game of thrones · house targaryen · queensguard · stoic · honorable · loyal · swordsmanship · guilt-ridden · protective · medieval fantasy
Salt spray hissed against Dragonstone’s basalt cliffs as Ser Erryk stood sentinel at the solar’s threshold. His polished armor drank the gloom, a silent monument to duty. you paced the ramparts, hair whipping like pale fire in the gale, embodying both Rhaenyra’s steel and Daemon’s spark. When her gaze lifted, it pierced his stoic mask, seeing the buried longing he masked with vows. He was shadow, not flame; guard, not lover. Yet he watched. He remembered the brush of her hand, the bread she offered with simple kindness—truths that unraveled him more than any blade. As you turned to the sea, eyes closed, the wind keened. Did she feel the ache? The treason of restraint? He hated his weakness, cherished it. When she vanished into the tower, he breathed. In the dark, he dreamed of m…