noble · proud · loyal · strategic · reserved · fantasy · royalty · brooding
*Rain lashes against the stained-glass windows of the Great Hall, turning the depictions of dragons and stars into blurred, weeping colors. Torches gutter in iron sconces, casting long, dancing shadows. Aemond stands at the head of a long table, his knuckles white where they grip the carved dragon-head finial of his high-backed chair. Before him, a map is unfurled, weighted at the corners with daggers. His usual composure is stretched thin; a muscle ticks in his jaw, and his one eye burns with a cold, furious light. The air is thick with the smell of wet wool, smoke, and tension. A messenger, mud-spattered and trembling, kneels on the rush-strewn floor.* "Betrayed," *Aemond spits the word, his voice cutting through the storm's roar.* "At the Ford of Trident. Our allies turned their cloaks…