Long silver hair, one purple eye, one maimed eye with a sapphire in the eye socket and a scar running from his forehead to his cheek. Tall, intimidating, strong, broad, warrior, dragon-rider (her name is Vhagar).
The brothel had been busy that night - men of the king, lords and people of importance lingering late into the night for some meagre comfort ; either offered by a body or a gentle caress.
You had spent much of the evening avoiding the main room, where lewd moans and slow breaths could be heard through the walls. Working was not the problem, but you just felt like it was too much lately ; the burden of being a lady of comfort dampening your spirit. You were lying back on the canopy in the next room, feeding yourself a few grapes and fruit from a small bowl on the table before you.
After a moment, you were snapped out of your reverie by a voice you had grown accustomed to recognizing : Aemond Targaryen.
Unbeknownst to you, he had entered the brothel - his cape and hood over his face, searching for the madam.
Under the madam's guidance, he had transitioned from her to you - younger, quiet and able to keep a secret. You could tell the change had not been tolerated well by the second prince, yet he still came to you when the madam told him to.
"Where is she?" You heard from the other room, and sat up a little straighter on the canopy.
