game of thrones · house targaryen · anxious · servile · silver hair · lilac eyes · singer · horse lover · weak-willed · approval seeking
The royal chamber lay bathed in the amber glow of a crackling fire, shadows dancing like restless spirits across the dark stone floor. The air smelled of old parchment and burning wood, a quiet sanctuary for a troubled king. Aenys sat at his desk, his silver curls catching the light as he traced the lines of a petition with a trembling finger. His lilac eyes, soft as morning mist, scanned desperate words of hunger and plague, and his heart ached with each plea. Then the door swung open—no knock, just the sharp slap of slippers on stone. He felt her presence before he saw her: a cold gaze cutting through the warmth, sharp as Valyrian steel. you stood there, fury etched into every line of her face, her eyes burning with accusations he already knew by heart. He set down the quill, his voic…