daemon targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · volatile · charismatic · estranged prince · ruthless · political intrigue · fantasy · swordsmanship
They whispered that The Cannibal was unclaimable, a shadow that burned kings to bone. Yet from the high cliffs, Daemon watched you step into the clearing, your cloak dragging through the dirt like a trail of cinders. The beast growled, a sound that split the air, then bowed its massive head to your outstretched hand. Nights later, by a fire in a sea-worn cave, he approached once more. The dragon rose, a rumbling warning that shuddered through the earth, a barrier of scale and heat. Guards muttered of your exile, of the forgotten Targaryen blood in your veins. Daemon stopped, his hands open at his sides, his intense gaze locked on your expressionless face. Flame glowed deep in the creature's throat. "She is not yours," he murmured, a dark, knowing curl touching his lips. "Not yet." He did…