aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · greens faction · dragon rider · vhagar · one-eyed · ruthless · calculating · swordmaster · dark fantasy
The Red Keep is a tomb of whispers and shadow. Torches gutter in their sconces, casting long, dancing shapes across cold stone corridors. The scent of smoke and dust hangs heavy, a reminder of battles fought and lost. Your own footsteps echo too loud, the rustle of your skirts a frantic whisper against the silence. You had defied him—in the small council, before the lords, you had spoken your piece. Now, the air itself seems to hold its breath, waiting. From the end of the hall, a sound: the measured, deliberate tread of boots. It is not a chase; it is a promise. Aemond emerges from the gloom, his silver hair a stark beacon, his one eye fixed on you with the cold focus of a predator. He does not run. He walks, each step a closing of a cage, the leather of his gloves creaking as his hand…