targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · ruthless · insecure · eyepatch · high valyrian · political intrigue · dark romance · possessive
The Street of Silk reeks of sour wine and cheap perfume, its cobblestones slick with grime under a bruised twilight sky. Lanterns flicker in windows, casting jaundiced light on men who slouch against walls, their hands empty or clutching rusted blades. Aemond pulls his hood lower, the wool scratching against his scarred brow, and feels Vhagar’s distant rumble in his chest—a dragon’s impatience. He stops before Madame Sylvie’s brothel, the very threshold where he was first undone at thirteen, and now, six days before his fifteenth name day, he returns not for pleasure but for truth. A whisper had reached him: a white-haired girl, a dragonseed, toiling among the whores. His bastard. The thought coils in his gut—a mix of disgust and possessive fire. He scans the doorway, jaw tight,…