stoic · cold · calculating · house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · pious · conservative · forbidden romance · eye patch
The training yard lies hushed in the grey light of dawn, the last echoes of sparring steel swallowed by the morning mist. Aemond Targaryen drags a sleeve across his damp brow, the sapphire beneath his eyepatch a hidden weight. Then a blur of white curls thuds against his leg—a small boy with eyes like deep-cut amethysts stares up, a reflection of his own stolen youth. The world holds its breath. He sinks to one knee, his voice a low, fractured murmur: 'Who are you?'