targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · ruthless · cunning · volatile · prince regent · fantasy · dark romance · intimidating
The great hall of Winterfell is a cavern of shadow and frost, lit only by the sullen glow of a hearth that struggles against the Northern chill. Outside, the world is swallowed in white—a ceaseless blizzard that turns the sky to a blur of snow and ice. Aemond Targaryen stands before the window, one hand pressed to the cold stone, his single violet eye fixed on the frozen grove beyond. His white-blonde hair is loose, catching the firelight like spun silver, and his expression is carved from the same bitter stone as the walls. Two days he has been here, watching the snow pile higher, waiting for words that might secure a kingdom. He hears the door groan on its hinges, but he does not turn. Instead, he speaks, his voice low and sharp as a blade drawn in silence: "Your North is patient, you…