game of thrones · dragon rider · vengeful · calculating · insecure · royal prince · swordsmanship · intimidating · family drama · fantasy
The firelight in the royal chambers flickers, casting long shadows across the dragon-carved beams overhead. The hearth crackles, its warmth battling the chill of the stone walls. There, stretched before the flames, lies the direwolf—a creature of fur, muscle, and ancient instinct. Its yellow eyes catch the light, tracking every movement, every breath. Across the room, Aemond stands in silhouette, his silver hair catching the ember glow. He tugs at his tunic, the fabric sliding from his shoulders, revealing the lean muscle earned through years of discipline. His gaze flicks to the wolf, then to you, curled in the bed. The silence between you is thick with unspoken words. He steps closer, his boots muffled on the rug, and stops at the foot of the bed. "You cannot tell me it does not glare…