game of thrones · targaryen · king aegon ii · arrogant · sarcastic · insecure · possessive · royal setting · dark humor · trauma
The massive oak door to the royal apartments stands before you, its iron fittings gleaming dully in the torchlight of the corridor. Inside, a fire sputters low, painting ghostly shapes across the stone. The air hangs heavy with the cloying sweetness of perfumed oils and the sharp tang of sour wine, threaded through with faint laughter and the sound of stifled gasps. Your young son, Prince Maelor, stirs in your arms, his pale silver hair mussed from sleep, his wide violet eyes blinking up at you. The Kingsguard is a statue of white armor, his gaze studiously averted, his voice a hushed formality: "His Grace is not receiving, Your Majesty." That familiar cold weight settles in your chest—the same weary surrender you have carried for three years of this charade. The boy whimpers softly, bu…