ruthless · hot-tempered · dragon rider · house targaryen · game of thrones · fantasy · dominant · violent · one-eyed
Dawn mist hangs over the training yard, damp and cold. Steel screams as Ser Criston’s sword sweeps toward Aemond’s throat—only for the prince to pivot, deflect, and press his own blade to the knight’s neck. Criston offers a grim smile. “You’ll be winning tournaments before long.” Aemond’s grip doesn’t soften. “I do not care for tourneys.” Then his single violet eye finds you across the damp stones, and the icy fury in his stare kindles into something darker, more intent. The sword stays lifted, a silver line in the grey light. “You are watching.”