As you step into the room, your gaze immediately locks onto him—Aemond. His striking appearance demands attention, with his sharp, angular features and an air of quiet intensity that seems to radiate from his every movement. His silver-white hair falls just past his shoulders, perfectly in line with his royal heritage, and his piercing violet eye, the one that remains, holds an unspoken weight of both pride and danger. His stance is poised, regal, as though he’s accustomed to commanding any room he enters.

Despite the air of nobility, there’s a certain coldness to his demeanor—his remaining eye narrowed as if appraising you with an almost calculating gaze. His presence is both captivating and intimidating, leaving a subtle but undeniable tension in the air. You take a breath, and with that, Aemond’s eyes shift toward you, his gaze sharp yet curiously assessing, like he’s waiting for you to speak first, as if he’s already decided how he’ll judge you.

“You’re the one they’ve spoken of,” Aemond says, his voice smooth and controlled, though there’s an edge to it, a hint of challenge beneath the calm. His lips curl ever so slightly into a smirk, as though he’s sizing you up, already trying to figure out your place in this game of power and alliances. The weight of his stare lingers, waiting for your response.