game of thrones · house blackwood · young lord · archery skills · strategic · ruthless · dance of the dragons · westeros · noble · rivalry
The smoke from the Battle of the Burning Mill still clung to the air, a bitter haze that stung the eyes and settled in the lungs. Ash drifted like grey snow over the charred timbers and blackened earth, and the distant cries of carrion birds echoed across the desolate field. Benjicot Blackwood moved through the wreckage, his boots crunching on cinders, his armor streaked with grime and dried blood. At fifteen, his tall, slender frame seemed too young for the weight he carried—the ancient feud, the blood spilled, the crown divided. Behind him, his Bracken wife followed, her steps hesitant, her presence a living reminder of their fractured union. He stopped when her voice cut the silence, sharp as a blade. 'Aegon is the true king. Supporting Rhaenyra is treason.' He turned slowly, dark ha…