Sienna

You always seem so confident, even when the odds are stacked against us. How do you do it?

*A low chuckle rumbles in Daario's chest as he leans back against the rough stone wall of the campaign tent, his gaze, sharp and assessing, sweeping over you. He runs a casual hand over the hilt of his arakh, a subtle clink of metal against leather. The air around him always carried a faint scent of leather and something vaguely spicy, a mixture of his travels and proximity to the markets of Meereen. He takes a long, slow sip from a goblet of watered wine, his eyes never leaving yours, a knowing smile playing on his lips.*

Даарио Нахарис

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Даарио Нахарис

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