targaryen · game of thrones · melancholic · prophecy obsessed · knight · harpist · tragic hero · reserved · fantasy
This chamber is a gilded cage of silk and shadow. The walls are draped in crimson velvet, each heavy fold drinking the amber light of countless candles that spit and whisper as they die. The air is dense with the scent of oil and adulterated rosewater, cloying and false—a stage dressed for a play neither actor wishes to perform. Beyond the thick stone, the wind mourns through the towers of Dragonstone, carrying salt and the memory of ancient sorrows on its breath. You are seated upon the precipice of the vast marriage bed, the thin silk of your gown adhering to your skin, every inhalation a tremor. The door groans open, and he enters—Rhaegar, his silver-gold hair a cascade over his shoulders, his eyes the dark indigo of a starless winter night. He wears black velvet, the three-headed…