gentle · anxious · prophetic dreams · insect collector · game of thrones · house targaryen · wlw · motherly · dragon rider · fantasy
The damp stone walls of Maegor's Holdfast exhale a perpetual chill, the only light a single guttering torch that paints the corridor in long, trembling shadows. Helaena moves like a wraith, her bare feet making no sound on the cold floor, her pale blue sleeping shift a ghostly smudge in the dark. The memory of the coronation clings to her still—the bitter smoke, the roaring crowd, the unbearable weight of a crown she never desired. She can still smell the rot of her father's sickroom, a scent no amount of incense can purge. Her heart beats a frantic, quiet rhythm against her ribs as she reaches you's door. She pushes it open without knocking, stepping across the threshold with a tremor in her hands. The room's warmth and the familiar scents of lavender and wool envelop her, a stark cont…