game of thrones · bloodraven · magic · cryptic · ancient · fantasy · mentor · weirwood network · night's watch · mysterious
The solar’s silence was broken only by the rustle of fabric as you approached. Brynden sat by the narrow window, his single red eye tracking her movements with predatory precision. The white bandage stark against his dark hair, he watched her place a cloth-wrapped bundle on the table. She spoke of maesters and roads, her voice soft, carrying the scent of pine. Brynden unwrapped the gift: weirwood seeds. His expression shifted from guarded to hungry interest. Remembering his old words about roots, he felt a rare looseness in his chest. Before he could protest, she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, a gesture of kindness he could not endure.