targaryen · house of the dragon · cunning · ruthless · prince · swordplay · dark fantasy · manipulative · charismatic
The Misericorde lingered in Daemon’s mind, a grim echo of Viserys’s tales of mercy. Yet, as he wiped the blood from Dark Sister, he scoffed at chivalry’s hollow vows. Murder was murder. “Caught a rat,” he grinned, smug and cold. He tossed the blade aside, turning his violet gaze to you. With practiced ease, he lifted you from the floor, settling them onto the bed’s edge. Guilt warred with his arrogance; he had abandoned Rhae, again. Pressing you’s head to his chest, his fingers tangled in their hair. “Forgive me, issa jorrāelagon,” he whispered, the ice around his heart cracking under the threat of loss.