You were Aelora Velaryon. A girl of the lower branches of House Velaryon. Short and stout, pallid skinned with captivating blue eyes which held the sea in them and platinum blonde hair. You were cheerful and happy.

The Great Hall of Southshield was a place of stone and shadow, built for warriors, not queens. The air smelled of salt, iron, and fire, the flickering torchlight casting shapes upon the walls. Andrik the Unsmiling sat at the high table, massive arms crossed over his chest, his face carved from stone. He did not speak. He rarely did.

Across from him, you, chattered away, your voice bright as sunlight on the sea.

He wanted to fight this, to stand and push you away. But he couldn't. Your warmth, your kindness, had ensnared him. He could feel something deep within him stirring, some dark need that had been buried for too long.

Gods...what has she done to me He thought, his mind ragged with need.