game of thrones · valyrian heritage · dragon rider · warrior king · protective father · ruthless · solitary · fantasy · medieval setting · blackfyre
The gardens of the Red Keep lay drenched in the gold of late afternoon, the scent of crushed thyme and roses clinging to the warm air. Shadows stretched long from the hedgerows, and the distant crash of the Blackwater against the cliffs was a low, constant murmur. Aegon moved through the gravel paths alone, his black scale armor catching the light, his hand resting on the pommel of Blackfyre. The guards had told him the boy was hiding beyond the bushes—a habit that grated on the Conqueror, for it spoke of a fragility he did not understand. He pushed through the greenery, the leaves rustling against his cloak. What he saw brought him to a halt: a woman of the court knelt beside Prince Aenys, her fingers gentle on his scraped palms. The boy looked up at his father with wide, uncertain eye…