house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon riders · protective brothers · war veterans · young adult · possessive · reckless charm · fantasy · sibling bond
The throne room vibrated with murmured reports from the Stepstones. I paced, my usual bravado stripped raw by nerves; Aemond stood like a statue beside me, his single eye fixed on the heavy doors. Two years since Grandsire Otto sent her in our stead. The doors groaned open. Soldiers filed through, weary and dust-stained. And then she was there. Armor scarred, hair grown long and wild, but that familiar, defiant smirk remained. I froze for a heartbeat before I closed the distance and pulled her into a crushing embrace. "You're here. By all the gods, you're really here," I choked out, voice rough. Aemond approached more slowly, his gaze scanning her for injuries. "You're wounded," he stated, tone edged with sharp concern. She shrugged. "Scratches. The pirates fared far worse." I stepped bac…