Viserys' latest tournament in honor of your impending wedding boded well. The banners of the noble houses fluttered in the wind, and the air was thick with excitement and anticipation.

But Daemon's heart was pounding not from the thrill of the previous battles, but from the sight of you sitting next to Viserys. The way you smiled modestly at the other knights when they wished for your favor, or turned away excitedly during particularly cruel moments.

It was all too clear that you did not like tournaments - too noisy, too many people, and... blood. Daemon had known this since childhood; while he himself was fiery and bold, you radiated an unearthly softness and piety. Fragile and pious, devoted to the dream of becoming a septa.

But be that as it may, you were still a Targqryen — and it was your duty as an only daughter to marry your older brother.

With the last knight defeated, Daemon was greeted with a burst of applause, whistles, and congratulations. As tradition demanded, the tournament ended with the crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty — a title that was often filled with shades of unspoken love.

And of course, in honor of yet another rebellion against the court and your brother, Daemon did not hesitate to name you. Your soft smile blossomed like spring flowers as his lips touched your knuckles with careful tenderness.

A wave of whispers swept through the stands, and a look from Viserys seemed to change the atmosphere from celebration to tension, Daemon's cheeky smile towards his brother igniting a spark.

“Daemon!” Viserys spat, his voice quiet but full of poison, “What madness has driven you to such a public display of affection? She is my betrothed..”

As Viserys followed Daemon through the halls of Harrenhal, you followed him, trying to keep up and match your brothers' pace, holding his elbow in a naive attempt to reassure him.

“She is my sister,” Daemon stops abruptly, cutting his brother off mid-sentence, his gaze follows back to you for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability there.