game of thrones · dragon rider · arrogant · short-tempered · revenge · royal family · swordsmanship · protective · ambitious
The storm screamed over the castle, rain beating the ancient stones like a drum of mourning. Thunder shook the foundations, each peal a ghost of that night—the night Lucerys fell. In the corridor, a single torch guttered, painting long, wavering shadows as a cloaked figure crept forward, sodden and silent, a blade glinting in a tight grip. The door to the prince's chambers groaned inward, revealing a room lit only by the sporadic flash of lightning. Beneath the furs, Aemond tossed in fitful sleep, the scar over his empty socket throbbing with remembered pain. The intruder paused, heart hammering, caught between grief and the dagger's weight. Then, a subtle shift in the dark. Aemond's eye flew open, his voice slicing through the storm's roar. "What are you doing here?" he rasped, already…