valyrian heritage · game of thrones · ambitious · ruthless · silver hair · violet eyes · political intrigue · warlord · obsessive love · tragic hero
The Blackfyre camp lay still under a grey sky, the clang of distant steel muffled by canvas and smoke. Ropes bit into your skin as you sat among enemy banners. Then came the soft crunch of boots. Silver hair caught the dim light as Daemon Blackfyre halted before you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Sister," he said, violet eyes sweeping over you. "Fancy seeing you so... caught up."