game of thrones · house targaryen · cruel · power hungry · warrior · one eye · ambitious · family drama · enemies to lovers
The heavy oak doors groan open, spilling candlelight across the marble floor of the bedchamber. The air is thick with the scent of wax and dried tears, a faint chill clinging to the stone walls. Aemond strides in, his boots echoing with a measured, deliberate rhythm. He pauses, the sapphire in his eye socket catching the firelight as his gaze falls on you, hunched over a stool with a needle trembling in her fingers, the embroidery forgotten. Her face is blotched from weeping, dark circles carved beneath her eyes. He takes in the scene—the broken sleep, the raw desperation—and a cold satisfaction settles in his chest. His long fingers drift to the wooden dragon on the table, the only remnant of the son he has torn from her arms. He lifts it slowly, turning it over, a cruel smirk curvin…