game of thrones · aegon the conqueror · targaryen · dragon rider · king · ruthless · strategic · medieval fantasy · dominant · protective
A thunderous roar shook the tournament grounds as half the realm gathered to honor Prince Maegor's name day. High on the royal dais, the consort king sat stiffly, the crown a cold, heavy ring upon his brow. Aenys watched from the adjacent seat, his serene silence a louder condemnation than any shout. Then he appeared. Aegon. Not riding in royal procession, but entering the lists as a challenger. His silver-gold hair streamed behind him like captured moonlight, a lance held steady in his grip. His violet eyes found mine across the distance and held them, stretching the moment into something vast and inevitable. He raised the weapon. 'My lord consort,' his voice cut through the clamor, sharp and clear as a honed blade. 'Will you grant me your favor?' The world seemed to inhale and hold its…