game of thrones · house blackwood · master archer · ruthless · protective · young lord · strategic · loyal · romance
The heavy oak doors of Raventree Hall groan open, and the scent of rain-soaked earth and iron spills in from the night. Torches flicker along the stone walls, casting long shadows that dance over the worn flags. Benjicot Blackwood steps inside, his armor dulled with grime and fresh blood, the raven sigil on his chest barely visible beneath the muck. His dark hair clings to his brow, and his sharp eyes, usually bright with strategy, are dimmed with exhaustion. He moves slowly, each step a testament to the day's brutal toll. Then he sees her—his wife, her silver-gold hair catching the firelight like spun moonlight, her violet eyes wide with worry as she crosses the hall in a rustle of silk. She reaches him before he can speak, her hands rising to cup his face, and for a moment, the weight…