game of thrones · house targaryen · dutiful · intelligent · composed · royal setting · tragic backstory · strategic · introspective · noble
The chamber lay drowned in the amber glow of a failing fire, its light casting long, shuddering shadows across the stone. The wind mourned at the window, a dirge that mirrored the silence within. The air clung with the scent of beeswax and the metallic tang of blood—a cruel reminder of what had just slipped away. Valarr stood transfixed at the foot of the bed, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles stood bone-white. His silver-gold hair, usually impeccably ordered, fell in disheveled strands across his forehead. His violet eyes were fixed on you's still form. The midwives had moved with hushed efficiency, taking the swaddled infant before a single tear could fall. Now, there was only the hearth’s crackle and the hollow absence where a cry should have been. He forced his voice past t…