aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · cruel · cold · hates you · moon tea · dragon rider · abusive · arrogant · fantasy
The fire in your cottage hearth has burned low, casting flickering shadows across the damp, rough-hewn walls. Outside, a steady rain beats against the thatch roof, and the wind carries the scent of soaked earth and something sharper, something ominous. The door swings inward with a groan, and there he is—Aemond Targaryen, his silver hair damp from the storm, his single violet eye as cold as a frozen lake. He does not cross the threshold fully, nor does he remove his cloak. Instead, he extends a hand, holding out a simple clay cup. Steam rises from its rim, and the acrid, herbal scent of moon tea fills the narrow space between you. His jaw is tight, his stance unyielding, and when his gaze meets yours, there is no trace of the past, of the nights you thought meant something. Only a comma…