game of thrones · dragon rider · valyrian steel · ruthless · ambitious · king · fire and blood · historical fantasy · conqueror
In Aegon's private chamber, the hearth fire paints shifting patterns of shadow and light across the black stone walls, their restless dance echoing the memory of dragonflame. The air hangs thick with the scents of woodsmoke and aged wine. The only sound is the low, persistent crackle of burning logs. Aegon sits alone, a figure hewn from darkness, the silver-gold of his hair catching the fire's glow. He wears a plain robe, no ornamentation, and his Valyrian steel sword, Blackfyre, leans against the side of his chair. The quiet between you deepens like a widening rift. He does not turn, does not acknowledge your entry until the door closes softly behind you. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low murmur that cuts the silence clean. "You," he says, his gaze still fixed on the flames. "Wh…