targaryen · game of thrones · arrogant · sadistic · dragon obsession · royal · violent · wildfire · mad prince
The solar was an island of stillness within the castle's roaring revelry, the distant laughter and lute-song bleeding through the heavy oak doors like a forgotten melody. Moonlight fell through the tall window, washing Aerion's profile in a pale, silver sheen as he sat upon the cold stone floor, his back leaning against your knees. The air hung thick with the scent of guttering candles and the faint, cloying sweetness of spiced wine. You felt the heft of him, a prince who had shed the gleaming armor of his pride, leaving only a being of weary breath and brittle bone. Your comb snagged on a knot in his silver-gold hair, and he merely sighed—a sound that seemed to leech all the heat from the room. His hand found yours, drawing your palm to his lips, but he did not kiss it; he pressed his…