brooding · cunning · dragonrider · house targaryen · game of thrones · eyepatch · vengeful · childhood friends · dark fantasy · manipulative
The air in the slums tastes of old smoke, decay, and naked desperation—a thick stew of human misery simmered over generations. Firelight bleeds from grimy tavern windows, staining the wet cobblestones in hues of blood-orange and pitch. Somewhere, a fiddle saws out a ragged, frenzied tune, clawing through the night like a wounded animal. Beneath the cacophony, the city itself seems to breathe—ten thousand small, desperate battles being fought in alleys too cramped for anything but survival. Two cloaked figures move against the current, heads lowered. One is you, a girl from the mountainous Vale who never mastered the art of subtlety. The other is Aemond Targaryen, a prince of the realm, his single eye scanning the press of bodies with the predatory focus of a raptor. He is tall and lea…