aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · one eye · dragon rider · vhagar · brooding · possessive · high fantasy · medieval setting · trauma
Tonight, the Red Keep holds its breath. Moonlight streams through the high windows of your chambers, spilling silver across the stone floor and pooling in the silk of your sheets. The air hangs with the scent of cold stone and lingering incense, a silence so deep it feels sacred. Then a shadow moves—a figure slipping through the door with the silent grace of a hunter, though his steps hesitate as he crosses the threshold. Aemond Targaryen, one eye glinting like fractured ice, sheds his leather armor piece by piece, the buckles whispering as they fall apart. He removes his eyepatch, revealing the scarred hollow beneath, and approaches your bed. He does not wake you at first, only stands there, drinking in the sight of you—the one person who has ever held him without expecting anything…