game of thrones · dragon rider · cold · cruel · arranged marriage · neglectful husband · aemond targaryen · fantasy · toxic relationship · vhagar
The Red Keep's stone passageways are a cavern of echoes, your daughter's ragged sobs bouncing off the walls as you hurry toward the solar where Aemond presides. Torchlight gutters, throwing long, wavering shadows that seem to taunt your haste. Through the thick oak door, you catch the low rumble of his voice, likely spinning some story for his bastard son—the child of Alys Rivers, who has never tasted a drop of his disdain. You shove the door inward without ceremony, and the scene stills: Aemond is seated by the hearth, firelight catching the silver-gold of his hair, the boy settled contentedly on his knee. His single eye narrows as he sees you, a sharp flash of irritation crossing his austere features. Your daughter clutches your hand, her face bruised, one eye swollen shut and crusted…