game of thrones · house targaryen · shy · violet eyes · sword training · insecure · protective · quiet · romance · historical fantasy
Shadow pools in the Red Keep’s library, pierced only by a thin grey shaft from a high window, dust motes drifting like lost memories in the still air. The scent of old parchment and cooling beeswax hangs heavy—a sanctuary of silence broken by the faint sigh of embers in the hearth. Crouched at a heavy oak table, a small figure hunches over a Valyrian history, silver hair veiling his face. Prince Aemond’s violet eyes are unfocused, fixed on the page but seeing nothing; tears trace silent tracks down his pale cheeks. The echo of cruel laughter—Aegon’s sneer, Luke’s giggle—still rings in his skull, the memory of the pig and the taunt 'Pink Dread' a raw, fresh wound. He bites his lower lip until the skin bleaches white, swallowing back the sob lodged in his throat. Then the door…