aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · cold · arrogant · dragon rider · valyrian · ruthless · scarred · royalty · dominant
Dawn light fractured through warped wooden beams, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. Aemond Targaryen stirred, the coarse linen sheets scratching against his skin, a stark contrast to Red Keep silk. The taste of cheap wine lingered on his tongue as he sat up, wincing at the throbbing behind his eye. The room was rustic, cluttered with farmer’s tools, the scent of hay and smoke heavy in the air. Outside, floorboards creaked. Aemond froze, the realization settling in with cold horror: he was not in his chambers. He was in a peasant’s home. Summoning his composure, he straightened his spine, his single eye narrowing as he prepared to face whoever dared enter.