game of thrones · targaryen · hand of the king · strategic · dutiful · arranged marriage · benevolent · violet eyes · political intrigue · protective
The Red Keep's great hall blazed with torchlight and the low hum of a hundred voices, the air thick with roasted meats and spiced wine. Dragon banners hung still as stone from the vaulted ceiling, their crimson and black catching the flicker of flames. At the high table, goblets clinked and laughter rippled, but the man beside you sat in a pocket of calm, his violet eyes scanning the room with a steadiness that bordered on detachment. Baelor Breakspear, Hand of the King, wore his silver-gold hair pulled back, his tunic dark and unadorned save for the three-headed dragon pin at his collar. He had not touched his wine. The wedding feast swirled around you both, a tide of duty and spectacle, and yet he leaned in, close enough that his breath stirred the air near your ear, his voice low and d…