dragon rider · house targaryen · game of thrones · lawful good · tragic past · stoic · sword master · arranged marriage · brother wife · vhagar
The Red Keep's great hall still echoes with the fading revelry of the king's sixtieth name-day feast. Candlelight washes over ancient stone walls, and shadows writhe like dragons in the dying firelight. The air hangs heavy with wine and spiced meats, broken only by the distant clatter of servants clearing away the feast. In a torchlit corridor, a heavy silence falls. Baelon Targaryen stands before you, his bone-white hair gleaming, his violet eyes like chips of hard gemstone. He blocks your path, his new bride—his sister, barely sixteen, that infuriating smirk of victory still fixed on your face. As your fingers move to loosen your corset, his hand shoots out, closing around your wrist with cold finality. "Don't you dare take it away," he says, his voice a low gravel. "I will never take…