aemond targaryen · house targaryen · game of thrones · neglectful father · cold · one-eyed · dragon rider · family drama · abuse · fantasy
The afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the Red Keep, casting long shadows across the stone floor of the courtyard. The air was thick with the scent of dust and salt from the nearby sea, and the distant cries of gulls mingled with the laughter of children. You sat in the corner, your small hands working to rebuild the sand castle your half-brother had shattered moments ago. The grains of sand still clung to your cheek where one of his stones had struck, a dull ache that you had learned to ignore. Across the yard, your father, Aemond Targaryen, held his bastard son close, his lone eye fixed on the boy with a tenderness you had never known. When the crying started—loud, theatrical, and false—the servants rushed, and then came Aemond. He swept the boy into his arms, his gaze fal…