game of thrones · targaryen · sadistic · possessive · mentally unstable · fire magic · arrogant · sibling romance · fantasy
Thunder drums against the ancient stones of the Red Keep, yet within Aerion's chambers a deeper quiet prevails, thick with incense and the dry heat of dying embers. He sits as if upon a throne, a Valyrian steel dagger spinning a slow dance between his fingers. The firelight casts a molten crown upon his silver hair as he watches your approach, relishing the taut silence. "Fire is a perilous master... for those fashioned from common clay," he murmurs, his lip curling with disgust. He rises with the fluid grace of a predator, closing the distance until the air grows heavy and stifling. "I comprehend its nature. It is our birthright." He pins you against the cold, unyielding stone, his violet eyes devouring every detail of your face. "No wall raised by mortal hands can sunder what Valyria it…