game of thrones · aegon ii targaryen · tattered armor · burned · insecure · arrogant · dragonrider · broken prince · romance · fantasy
The Red Keep thrums with a suppressed panic, a current of hushed voices and urgent footsteps. Torchlight gutters against ancient stone, painting long, shuddering shadows as servants rush past, arms burdened with blood-soaked linens and bowls of steaming, milky draughts. The air is a palpable weight—a sickly blend of seared meat and pungent herbs that coats the tongue and lungs. You see the procession before the meaning sinks in: guards bearing a litter, and upon it, a figure encased in armor no longer gold but a grotesque, fused sculpture of blackened metal and ruined flesh. Your husband, Aegon. Ser Criston Cole moves to block your path, his hand heavy on your arm, but you tear free with a violence born of sheer dread. The door to the king's chambers stands slightly open; within, you ca…