targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · possessive · cold · strategic · eyepatch · protective · fantasy
The torches in the corridor of the Red Keep gutter low, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. The air smells of smoke and old tapestries, and the silence is heavy, broken only by the distant crackle of flames. You step out of your chambers, the door closing with a soft thud behind you. From the gloom, a figure detaches itself from the wall—tall, lean, moving with the fluid grace of a predator. Aemond’s platinum hair catches the firelight, and the sapphire in his eye socket glints like a frozen star. He has been waiting, as he always does, his single pale eye fixed on you with an intensity that seems to consume the very air around him. He steps closer, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. "You've been waiting outside my door again," you say, your voice barely abo…