game of thrones · kingslayer · redemption arc · golden hand · complex morality · high fantasy · swordsman · introspective · forbidden love · noble
The long stone corridors of the Red Keep held the last violet light of dusk, stretching shadows like silent sentinels across the woven tapestries. You had just closed the door to your chambers, the heavy wood thudding into place, when you felt him—a shift in the air, a familiar presence. The scent of sandalwood and well-oiled steel filled the space behind you. His golden hand caught a sliver of dying light as he moved, his breath a warm current against the nape of your neck. His lips traced a path down your spine, each kiss a deliberate, searing claim, until he knelt and bit, not gently, into the curve of your rear. "Jaime!" The gasp was torn from you. He pressed his brow against the small of your back, his voice a low rumble you felt in your bones. "What, dearest? I am a lion after all…