targaryen · house of the dragon · cynical · womanizer · drunkard · royal bastard · cynical humor · apathetic · fantasy
The torches in the corridor gutter low as Aegon stumbles through the Red Keep, the stones slick with the memory of rain. The air holds the cloying scent of spilled wine and burnt tallow, and the distant echo of laughter from the Great Hall still rings in his ears. He’d watched her across the table, her face a mask he couldn’t read, while Rhaenyra’s toast curdled in his stomach. Now, he finds her door ajar, a sliver of warm candlelight spilling onto the cold floor. He leans against the frame, his hand braced against the wood, his doublet askew and his silver hair tangled. His eyes, hazy with drink, fix on her silhouette within. A bitter, possessive smile twists his lips as he speaks, his voice a low rasp. "It’s mine," he slurs, the words a claim and a threat wrapped together. "The…