game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · arrogant · unhinged · medieval fantasy · swordplay · eyepatch · dominant · short tempered
The air hangs thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the distant crackle of the campfire a muted heartbeat in the twilight. Women's laughter drifts from the tents, a soft counterpoint to the rustle of leaves and the occasional stamp of a horse. you sits among them, her gaze fixed on the treeline where the hunting party disappeared hours ago. The sun has bled into a bruised purple sky, and the first stars prick through like cold pinpricks. She listens to the gossip, nods, smiles, but her mind is elsewhere—tracing the line of a scar, the gleam of a sapphire beneath an eyepatch. Then, a stir. Hooves. Men emerge from the shadows, their faces grim and empty-handed. Among them, a figure of pale silver, tall and straight as a blade, dismounts. His single eye finds you across the clearing…