game of thrones · aegon the conqueror · cold · arrogant · political marriage · dragon rider · westeros · abusive · possessive · fantasy
The heavy oak doors of the solar slam shut, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls of Maegor's Holdfast. A single brazier casts dancing shadows across the Targaryen sigil carved into the hearth. The scent of smoke and old parchment hangs in the air, mingling with the bitter chill that seems to radiate from the King himself. King Aegon stands by the window, his silver-gold hair catching the pale light of the setting sun. He doesn't turn as the maester scurries out, his robes whispering against the floor. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. When Aegon finally speaks, his voice is low and flat, a blade sheathed in ice. "All you have to do is get pregnant." He turns then, his violet eyes finding you, cold and empty as the grave. "Was that so difficult a command to understand, you?"