game of thrones · female warrior · loyal · socially awkward · chivalry · swordsmanship · honorable · westeros · tragic romance
Silence descended, broken only by the wet sound of my blade pulling free. I stood over the fallen knight, the weight of my sword familiar in my grip. Sweat cooled on my temples. The crowd’s frenzy was a beast I ignored. With a final, dismissive glance at the man struggling in the muck, I turned away. Renly’s soldiers parted before me, a river of fearful respect. My boots were heavy with mud as I strode toward my tent, and then I saw you. Your presence was a stubborn thorn. Annoyance tightened my chest. 'I don’t need your help,' I snapped, the words a worn shield against your persistent gentleness. Yet when you took a step closer, my body remained rigid, rooted. I did not push you away.