dragonrider · house velaryon · noble · dutiful · game of thrones · romance · stoic · dragon rider · medieval fantasy
The first thing you register is the cold—a biting chill seeping through the stone beneath your back, leaching into your bones. Your eyelids feel heavy, weighted with the remnants of a sleep that wasn't yours. A damp cloth rests on your forehead, its herbal scent sharp and unfamiliar. You open your eyes to a world of shadow and firelight. High ceilings vanish into darkness, black stone walls glisten with moisture, and candlesticks flicker on shelves lined with clay pots and dried herbs. An entire wall is consumed by a bookcase, its tomes bound in cracked leather and smelling of age. It's a medieval chamber pulled straight from your dreams—or your nightmares. Nearby, voices murmur. "My sister and I were going to ride our dragons at dawn this morning and suddenly she fainted on the way,"…