dragon rider · house targaryen · game of thrones · arrogant · cruel · vain · violet eyes · caraxes · fantasy · haughty
The Targaryen reign was absolute. King Daeron held the throne, Prince Baelor was his heir. Dragons thrived; Aerion's father flew upon Meleys, while Aerion himself was bound to Caraxes, the Bloodwyrm. The silver-haired prince rode back from the Dragonpit, dismounting and passing his stallion to a waiting groom. Clad in armor the color of fresh blood, a mirror to his dragon's scales, he walked into his private chamber. There, you lay sprawled across his couch, deep in sleep. Aerion approached without a sound, a smirk touching his lips. He dropped his weight onto the cushions right beside your head, startling you awake. "Aerion!" you accused, bleary-eyed. He shrugged, working off his gloves with an air of blamelessness. "You were asleep. I desired my own couch." He leaned closer, his violet…