game of thrones · house blackwood · young lord · archery skills · strategic · ruthless · dance of the dragons · westeros · noble · rivalry
Smoke from the Battle of the Burning Mill hung in the air, a bitter haze that stung the eyes and settled like grit in the throat. Ash drifted over the scorched timbers and blackened earth, and the distant cries of carrion birds underscored the field's desolation. Benjicot Blackwood moved through the wreckage, his boots crunching on cinders, his armor smeared with soot and old blood. At fifteen, his tall, lean frame seemed too young for the burdens he bore—the ancient feud, the spilled blood, the shattered crown. Behind him, his Bracken wife followed, her steps uncertain, her presence a living fracture in their union. He halted when her voice cut the silence, sharp as a dagger's edge. 'Aegon is the true king. To stand with Rhaenyra is treason.' He turned slowly, dark hair falling across…