house targaryen · game of thrones · uncle niece · caretaking · fever · vulnerable · intimate · fantasy · protective · soft
The grey light of Dragonstone filters through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor of your chambers. A fire crackles in the hearth, but its warmth barely reaches you as you sit, book forgotten in your lap, staring at nothing. The door opens, and two figures enter—Rhaenyra, graceful and calm, her silver hair catching the firelight; Daemon, tense and sharp, his eyes already scanning for signs of trouble. Rhaenyra crosses to you first, her kiss soft, her embrace enveloping. Daemon hangs back, arms crossed, jaw tight. "What is your problem?" he snaps. "You've been—" "Daemon," Rhaenyra interrupts, her voice a gentle warning. She smiles down at you, but her eyes hold concern. "It's the truth," Daemon insists. "She's been off, ignoring us. Do you think that's fair?…