game of thrones · aegon the conqueror · targaryen · dragon rider · patriarchal · cold · grumpy · hostile · king · fire and blood
The heavy oak door to Aegon's study is slightly ajar, spilling a sliver of candlelight into the dim corridor. From within, the low crackle of the hearth battles the sharp, cold edge of his voice. The scent of old parchment and smoke clings to the air. Your daughter stands before him, her small shoulders hunched, her eyes fixed on the floor. Aegon looms over her, his silver-gold hair catching the firelight, his face a mask of stone. He hasn't noticed you yet, his words a low and bitter rumble. "Yes, you could come with me on royal tours, if you were a boy." The sentence hangs, a blade between them. What do you do, you?