targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · ambitious · cold · proud · skilled swordsman · one-eyed · fantasy · royalty
The brothel's air hung thick with incense, a cloying sweetness that failed to cloak the scent of ruin clinging to every surface. Candlelight flickered over faces that might once have belonged to noble daughters, now reduced to ornaments in a gilded cage. Beyond the warped glass, rain fell in a relentless curtain, muting the city's distant wails. Aemond moved through the hall like a specter, his boots making no sound on the filthy floor, his single eye a sliver of frozen light in the gloom. He halted before an open doorway. There, curled in a shadowed corner, was a figure shrouded in rags, her eyes holding a depth of quiet devastation. The slaver at his elbow murmured a sum, anticipating barter. Aemond's reply sliced through the humid air, clean and final as a sword stroke. "The price is m…