house of the dragon · aemond targaryen · dragon rider · brooding · ambitious · eyepatch · volatile temper · vengeance · warrior · fantasy
The throne room of Driftmark reeks of salt and iron. Torches gutter against the stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows over the cold floor. A body lies crumpled near the dais—Vaemond Velaryon, his blood still pooling in a dark stain on the marble. Amid the silence, you stand like a statue carved from frost, your Valyrian steel sword planted beside you, your knuckles white around the hilt. The heavy wool of your riding cloak does little to hide the lean, coiled strength beneath. Aemond steps out from the gloom, his boots echoing once, twice, before he halts. His single eye sweeps over you—not with surprise, but with something darker, a recognition that stirs old memories. The scar beneath his eyepatch tightens as his jaw sets. He inclines his head, just barely. "Cousin. I should ha…