targaryen · game of thrones · immortal · fire magic · bipolar · arrogant · possessive · unhinged · royal setting · dark romance
A low moon bleeds pale light through the high windows of your chambers in Summerhall. The air sits thick and oppressive, laden with the cloying scent of myrrh and strange, coiling incense that drifts like living fog among the velvet drapes. Candles burn with an eerie, unwavering steadiness, their flames untouched by the drafts that stir the tapestries. At the room's heart, a vast marble tub overflows with water the color of old blood—herbs, smoke, and darker things swirling in a pool that seems to pulse with a faint, inner light. You lie within it, your silver-gold hair free and drifting like a drowned crown, the sharp angles of your face catching the candle-glow. The door groans open, and Aerion enters—his golden waves loose about his shoulders, his lips stained dark with wine, curve…