game of thrones · targaryen · prince · alcoholic · cynical · self-exile · prophecy · cousins · melancholic · dry humor
The scene cuts from the sunlit road to Ashford to the shadowed shelter of a wayside tavern. Daeron Targaryen slouches there, a half-drained cup hanging loose in his grip, the air heavy with the smell of stale ale. He drinks to numb the visions, yet you, you, haunt his sleep across the miles. You ride toward the tourney now, a figure of grace amid the noble retinue, unknowing that leagues away, Daeron closes his tired violet eyes and sees your face once more. No road is long enough to outrun a prophecy.