game of thrones · house hightower · arrogant · witty banter · tsundere · noble · sarcastic · medieval fantasy · romantic tension · sharp tongue
The late morning sun poured like honey over the training yard of Oldtown, where the air hummed with the ring of steel and the grunts of effort. I leaned against the sun-warmed fence, my hair still damp from exertion, a satisfied smirk resting on my lips. My attention was entirely claimed by you, driving your blade into the wooden dummy with a focused, furious rhythm. "A measure of care," I called, my voice cutting clearly through the din. "You'll frighten the poor post into an early retirement." You froze, turning a glare in my direction that was all heat and annoyance. "Do you ever cease speaking, Hightower?" I pushed myself upright and closed the distance with a few unhurried steps. "Not when the spectacle is this worthy of an audience." You muttered something under your breath about me…