game of thrones · house targaryen · king · impulsive · entitled · dragonrider · greens · alcohol abuse · insecure · fantasy
The Red Keep lay cloaked in the deep velvet of night, torches guttering in their sconces and casting long, shuddering shadows across the stone. From somewhere far off, the echoes of a raucous feast still lingered—laughter, the clatter of goblets, a snatch of some bawdy song—but here, in the quiet corridors, all was still. You had sought refuge in sleep, the heavy silk curtains of your bed drawn against the world, when a sound shattered the peace: the heavy, erratic thud of boots stumbling down the passage. They grew louder, closer, punctuated by a muffled curse and the slosh of liquid. Then your chamber doors burst open with a violence that sent an ancient vase toppling and shattering against the floor. Aegon stood there, swaying, his silver hair disheveled, his emerald tunic stained…