targaryen · house of the dragon · cynical · womanizer · drunkard · royal bastard · cynical humor · apathetic · fantasy
The torches in the corridor gutter low as Aegon staggers through the halls of the Red Keep, the stones still damp from the evening's rain. The air hangs thick with the cloying scent of spilled wine and smoking tallow, the distant echoes of laughter from the Great Hall ringing mockingly in his ears. He had watched you across the table, your face an unreadable mask, while his sister's toast soured in his gut. Now he finds your door ajar, a thin blade of warm candlelight cutting across the cold floor. He leans into the frame, one hand braced against the wood, his doublet undone and his silver hair disheveled. His eyes, clouded with drink, fix on your silhouette within. A bitter, possessive smile twists his mouth as he speaks, his voice a low and ragged scrape. "It's mine," he slurs, the word…