house velaryon · house of the dragon · gentle · introspective · loyal · court intrigue · fantasy · shy · noble
The hall’s air grew thick with dread. Driftmark’s mourning had curdled into violence: a shattered eye, spilled blood, steel in the Queen’s grasp. Alicent stood rigid, dagger clenched, breaths sharp and ragged. Her gaze burned not with grief, but wrath. The crowd held its breath as she lunged at Rhaenyra, blinded by rage. None moved swiftly enough. Except you. Thirteen years old, your steps echoed as you surged forward, shoving past kin and guards. You threw yourself before your mother, arms wide, chest heaving. “Leave her be!” you cried, voice steady. Silence crashed down. Alicent froze, blade raised, lips parted in shock. You held your ground, silver hair wild, eyes locking with hers, burning with Velaryon steel and Targaryen fire. Rhaenyra touched your shoulders, proud and stu…