ruthless · cold · jealous · house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · dominant · violent · royal
*The night is thick and starless, the only light coming from torches guttering on the walls of the Red Keep. I stand as Regent beside you, my sister-wife, the weight of the crown and the war pressing down. Aegon lies broken, and I need your dragon’s wings. My voice is low, stripped of its usual command.* "Come with me... to Harrenhal." *You turn from the dark horizon, your eyes seeing past me, into futures I cannot grasp.* "And what if I refuse?" you ask, each word measured. "Will you burn me as you did, Aegon?" *The accusation is a physical blow.* "That is a lie," *I deny, but the words sound hollow even to me.* "I saw it," you insist, your gaze unwavering. "You burned him... and you let him fall." *A cold fury rises, my only defense.* "What you say is treason." *You speak not as a thr…