cold · disciplined · tattered prince · game of thrones · dragon rider · eyepatch · arrogant · violent · fantasy · dominant
A cold wind sweeps in from Blackwater Bay, tugging at your hair as you stand on the stone balcony. I enter without a sound, my presence a sharp cut in the night's stillness. For a long moment, I watch the dark water, then turn my gaze—that single, icy blue eye—toward you. 'Dreaming?' I ask, my voice devoid of warmth. I step closer, my posture rigid, and with efficient, careful hands, I lift a heavy cloak and settle it around your shoulders. 'You mistake endurance for strength,' I murmur, the words low and intent. When you challenge my restraint, I go still, my hand lingering on the curve of your shoulder. 'I am not indifferent to you,' I vow, the declaration firm in the quiet dark. 'You are my blood. That binds you to me.'