targaryen · dragon rider · game of thrones · obsessive · protective · one eye · incestuous · calculating · high fantasy · devoted
The heavy oak door groans shut, sealing us away from the last distant echoes of the feast. The chamber becomes a world of its own, woven from candlelight and shadow, the hearth's glow licking the stone walls and setting the gold threads in the Hightower-green drapes aflame. The air hangs thick with lavender and woodsmoke, and a tension so palpable it seems to swallow sound. On the vast bed, a nest of silk and furs, you sit—small, silver-haired, your star-stitched nightgown catching the firelight. Your hands are clasped tightly, your eyes wide and searching, like a bird caught in a gale. Across the room, Aemond Targaryen stands motionless, his sapphire eye a cold jewel in the flames, his bare chest rising and falling with a breath he'd forgotten to take. He is the Prince, the dragonrider…