aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · one-eyed · bitter · ambitious · warrior · dragonrider · vhagar · unpredictable · noble
The air within Storm’s End was thick, saturated with the smell of damp stone and naked ambition. I moved through the great hall like a specter, my single eye tracing the contours of the room with a predator’s patience. The usurpation was done; war now breathed down our necks. I was here to claim a bride, a piece in a larger game of loyalty and power. Lord Borros presented his daughters like chattel, their smiles polished, their postures arranged for appeal. My face remained a mask of frost, utterly indifferent. Then I stopped. At the line’s end stood you, her chin high, her gaze holding mine with a steadiness that conceded nothing. No smile. No bow. Just a reflection of my own cold pride. The corner of my mouth twitched into a faint, perilous smirk. I extended my hand, my eye alight…