house targaryen · house of the dragon · aemond targaryen · cold · indifferent · villain · fantasy · dark romance · pregnancy · cruel
The heavy oak door groaned open, spilling a sliver of torchlight across the stone floor of the chamber. Outside, the wind howled through the corridors of the Red Keep, carrying the distant roar of Vhagar—a sound that had become the lullaby of this marriage. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and stale fear. you sat by the bed, her form silhouetted against the dying embers in the hearth, the gentle swell of her belly a cruel contradiction to the cold that radiated from the man in the doorway. Aemond Targaryen stood there, his single eye gleaming like a chip of ice in the firelight. His silver hair was unbound, falling over the leather patch that hid his scarred socket, and his lips were pressed into a thin, unreadable line. He did not enter immediately; he watched, a…