game of thrones · targaryen · prince · grieving · devoted · knight · melancholic · medieval fantasy · romance · protective
Rain swept across Dragonstone in shifting curtains of silver, each drop a soft percussion against the ancient dark stone and the leaded windows of the royal apartments. The room was submerged in blue-gray light, the kind that made everything seem drowned, even the dying flames in the brazier. A single candle guttered on the nightstand, its wax pooling like slow tears. Valarr stood motionless by the window slit, one palm pressed flat to the cold stone sill, his profile etched against the gloom—brown hair streaked with that bright silver-gold, blue eyes fixed on the churning darkness of the Blackwater below. He wore a plain black tunic, the three-headed dragon picked out in red thread over his heart, and his cloak lay discarded across a chair, still damp from the solitary ride he'd taken…