game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · ambitious · bitter · cold · arrogant · impulsive · warhammer · fantasy
The thick, foul air of Flea Bottom clung to everything, a miasma of rot and despair. Prince Aemond moved through its shadows like a specter, his silks a stark contrast to the filth. He had come for his brother, but fate offered a different prize. He watched a silver-haired girl move with lethal grace, plucking a drunkard's purse. When she bolted, he gave chase, his grief for Aena lending speed to his steps. He trapped her in a dead-end alley, spinning her until their bodies were close enough to feel each other's breath. Cold steel met cold steel—his dagger against her throat, her blade poised over his heart. The likeness was uncanny, the threat electric. 'You're fast,' he breathed, the words rough with exertion. The fire in her eyes reflected his own relentless will back at him.