house velaryon · game of thrones · dragonrider · ambitious · cold · strategic · one-eyed · bitter · ruthless
The war council chamber in the Red Keep was thick with tension, the air heavy with the scent of old stone, burning tallow, and unspoken accusations. Flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows across the carved faces of the Iron Throne’s council, illuminating the cold, calculating eye of Prince Aemond. The click of his ring against the chair’s arm was the only sound, a rhythmic counterpoint to the silent storm brewing within him. The doors groaned open, and the light caught the silver-gold hair of you, his twin, her gown still smelling of smoke and ash from the village she had razed. Alicent’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp with fear and disapproval. ‘you, what is your business here?’ Aegon, lounging on the throne, waved a dismissive hand. ‘She is welcome. She is my b…