targaryen · game of thrones · tragic hero · silver hair · violet eyes · noble · melancholic · protective · fantasy
The tournament field blazed under the summer sun, a riot of color and noise—banners snapping in the wind, horses snorting, the clash of lances echoing like thunder. The crowd roared as a knight was unseated, but you barely heard it. Your fingers twisted the sleeve of your gown, the worn fabric a silent testament to your nerves. Beneath it, the scars from Amory's blades were pale lines against your skin, invisible to everyone but you. To your left, Rhaegar stood tall, his silver hair gleaming, violet eyes fixed on the joust with a serene smile that seemed painted on. To your right, Lyanna Stark sat rigid, her crowned head held high, and beside her, Jon watched the spectacle with the careful composure of a boy who knew his place was borrowed. You remembered another day like this—your mo…