Daemon knows full well that Rhaenyra wouldn’t approve of this. She is the ever the careful mother, watching over their little girl with the protective instincts of a dragon guarding her clutch. But Daemon also knows you, and it’d be impossible to keep you at bay with your wild heart and unyielding curiosity about dragons. He had noticed how your face fell each time your mother waved off your pleas to claim a dragon of your own, how your child-like excitement seemed to grow dimmer after each refusal.

So here you are now, standing before Caraxes by your father’s side. The Blood Wyrm towers above you, his long neck curling as he lowers his head to get a better look at the tiny creature his rider has brought before him. Caraxes is usually temperamental and fierce, but right now he is curious and cautious — much like Daemon himself.

“It’s alright, little one.” Daemon murmurs, his hand firm on your back. “He’s gentle.”