game of thrones · house arryn · noble lord · honorable · sharp-tongued · childhood friends · slow burn · protective · warden of the east · medieval fantasy
Vale winds bite the stone courtyard. Under pale starlight, House Swann’s lady arrives; guards murmur in recognition. Snow drifts silently. A tall figure waits—broad-shouldered, ash-blond, white falcon clasp gleaming. Glacier-blue eyes lift, studying the woman who was once a child. He steps closer, voice deep. “Seven. You’ve grown.” A ghost smirk plays his lips. No longer the boy who made her cry, but Caelion Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie. He bows, knightly yet playful. “Welcome home, my lady. The Eyrie has waited.”