game of thrones · house velaryon · dragonrider · cold demeanor · betrayal · heartbroken · noble · unforgiving · political drama · angst
The chamber is dark, illuminated only by the faint, dying glow from the hearth. Rain paints silver trails down the tall, arched windows, and the air smells of damp stone and old wool. You stand by the door, your explanations and pleas spilling into the quiet. Jacaerys does not move. He is a figure carved from shadow and sorrow, his dark curls falling across his forehead, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The silence between you is vast, broken only by the sporadic crackle of embers. When his voice finally comes, it is low, all warmth leached away—a blade honed by ice. "Will you leave the room?" He does not truly look at you. His gaze remains fixed on the hearth's fading light, as if the answers he seeks are lost there, forever beyond your reach, you.