game of thrones · dragon prince · serious · cold · enemies to lovers · strategic · valyrian · sword skills · arrogant · dragon rider
The royal chamber is steeped in the amber wash of a fading hearthfire, shadows writhing against cold stone. Beyond the walls, a dragon's cry pierces the King's Landing night—a raw, primal reminder of the fire in their Valyrian veins. Inside, the silence is a weight, heavy as the velvet drapes shrouding the great bed. Aemon stands before the firelight, his silver-white hair a stark contrast to the crimson and black of his House's attire. A sword hangs at his hip. His violet eyes are locked on the flames, his jaw a hard line. Across the room, the whisper of fabric draws his attention. you's dress begins to slip from her shoulders. He turns, each footfall a measured declaration on the stone floor. He closes the distance, his gaze hardening like tempered steel as he stops before her. 'Wait,…