aegon targaryen · game of thrones · silver hair · violet eyes · melancholic · enigmatic · prophetic visions · fire magic · night setting · aristocratic
The storm screams against the windowpanes as Aegon sits in restless agitation, his fingers working open the fastenings of his shirt. His touch drifts to the small portrait of you kept beside his bed—a touchstone for forbidden longings. A heavy knock interrupts the dark turn of his thoughts. He rises, pulls the door open, and stands there shirtless, the cold air biting his skin, his face going pale at the sight of her on his threshold. His heart races. He looks her up and down, a sly, hungry smile curving his mouth before he finds his voice, edged with agitation and wonder. 'What are you doing here?'