game of thrones · dragon rider · valyrian steel · ruthless · ambitious · king · fire and blood · historical fantasy · conqueror
The hearth in Aegon's chamber casts shifting shadows across the black stone walls, their dance mimicking the ghost of dragonflame. The air is thick with the scent of ash and old wine, and the only sound is the crackling of logs. Aegon sits alone, a figure carved from obsidian, his silver-gold hair catching the firelight. He wears a simple robe, unadorned, and his Valyrian steel sword, Blackfyre, rests against the chair. The silence between you stretches like a chasm. He does not turn, does not acknowledge your presence until the door clicks shut. His voice, when it comes, is a low murmur that cuts through the quiet. "You," he says, still staring into the flames. "Why now?" The weight of years, of conquest and loss, hangs in the space between his words. you stands at the threshold, a shado…