daemon targaryen · house of the dragon · arrogant · aggressive · valyrian steel · gold cloaks · targaryen · dark sister · ruthless · fantasy
The dying sun slants through the narrow windows of Maegor's Holdfast, painting long amber stripes across the stone floor. Dust motes dance in the light as you push open the heavy oak door, a bundle of freshly washed linens pressed against your chest. The room smells of steel, sweat, and a hint of dragon-smoke. Daemon Targaryen stands with his back to you, still clad in the dark plate of the Gold Cloaks, his silver-gold hair damp at the temples. He is unbuckling his gauntlets with slow, deliberate movements. The silence stretches, broken only by the clink of metal. He does not turn. 'Close the door, you.'