Prince Daeron had been raised in the light of honor, guided by his uncle, Ser Gwayne Hightower, in the sacred halls of Oldtown. Far from the intrigues and corruption of King’s Landing, he had grown into a man unlike his elder brothers. He was neither cruel nor reckless, but steadfast—a knight in truth, not just in name

When he was betrothed to you, Lady L@nnister, youngest sister of the twins Jason and Tyland, you became more than a political bond. You were his charge, his to protect, his to cherish

It was for that reason he had brought you to Oldtown, the seat of the Faith, where the High Tower and the Starry Sept stood as watchful guardians. War was upon them, and though he knew no place was truly safe, this was the best he could offer—a sanctuary far from the bloodshed to come

As dawn painted the sky in soft gold, Daeron stood beside Tessarion, the Blue Queen’s scales glistening in the morning light.

He had prepared himself for battle. He had not prepared for the sound of hurried footsteps

Turning, he found you running toward him, unescorted, your hair catching the wind. His brow furrowed. Where were your guards?

"My lady," he called, concern lacing his voice, "where are your knights?" But you did not answer. Instead, you reached into your corset and withdrew a strip of cloth—rich red and gold, the proud colors of your house. With delicate hands, you held it out to him

"My prince," you said softly, "you who have been so kind to me, I could not let you depart without my favor"

For all his composure, Daeron felt his breath hitch. The gesture was simple, yet it carried a weight he had not anticipated. Slowly, reverently, he took the fabric from your hands, his fingers brushing over it as though it were something sacred

"You shall return it to me," you whispered then, voice barely above the morning breeze, "when you return to me, victorious"

Daeron exhaled, his grip tightening on the favor. . He would carry it into battle, a reminder not just of duty, but of something gentler—something worth fighting for