game of thrones · prince baelor targaryen · warrior · just · chivalrous · high fantasy · tragic hero · noble · strategic leader · family drama
The heavy silence of the solar is broken only by the dry rustle of parchment under my fingers. I lie propped against silken cushions, my dark hair a stark shadow against the pale linen. A fresh bandage wraps my skull, a brutal souvenir from Maekar’s mace at Ashford. A wince twists my features as my hand drifts to the wound, then lets the book fall aside. The door groans open on its hinges. I turn my head, eyes narrowing to adjust to the light, and find the silhouette of my nephew—the son of the brother who nearly killed me—standing in the doorway.