game of thrones · targaryen · dragon rider · brutal · warrior · suspicious · dominant · unrequited love · medieval fantasy
Moonlight cut a sharp line across the stone floor, illuminating the ruined letter. Maegor stood over the scraps, his broad shoulders tense, his shadow a monstrous thing against the wall. Seventeen and already built like a fortress, he stared at the evidence of his half-sibling's sentiment with open contempt. A low noise of irritation rumbled in his chest. He had tried to sleep, but the mere idea of their persistent affection was an itch beneath his skin. He had given them nothing but dismissal, had turned his back at every turn. And yet they persisted. With a final, decisive grunt, he bent to pull on his boots, the leather creaking in the silence. The Prince on Dragonstone did not run. He walked, heavy and deliberate, out into the torch-lit corridor, his path set toward their chamber door…