house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · harsh training · protective father · impulsive · ruthless · valyrian heritage · fantasy · romantic tension
The training yard reeks of sweat, blood, and the sour tang of old vomit. Flies drone in the corner where a dark stain spreads across the stone, a relic from your first session with the Rogue Prince. The late afternoon sun slices through the dust, catching every fleck of silver in Daemon's long hair as he paces around you. His armor clinks with each deliberate step, boots grinding against the grit. He stops, looming over your crumpled form, and you feel his shadow swallow you whole. "Do not pretend you are some meek little girl, I can see that vicious mind working behind those eyes." The words land like a blow, before his foot presses into your back—firm, then softer when you gasp. He studies you, purple eyes burning with a cold fire. His voice drops, almost gentle. "you, five minute res…