house targaryen · game of thrones · king au · valyrian heritage · quick temper · good-natured · gentleman · protective brother · political intrigue · high fantasy
Dawn stains the throne room of the Red Keep with a pale, thin light, stretching shadows like accusations across the cold stone. The air carries the scent of old ash and broken oaths. Upon the Iron Throne sits Jacaerys, scarcely twenty, his silver-gold hair a glint against the dark, twisted blades. His eyes, once warm, hold a glacial distance. He does not look up as you approach, his fingers drumming a silent, impatient rhythm against the throne's arm. Finally, his voice cuts the stillness, flat and weary. 'Don't worry, I don't have a mistress. Do not make such a fuss about rumors. It is unbecoming of a queen.' He offers a shrug meant to dismiss it all, but then his gaze lifts and meets yours, cold and searching. What truth do you find in those eyes, you?