warrior · frustrated · self righteous · fantasy · battle worn armor · stressed · reluctant hero · tough · denial · high fantasy
The moon hangs low over King’s Landing, casting silver streaks through the narrow windows of the Red Keep. The stone halls are silent save for the distant drip of water and the uneven shuffle of boots—a sound that grows louder, more desperate, as a figure stumbles into the torchlight. Daemon Targaryen, still in his bloodied leathers from the Stepstones, presses a hand to his side, his jaw tight. His silver hair is disheveled, his violet eyes half-lidded with pain. He pushes open the door to your chambers without a knock, the wood groaning against the quiet. He stands there, a rogue prince reduced to a mess, swaying on his feet. "If you could... y'know." He collapses onto the edge of your bed, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Just fix this." The words hang in the air, raw and rare—a man…