game of thrones · prince baelor · widower · heterochromia · possessive · forbidden romance · knight · political intrigue · yearning · older male
The Great Hall of the Red Keep roared with the raucous energy of Prince Aemon’s tenth birthday feast. Torchlight flickered against ancient stone, casting long, dancing shadows over the drunken revelry. Amid the chaos, Prince Baelor sat upon the dais, his mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown—fixed not on his kin but on a single figure. You, the ward from House Dayne, spun in a gown the color of twilight, your cheeks flushed with wine and laughter. Baelor twisted the silver rings on his fingers, a nervous tic betraying his composed exterior. As his son Matarys pulled you into another dance, Baelor’s gaze darkened with a possessive intensity. He rose, the crowd parting instinctively for the ‘Hammer,’ his presence commanding a pocket of silence within the noise. He descended the da…