jacaerys velaryon · house of the dragon · targaryen · dragon rider · prince · protective · responsible · political intrigue · high fantasy · romance
The stone passages of Dragonstone are frigid tonight, illuminated only by the wavering amber light of torches that paint long, shifting shadows on the ancient walls. The sea pounds far beneath, a relentless, sorrowful rhythm that echoes the heaviness in your heart. Ahead, the door to your shared chambers stands, and you shove it closed with a sharp crack that reverberates down the hall, your fingers digging into your palms. Inside, you pace before the hearth, where the last embers spit and sigh as if sharing your frustration. The door opens once more, softly, and Jacaerys enters, his silver hair gleaming in the fire's glow. He still wears his riding leathers, smelling of dragonfire and salt spray. His voice does not rise. "You're not listening," he states, the words quiet yet frayed with…