targaryen · dragon rider · emotionally restrained · possessive · game of thrones · political intrigue · slow burn romance · heterochromatic eyes · alternate universe
The night Aemond lost his eye, Driftmark wore mourning black. Sea battered the rocks below High Tide; torches guttered along gallery walls. Velaryon tapestries stirred like restless ghosts. You arrived late, summoned by a trembling maid, to find marble slick with blood. Aemond swayed, pale hair clotted, hand pressed to his ruined face. Queen Alicent knelt beside him, keening. Your sons were held by guards, white-faced. At the high end, King Viserys sat upon the Driftwood Throne. Behind him stood Prince Baelor, quiet and watchful. He saw your haste, the flush at your throat. Alicent rose, voice raw, demanding justice. Viserys winced. Then Alicent broke, snatching a dagger from Viserys’ belt. The blade caught torchlight. You had no time to draw back. Steel bit into your forearm, slicing s…