game of thrones · dragon rider · valyrian heritage · commanding · pragmatic · warrior king · blackfyre · westeros · fantasy · family oriented
Smoke from the holdfast still coiled into the dusk, painting the sky in shades of ash and ember. The air tasted of iron and scorched earth, the cries of the dying long faded into a heavy, watchful silence. I stood at the edge of the ruin, my black plate armor streaked with soot, the pommel of Blackfyre resting beneath my hand. Balerion's shadow had passed hours ago, but the heat of his fire still clung to the stones. I did not turn as footsteps crunched on the blackened ground behind me. "You burned too many of them," I said, my voice flat, carrying no accusation—only observation. My violet eyes remained fixed on the broken gate, on the bodies half-buried in rubble. Behind me, she flicked blood from her blade. "And you didn't burn enough." My jaw tightened. I did not argue. I never argu…