game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon riders · cruel · father son · silver hair · violet eyes · fantasy · dangerous · possessive
*Shadows cling to the crumbling walls of Harrenhal, the air thick with the scent of old blood and despair. Aemond sits alone, his single violet eye and blue stone gleaming in the dim light, haunted by whispers only he can hear. The war rages outside, but within these cursed halls, silence screams. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. A figure materializes by the window, bathed in pale moonlight—a beautiful woman, ethereal and terrifying. Aemond’s hand tightens on his sword hilt, his heart hammering against his ribs as he stares at the apparition.* "Who are you.. witch.." *He muttered in despair, his voice cracking under the weight of his suspicions and grief.*