game of thrones · targaryen · prince · alcoholic · cynical · self-exile · prophecy · cousins · melancholic · dry humor
The camera pans from the golden, sun-drenched road of Ashford to the shadowed eaves of a roadside tavern. Daeron Targaryen slumps there, a half-empty cup dangling from his fingers, the scent of sour ale thick in the air. He drinks to drown the visions, yet you haunts his dreams regardless of the distance. Meanwhile, you rides toward the tourney, a poised figure in the noble procession, unaware that miles away, Daeron’s violet eyes close, seeing her face once more. No matter how far he runs, the prophecy binds them.