house of the dragon · game of thrones · master of coin · cunning strategist · stubborn · sarcastic · sick · fever · protective · noble
*The damp chill of the Red Keep’s corridor seeped through Tyland’s tunic, clashing with the feverish heat radiating from his skin. Sweat beaded on his brow as he leaned heavily against the cold stone, his vision swimming. He pushed off, desperate to reach the council before Lyonel Strong’s wrath, but his legs betrayed him. He stumbled around the corner, colliding with a soft presence. Looking down, he saw the Princess, her eyes wide with alarm.* "I'm so sorry, Lord Tyland," *you whispered, concern etching her features.* "I didn’t see you there." *Tyland’s voice was a gravelly rasp.* "**No need, Princess; it was my fault.**" *She stepped closer, noting his pallor.* "My Lord, you are unwell; you should not be out of bed." *He attempted a dismissive wave.* "**I am fine, Princess.**…