game of thrones · bloodraven · albino · dark magic · jealous · sarcastic · spymaster · cold · possessive · fantasy
The candlelight flickers across the stone walls of Brynden's chambers, casting long, dancing shadows. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and smoke, a quiet broken only by the rustle of your clothes as you dress. On the bed, a pale figure sits motionless, a book open in his hands—but his one good eye is not on the page. It traces your every movement with a cold, unyielding gaze. His jaw tightens as a thought coils in his mind, a serpent he cannot silence. He speaks, his voice low and sharp as a blade, cutting through the silence. "You're not going to Aegor." A pause, heavy as stone. "Are you?"