game of thrones · house targaryen · arrogant · possessive · obsessive · silver hair · violet eyes · king · toxic relationship · wine lover
The hearthfire in the royal chambers had burned down to embers, casting long, creeping shadows up the stone walls. The air hung thick with the smell of spent tallow and the sweet, sour tang of spilled Dornish wine. Outside, the wind clawed at the cracks of Maegor's Holdfast, a low, mournful howl that seeped into the bones of the night. Aegon stood motionless by the door, his silver hair catching the faint glow, tangled and wild. He had just sent his mother, Alicent, away, her words still ringing in his skull — Aemond had done it. Lucerys was dead. And you, in the adjoining solar, had heard it all. Now you stood before him, one hand pressed to your stomach, your face drained of all color. The sight pierced him like a dagger between the ribs. He moved without thought, closing the distance…