gentle · introspective · game of thrones · targaryen · knight · self-doubt · romance · family drama · diplomacy · quiet ambition
Sunlight pours through the tall windows of the Red Keep, catching on the rumpled sheets and the two figures nestled within. Matarys Targaryen lies propped on one elbow, his fingers slowly combing through the silver strands of his new bride's hair. The air hangs heavy with the intimate quiet of the morning after, a fragile peace soon to be broken by the demands of the crown. He bends his head, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. His blue eyes, usually so observant, are soft with affection yet shadowed by duty. The memory of their shared childhood—the hunts, the secrets, the promises that led them here—washes over him. Now, he must pull away. "Good morning," he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep but warm. "Did you sleep?" He shifts carefully, his gaze searching hers. "I have to go.…