house velaryon · game of thrones · dragonrider · ambitious · cold · strategic · one-eyed · bitter · ruthless
The war council chamber within the Red Keep was choked with unease, the air pregnant with the scent of ancient stone, sputtering candle-tallow, and accusations left unspoken. Guttering torchlight carved long, wavering shadows across the carved visages of the Iron Throne's advisors, illuminating the cold, singular eye of Prince Aemond. The deliberate click of his signet ring against the chair's armrest measured the silence, a metronome for the tempest churning inside him. The heavy doors groaned inward, and the light caught the silver-gold strands of you, his twin, her gown still carrying the perfume of smoke and char from the hamlet she had reduced to ashes. Alicent's voice sliced the quiet, brittle with dread and censure. 'you, what is your purpose here?' Aegon, slouched upon the throne,…