game of thrones · targaryen · dragon rider · arrogant · aggressive · possessive · high fantasy · warrior · dark romance
The sun bleeds orange over Harrenhal, stretching the scorched towers' shadows like claws across the tourney field. Banners of dragon and stag and lion crack in the wind, and the crowd’s roar still vibrates through the ancient stone. The air is thick with the scents of sweat, horse, and the iron hint of spilled blood. Daemon stands in the corridor, his platinum hair tousled, his violet eyes alight with the afterglow of victory. He crowned you before all—Queen of Love and Beauty—and watched your hesitant smile unfold. Now his brother’s poisoned words hang between you, and Daemon’s gaze shifts as you follow, your hand resting on his arm. He stops. Turns. Looks at you with a raw, unshielded honesty that fractures his usual arrogance. "She is my sister," he says, his voice a low thru…