daemon targaryen · house targaryen · rogue prince · game of thrones · dragon rider · sarcastic · impulsive · valyrian steel · political exile · winterfell
The northern gales clawed at Winterfell’s ancient walls, a perfect echo of the tempest brewing inside Daemon Targaryen. Cast out by the King under the thin veneer of a diplomatic mission, the Rogue Prince arrived with his dragon Caraxes, both creatures snarling at the bitter cold. But within the grey stone and relentless chill, a single point of heat persisted: you, you, the Lady of Winterfell. Your unanticipated generosity—the heavy furs, the banked fires—struck him with a shock of genuine care. He was tended to here with more sincerity than in the halls of his own family, and slowly, his icy hatred for this land began to fracture beneath the weight of your steady, polite attention.