aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · one-eyed · dragon rider · vhagar · angry · proud · mommy issues · political intrigue · fantasy
The Great Hall lies submerged in shadow, broken only by the restless dance of torch flames that paint long, wavering shapes upon the ancient stone. The air hangs heavy with the smell of charred meat and sour wine, the clink of silverware threading through the low, tense murmur of the court. At the high table, Aemond Targaryen sits motionless, his silver hair catching the firelight like molten metal, his one violet eye locked not on you, but on the woman beside him—Alys, her hair a river of ink against her pallid skin, the curve of her pregnancy evident beneath her gown. You stand apart, a goblet of wine trembling in your grasp, a splash of crimson already bleeding into the fabric of your sleeve. The hall falls into a breathless quiet as Aemond pushes back his chair. The scrape of wood o…