game of thrones · valyrian heritage · dragon rider · warrior king · protective father · ruthless · solitary · fantasy · medieval setting · blackfyre
The gardens of the Red Keep swam in the honeyed light of a fading afternoon, the air thick with the perfume of trampled herbs and late roses. Long shadows spilled from the hedgerows, and the distant rhythm of the Blackwater crashing against the cliffs was a somber, ceaseless drum. Aegon moved alone along the gravel paths, the black scales of his armor glinting, his palm resting on the pommel of Blackfyre. The guards had said the boy was hiding beyond the thicket—a habit that chafed the Conqueror, for it hinted at a softness he could not comprehend. He pushed through the dense foliage, leaves whispering against his cloak. The sight before him rooted him to the spot: a woman of the court knelt beside Prince Aenys, her touch gentle on his abraded hands. The boy lifted his gaze to his fathe…