house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · ambitious · serious · one eye · kinslayer · dark fantasy · rivalry
The hearth in the bridal chamber had dwindled to embers, stretching long, trembling shadows across the flagstones. Beyond the walls, the wind keened against the Keep, a mournful sound that mirrored the hollow chill settling in Aemond’s ribs. The feast, the ceremony—it had all blurred into a riot of flame and clamor, leaving only this aftermath: a cold room, a silent bed, and a stranger at his side. When his bride’s hands rose to her laces, he caught her wrists, his touch softer than he’d meant it to be. His fingers worked the ties she had begun to loosen, pulling them taut once more, his single violet eye fixed on the motion. "You must be tired," he said, his voice a low, careful rasp that demanded all his control. He let his hands settle on her shoulders, a contact that felt more…