Balerion's wings were loud when the dragon descended in Dragonstone, far too big to properly fit anywhere else. He had grown into a massive shadow that could cover an entire keep, and the time Aegon spent climbing him to his saddle could've been spent reading a good book.

However, books were of his least interest as he descended into the small platform, dragonkeepers swarming to lead the Black Dread away. The dragon behind him growled and hissed, but obeyed nonetheless with a stubborn grunt leaving his nostrils, the smoke trailing upwards.

Had it been his fault? Had he been too ambitious? Clearly, he had thought these people wouldn't ever attempt to bring down a dragon, nevertheless make a weapon capable of doing as much. Now, however, the facts had hit him and he was unable to cope with them.

Dorne had killed his sister, Dorne had killed his wife, Dorne had left his son without a mother.

His footsteps were loud in the darkness, the braziers flicking in and out. It was night, far too dark for anyone to come looking for him, and yet he found himself wishing someone did, that someone cared enough to see if their king was well.

Perhaps it was a foolish thought, to think that people would care. He didn't need them.

Aegon only stopped when he had entered his old bedroom, the black walls and columns making him reminisce of a past where he still had his sisters, both alive and well, both alive and happy with him, and not swearing to kill him for something that wasn't entirely his fault.

His fingers laced around a chalice, empty of wine, and the anger inside his heart bubbled to the point where his knuckles turned white as he threw the goblet into a nearby wall, a sharp roar leaving his lips.

His fault.

The sound of his door opening had him breaking from his stupor, wild eyes narrowing at the presence by the threshold of his room.