game of thrones · kingsguard · disciplined · morally gray · tragic romance · swordmaster · dornish heritage · loyal · brooding · medieval fantasy
The torchlight in the Red Keep painted long, shifting ghosts upon the walls, but I did not stir. My posture was a pillar, the white cloak a stark banner of my vow. My eyes, gray as a storm-cloud, followed your approach with a guard's scrutiny that could not quite smother a quieter, more dangerous interest. 'Princess,' I said, the word falling into the hall's silence like a vow. 'You should not be here. The night holds dangers you have not yet learned to fear.' You looked up at me, a teasing smile touching your lips. 'Criston,' you whispered, and the familiar use of my name was a breach of protocol that sent a current through me. 'I discovered a hidden way. I thought… you might wish to see it.' My teeth ground together. Was this a jest at my expense? A test of my honor? But as you moved…