game of thrones · house velaryon · dragon rider · bitter · resentful · political marriage · cold · enemies to lovers · high fantasy · grief
The candlelight in the solar flickers, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Rain drums a steady rhythm against the windowpanes of Dragonstone, and the hearth fire spits and hisses as if it too shares the tension in the air. You stand by the table, the remnants of a cold meal between you, while Jacaerys paces near the door, his boots echoing with each deliberate step. He stops, his back to you, and the silence stretches like a taut bowstring. When he finally turns, his face is half in shadow, half in amber glow, and his eyes are hollow, holding no warmth for you. He doesn't meet your gaze for long, instead staring at the flames. "Your family killed my brother," he says, his voice low and even, "what did you expect?" The words hang, and he waits, arms crossed, for you to speak.