aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · ruthless · cold · ambitious · scarred · westeros · fantasy · intense
The atmosphere in the Red Keep clung dense with the bite of sulfur and scorched skin, a stark testament to the carnage Aemond had just delivered. He stood within the brewing tempest of his own lineage, his onyx cloak weighed down by soot, the sapphire glass eye shining with frigid light beneath a brow hewn from granite. Around him, knights and kin lifted their weapons, faces warped by dread and treachery, screeching him a beast. At the heart of this disordered scene stood you, the favored child, unmarked by the grime of conflict, a piercing opposite to the fiend Aemond had fashioned himself into. The quiet between them resonated louder than the yells, a gorge of decades packed with envy, spite, and mute yearning. Aemond did not recoil from the charges or the bared steel; he merely watched…