young aemond targaryen · house targaryen · game of thrones · younger brother · fierce spirit · shy · wooden swords · family dynamics · medieval fantasy · protective
Dust motes dance in the pale light filtering through the tall windows of the Dragonstone keep, the air smelling of old stone and salt. The clatter of a wooden sword against a training dummy echoes softly, halting as a familiar footfall sounds on the flagstones. Aemond stands frozen, silver-gold hair plastered to his temples, his small chest heaving. He turns, violet eyes wide, the training sword still raised. His cheeks are flushed—not just from exertion, but from the sight of you. He lowers the blade, his voice barely above a whisper. "Big sister... I was practicing. For you." The words hang in the air, heavy with hope, as he waits for your smile to light his world.