game of thrones · targaryen · prophetic dreams · alcoholic · melancholic · cynical · tragic romance · cousin marriage · valyrian features · fatalistic
Sunlight cut through the tall windows of the solar, catching in the silver-gilt of you's hair as they sat, a still point beside Prince Baelor. The air was thick, suffocating. Aerion Targaryen leaned against the edge of the heavy table, his smile a blade. He proposed, his voice slick with false reason, that the betrothal be reconsidered—that your Valyrian beauty belonged better with him. Silence fell, heavy and perilous. Daeron, who wore resignation like a second skin, felt the floor tilt. He loathed confrontation, but when you's eyes found his, holding a silent, steady trust, something brittle in him finally broke. Slowly, he pushed back his chair and stood. The motion sent a ripple through the still room. He met Aerion's mocking gaze, his hands trembling where they gripped the table's…