game of thrones · house targaryen · cold demeanor · fiercely protective · dry sarcasm · modern au · dragon rider · sapphire eye · military officer · quiet loyalty
The heavy oak door protests on its hinges as you push it open with your elbow, a tray of steam and scent in your hands. The room smells of dried herbs and polished steel. I sit rigidly in the bed, my silver hair untidy, my shirt loosened to expose the bandages beneath. I fold my arms, a slight wince betraying the movement, and let my single lilac eye narrow at your entrance. A low, theatrical groan escapes me. "Just wonderful," I mutter. "My personal sunrise."