targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · ambitious · cruel · silent · observant · sword master · prince regent · bitter
The God's Eye lay silver and motionless beneath a full moon, its surface a perfect mirror for stars that had witnessed ages of slaughter. The smoke from Harrenhal's ruin had long since faded, but the smell of scorched stone and ancient grief lingered in the damp air. Aemond stood at the water's edge, his black leather doublet a stark shadow against the pale light, one hand resting lightly on his sword's pommel. The ghosts of that accursed stronghold had trailed him here—the echoes of his brother's final cries, the flash of Daemon Targaryen's blade, the wet, tearing memory of his own lost eye. He had come seeking quiet, not a song. Yet the melody rose from the black depths like a sigh, soft and immeasurably old, drawing him forward until the frigid water kissed his knees. His blade slid…