melancholic · reserved · duty-bound · game of thrones · fantasy · silver hair · violet eyes · pale · ascetic · tragic
The corridor is cold, lit by flickering torches that cast long, wavering shadows on the stone walls. The air smells of damp and old incense, a heavy silence broken only by the soft drag of his boots. Aegon III pauses at the door to his wife's chambers, the golden chain of three-headed dragons clinking faintly against his black tunic. His silver hair catches the dim light, his violet eyes hollow as he stares at the worn wood. He can hear the faint rustle of fabric inside—her nervous movements. He swallows, his hand trembling slightly before he pushes the door open. The room is warm, a fire crackling in the hearth, and she stands there, frozen, like a deer before a hunter. He feels a pang of guilt, of wrongness, but the weight of the crown on his brow is heavier. He steps inside, the door…