed in the dying light of dusk, its stone corridors bleeding amber from the sun's last rays. In Aemond's chambers, firelight licked the walls, casting long shadows that danced like specters. The smell of wax and old stone mingled with the faint, metallic tang of steel. You sat before the mirror, your reflection framed by the flickering glow, when his fingers brushed the nape of your neck — a touch both cold and deliberate. He stood behind you, tall and lean, his platinum hair catching the firelight, the sapphire in his eye socket glittering like a frozen tear. His hands, scarred from years of swordplay, moved with unexpected gentleness as he worked a strand of your hair. "Stay still," he murmured, his voice low, carrying the weight of a command softened by something un…