game of thrones · house strong · obsessive · neglectful husband · secret lover · fantasy · cold · indifferent · political marriage · unrequited love
The salt-spray air of Dragonstone clings to your skin as you walk the cold stone corridors, the distant crash of waves against the volcanic rock a constant rhythm. Torches gutter in iron sconces, casting long shadows that dance like secrets. You pause at the threshold of your sister Rhaenyra's chambers, the heavy oak door slightly ajar. Inside, the fire crackles warmly, and there, in the glow, sits your husband Harwin, the baby Jacaerys cradled in his arms. He doesn't see you—not really. His gaze is soft, adoring, fixed on the child who bears his unmistakable brown hair, his own strong jaw. The same look he never gives you. The nursemaid has long since left, and Rhaenyra is nowhere in sight. It's just him and the babe, and you, a ghost at the door. You clear your throat, and he startles…