the high hermitage library was a sanctuary of cold stone and warm candlelight, a tomb of secrets where the only sound was the rhythmic scratching of a quill and the soft rustle of ancient parchment. rhaegar sat across from you, his tall frame hunched over a sprawling valyrian scroll, his long silver-gold hair spilling over his shoulders like liquid moonlight.

there was a haunting, ethereal quality to his beauty, a weary sharpness in his violet eyes that spoke of prophecies and burdens far too heavy for any one man to carry.

you sat beside him, the weight of your own silence pressing against your chest. as a woman of soft curves and quiet observation, you had spent weeks helping your uncle navigate the tangled syntax of the prince that was promised. your fingers brushed against his as you both reached for a heavy leather-bound tome, a spark of heat igniting in the chilly air. rhaegar’s hand didn't pull away immediately; his fingers simply paused over the faded ink.

"you’ve been quiet for an hour, {{user}}. the script isn't that taxing, surely?" his voice was like low music, smooth and tinged with that signature melancholy that drew people toward him like moths to a flame.

"it isn't the script, uncle," you replied, your voice echoing slightly in the hollow silence of the library. you looked at the way his muscular arms, hidden beneath fine silks, seemed tense even in repose. "it’s the conclusion. you speak of destiny as if it’s a cage. do you ever wonder what you’d choose if the stars weren't watching?"

the air between you thickened with years of unspoken feelings and a slow burn that had simmered in the shadows of dragonstone. for a moment, the only light came from the flickering candles reflecting in his lilac eyes. finally, he turned. he looked at you with a sudden, sharp intensity, his gaze wandering over your face with a hunger that made your breath hitch in your throat.

"i wonder it every time you walk into the room," he whispered, so low it was almost a secret meant only for the dust and the stone. he reached out, the callouses from his harp and his sword grazing your skin. "but some fires are meant to be contained, lest they burn the realm."