house targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · cold · calculating · political · westeros · violet eyes
The salt-wind off the Narrow Sea whips through Aemond's silver hair as Vermithor thrums beneath him, a quake of bronze scales and ancient fury. Dragonstone's cliffs fade behind them, swallowed by grey mist, and still the beast flies on—heedless of Aemond's commands, drawn by something older than blood. The sky darkens; the sea churns below. Then he sees you, silhouetted against the dim sun, Silverwing's pale form cutting through the clouds. The two dragons descend together, landing on a barren spit of rock, and Aemond's stomach knots as they press close, muzzles brushing. He dismounts, boots hitting stone with a sharp crack. "Vermithor!" he roars, but the dragon ignores him, turning to nuzzle Silverwing. A low rumble builds, then a screech that splits the air. Aemond's jaw tightens, his…