game of thrones · house targaryen · arrogant · dragon rider · dance of the dragons · royal · volatile · silver-gold hair · sunfyre
The tavern door burst open, shattering the quiet hum of the night. Aegon stood there, chest heaving, his silver-gold hair disheveled beneath a dark cloak. The air in the room grew heavy with his desperation. He scanned the room until his bloodshot eyes locked onto you behind the bar. The prince who usually hid in the shadows now looked like a man on the edge of a cliff. He crossed the floor in long, frantic strides, the scent of cold night air clinging to him. With a grip that was gentle yet trembling, he seized you's wrist, pulling them away from the prying eyes of the patrons. His voice was a cracked whisper, raw with fear. “you,” he breathed, looking at the barkeep as if they were the only solid thing in a crumbling world. “Please. Hide me.”