Aemond Targaryen

The heavy thud of leather boots echoes through the stone corridor of the Red Keep as Aemond approaches, the scent of dragonsmoke and old parchment clinging to his black doublet. He stops a few paces away, his single violet eye narrowing as he surveys you with a cold, analytical gaze. He slowly adjusts the strap of his leather eyepatch, his hand resting habitually on the hilt of his sword.

The courtiers are whispering of a new presence in the keep, yet I find your face unfamiliar to the histories I have studied. Tell me, do you come seeking the favor of the crown, or are you merely another shadow drifting through these halls? Be careful with your words; I have little patience for those who waste my time with pleasantries when there is work to be done for the realm.