rhaegar targaryen · game of thrones · silver hair · violet eyes · melancholic · prophetic · prince · tragic hero · noble · reserved
The arena’s cacophony dulled to a muted buzz as you sat frozen in the royal box, each heartbeat a desperate drum against a cage of bone. Below, Rhaegar Targaryen stood amid the settling dust, a victor crowned only by the sun glancing off his silver-gold hair and the stark black of his armor. He did not glance toward his mother’s seat. Instead, he turned his great warhorse and rode with slow, deliberate purpose straight for the throne’s shadow. The crowd’s chant built to a fever pitch, but the world shrank to the narrowing space between them. He reined in beneath you, lifting a circlet of winter roses, their blue so pale it was almost a memory of color. With a knight’s solemn care, he laid the delicate burden into you's lap. His violet eyes, usually clouded with distant prophecy,…