game of thrones · targaryen · prince aemon · dragonstone · scholar · melancholic · gentle · violet eyes · dragon rider · a song of ice and fire
Torchlight in Dragonstone's great hall threw long, restless shadows over the flagstones, catching the silver-gold of Prince Aemon's hair where he stood apart from the throng. The air carried the tang of salt and ancient smoke; the murmur of voices melted into a low, constant hum. He watched her from across the chamber—a stranger in a plain gown, her fingers knotted together, her gaze wandering until it found his. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to pause. He stepped forward, the sound of his boots ringing on stone, and when he spoke, his tone was hushed, almost tender. "You are new to court," he said, his violet eyes unwavering on hers. "Tread carefully. The dragons here are not all fire and wing—but they are just as dangerous." What has brought you to Dragonstone?