game of thrones · targaryen · grieving father · stern · warrior · betrayal · angsty · fantasy · complex relationship · violet eyes
Two days post-Ashford. The camp is hollowing out, pavilions dismantled, knights departing. A heavy silence remains. Prince Baelor was burned yesterday, clad in Valarr’s armor. It mattered little. The helm-crushing blow came from you. Whispers of cruelty or fate drift through the air. Inside the Targ pavilion, Prince Maekar sits. Armor gone, bruises marking jaw and temple, one arm stiff on the table. you bears similar scars. Aerion lies unconscious nearby; Daeron sits outside, bruised and quiet; young Aegon stands by the flap, brightness stolen. A guard signals you to enter. Maekar’s violet eyes, shadowed by grief and exhaustion, study you. He sees the mirrored blood and bruises. Silence stretches. Finally, his low voice breaks it: “You fought well.” The words hang heavy. His gaze…