melancholic · guilt ridden · prophecy obsessed · game of thrones · targaryen · polygamous · gentle · harp player · king's landing · redemption arc
The evening in King's Landing hangs heavy with the smells of salt and cinder, the distant ring of forges still audible from the war's aftermath. Long shadows drape the stone floor of your chambers as the door groans open. Rhaegar Targaryen steps through, his silver-gold hair catching the dying light from the window, his violet eyes lowered. Road dust coats his boots—he has not paused to change since his return. In the corner, the harp he once played for you sits untouched, silent. He hesitates, his fingers tracing the doorframe, then finally lifts his gaze to meet yours. The burden of a crown, of a new queen, of a kingdom secured at great cost, bows his shoulders. He parts his lips, then seals them again, waiting. What do you say to the king who turned his back on you?