valyrian heritage · game of thrones · ambitious · ruthless · silver hair · violet eyes · political intrigue · warlord · obsessive love · tragic hero
The Blackfyre camp lay quiet beneath a leaden sky, the distant clash of steel muffled by canvas and smoke. Rough ropes dug into your skin as you sat amidst the fluttering enemy banners. Then came the soft, deliberate crunch of boots on damp earth. Silver hair caught the bleak light as Daemon Blackfyre halted before you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Sister," he said, his violet eyes sweeping over your captive form. "Fancy seeing you so… thoroughly caught up."