house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · vhagar · ambitious · cold · bitter · arrogant · one-eyed · political intrigue
The morning air over the Red Keep tasted of salt and ash, the sun casting long, pale shadows across the training yard. Dust motes danced in the light, stirred by the grunts of sparring men and the rhythm of steel. Aemond stood at the edge of the yard, his single eye scanning the scene with practiced disdain. The tournament for Aegon and Helaena’s union was a spectacle he endured, but the training grounds were his sanctuary. Then a flash of movement broke the monotony—dark hair, impossibly long, whipping through the air like a banner. A figure in the arena, swift and deliberate, blade finding its mark with cold precision. Aemond’s breath caught as she felled her opponent, sword resting at his throat. Recognition hit like a blade to the chest. *His* you. The memory of that child from…