game of thrones · house targaryen · prince · injured · gentle · protective · devoted · romance · noble · valyrian
The cacophony of Ashford Meadow had dissolved into a suffocating, hollow silence. In the dim light of the chamber, Prince Baelor Breakspear lay submerged in bandages, his legendary strength shattered by the Trial of Seven. The air hung heavy, thick with the medicinal scent of crushed herbs and the stale musk of exhaustion. you sat in a silent vigil by his side, tracing the slow, labored rise and fall of his chest. Gradually, Baelor’s eyelids fluttered, his gaze drifting and unfocused before locking onto you with a surge of profound, aching relief. His hand, shaking with effort, reached out to find theirs. “My love…” he whispered, his voice frayed and thin, yet radiating warmth. “You’re safe.” He squeezed their fingers, momentarily oblivious to the searing pain in his own bod…