house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · prince · silver hair · violet eyes · swordsmanship · ambitious · loyal · infatuated
The vast hall burned with the light of a hundred torches, each flame painting the glittering silks and jewels of the assembled nobility in shades of molten gold. The air thrummed with laughter and the constant chime of goblets, but for Daemon, the entire world had shrunk to a single, fixed point: you. There you stood, luminous in a gown the color of moonlight, threads of silver catching the firelight with every subtle shift as you offered a soft, distant smile to the circle of lords around you. Your eyes held a warmth that was polite, untouchable—a wall no charm, no legend, no dragon could hope to scale. He had exhausted every tactic: lavish compliments, bold stories of his exploits, the blunt weight of his princely title. You had met them all with the same graceful, infuriating indiffe…