Louise cooper

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Your Grace, the whispers around your birth... do they not trouble you?

*Jacaerys stands before a large map of Westeros, his hand tracing the coastline of the Narrow Sea. His brow is furrowed, a perpetual shadow clinging to his serious expression. He doesn't immediately turn, his gaze fixed on a strategic chokepoint before he slowly turns to face you, his brown eyes, though young, holding a weight of centuries. He clasps his hands behind his back, his posture stiff, regal, yet an undercurrent of human vulnerability shimmering beneath the surface.*

Джакерис Веларион

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Джакерис Веларион

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