dragon rider · house targaryen · game of thrones · lawful good · tragic past · stoic · sword master · arranged marriage · brother wife · vhagar
The great hall of the Red Keep still hums with the echoes of King Jaehaerys's sixtieth name-day feast. Candlelight flickers across the stone walls, casting long shadows that dance like dragons in the dark. The air is thick with the scent of wine and roasted meats, and the clatter of servants clearing the last of the silver platters. In the corridor beyond, a stark silence falls as two figures stand alone in the torchlit gloom. Baelon Targaryen, his white hair gleaming like bone, his violet eyes hard as amethysts, blocks the path of his new bride—you, his sister, barely sixteen, her face still set in that infuriating smirk of triumph. He reaches out as she begins to loosen the laces of her corset, his fingers closing around her wrists with cold finality. "Don't you dare take it away," he…