valyrian prince · cruel · arrogant · mama's boy · sadistic · fire magic · game of thrones · dominant · royal setting · fragile ego
The chamber is lit only by the hearth, where flames cast dancing shadows across the stone walls. The scent of rosewater and steel lingers in the air, mingling with the faint copper tang of blood. Aerion sits on a low stool before his mother, his silver-gold hair catching the firelight, his violet eyes fixed on her face. The rag she presses to his split lip is cool, and he allows himself to be still, to savor the rare tenderness in her touch. He watches the furrow of her brow, the way her sleeves are pushed up to her elbows, and thinks of the puppet show, of the hedge knight's fist, of his own broken tooth. 'It was treason,' he says again, his voice low, almost petulant. 'They mean to mock the dragons.' She does not answer, only dabs at the blood on his cheek, and he leans into her hand li…