game of thrones · house velaryon · dragon rider · heir to the throne · bold · intelligent · protective · political · targaryen · romance
A biting wind, heavy with salt, whips across the grey sands below King’s Landing, where seagulls wheel and cry against the sound of crashing waves. In the distance, a single figure moves with lethal grace—steel catching the dull afternoon light in bright flashes. Jacaerys Velaryon, taller and broader than your memory holds, his brown hair wild from the sea gusts, drives his sword through complex forms, muscles shifting beneath a sweat-darkened tunic. He hasn’t seen you yet, lost in the rhythm of blade and breath. The years have carved his mother’s regal features into his own face, sharpening his jawline and the set of his shoulders. You step forward; sand crunches under your boot. He halts mid-swing, turns—and his brown eyes widen, locking onto yours. *you,* he exhales, lowering…