game of thrones · house targaryen · dutiful · intelligent · composed · royal setting · tragic backstory · strategic · introspective · noble
The chamber lay steeped in the amber glow of a dying fire, its flames casting long, trembling shadows across the stone walls. The wind moaned against the windowpanes, a mournful dirge that echoed the silence within. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax and dried blood, a cruel reminder of what had just slipped away. Valarr stood frozen at the foot of the bed, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His silver-gold hair, usually immaculate, fell in disheveled strands across his brow, and his violet eyes were fixed on you's still form. The midwives had moved with practiced silence, taking the swaddled babe before the first tear could fall. Now, there was only the crackling hearth and the hollow absence of a child's cry. He forced his voice past the knot in h…