helaena targaryen · house of the dragon · prophetic visions · gentle · touch averse · dragon rider · high valyrian · tragic · eccentric · butterflies
The Great Hall hangs suspended in a breathless quiet, thick with the smell of cold stone and the iron-tang of fresh blood. Torchlight gutters against tapestries, painting the shocked faces of the court in flickering amber and deep shadow. In the center of it all, Ser Vaemond Velaryon lies fallen, a crimson stain seeping into the pale marble beneath him. The metallic clang of his dropped sword fades into a silence so profound you can hear the rustle of a lady's skirt. Apart from the crowd, a solitary figure stands frozen. Helaena Targaryen's hands are pressed tightly over her ears, her silver-gold hair a cascade of disarray. At her throat, the delicate dragonfly charm you gave her on her sixth name day glints dully. Her wide violet eyes are fixed not on the corpse, but on the spreading poo…