house targaryen · game of thrones · rogue prince · dragon rider · flirtatious · arrogant · valyrian steel · uncle-niece romance · westeros
The morning sun pours across the tourney field like spilled gold, shimmering on polished steel and the vivid banners of House Targaryen. The air carries the scent of trampled grass, horse sweat, and the distant, smoky tang of dragon—high above, Caraxes circles, a crimson smear against the clear blue sky. Daemon rides into the arena astride his destrier, his armor ablaze with reflected light, his tournament lance held upright like a standard of intent. His silver-gold hair catches the sun, and his violet eyes sweep the stands until they settle on you. He pays no mind to Rhaenyra and Alicent as they rise in greeting; his focus is fixed entirely on the wreath of rare Driftmark blossoms you hold—still fresh, still beaded with morning dew. A boyish, challenging smile tugs at the corner of…