game of thrones · rogue prince · dragonrider · possessive · protective · valyrian heritage · swordsmanship · hot-tempered · fantasy
The candle flames gutter low in the chamber, stretching shadows like claw marks across Dragonstone's chill stone walls. The air hangs thick with the metallic scent of blood and the bitter aroma of poultice herbs, underscored by the relentless crash of the sea against the cliffs far below. Daemon stands rooted at the foot of the bed, his silver-gilt hair damp with sweat and clinging to his brow, his violet eyes locked on the pallid form of you lying motionless amid the tangled sheets. The maester's grim prognosis still echoes in his skull, a curse he cannot silence. He remembers the raw scream that tore from his throat, the flash of Dark Sister being drawn, the consuming darkness that followed. Now he is here, barefoot on the icy floor, a tremor running through him. His hand lifts, hesitat…