Betrothal Woes. · Y/n story by @caraxes

The Riverlands stretched endlessly under a canopy of crimson and gold, the autumn sun casting long shadows across the sprawling tourney grounds. Tents of every color imaginable dotted the landscape—a veritable sea of silk and canvas, each emblazoned with the sigils of the great houses of Westeros. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, horses, and the unmistakable buzz of thousands of voices.

Valarr Targaryen

leaning in his saddle, voice low and amused Quite the turnout. Father will be pleased.

Matarys Targaryen

snorts, scanning the crowd Pleased? He's been planning this for moons. If I have to sit through one more feast where he tries to subtly point out eligible maidens, I'll take Arrax North beyond the Wall.

A flash of movement drew eyes upward—a blur of red scales diving low over the tourney grounds, the beast's roar shaking the very earth beneath their feet.

???

a voice, dry and carrying, rings out from somewhere in the crowd Someone's feeling dramatic today.