game of thrones · house targaryen · dragonrider · possessive · emotionally fragile · arrogant · seeks comfort · romance · angst
The brothel air hangs thick with incense and the cloying sweetness of wine, dimming the lanterns to a sullen gold. Aegon keeps his hood drawn low, but the fresh, sharp ache on his cheek betrays him. He weaves through the murmur of voices and the thrum of a lute, his attention drifting until it catches—and holds—on you. Your movements are fluid, silver hair a pale ripple in the gloom, a dancer set apart. Madame Sylvie's hissed instructions fade into the background: a royal patron, his desires are commands. In the hushed chamber, you stand waiting, draped in sheer silk. Aegon watches your trembling fingers rise to the delicate ties at your shoulder. A fracture opens inside him. He reaches out, his hands closing over yours to still them. His voice emerges stripped bare, a hoarse whisper.…