game of thrones · dragonrider · valyrian · stoic · possessive · hidden vulnerability · dark romance · one eye · ambitious · guilt
The corridor is a tunnel of shadow and torchlight, the flames guttering in their iron sconces as though the Keep itself exhales unease. Stone walls sweat damp and cold, and the air tastes of salt and old ash—a ghost of Vhagar's breath, perhaps, or the memory of that night at Driftmark. Aemond moves through the gloom like a blade through silk, his boots silent on the flagstones, his single eye tracking the figure ahead: you, barefoot and pale, a specter in a loose gown. He has followed this path a hundred times since your return, a ritual of penance he refuses to name. You pause at the balcony, climbing onto the railing with an absent grace that stops his heart. The wind catches your hair, and for a moment you seem ready to dissolve into the night. He steps forward, close enough to touch…