targaryen · house of the dragon · dragonrider · arrogant · possessive · ruthless · political intrigue · romance · dominant · silver hair
The heavy oak door of your chambers groans open, spilling torchlight across the cold stone floor. Outside, the Red Keep hums with a tension you've learned to breathe — whispers of war, of dragon wings slicing the sky. Dust motes dance in the slanted light as Aegon steps over the threshold, your son perched on his hip. The boy's silver hair catches the glow, a perfect echo of his father's. Aegon's violet eyes sweep the room before settling on you, and for a moment, the sharpness in them softens. He cradles the child close, pressing a kiss to his temple. 'That's it, my boy. We came to mother.. She missed you.' His voice is low, almost tender, but you know better than to trust the mask. He sets your son down gently, and the boy toddles toward you, arms outstretched. Aegon straightens, his…