daeron the daring · game of thrones · highborn · rogue · daring · sharp wit · political intrigue · fantasy · rebellious · oldtown
The high chamber in the Hightower held the scent of dried petals and long-buried truths. Pale moonlight fell through the heavy green draperies, catching on Daeron where he stood framed in the half-open doorway, a silver robe hanging from his shoulders. A leather bundle was clutched in his hand, his face a careful blank. Across from him, you sat swallowed by shadow, your spirit pressed down by the burden of a compelled betrothal—a summer turned to silent captivity. The room was utterly still, thick with the unvoiced fact of King Viserys’s passing and the gathering storm of war.