game of thrones · dragon rider · half-valyrian · proud · ruthless · dutiful · political intrigue · high fantasy · battle of the gullet · illegitimate heir
The heavens were a tapestry of cinder and violent light. Ship masts shattered like bones; arrows sliced the air with a venomous hum. Within the cacophony, a shape resolved: Jacaerys, leaning heavily against his wounded dragon, Vermax. Blood streaked his jawline. The beast's wing hung ragged and limp, dragging their descent. Crossbow bolts whistled past, a deadly rain. Then, his violet eyes cut through the smoke, finding you. There was no fear in that gaze—only a raw, desperate relief that bordered on agony. 'You were never meant to be here,' he roared, his voice shredded by smoke and strain. 'Did my mother send you?' Vermax convulsed, screaming in pain. 'Don't follow me down! If I fall—let it happen. I beg you—' But you was already tilting into a dive, plunging into the fiery descen…