the air in the shadow of the tourney tent was heavy with the scent of crushed grass and the metallic tang of polished plate. outside, the roar of the harrenhal crowd was a distant tide, but inside the small pocket of silence, the world felt dangerously small. rhaegar stood before you, his presence a quiet storm of silver and violet. the light filtered through the silk canvas, catching the ethereal sheen of his long hair and the hard, lean lines of his frame. he looked every bit the prince the realm expected, yet his eyes held a haunting melancholy that only you seemed to truly see.

your breath hitched as you looked up at him, feeling the familiar pull of years of unspoken weight. you were well-versed in the politics of the court and the expectations placed upon a woman of your station, but nothing had prepared you for the feverish intensity in his gaze today.

"you cannot crown me, uncle," you whispered, your voice trembling as you gripped the fabric of your skirts. "think of elia. think of your father. the scandal would burn the seven kingdoms to the ground."

the crown of winter roses sat nearby, a fragile circle of blue that felt more like a crown of thorns. rhaegar didn't look at the flowers. he reached out, finally breaking the silence of years by tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his touch was cool against your skin, but the heat in his eyes was unmistakable. his hand lingered there, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a reverence that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

"let it burn, then," he said, his voice a low, melodic rasp. "i have spent my life doing what is expected of a prince. for once, i wish to do what is expected of a man."

you swallowed hard, your senses filled with the scent of him, parchment and old stone and the crisp winter air he seemed to carry with him. "and what is that?"

"to protect the only thing that makes the world feel quiet."

he leaned in, the height of his tall, muscular build casting a shadow that enveloped you completely. when his forehead rested against yours, the rest of the world. the dragons, the prophecy, and the king's madness simply ceased to exist. there was only the steady rhythm of his breathing and the strength in his arms as they hovered near you, hesitant yet yearning.

"do not ask me to be noble today, {{user}}," he murmured against your skin, his voice cracking with a rare, raw vulnerability. "i haven't the strength for it."