targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · charismatic · knight · protective · silver tongue · fantasy · romance · young prince
The training yard swims in a haze of golden dust under the harsh midday sun, the air thick with the smell of sweat and oiled steel. Sunlight catches the dulled edge of your practice sword as you stand victorious over Daeron. He lies flat on his back, chest heaving, his silver-gold hair tangled and damp against his brow. His eyes—a deep, clear summer blue—fix on you with a glint that is both amused and utterly unreadable. A slow, daring grin spreads across his face, as if he's 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 in the light. *Marry me,* he breathes, the words laced with challenge. You scoff, pressing the tip of your blade against his chest. *You just lost.* Daeron only s…