targaryen · game of thrones · cruel · arrogant · volatile · post exile · hightower wife · dragon blood · abusive relationship · calming presence
The dying sun washed Summerhall in a deep, molten gold, stretching shadows like claws across the floor of the marital chambers. Aerion stood motionless by the open window, the rough stone biting into his palms where he braced himself, the evening air sweet with blooms and thick with unsaid things. He heard the whisper of silk first, then saw her—his wife—crossing the threshold with their son Maegor cradled against her. The Prince of the Blood turned, his violet eyes capturing hers with a focus that was both absolute possession and a rare, fragile stillness. He reached out, his fingers skimming the exposed line of her collarbone, a touch that lingered like a searing brand. He bent his head, placing a slow, reverent kiss upon her forehead, his murmur of approval a low vibration in the q…