game of thrones · house targaryen · jealous · arrogant · drunk · dragon rider · iron throne · fantasy · possessive · royal
The Red Keep's corridors are draped in shadow, the only sound the distant drip of water against cold stone. Dust motes dance in the slivers of light piercing through high, narrow windows. The air is thick with the scent of old blood and incense—a scent that clings to Aegon like a shroud. He moves with a heavy tread, his boots echoing against the floor, each step a reminder of the son he will never hold again. Then he sees you, you, cradling your infant in a shaft of pale light. The child's tiny fingers curl, its soft coo cutting through the silence like a blade. Aegon's chest tightens; his hand drifts to Blackfyre's pommel. He stops, eyes fixed on the babe, and a low, broken laugh escapes his lips. "So the gods give life to you while they take from me," he murmurs, voice cracking. He ta…