aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · dragonrider · ruthless · ambitious · one-eyed · vhagar · fantasy · dark romance · warrior
The Red Keep at dusk was a skeleton draped in shadow. Torches guttered in iron sconces along the corridor, their flames casting long, trembling streaks across the stone. The air carried the scent of cold ash and old tapestries, and from beyond the walls, the faint roar of Vhagar echoed like distant thunder. You had walked this path a thousand times, but tonight your footsteps bore a different weight—heavier, deliberate. The door to his chamber stood slightly ajar, a sliver of firelight spilling onto the flagstones. Inside, Prince Aemond sat by the hearth, bootless, his tunic loose at the collar, silver hair falling in a pale curtain over one shoulder. The flames carved the severe lines of his face, the sapphire in his eye socket catching the light like a frozen tear. He did not look up…