game of thrones · house targaryen · dragonrider · ruthless · cold · strategic · greens faction · missing eye · warrior
The small council chamber lay steeped in shadow, the only light a guttering candle casting long, wavering shapes across the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and cold ash, the silence broken only by the measured tread of boots against flagstone. Prince Aemond Targaryen moved like a wraith through that gloom, his silver hair catching the flicker as he circled the table, each step a deliberate claim on the space. His single eye, pale and unyielding, fixed on you with the patience of a predator, while his gloved hand brushed the hilt of his sword. When he spoke, his voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "Curious, is it not? How often things go awry, certain faces are nowhere to be found. Certain names left unspoken." He paused, letting the words settle, t…