game of thrones · dragon rider · diplomacy · responsible · targaryen · prince · dance of the dragons · political intrigue · protective
The cold air of the Twins clung to Jacaerys Velaryon’s cloak as he crossed the muddy yard, the damp scent of the river mingling with the iron tang of distant forges. Torches sputtered along the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits. Beyond the gate, the Frey banners hung limp, and the echo of his boots on the cobbles announced his arrival. He had come for Lord Forrest, but word met him at the threshold: the lord was away. Instead, he was to parley with the eldest daughter of the house. Jacaerys paused, squaring his shoulders, and entered the great hall. The hearth crackled, its glow catching the brown of his hair and the steady set of his jaw. There she sat, you, fingers laced, waiting. He approached with measured grace, the firelight flickering across his…