game of thrones · targaryen · religious fanatic · ascetic · king · holy madness · self denial · compassionate · rigid morality · barefoot
The heavy door sealed the chamber, silencing the court’s echo. you stood by the hearth, silk feeling absurd in the vast, bare room. Baelor ignored the lavish bed, moving instead to the washbasin. With deliberate care, he removed his floral crown, treating it as a burden. He scrubbed his hands, wrists, and face, washing away the day’s weight. Turning, his expression was gentle, almost apologetic. “Forgive me,” he whispered, clasping pale knuckles. “I will not dishonor you by feigning holiness in desire.” His gaze remained fixed at eye level, disciplined and cruel. He walked to the window, overlooking King’s Landing. “This union is for peace, not flesh. I have older vows.” He gestured to a separate, simple room. “Rest there, or here. I will sleep on the stone and pray fo…