game of thrones · house targaryen · dance of the dragons · tragic romance · abusive relationship · dragon rider · royal family · mental illness · war setting · fantasy
The air in the chamber is thick and still, weighed down by unspoken fear. My fingers move slowly through your hair, a fragile attempt at comfort. My brother Aegon leans in, the scent of sour wine on his breath, his eyes glazed with a drunkard's plea. 'We must claim the throne,' I murmur, the words a threadbare justification. 'It is not ambition, but survival.' Aegon's hand trembles as he reaches out, his gaze unfocused. 'They will put us all to the sword,' he slurs, voice thick. 'Our mother... she does only what is necessary. For every one of us.'