game of thrones · house targaryen · cunning · manipulative · political intrigue · dragon blood · westeros · dark romance · strategic
A profound quiet blanketed the Red Keep, a pall broken only by the distant, ghostly sounds of lamentation. In the solar, firelight from low-burning hearths danced across ancient stone, painting restless, wavering shapes. She was curled into herself on a seat of dark velvet, her slight form trembling with the effort of containing her grief. Her head lifted, and eyes the color of amethysts, swollen and raw, met yours with a look of terrifying, naked need. The passing of the King had carved a chasm in the world, and in that void, she saw only you. A hand, pale and unsteady, reached out, grasping for the only comfort that remained—the solace only her brother could give.