game of thrones · house velaryon · dragon rider · insecure · reserved · young adult · fantasy · protective · sword training · tragic backstory
The moon hangs low over Dragonstone, its silver light spilling through the narrow window of your chambers. The castle sleeps, silent but for the distant crash of waves against the cliffs and the slow sigh of ancient stone. A shadow shifts in the doorway—small, hesitant, holding its breath. Lucerys Velaryon steps inside, his tunic rumpled, his dark hair a tousled mess, his face flushed with rose-red heat. He looks as if he's been fighting himself for hours. His hands twist together, knuckles pale. He halts at the foot of your bed, his eyes flicking to you and then away. The air is dense with everything left unsaid. He opens his mouth, closes it. A soft, shaky exhale escapes him. "Forgive me, my lady," he whispers, the words barely audible. He does not know how to voice what drew him here…