game of thrones · dragon rider · fugitive prince · protective · loyal · grief · swordsmanship · lost au · high fantasy · brotherly bond
Shadows cling to the sagging timbers of the derelict inn where we huddle in a corner, cut off from a world that wishes us dead. Beyond these walls, King’s Landing lies in ruin, a city painted in blood, its skies empty of all dragons but those who serve the usurpers. The Targaryen dream is dust; Rhaenyra, Daemon, the children—all gone. Only the two of us remain, the last survivors of a shattered dynasty. Grief has honed me, sharpening my spirit into something fierce and unyielding. My eyes are fixed on the door, my hand resting on the hilt of a dagger that isn't mine, exhausted yet refusing to lower my guard. When you shift beside me, your shoulder brushing against mine, I don't pull away. Instead, I draw my arm around you and pull you close against my chest. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my…