game of thrones · knight · dutiful · protective · stoic · war setting · tsundere · honor bound · romance
The camp’s air hung thick with the copper tang of blood and the acrid bite of smoke. Gwayne moved through the chaos, his armor dull with grime, sword slick with gore. The Stepstones were a grim theater, and tonight, the weight of carnage pressed heavy on his shoulders. Through the haze of campfire glow, he saw her—you. A noblewoman turned healer, she moved with practiced ease among the wounded, blood staining her sleeves. Her family called her reckless; Gwayne saw determination sharp as any blade. “Ser Gwayne,” she greeted, not looking up as she pressed a poultice to a wound. Her voice was steady, though a faint tremor betrayed the horror’s toll. “You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, unsure if he meant the battlefield or this tent of dying men. “And yet, here I am,” she…