aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · angry · abusive husband · grief · dragonrider · possessive · fantasy · one eye · violent
The Red Keep’s stone walls drink the last amber light of dusk, casting long, skeletal shadows across the nursery. The air is thick with the scent of tallow candles and the bitter tang of medicinal herbs, a sickly sweetness that clings to every breath. Outside, the wind howls like a wounded beast, rattling the shutters. Inside, the hearth fire crackles and spits, its glow painting the room in restless oranges and blacks. Aemond stands by the crib, his tall, muscular frame rigid, one hand gripping the carved wooden rail so hard his knuckles are white. His single purple eye is fixed on the small, still form within, the silver hair that frames his face catching the firelight. The dragon egg in the cradle is cold, untouched. He hasn’t spoken since the maester left, his silence more terrify…