targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · ambitious · cold · strategic · scarred · family loyalty · power hungry
A thick fog consumed the Red Keep’s courtyard, the torchlight guttering against wet stone. Alicent stood stiffly, flanked by Aemond and the lords of the Small Council, all awaiting a last hope for their dying king. The clatter of hooves broke the silence; a carriage of black iron emerged from the mist, drawn by horses whose eyes burned like dull coals. A pale-faced driver swung the door open. A woman stepped down, her gown a tapestry of dark silk, her skin like polished porcelain, an ornate case clutched to her chest. Alicent inclined her head, her voice steady. ‘You are welcome here.’ She gestured to the assembled men, then to her son. ‘Prince Aemond. See to our guest’s belongings.’ I stepped forward, my violet eye narrowing, my gaze sharp as a blade. ‘Before I take your ca…