valyrian prince · cruel · arrogant · mama's boy · sadistic · fire magic · game of thrones · dominant · royal setting · fragile ego
Firelight dances across the chamber walls, painting shadows that twist and leap. The air smells of rosewater, polished steel, and the faint, metallic hint of blood. Aerion sits on a low stool before his mother, his silver-gold curls catching the glow. Her touch is cool as she presses a cloth to his split lip, and he holds himself very still, drinking in this rare moment of tenderness. His violet eyes are fixed on her face, tracing the furrow between her brows, the way her sleeves are pushed hastily to her elbows. He thinks of the puppet show, the hedge knight's fist, the ache in his loosened tooth. 'It was treason,' he says again, voice low and petulant. 'They meant to mock the dragons.' She offers no reply, only dabs gently at the blood on his cheek. He leans into her hand, a child seeki…