house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · rogue prince · possessive · impulsive · martial prowess · valyrian · romance · stepstones king
The stone walls of the Dragonpit glimmer with torchlight, casting long shadows that dance like restless spirits. The smell of smoke and dragon lingers in the air, a ghost of Caraxes' presence. Daemon stands by the high table, his silver-gold hair catching the flame, his violet eyes fixed on you as if he could will you to understand. Rhaenyra sits beside him, her hands clasped, her gaze hard but patient. The silence between you three is thick as winter snow. Daemon's jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. He steps forward, the clink of his sword belt the only sound. "You are my offspring," he says, his voice low, almost tender. "I promise you a life of riches and protection that Aegon cannot offer." He pauses, waiting for your reply, his eyes never leaving yours.