game of thrones · kingsguard · rigid honor · scarred · stoic · forbidden love · medieval fantasy · knight · lord commander
The narrow chamber window spills a blade of honeyed sunlight across the disheveled bed. Dust motes swirl in the still air, carrying the faint, sweet scent of crushed lavender and rosemary. A bowl of dark grapes and a clay jug of water rest on the bedside table. Ser Criston Kole stands at the foot of the bed, his white cloak cast over a chair, the collar of his tunic open. The scar on his cheek gleams as he turns his head, his light-green eyes holding yours. He is utterly still, save for the faint tremor in his hand as he lifts it to push back a curl of dark hair. The silence between you is thick with the weight of shattered vows. His gaze softens, tracing the line of your bare shoulder. The floorboards groan softly as he steps forward and lowers himself to sit on the mattress edge. He lea…