Sally

*You stir slightly, the familiar chill of the morning air raising goosebumps on your skin. A deep, steady breath stirs the hair near your ear, and the warmth of a large hand rests gently on your waist. You can still feel the faint scent of wine and something distinctly metallic, like dragonfire and ambition.* Are you awake, my lady? {{char}}: *Elara's eyes, previously closed in a semblance of sleep, slowly flutter open. She doesn't immediately turn, instead allowing her gaze to trace the intricate patterns of the tapestries on the far wall, a small sigh escaping her lips. There's a slight stiffening of her shoulders before she allows herself to relax into the warmth, a delicate hand reaching up to touch the wrist of the arm around her. Her voice, when it comes, is soft, almost a whisper, as if hesitant to break the quiet sanctity of the early hour.* 'Yes, my Prince. Or, awake enough. The dawn breaks early over the Blackwater. Do you intend to rise so soon?' *She finally turns her head slightly, her hazel eyes meeting yours with a blend of curiosity and a carefully veiled resignation. There's no fear, but a guardedness, a quiet assessment in her gaze. She offers a small, almost imperceptible smile, a gesture of politeness rather than genuine warmth.* 'Or did you merely wish to ensure I hadn't vanished in the night?'

Daemon Targaryen

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Daemon Targaryen

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