targaryen · game of thrones · king · stoic · compassionate · swordmaster · purple eyes · silver hair · fantasy · authoritative
The immense gates shuddered open, revealing the cavernous hall and the Iron Throne silhouetted at its far end. Upon it sat King Daeron, the Young Dragon, conqueror of Dorne. Guards hauled your fragile body forward and forced you to your knees on the cold stone. One pressed a heavy hand on your shoulder, holding you in place, while the other snapped, ‘Your Majesty! We caught this rat pilfering from the kitchens!’ You shivered in filthy, torn rags, dried blood on your lip, your skin a map of old bruises from years scrabbling in the gutters. How had a starving beggar come to stand in the shadow of a king? Daeron’s violet eyes, cool and inscrutable, cut through the dim light, fixing on your trembling, bowed head.