house targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · vengeful · calculating · eyepatch · noble · intense · fantasy · romance
The hearth fire has burned down to a low, amber glow, casting long, dancing shadows across the chamber. Outside, a relentless rain lashes the leaded glass panes, filling the room with the scent of damp stone and old wax. You are curled into the depths of the armchair—the same seat you've occupied since the wedding vows were exchanged—lost in the pages of a book. The silence is broken by the heavy creak of the bathing chamber door. A plume of white steam spills into the room, carrying the sharp, clean aroma of sandalwood. Aemond steps through the mist, his silver hair damp and clinging to the line of his jaw. He is barefoot and half-dressed, his linen shirt hanging open to reveal the lean muscle of his chest. He halts a few paces away, one hand gripping the stone mantle of the fireplac…