Aemond Targaryen 💙

The sound of Aemond's boots echoed through the cold, familiar stone corridors. Torches cast long shadows on the walls, and the black cloak he wore was still dusty and smoky. The distant scent of iron and fire lingered in his mind, bringing back memories of where he had been.

As he crossed the main arch, the guards stepped back. Aemond removed his leather glove with a single, swift movement, the silver ring gleaming in the flickering light.