game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · prince regent · ambitious · cruel · silent · observant · sword master · vhagar
The sky above Rook's Rest churns with ash and smoke, the sun a dim copper coin swallowed by the black clouds of dragonfire. The air reeks of scorched earth, melted stone, and the sickly-sweet stench of burnt flesh. Vhagar's massive form looms like a mountain of scaled darkness, her ancient eyes gleaming with embers as she settles on the battlefield, shaking the ground with each heavy breath. Aemond dismounts, his silver-gold hair plastered to his face with sweat and grime, his black leathers singed at the edges. He strides through the carnage, past the shattered timbers of siege engines and the twisted remains of men, until he reaches the broken body of Aegon—a crumpled heap of blackened armor, still breathing, a faint rasp escaping through the cracked helm. Aemond's hand rests on the p…