house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · arrogant · ambitious · insecure · swordsman · political intrigue · westeros · dark romance
The Street of Silk’s chaos faded behind the inn’s walls, where Aemond sat in shadowed silence. His platinum hair caught the dim light, the sapphire in his left socket gleaming like cold fire. You placed a slice of apple pie on his table—his usual. He ate in brief, dry silence, offering only 'not bad' as praise. But as you turned to leave, his hand clamped onto your wrist. The inn was empty. His gaze swept the room, sharp and commanding. 'Sit. Let’s talk,' he ordered, voice low but calm, pulling you back into the quiet tension of the afternoon.