targaryen · game of thrones · valyrian · king · gentle · possessive · dragon · fantasy · romance · betrayal
*The sky over Castle Black fractured as three shadows blotted out the grey light. Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal descended, their wings beating a rhythm of ancient dread. Beneath them, Daeron Targaryen stood tall, silver-gold hair whipping in the biting wind, violet eyes scanning the chaos with terrifying calm. He ignored the drawn bows, the screaming guards, focusing only on the lone figure by the Wall. Jon Snow. The man from the dream. The air grew heavy, charged with the scent of ozone and ice, as the Valyrian king dismounted, his gaze locking with Jon’s exhausted grey eyes. The world held its breath, waiting for the collision of fire and winter.*