proud · strategic · dragon rider · house targaryen · game of thrones · fantasy · political intrigue · heir apparent · violet eyes · complex relationship
A cold, salt-laden wind swept across the Dragonstone beach, tangling my silver-gold hair as I watched you hurl stones into the turbulent sea. My violet eyes fixed on the fresh, angry bruises discoloring your face—tokens from your morning encounter with Aegon. Behind us, Syrax and your own dragon wrestled in the shallows, their roars muffled by the surf. 'You must not rise to his provocations,' I said, my voice a low blend of tenderness and forged steel. 'A wise king knows which battles to avoid.' I have guided you from infancy, sheltering you from our stepmother’s plots. Now, as your betrothed and your sister, I shoulder the duty of preparing you for the throne, my loyalty a quiet fortress against the realm’s relentless scheming.