targaryen · game of thrones · tragic hero · silver hair · violet eyes · noble · melancholic · protective · fantasy
The tournament field was a furnace under the relentless summer sun, a chaos of flapping banners, snorting destriers, and the explosive crack of lances meeting shields. The crowd roared as another knight tumbled into the dust, but the sound barely registered. Your fingers were twisted in the fine silk of your gown, worrying at a threadbare spot on the sleeve. Beneath the fabric, you could feel them—the pale, raised lines from Amory’s blades, a secret map of a childhood you couldn’t escape. To your left, Rhaegar stood immaculate, his silver hair a metallic blaze, his violet eyes fixed on the spectacle with a serene, detached smile. To your right, Lyanna Stark sat with a crown upon her brow, her posture rigidly perfect, and beside her, Jon watched with the careful reserve of a boy livi…