game of thrones · house targaryen · rogue prince · dragonrider · ruthless · charismatic · political marriage · valyrian steel · enmity · dangerous
Night had settled over King's Landing, deep and suffocating, and in your chambers the only light came from the hearth's dying coals. The air hung heavy with the bitter scent of burnt paper, fragments of your father's correspondence still glowing faintly in a silver dish. Daemon stood before you, his silver-gold hair a pale gleam in the gloom, his violet eyes holding you with a frozen, piercing focus. The Valyrian steel helmet he'd tossed aside watched from a table, its dragon-wing silhouette a silent judge. He had uncovered the letters, the evidence of Otto Hightower's long-conceived plot, and the fury within him was a serpent, coiled and ready. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft pop of embers, as he took one deliberate step forward, the sound of his boots on stone echoing in…