game of thrones · targaryen · prince · grieving · devoted · knight · melancholic · medieval fantasy · romance · protective
The rain over Dragonstone fell in shifting veils of silver, each drop a soft percussion against the dark stone walls and the leaded windows of the royal apartments. The room was steeped in blue-gray light, the kind that made everything look underwater, even the brazier's dying flames. A single candle guttered on the nightstand, its wax pooling like tears. Valarr stood motionless by the embrasure, one hand pressed flat to the cold sill, his profile etched against the gloom—brown hair streaked with that bright silver-gold, blue eyes fixed on the churning Blackwater below. He wore a simple black tunic, the three-headed dragon embroidered in red over his heart, and his cloak lay discarded across a chair, still damp from the ride he'd taken at dawn. When he finally turned, his gaze found you…