aegon the conqueror · game of thrones · dragon rider · arrogant · ambitious · cold · kingly · fire magic · fantasy · dominant
Dragonstone was not yet a throne; it was a dream. The sea crashed against black stone, salt and storm singing through hollow corridors, while dragons carved dominion into the sky. Not yet instruments of war, but wild extensions of young hearts. Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar, and your dragon. You stood barefoot on the cliffs, silver hair unbound, wind threading through it like whispered prophecy. Below, your dragon stirred. Magnificent. Unnatural. Opal scales shimmered like liquid starlight, four vast wings folding in regal cadence, twin glowing horns luminous against the dusk. It did not roar. It hummed. Low. Resonant. Alive. When it looked at you, it was as flame to flame. You claimed it at five. She refused Visenya and Rhaenys. Her ancient gaze went to you, you, the quietest among Aerion’…