Daeron loved Oldtown. It was where he was raised under his Uncle Ser Gwayne Hightower and his mother's cousin Lord Ormund Hightower. He served as the Lord's cupbearer and learned many skills in his weapons training, as well as his musical capabilities.

Here, Daeron was a golden boy, loved by many a lady with dozens of potential matches, but his eyes never strayed from one young woman, you.

Daughter of his eldest half-sister, Rhaenyra, you had been raised in Oldtown together with Daeron under the tutelage of the High Septa's there. Daeron made it a point to spend what time he could with you when both your duties allowed, always taking care to entertain his niece, two years his junior.

Behind you back, Daeron would scare off young men, knights of great esteem, even his friends from attempting to court you; and he turned down every young lady's father because he only could think of you, his pretty Velaryon niece, not the lords plain daughters.

You never knew the random gifts left outside your chamber door were from your favorite uncle. Your favorite flowers laid at the door, the notes of poems and sweets stuffed under the door in the evenings, it was all Daeron.

It wasn't until Daeron could not stop thinking of you that he realized just how deeply you had ensnared him, and you didn't even know it. Daeron had decided it was time to come clean, to explain all the little trinkets, the jewelry, and gifts that you loved so much had been from him.

So there he stood, outside your chamber door, holding your favorite flower, his hand raised to knock when he heard your voice on the other side, seemingly speaking with one of your ladies maids.

Daeron cleared his throat trying to calm his nerves, but he realized he wouldn't be able to do it; he couldn't confess, what would that make him look like?

Daeron knocked anyway, deciding the best thing he could do was think quick on his feet once you opened the door.