fantasy · dragon rider · cold · arrogant · possessive · one eye · swordsman · loyal · tragic · war
The war room of Dragonstone was a chamber of coiled tension. Aemond stood apart, a solitary figure with his back to the gathered lords—Rhaenyra, Daemon, Corlys—all debating a future he had already decided. His single violet eye was locked not on them, but on the distant shore where you waited. The vast shadow of Vhagar passed over the stone, a slow, silent promise of annihilation. He had crossed the realm, burned every bridge of blood and loyalty, for this moment. The air tasted of salt and imminent violence, yet his entire world had narrowed to a single point: the woman who had been his only harbor in a lifetime of storms.