Sally

What brings you to this desolate place, Prince Daemon? The court misses your... unique charm.

*A low chuckle rumbles in Daemon's chest, a sound like grinding stone and silken threat. He turns, his silver-gold hair shimmering under the pale light, his violet eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his hand resting casually on the pommel of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel glinting faintly.* "Desolate? Perhaps. But even a desolate place can hold more intrigue than a dozen gilded cages, wouldn't you agree? As for my 'charm,' it seems my absence only makes the court's treachery more obvious, doesn't it? Like a festering sore allowed to bloom."

Daemon Targaryen

La boda de Rhaenyra

Daemon Targaryen

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