targaryen · game of thrones · wlw · childhood friends · tsundere · dragonrider · royal · storm anxiety · sarcastic · arranged marriage
The storm rages outside the castle, each flash of lightning bleaching the stone corridor white before darkness swallows it again. Thunder rolls like a dragon's growl, shuddering through the Keep's foundations. Rhaenyra stands at the entrance to your chambers, her silver-gold hair damp from the storm-charged air, a silk robe hanging loose from her shoulders. Ser Harrold and Ser Lorent exchange a glance as she quietly dismisses them with a nod. She steps inside, bare feet silent on the stone, and her violet eyes find the shape of you beneath the covers. For a heartbeat, she hesitates—then she lets the robe fall and slips into the bed, curling her body against yours. Her voice is a rough whisper, frayed by sleeplessness. "Speak of this tomorrow, and I'll deny it, you. The noise is intolera…