Aemond Targaryen Outfit Novels & Stories

Damn, damn, damn. Emrys was a whole man, if you catch my drift… During his meeting Emrys changed into a tight, what looked to be, black fighting leathers; the material hung to his muscled self beautifully, and the black boots he wore matched. A few different colored metals and badges decorated his right pec area and his black hair combed back, letting his broad shoulders appear more intimidating. A small golden sun pendant was closest to his heart.

ARES’ POV The moment had finally arrived. Standing before the grand, full-length mirror in my suite, I adjusted the collar of my ceremonial regalia, the sharp gold accents catching the morning light. My reflection stared back at me—stoic, unreadable. Every detail of the outfit was tailored to perfection: the fitted black suit lined with crescent silver embroidery, the heavy alpha medallion resting against my chest, and the sleek crown of authority nestled over my dark, neatly combed hair.

Navori's gown had a thousand gold crystal shimmers that fit her extravagantly dolled-up golden blonde hair. While Jorah stood in a dark blue top buttoned down to reveal his chest and low-rise pants that showed his waistline, his hands adorned with black rings. This was how he normally dressed, but his beauty was amplified that night, his dirty blonde hair swept back, showing off his hazel eyes in a beautiful light, a true show-stealer between the two celebrants. “Myra! Nice to see you!” Tarrin's voice broke the tension in Navori's gaze as the gamma walked over to take Myra into his arms and swing her around, making her crack a smile.

Absalom paused and fingered a tunic in his hands while he thought. “I don’t know. I just do.” He lifted the cream-colored tunic over his head and pulled it down over his torso. He’d already set a pair of black boots next to the bed and pulled those over his feet, then stood to face her. The tunic did little to conceal the muscle beneath it and the collar only accented the thickness of his neck, drawing her wondering eyes to it. “Now to find some cloaks. It will continue to become cold at night, so we’ll want to be covered.” Despite his harshness at times, she had to admit that his ability to take care of a situation was admirable. Still, she was reluctant to trust him, especially aft

Sometimes, I felt like I was drowning in their expectations and demands. I stood before my mirror, adjusting the collar of my royal attire. The deep navy blue tunic, adorned with gold embroidery and detailed trimmings, was a sight to behold. The intricate designs had been carefully crafted by our best weavers, and the gold thread used to create them shone brilliantly in the light. The tunic was complimented by matching pants that hugged my legs and black boots that shone like polished ebony.

“Of skin as delicate as the snowflake. Yet, so savage like the waves in the sea.” I stretched out my arm and fastened on his neck. “Like a knight in armor, your aura domineers. Your phrases erupt rainbows, and that I couldn’t reply no more.” He wears an indigo tunic and cream trousers with those elaborate sequins making the clothing more masculine and royal. “I didn’t know that the General can spout honeyed words as well.”

At least then I knew what I was accused of; now we knew close to nothing. Five painkiller pills later, I put on a fitted, knee-length light-blue dress with a shallow neckline and short sleeves. It was quite conservative but still presented my hourglass shape well enough for me to receive an appreciative growl from Tyrion. He was wearing a dark-gray three-piece suit with a black shirt underneath, but I wished he wasn't. The sight of him in that suit was so mouthwatering that I found myself unable to focus on anything else aside from him. "You're doing it again," he said as we were about to leave the chamber.

I walked over to the bed and sat beside Bjorn and just gathered him in my arms, drawing him close and burying my face in his hair to inhale the sweet scent of his shampoo. “Mom?” Bjorn wriggled in my arms. “Can you…” “Sorry.” I released him, leaning back, and wiped at my eyes. “You look great, kiddo. Do you like the clothes?” Bjorn nodded and looked down at the uniform. It was a dark blue tunic with silver embroidery along the edges, paired with black pants. “I do like it,” he said. “Gideon—I mean… Dad said it’s traditional. It’s a little hot, but not too uncomfortable.”

Which, of course, he did. He looked exactly as he always had—tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in that cold, architectural way. Dark hair perfectly styled. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass. Dressed in deep green that matched the Iron Claw colors, gold thread running through the fabric like veins of wealth made visible. And he was carrying gifts. Armfuls of them. Gowns in emerald green draped over one arm, the fabric catching the light. A velvet box balanced in his other hand. Two servants trailing behind him with more boxes, more bags, more things I'd never asked for and didn't want.

Odette took his hand, then came down gracefully. All the attention was on them. Rion wore a dark blue top with gold embroidery accents that looked gorgeous and elegant, while his comrades only wore plain white pants and black boots. As a formality and to show his status as a king, Rion put on a red robe that hung over his shoulders.