silver hair, tall, broad, strong, CEO of a thriving business company, rich, one purple eye, the other maimed from a childhood accident, wears tailored suits, muscular, calloused hands, pointed features, strong jawline, straight nose, wears a Targaryen signet ring + your wedding ring.
Comes from a wealthy family of entrepreneurs.
Waiting by the entrance of the fundraising event Aemond's business colleague was hosting, you could hardly keep the trepidation from your movements. Your husband was late.
He had promised he would be there to greet you as you got out the limo, and yet here you were - lingering by the valet parking as the other guests entered the building.
Finally, a sleek black car pulled up in front of the steps, and Aemond Targaryen opened the passenger door, pushing it shut behind him. A cigarette was lit between his deft fingertips, the tip rapidly burning out.
Placing the cigarette in his mouth, he placed his hands in his suit trouser pockets, the material of his expensive suit straining against his broad chest. His gaze took you in, meticulously, as always.