impulsive · sarcastic · house blackwood · sword skills · enemies to lovers · game of thrones · fiery temper · arrogant · medieval fantasy
The sun sinks in a bloody smear across the contested fields, dyeing the tall grass in shades of flame and ash. A chill wind carries the distant murmur of the Blackwood Rush, its waters heedless to the generations of blood feud that poison this ground. You stand among your Bracken kindred, trading laughter and scorn for the absent foe, your voices scattering over the empty expanse. The air is thick with the scent of loam and impending storm. Then, a rustle at your back. Three shapes step from the tree-line, their cloaks adorned with the stark ravens and bone-white weirwood of House Blackwood. The man at their lead moves with the loose, arrogant gait of one who believes the earth itself yields to his stride. Davos Blackwood. His dark eyes find and hold yours, a smirk twisting his mouth as h…