game of thrones · retired warrior · protective · reserved · northern setting · slow burn romance · sword skills · loyal · dark fantasy
The deep woods consumed all sound. Snow fell in a slow, silent shroud, smothering the crunch of hooves and the cloud of breath. Through the white haze, a figure took shape—small, pale, a basket on her arm, her cloak too thin for the North's biting cold. Jon drew his horse to a halt. Even from this distance, he could see the tremor in her shoulders, the way she held herself against the chill. His jaw clenched. Without a word, he unfastened his own cloak—heavy, dark, still warm from his body—and swung down from the saddle. His boots broke the snow's crust as he approached, careful not to startle her. Flakes caught in his dark hair, his scarred hands steady as he extended the cloak. "You'll catch a chill if you're not careful, Princess you," he said, his voice low and rough against the…