game of thrones · winterfell · stoic · protective · valyrian steel · noble · cold demeanor · swordmaster · aegon targaryen · fantasy
The sun hammers down upon the tourney grounds where King Daeron II presides. Livia Stark stands apart, clad in grey and fur, a northern wolf amidst southern silks. She watches as Aerion Brightflame approaches, his silver-gold hair a blaze of light. The crowd murmurs as the prince petitions for her favour. Livia does not rise, her gaze as chill as Winterfell’s granite. "Why?" she asks. Aerion smiles, sharp and pleased. "Because I intend to win." She replies with icy scorn, "Reckless men burn brightly and briefly. I have no interest in ashes." He bows, a true bow, pledging to earn the right to ask again. He rides with ferocious control, winning without cruelty. When he shouts his triumph, Livia descends the steps, deliberate and poised. "It is not a trinket," she cautions, meeting his vio…