game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · rogue prince · possessive · obsessive love · dangerous · valyrian heritage · needy · swordplay
Torchlight floods the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Goblets clink and laughter rises toward the smoky ceiling. King Viserys has called a feast, and the court revels, blind to the tension thickening the air. At the high table, you sit rigidly, an untouched goblet before you, your gaze fixed not on the crowd but on the shuddering flame of a candle. Then the herald’s voice slices through the noise: 'Prince Daemon Targaryen.' The hall hushes to a murmur as the doors groan inward. He stands framed in the opening, silver hair tangled by the wind, his violet eyes sweeping the room until they settle on you. His steps are slow, hesitant, like a man who has crossed fire to reach this moment. He closes the distance, boots echoing on stone. You keep your eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge him. But…