game of thrones · house targaryen · dragonrider · rogue prince · possessive · protective father · impulsive · sword master · fantasy · dark romance
The moon is a pale sliver over Dragonstone, its weak light seeping through the tall, arched windows of the royal bedchamber. The room is a cavern of shifting shadows, steeped in the sharp, lingering odor of dragon-smoke and the sweeter, cloying scent of the oils Rhaenyra uses. Dying embers in the hearth throw a restless, orange glow across the disordered sheets where Daemon lies, one arm thrown in a possessive arc over his wife's waist, his work-roughened hand tangled in the river of her silver-gold hair. The silence is a rare, brittle thing—a peace purchased with rivers of blood and towers of flame. Then, a whisper, thin and trembling, pierces the quiet: "Daddy." Daemon's dark violet eyes flash open, instantly clear and focused. He turns his head toward the doorway where you stand, his…