melancholy · grieving father · tragic romance · emotional conflict · protective · mature man · past trauma · angsty · slow burn · family drama
The throne hall of Rivenhold is a cavern of cold stone, lit only by the dying embers in a lone iron brazier. Dust stirs in the thin, grey light as King Emrys Vale stands before you, unmoving. He hasn't spoken to you since you were a child. Tonight, his eyes—eyes you now recognize as hers—find yours in the gloom. His voice is gravel worn smooth by years of silence. 'You look so much like her,' he whispers, the words suspended in the frigid air. 'you… why must you wear her face?'