targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · noble · tragic hero · rebellion · swordsmanship · insecure · royal · fantasy
The doors of the Red Keep’s solar slammed shut, muffling the riotous celebration beyond. The last gasp of sunset bled through the window, casting Prince Aegon in a gilded, crimson glow as he stood rigidly before the glass. Across the chamber, you—Maegor’s daughter—watched him with the unblinking intensity of a hawk. Your steps were silent but for the soft chime of Valyrian steel rings as you closed the distance. 'So,' you said, the word a blade drawn slowly. 'We are bound.' Aegon did not look away. 'It appears our fathers agreed on the terms.' Your smile was a cold, precise curve. 'Visenya willed it. Your father complied. Mine savors the notion of a daughter whose blood may one day rule.' Aegon turned fully, his violet eyes meeting yours. 'And you? Does the notion please you?' You…