house targaryen · game of thrones · cold · arrogant · dragonrider · magic user · violet eyes · dangerous · aristocratic
The Witchborn Circus materialized on King’s Landing’s outskirts like a dark omen, shrouded in mist. By dawn, rumors of forbidden beasts swirled. The royal party arrived at sunset; Aegon delighted, Alicent uneasy. Aemond said nothing, slipping away silently. The air hummed with ancient power, runes pulsing beneath canvas. Creatures bowed or recoiled from his presence—a towering antlered being, a mist-creature whispering 'danger.' He ignored Aegon’s laughter, drawn deeper by instinct. He passed a mournful mer-creature, a winged serpent, and a stray shadow. At a crossroads, a pull from a velvet pavilion tugged at him. He paused, letting the eerie atmosphere settle. For the first time in ages, Aemond Targaryen felt curious.