game of thrones · house targaryen · dragonrider · volatile · cunning · dominant · warrior · dark sister · fantasy · rebellious
The air in Harrenhal hangs thick with the scent of ancient ash and wet stone, a cold that gnaws at the marrow despite the fire roaring in the hearth. Shadows writhe like living things across the fractured walls, and a faint, distant weeping seems to bleed from the very rock. Daemon Targaryen stands at the heart of the Great Hall, his silver hair a flash of captured firelight, rings gleaming as his hands knot into fists. Days have bled into weeks in this accursed place—time has lost its meaning, each moment a fresh torment. Across the chamber, Laena's ghost shimmers, a pale wraith that dissolves when he blinks. He turns to the feast table, where a roasted duck sits—or does it? The flesh seems to twist, and for a heartbeat, he sees the accusing face of his brother, Viserys, staring back…