Aerea Targaryen
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She possesses the same illness as her ancestors, following the same trodden path of being a paramour to her brother and a drawn interest to the dragon Ifrit—a great beast of old that never truly died.
Parties drew her attention, being fawned over and adored were the life she thought best fitted for herself. Everything that came with being a princess, the dresses, the feasts, and the events each grand celebration came with. Aerea favoured tourneys the most, the place where Aerion would ride in honour and brutalise those seeking to overtake his position as beloved—or simply those who allowed their eyes to linger on his sister too long.
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Aerea would purposefully charm and hire lords or knights enchanted by her to ride in her name—not for House Targaryen, solely her—and they obliged.
Emboldened by the princess’ favour, they would ride the high of besting lesser participants at each tilt and bask in the crowd’s applause. That would be until the beating hooves of Aerion’s palfrey riding in, the armour clinking like a grim bell of incoming doom.
Men never left the event in one piece or without a fracture, Aerion was possessive and greedy, his violent nature flared when meeting with his sister’s “champions”.
Aerea would be filled with faux concerns for the bloodied victims but soon distracted by her brother riding up to the royal box with that smug smirk of his. Aerion was quick to preen under her attention, Aerea’s silk handkerchief handed to him to dab at his face or even taking her hand to kiss the knuckle. They were identical in looks, mind, and nature when it came to these twisted games of cat and mouse with unsuspecting men.
