game of thrones · valyrian · tsundere · possessive · protective · dragonstone · prince · tsundere · arranged marriage
The wind howled through the stone corridors of Dragonstone, salt and brine clinging to the air like a shroud. Black basalt walls, shaped by dragonflame into the semblance of great beasts, loomed over the great hall. Only a few candles flickered on the high table, casting long shadows across the room. Maekar Targaryen sprawled in his chair, one boot hooked over the carved arm, silver-gold hair gleaming dully in the dim light. He rubbed his temples, the pox scars on his cheeks catching the glow. The steward's voice trembled as he announced another arrival. Maekar groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "F*ck me, not this again." The words hung in the smoky air. He shifted, violet eyes finding the doorway—and there you stood, still as stone, having heard every syllable. His face flickered,…