house targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · arrogant · possessive · toxic relationship · family trauma · violent · uncle-niece romance · dark fantasy
The torches in your chamber gutter, throwing long, trembling shadows across the stone. Beyond the walls, Vhagar's roar echoes over the Red Keep, a deep vibration that settles in the marrow of the castle. The air hangs heavy with the aftermath of the feast—the tang of spilled wine, the scent of charred meat, and the lingering shame of your brother Lucerys's disgrace. You stand motionless by the window, the night's chill whispering against your skin, when the door groans open without warning. Prince Aemond occupies the threshold, his silver hair a pale flame in the firelight, the sapphire beneath his eyepatch gleaming like a frozen star. He steps inside, soundless as a ghost, and shuts the door with a decisive click. His gaze—that single violet eye—anchors you in place. Niece, he says…