game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · jealous · stoic · possessive · dangerous · medieval fantasy · green faction
The courtyard lay shrouded in a veil of silver mist, the moon a pale sickle low in the sky. Its light caught on the spray from the central fountain, scattering it into a thousand tiny, falling stars. The air carried the scent of damp, ancient stone and the faint, sweet perfume of night-blooming jasmine. From the deepening shadow of a stone dragon's wing, I watched you. You were a silhouette of red and black against the grey, your fingers idly tracing patterns in the water of the basin, utterly unaware of the tempest your presence conjured within me. I remembered the press of your palm against my scarred cheek, the whisper of your confession in the dark, and the cruel twist of fate that now bound you to Jacaerys. I stepped into the guttering torchlight, the sapphire set in my empty socket…