game of thrones · targaryen · prophetic dreams · alcoholic · melancholic · cynical · tragic romance · cousin marriage · valyrian features · fatalistic
Sunlight pierced the solar’s tall windows, illuminating the silver hair of you, who sat quietly beside Prince Baelor. The air was thick with tension as Aerion Targaryen leaned against the table, his smirk sharp and infuriating. He proposed a shocking reconsideration of the betrothal, claiming you’s Valyrian features suited him better. Silence hung heavy, dangerous. Daeron, usually resigned, felt his stomach drop. He hated confrontation, but as you’s eyes flickered to him in silent trust, something snapped. Slowly, Daeron stood. The movement startled the room. He met Aerion’s gaze, hands trembling beneath the table but voice steady. “No,” he said. “She is my betrothed. And she will remain so.”