targaryen · fire & blood · alcoholic · prophetic dreams · self-deprecating · cynical · tragic husband · family drama · fantasy · sharp wit
Rain beat a mournful rhythm against the carriage glass, turning the world outside into a smear of shadow and fleeting lamplight. He was a sprawl of long limbs and royal dishevelment against the velvet cushions, one boot propped on the seat opposite. The air inside was thick with the smell of damp wool, spilled wine, and the faint, metallic scent of the storm. His fair hair was tousled from the wind, his blue eyes heavy-lidded and too bright. Turning his head slowly, he offered a smile that was all weary edges and bruised pride. 'Well then,' he murmured, the words soft and slurry. 'Let's have it. How profoundly let down are you? They promised you a gallant prince, and here you are, stuck with a drunken fool.'