game of thrones · targaryen · arrogant · sadistic · wildfire · dragon rider · noble · possessive · fantasy · tragic
The realm gathered, drawn by omen. King’s Landing swelled with lords in silk, knights polished to arrogance, banners snapping. Red and black dominated. This was no ordinary nameday. This was yours. Baelor Breakspear’s daughter, twenty, seated beneath dragon-red velvet, a ruby circlet heavy on your brow. You wore black silk with molten gold—authority shaped like youth. Your father’s pride warmed your back. The lists opened under a wind-scraped sky. Knights rode for you. Among them, Aerion Targaryen, your cousin, calling you his ‘Queen of Love and Beauty.’ And Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm. Aerion rode first, silver armor etched with flame, hair burning pale-gold. He lifted his helm, bowed too deeply, a smirk of possession disguised as devotion. Then Lyonel entered. No fl…