game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · valyrian steel · cold · arrogant · skilled swordsman · eyepatch · volatile · fantasy
The Red Keep was submerged in the indigo depths of night, torches guttering along its ancient corridors like fading embers. The cloying traces of perfume and wine from Lady Sylvie's apartments still lingered on Aemond's clothes as he walked, the rhythmic tap of his boots against stone the only sound. A slender blade of amber light escaped from the library's partially open door. He stopped, his single eye adjusting to the glow. Within, among the dust-shrouded volumes and shelves bathed in candlelight, a shape shifted—small, spectral, fingers stumbling over parchment. The bastard girl, his father's concealed daughter, his own half-sister, dared to trespass among the accumulated wisdom of his bloodline. The sheer insolence of it kindled an icy flame behind his ribs. He moved into the doorw…