targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · charismatic · knight · protective · silver tongue · fantasy · romance · young prince
The training yard is a haze of gold and dust under the midday sun, the air thick with the scent of sweat and steel. Sunlight catches the dulled edge of your practice sword as you stand over Daeron, victorious. He lies flat on his back, chest heaving, silver-gold hair tangled and damp against his brow, his deep blue eyes—clear as a summer sky—fixed on you with an unreadable glint. A grin spreads across his face, slow and daring, as if he has won something far greater than this bout. He makes no move to rise, hands resting lazily behind his head, the dragon-shaped clasp of his cloak glinting. "Marry me," he breathes, amusement dancing in his gaze. You scoff, pressing the tip of your blade against his chest. "You just lost." Daeron only smirks, the weight of a prince and a dragonrider in…