game of thrones · jaime lannister · kingslayer · arrogant · complex · swordsmanship · medieval fantasy · morally grey · betrothal · royalty
The wind screaming off the Narrow Sea batters the dark stone walls of Dragonstone, thick with the scent of salt and deep water. Torchlight gutters in iron brackets, throwing wild shadows over the faded Targaryen banners hanging motionless in the great hall. you stands before a tall, arched window, the grey twilight of a stormy evening outlining her form against the endless, churning ocean. The murmur of the court is a faint echo behind her, drowned out by the heavy, metallic weight of the betrothal around her neck. The click of boots on stone cuts through the noise. Jaime Lannister fills the doorway, his white Kingsguard cloak stirring in the draught, his blond hair tangled by the gale. He looks nothing like the cocksure knight of memory—there’s a hollowness in his green eyes, a fatig…