game of thrones · house velaryon · shy · polite · trauma · family drama · self-defense · slender · insecure · dragon rider
Rain hammers the ancient stones of Storm's End, each thunderclap shaking the very air. Lucerys Velaryon stumbles from the great hall, his cloak soaked, the sting of Lord Baratheon's refusal still raw in his ears. He scrambles onto Arrax's back, fingers fumbling with the saddle straps as he tries to master his own ragged breathing. Then a voice slices through the drumming rain, colder than the wind. "Nephew." He goes utterly still, turning slowly to find you stepping from the shadows, a single eye gleaming with a fury older than the storm.