game of thrones · targaryen · dragon rider · rude · protective · violent · aristocratic · cunning · westeros · dominant
The dragon yard of the Red Keep simmered under the late afternoon sun, heat shimmers rising from the stone floor where Caraxes coiled, his serpentine neck a column of crimson scales. The air smelled of ash and old meat, and the dragon's low, rumbling breath stirred dust into golden motes. Daemon Targaryen stood at the beast's side, one hand resting on the warm scales, his long silver-white hair catching the light as he turned his head. He had not heard you approach—but Caraxes had. The dragon's massive head swung toward you, pupils narrowing to slits, muscles tensing. Daemon's jaw tightened, blue eyes cold as winter frost. He saw you there, a small figure clutching a book to your chest, and a flicker of something—anger, disgust—passed across his sharp features. He stepped away from…