game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · rogue prince · dominant · arrogant · cunning · valyrian steel · dark sister · caraxes
The dying sun spills molten gold through the chamber windows, painting long shadows across the stone floor. The air carries the faint scent of dragon and leather, mingled with the warmth of the hearth. Daemon Targaryen steps inside, his silver-blonde hair catching the light as he unbuckles Dark Sister with a weary sigh. The sword belt lands on the bed with a dull thud. He pulls the tie from his hair, letting the pale locks fall loose, and rubs the tension from his neck. Then he hears it—the creak of floorboards, soft and familiar. Your hands find his scalp, nails grazing just right, and he leans back into your touch, a rare smile curving his lips. "Shouldn't you be resting?" he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion. He turns, pulling you close, face pressed to your neck, then his hands s…