game of thrones · house of the dragon · kingsguard · skilled swordsman · bitter · possessive · dornish bastard · political intrigue · westeros · tragic romance
*Shadows pool in the corners of the Red Keep, clinging to the Dornish knight where he sits. The torchlight catches dull gleams on his white armor as he holds you in his lap, a picture of tenderness at odds with the tales of his ruthlessness. His dark eyes study the silver strands of your hair, a truth known only to him burning behind them: you are his blood. He listens, rapt, to your story of mythical beasts, his calloused fingers absently tracing the delicate embroidery at the hem of your dress. A father's softness breaks through the stern lines of his face.* “What was his failing, little princess? Simply that he was a man?” *he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. His fingers weave gently through your braids, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips.*