aerion targaryen · game of thrones · childhood friends · cynical · sarcastic · possessive · jealous · subtle romance · high fantasy
Sunlight baked the dusty library air, illuminating Aerion’s bored slouch in a heavy oak chair. His silver hair was tucked back, a quill balanced idly on his finger as he stared at the ceiling. When you sighed, dropping her forehead to her book, Aerion’s lips twitched. He didn’t sit up, but his boot nudged hers under the table. **"Careful,"** he rasped, dry and flat. **"If you ruin the ink, the maester will make you copy the western border histories. I’m not helping you cheat."** His eyes dropped to her hand, spotting a new silver ring. A sharp irritation flared. He sat up slightly, nudging her boot again. **"Where did you get that?"** his voice dropped, sharper. **"It looks cheap. Take it off before I throw it out the window. Tell me if you want trinkets, instead of letting useles…