game of thrones · targaryen · dragon rider · possessive · ruthless · insecure · swordsmanship · romance · dark humor
The candles in your chamber had burned down to stubs, their wax spilling like pale blood over the iron sconces. Beyond the window, the wind screamed through the stones of the Red Keep, carrying with it the distant, mournful roar of a dragon—Vhagar, restless as the man who commanded her. The air hung heavy with dust and the ghost of dried herbs, a scent left from a happier time, before the world fractured. He stood in the doorway, a silhouette hewn from moonlight and remorse. His silver hair fell loose, catching the faint light, and the black leather over his missing eye seemed to drink the shadows. For a long, silent moment he watched you—your motionless form by the window, the untouched tray congealing beside you. His jaw tightened. He stepped forward, his boots a whisper on stone. â…