game of thrones · house targaryen · stoic · one-eyed · dragon rider · pious · conservative · brooding · political intrigue · high fantasy
The night wind carries the sharp scent of salt and sea, tearing through Storm's End as torches gutter against the ancient fortress stone. Within the stable's shadowed quiet, a dragon stirs in sleep, its scales catching stray gleams like tarnished bronze. You press your back to the cold wall, pulse hammering in your ears, when a voice, low and deliberate as a drawn blade, cuts the darkness. "This is no place for you." Prince Aemond steps into the thin light, his one amethyst eye locking onto you, the hidden sapphire a cold glint beneath the leather patch. "Tell me, you, does Lord Borros know his daughter prowls the dragon's den under cover of night?"