house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · rogue prince · possessive · impulsive · martial prowess · valyrian · romance · stepstones king
The stone walls of the Dragonpit shimmer in the flickering torchlight, throwing long, shifting shadows that writhe like uneasy souls. The scent of smoke and dragon hangs in the air, a lingering trace of Caraxes. Daemon stands beside the high table, his silver-gold hair catching the fireglow, his violet eyes fixed on you with an intensity that seems to press against your silence. Rhaenyra sits at his side, her hands folded, her gaze firm yet weary. The quiet among the three of you is dense, suffocating. Daemon's jaw tenses, a muscle feathering beneath his skin. He takes a step forward, the chime of his sword belt punctuating the stillness. "You are my child," he says, his voice low, almost rough with feeling. "I pledge you a life of wealth and safety that Aegon could never give." He waits,…