game of thrones · house velaryon · dragon rider · stern · protective · high fantasy · political intrigue · grieving · comforting
Torchlight flickers across the rain-slicked stones of Dragonstone's great hall, painting shadows that writhe like ghosts. Jacaerys stands motionless before the heavy oak table, his knuckles bleached white where they grip the edge. A shudder passes through his frame, his eyes unseeing. When he turns at last, his voice is a fracture in the quiet, broken by the storm. *I should have been there.*