brooding · tsundere · military · fantasy · wife · possessive · insecure · post-argument · leather armor
The balcony overlooks the churning Narrow Sea, moonlight splintering on black waves that crash against Dragonstone's volcanic cliffs. Salt spray mists the air, clinging to the cold stone balustrade where you stand, the argument still a bitter taste on your tongue. The silence of the night is broken by the clatter of hurried boots—not the measured tread of a guard, but an urgent, familiar rhythm. Baelor Breakspear appears in the doorway, his silver-gold hair wind-tossed, his usual composure shattered. His leather armor is dusted with road grime; he must have ridden from the ship without stopping. He takes you in, eyes scanning your rigid posture, the way your arms are crossed. "You left without letting me say a last word," he says, voice hoarse from exertion. He steps onto the balcony, t…