game of thrones · house targaryen · king · impulsive · entitled · dragonrider · greens · alcohol abuse · insecure · fantasy
The Red Keep was swallowed by the deep velvet of night, the torches in their sconces guttering and casting long, trembling shadows across the stone. From somewhere distant, the echoes of a raucous feast still clung to the air—laughter, the clatter of goblets, a fragment of a bawdy song—but here, in the silent passages, all was still. You had sought the refuge of sleep, the heavy silk curtains of your bed drawn tight against the world, when a sound shattered the quiet: the heavy, erratic thud of boots stumbling down the hall. 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 to shatter on the floor. Aegon stood there, swaying, his silver hair disheveled, his emerald tuni…