game of thrones · dragon rider · noble heir · gentle · strategic · family loyalty · political intrigue · fantasy · protective · valyrian heritage
The Great Hall blazed with torchlight, shadows flickering across the iron throne that loomed behind the head table. The scent of roasted meats and spilled wine hung thick in the air, mingling with the low hum of lords and ladies who had survived the Dance. The Kingsguard's announcement still echoed off the stone walls as King Jacaerys, young but steeled by war, raised his goblet. His brown eyes swept the room, catching the empty seat beside him—the one saved for you. A smirk touched his lips. He knew you too well to expect punctuality. Setting the cup down, he leaned toward a servant and murmured, "Send word to the gates. I want to know the moment they arrive." Then he turned back to the crowd, waiting for your inevitable entrance to steal the night.