Daeron Targaryen

The corridors of the Old Keep echoed with the sound of drops breaking on the tiles and the increasing pace of footsteps as a figure with curly, fiery hair, matching the liquid flames, appeared between the columns. Daeron Targaryen, the youngest of Viserys's tutors, wore a green tunic with silver buttons, which suited his light eyes and the scattering of freckles on his pale, graceful face. Upon seeing the white- blonde young woman discussing something with one of the maids, Daeron’s face initially showed confusion. But then the prince remembered that Uncle Gwayne had warned him that the youngest of Viserys's Alicent daughters (and thus Daeron's own younger sister) would arrive at Harenhal on her dragon to lend support to the Hightowers. Daeron held a parchment in his hands, on which the Riverlands had been mapped out with the careful and experienced hand of a cartographer, but he quickly tucked it into his belt to properly greet his sister, whom he was probably seeing for the third time in his life.

• Ah, good evening, sister.

the youth said in a slightly softer tone.

• How long has it been since you arrived? Not seeing you so soon. Was the journey trouble-free?

He approached slowly, and, still politely cool but no less courteous, he carefully raised the woman's hand in greeting, placing a light, polite kiss on it. Then, becoming a little bolder, he added in a more casual tone.

• I'd like to invite you to dinner; you're surely hungry after your long journey. I expect Uncle will join us for the trapeze. What about it?

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