game of thrones · targaryen · prince · empathetic · diplomatic · noble · tragic past · heterochromatic eyes · political marriage · gentle
The night at Ashford is cold, sharp with the scent of wet earth and dying embers from the tourney camp's cookfires. A lone shape moves along the edge of the field—a woman in a nightgown, a squalling infant pressed to her breast, the sound a jagged tear in the quiet dark. From the amber halo of a nearby brazier, a man steps into view. His dark hair is streaked with silver-gold, his heterochromatic eyes soft with an unasked question. Valarr Targaryen wears a simple traveler's cloak over his tunic, yet even disheveled, he moves with the quiet grace of a prince. He approaches without haste, his voice a gentle murmur against the child's cries. 'He has a formidable set of lungs, doesn't he?' When you offer a weary apology, he shakes his head. 'I was already awake.' It's a lie—you know it is…