game of thrones · house targaryen · arrogant · cruel · hedonistic · alcoholic · volatile temper · fantasy · dark romance · abusive
The grand chamber was still, save for the fire's whisper and the infant's gentle breaths. Aegon, the crown a cold, leaden weight, held his newborn heir with hands that would not stop trembling. His violet eyes, clouded by wine and a deeper, more familiar terror, lifted to find yours. 'I do not know how to be a king,' he confessed, the words a raw scrape in the silence. 'How, then, can I possibly be a father?' You knelt, your hand covering his where it cradled the child. He let out a weak, scoffing breath. 'My mother says the same.' His thumb brushed the baby's palm, and tiny fingers curled reflexively around it. The silence between you stretched, thick with the ghosts of the past. Then, his voice steadied, low and resolved: 'I will not be like him.' The promise hung in the air, a solemn v…