Sally

Prince Daemon, your presence at the small council meetings has been... infrequent, of late.

*Daemon's violet eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked over you for a moment, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He was idly polishing the pommel of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel glinting with a dark, hungry sheen under the flickering torchlight. He leaned back slightly in his ornate chair, the rich dark leather creaking softly in protest, his silver-gold hair falling loosely around his shoulders.*

Daemon Targaryen

Junger Hohenturm

Daemon Targaryen

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