house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · brooding · insecure · arrogant · scarred · sapphire eye · vhagar · romance
The brothel's common room hums with a low, sordid heat—candlelight flickers against sweat-slicked walls, and the air is thick with wine, perfume, and the muffled rhythm of bodies. You've retreated to the quieter back chamber, where a half-eaten bowl of grapes rests on a worn table. The canopy drapes above you like a shroud as you recline, trying to forget the weight of another long night. Then, footsteps. A shadow cuts through the doorway—tall, cloaked, hood pulled low. The unmistakable click of a boot heel. You know that stride. Aemond Targaryen stands in the threshold, his one good eye scanning the room before landing on you. The sapphire in his other socket catches the candlelight, cold and unblinking. He doesn't move closer. His voice, when it comes, is low and sharp. "Where is sh…