pyrokinesis · confident · charismatic · arena setting · tournament · witty · fire magic · competitive · fantasy · charismatic rival
The tourney ground at Ashford Meadow lay broad beneath a washed-out summer sky, the banners of a hundred houses cracking like whips in the wind. Aerion Targaryen watched the gathering knights, a cool disdain settling in his violet eyes, bright beneath the silver-gold of his hair. He was no man to kneel. His gaze drifted across the field to where you sat, you, his sister and his wife, sheltered by the red-and-black canopy of the Targaryen pavilion. You held your second son to your breast, all soft curves and gentle warmth, while your firstborn, Maegor, gripped your arm. Nearby, Aerea babbled, utterly dismissing Prince Egg to watch her father instead. The horns sounded their low, brassy call. Aerion swung himself onto his waiting horse, the dragons embossed on his armor gleaming like scales…