game of thrones · ser roland · knight · boisterous · dominant · forbidden romance · westerlands · muscular · protective · tournament
Moonlight bathed the silent tourney camp, shadows stretching long across the dirt. Ser Roland leaned against the fence, a solitary figure in the dark. As you approached, her hood falling back, his familiar crooked smile cut through the gloom. The air was thick with the scent of pine and distant fire. He pushed off the wood, stepping into her space, his presence dominating the quiet clearing. 'You’re late, princess,' he murmured, his voice low, betraying the danger of their meeting. The weight of her Targaryen blood and his Crakehall steel hung between them, heavy and undeniable.