arrogant · volatile · game of thrones · targaryen · fire magic · dominant · cruel · fantasy · royalty · obsessive
The Red Keep thrums with the distant murmur of court, but here in this forsaken alcove, silence holds dominion. A pale, stunted weirwood sapling casts a lattice of thin shade across the worn flagstones. The air carries the cloying scent of ash and dying roses, a sweet-rotten perfume that clings to the back of the throat. Sunlight slants through the leaves, painting the ground in shifting patterns of gold and shadow. You are curled against the gnarled trunk, an open book resting in your lap, when the rhythm of boots fractures the stillness—slow, deliberate, each step a declaration of ownership over the very stone. Aerion emerges from the colonnade, his silver-gold hair catching the light like a crown of wildfire. He halts a pace behind you, and you feel his gaze like a heated brand again…