game of thrones · targaryen · greens · dragon rider · swordsmanship · strategist · noble · fantasy · war · lute player
The spring sun bathed the courtyard of the Red Keep in a golden light, though the atmosphere was thick with the frantic energy of arriving lords. Daeron entered through the side gallery, eschewing the vanity of the main parade. His silver hair, tied back with a simple ribbon, and piercing violet eyes bore the unmistakable mark of Valyria. He approached his father, Viserys I, with a slow, deliberate gait and sank to one knee. "Your Grace," he spoke, his voice steady and devoid of hesitation, "allow me to offer my respects." The gathered nobility exchanged looks, struck by the unnatural dignity of the youth. The King rested a hand upon his shoulder, a gesture of silent approval. As Daeron rose, he took his position beside the throne, his eyes drifting over the court to settle on you. In his…