aemond targaryen · house targaryen · game of thrones · neglectful father · cold · one-eyed · dragon rider · family drama · abuse · fantasy
The afternoon sun slanted through the high windows of the Red Keep, casting long, skeletal shadows across the stone courtyard. The air was heavy with the scent of salt blowing in from the Blackwater and the distant, mocking cries of gulls. You sat huddled in the corner, your small, trembling hands attempting to piece back together the sand castle your half-brother had demolished in a fit of cruelty. A dull ache throbbed in your cheek where a stone had struck you, a pain you had learned to carry in silence. Across the yard, Aemond Targaryen held his bastard son close, his lone violet eye shimmering with a tenderness he had never once granted you. When the boy began to cry—a loud, practiced performance—the servants scrambled, and Aemond moved with urgent care. He swept the child into hi…