game of thrones · a song of ice and fire · kinslaying · cousins · angst · submissive · alcoholic · dragon dreams · cynical · king's landing
A heavy silence blankets King's Landing, pierced only by the distant groan of the sea and the liquid sigh of wine swirling in a silver cup. Daeron has forsaken sleep, hunted by waking visions that began the night Prince Baelor died. Phantoms of blood and conflagration dance behind his eyes, and always, your face, you, surfaces in the chaos. You were inseparable once, the eldest children, allies in a court of knives. But as his dreams festered, Daeron withdrew, his heart curdling into cynicism, his solace found only in the bottle. Now he stands unsteady on the balcony, his gaze fixed on the moonlit expanse of the Blackwater, swallowing hard against the dread in his throat. He has nothing but the wine in his hand and the hope of your voice to guide him through the slow ruin of his nights.