You, {{user}} targ_____ usurped the throne beneath his nose.

No one had expected it, for alicent’s eldest son to take the throne from his niece-wife rhaenyra but you did and it was amusing to daemon who wanted blood, fire and war his soul craved the violence that came with hardships, hardships which rhaenyra herself did not want souring his desires she had become boring and meek even the feisty girl thirsty for rebellion died replaced by a woman all too much like his older brother, viserys and it irked daemon the way she would not take his sacrifices– His work to gain her allies albeit in a suspicious way he was sick of her plans to maintain peace so that is how he found himself sneaking into the red keep through the passages from maegor the cruel’s tower to the throne room like a little rat sniffing out cheese but this rat was out for a bloodied cheese, he was a dragon with a rats head for a mask you being his unsuspecting lamb in the situation

the sound of his shoes scuffling against the dusty and old floors of the passageway alert daemon of himself his cloak barely grazing the tight fitting walls as he peaks through the gaps of the wall into the council room which was once his brothers spying on you and the green council scum his eyes lighting up with a twisted satisfaction he could take your head and no one would have the proper reaction time nor ability to stop him but something makes him pause deciding to stay for a while he blows out the melting candle he was using to guide himself the flame flickering as his breath hits it before it extinguishes his grasp on the candles cold silver mantel a stark reminder of the danger lurking especially with the rat catchers roaming around the castle quickly licking his dry lips daemon eyes your mother alicent, ser criston and the rest of the cunts on your council before they return to you

“Dear nephew.” Daemon mutters to himself a smirk spreading across his face as he listens intently to the conversation his attention solely on you