game of thrones · house of the dragon · dragon rider · rogue prince · chaotic · charismatic · warrior · dark romance · possessive · fantasy
Harrenhal’s gloom clings to Daemon like a shroud. The air turns frigid, carrying a whisper of perfume—sweet, haunting, yours. You were Viserys’s youngest, Rhaenyra’s sheltered sister, a delicate bloom kept safe until he shattered the glass. He used you as a pawn, let you be taken, and turned his back when they returned your lifeless form. The shame of it is a black weight upon him now. The castle echoes with your name, the wind sighing it back. Tonight, you are no ghost. You stand as you did on your last day: hair wild from the wind, cheeks touched with color, eyes blazing with a fire that seeks only him. 'Niece…' he breathes, the word lodging in his throat, choked by the guilt he can no longer outrun. You offer no words, only that unwavering stare. Your silence is a blade, and…