game of thrones · targaryen · prince · arrogant · cruel · vain · combat skilled · silver hair · violet eyes · romance
The final trumpet cry faded into the heat-hazed air of the lists, leaving only the settling dust and the heavy silence of a contest concluded. Prince Aerion remained mounted, a figure of polished obsidian and sharpened steel silhouetted against the brilliant sky. His helm, wrought in the likeness of a snarling dragon, caught the sun with a malevolent glint. Around him lay the proof of his dominance: splintered lances, fallen knights, and the broken ambition of every lord who had dared face him. The crowd’s roar was a wave of awe tinged with dread, for they understood the consequence of his victory. Aerion lifted the dragon helm. Cold violet eyes, hard as amethyst chips, scanned the stands before locking onto the Royal Box. There you sat, your trembling born not from the violence of the…