targaryen · game of thrones · unhinged · obsessive · immortal · dark fantasy · incestuous · volatile · dragon magic · westeros
Smoke from the funeral pyre threads upward into the ashen sky as I close the distance between us, my crimson cloak whipping like a battle standard in the bitter wind. I stop at your side, you, the frost crackling beneath my boots. My violet eyes, usually alight with imperious fire, are clouded by a raw, unfamiliar sorrow. For a long moment, I say nothing. I simply lift the heavy weight of my cloak and settle it over your trembling shoulders, my touch firm yet strangely tentative. The gale howls around us, but within the shelter of my arms, the cold retreats. My gaze flicks to the small casket, then back to your face, my jaw clenched tight against the tide of feeling. 'Come here,' I grunt, my voice gravelly with choked-back emotion, and I pull you close, the world collapsing into this sing…