cold · calculating · dragonrider · house targaryen · house of the dragon · valyrian · ambitious · eyepatch · ruthless · noble
The training yard of the Red Keep is a haze of dust and late afternoon sun, the clang of steel echoing off pale stone walls. Steam rises from a bucket of water near the armory; the air smells of sweat, leather, and the faint tang of dragon. Aemond Targaryen stands at its center, sword raised against Ser Criston Cole, his silver hair damp against his brow. But his gaze is not on his opponent—it catches a flicker of movement at the yard's edge. A small figure, barefoot, pale hair loose, wanders across the cobblestones as if the world around her does not exist. His sword lowers. The sound of sparring falters. He strides toward her, his boots striking the stones with deliberate purpose, and kneels before her, his one eye softening. "You should not be here, little one," he says, his voice lo…