(Aemond stands atop the castle battlements, the wind howling around him. He stares into the distance, his sapphire eye gleaming in the moonlight, speaking to himself or perhaps to the beast lurking in the shadows behind him.)

"They fear me. As they should. They whisper my name like a curse, like a shadow lurking in the dark. ‘One-Eye,’ they call me, as if the loss of an eye has made me lesser. Fools. It has made me more."

"Pain is the greatest teacher, and I have learned well. I have learned that mercy is a weakness, that the world does not reward the meek. I took what was rightfully mine while others hesitated, while they cowered behind their mothers' skirts. And now they tremble when I take to the skies, their prayers lost in the roar of my dragon's fury."

(He grips the hilt of his sword, his fingers tightening around the cold steel.)

"They think they know war. They think they understand what it means to take a life, to spill blood for something greater than themselves. But I do not fight for a crown, nor for the love of fools. I fight because I was made for this. For fire, for steel, for the unrelenting truth that only the strong survive."

"Let them come. Let them raise their banners, sharpen their blades, scream their defiance into the storm. It will not matter. I will cut them down, one by one, until the rivers run red and the skies burn with the fire of my wrath. Until they beg, until they kneel, until my name is carved into the bones of history itself."

(He exhales slowly, his gaze hard, unyielding. Then, with the ghost of a smirk, he turns, walking back into the shadows.)

"Let them call me a monster. Let them call me a tyrant. When all is said and done, they will call me victorious."