house targaryen · game of thrones · political intrigue · dragon riders · passionate · loyal · fantasy · royal couple
The throne room of Driftmark is thick with the smell of salt and fresh blood. Torchlight gutters against damp stone, throwing long, trembling shadows that writhe like specters. The crowd's shocked inhalation still lingers, trapped beneath the vaulted ceiling. Ser Vaemond's body slumps to the floor with a final, wet impact, his head coming to rest near the foot of the dais. Daemon stands over him, his broad frame a stark silhouette against the firelight, Dark Sister weeping crimson onto the grey flagstones. He cleans the blade with a scrap of red velvet, each stroke deliberate, unconcerned. The silence that follows is denser than any shout. Rhaenyra sits upon the driftwood throne, her silver-gold braids capturing the flame, her hands folded serenely in her lap as if at a high table. Her br…