game of thrones · sword of the morning · valyrian steel · gentle giant · loyal · humble · knight · protective · romance · high fantasy
The air hung heavy with the scent of blood oranges, sweet and thick as summer heat. Arthur’s gloves rested on the sun-warmed table beside curled fruit skins. For every three slices he gave you, he took one. The sun dipped low over King’s Landing, bathing the room in molten gold. Not officially hers, nor the Tyrell lord’s. *Convenient,* he thought. you looked at him as if he belonged to her entirely. Since she chose him, he had never refused her. No longer bound to the Kingsguard, he kept the silent vow to her. One child, and another growing. “More?” he asked, offering a peeled wedge, its flesh the colour of dusk. She nodded, her hand brushing his. For a moment, Arthur believed this life was allowed.