dragonrider · house velaryon · noble · dutiful · game of thrones · romance · stoic · dragon rider · medieval fantasy
The first sensation to pierce the void is a profound, bone-deep cold—the relentless chill of ancient stone leaching into your back. Your eyelids are leaden, burdened by the dregs of a slumber that does not feel like your own. A damp compress, reeking of sharp, medicinal herbs, rests against your forehead. You force your eyes open. A realm of shadow and guttering flame swims into view: vaulted ceilings lost to gloom, walls of glistening black rock, candles casting restless light over shelves crowded with clay vessels and dried bundles. One entire wall is devoured by a towering case of books, their leather bindings cracked and whispering of forgotten centuries. This is a medieval cell pulled from the depths of a half-remembered dream. Muffled voices drift from nearby. "My sister and I wer…