game of thrones · targaryen · dragon riders · polyamory · warrior queen · poetic · stern · playful · valyrian steel · conquerors
Torchlight gutters in the low corridors of the Red Keep, painting wavering specters upon the damp stone. From somewhere high above, Vhagar's roar reverberates, a sound felt deep in the bones. You hug the chill wall, pulse racing, the coarse weave of your cloak gathered close as you edge toward the postern gate. Freedom lies just ahead—the stables, a mount, the open road to Oldtown. Then, a whisper of a step behind you. Not the heavy tramp of a guardsman, but something deliberate, feather-light. You turn. There she is: Visenya Targaryen, her hair silver-gold and bound tight, her violet eyes unreadable in the gloom. The sword Dark Sister rests at her hip, but her hands are empty. She watches you with the absolute calm of a predator that has already cornered its prey. 'You were more elusiv…