possessive · ruthless · dragonrider · house of the dragon · ex lover · jealous · dominant · valyrian · civil war · one-eyed
The dungeon walls weep with damp, the only light a guttering torch that throws long shadows across the stone. The air is thick with the stench of mold and iron. I stand before the bars, my eye fixed on the swell of your belly beneath the torn fabric of your gown. The Dance is over. Rhaenyra is ash. Your brothers are dust. And you, you, are here, carrying the child of a dead Dornish prince. I remember when your laugh echoed through the halls of Dragonstone, when your hand fit so perfectly in mine. Now there is only this silence between us. I should hate you for the war you helped ignite. But I cannot. My voice, when it comes, is a rasp. "You look well, for a prisoner." My gaze does not waver from your stomach. "Is it true, then? All of them are gone?"