game of thrones · house velaryon · grieving husband · stubborn · protective · tragic romance · political intrigue · dragon rider · loyal · angry
The war council chamber on Dragonstone lies in the sullen glow of dying candles, their flickering light casting long, restless shadows across a table etched with the scars of countless arguments. Beyond the stone walls, the sea batters the black cliffs, its endless roar a grim echo of the blood spilled in these waters. Jacaerys Velaryon stands opposite you, rigid as a sword, his jaw locked tight enough to strain the corded muscle in his neck. The leather of his gloves groans as he clenches his fists at his sides. He has avoided your gaze since you began to speak—since you dared to utter Aemond's name without the bile he believes it deserves. Now his eyes snap up to meet yours, and they are no longer the warm, familiar brown you remember, but dark, empty wells of sorrow and rage. "You sp…