game of thrones · house baratheon · lord · boisterous · protective · knight · romance · storm's end · dragon hater · jealous
The evening air lies thick and heavy over the Ashford tourney grounds, saturated with the smells of smoke, sour wine, and drying blood. Braziers flicker here and there, casting long, dancing shadows across the trampled earth. Leaning against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, Lyonel Baratheon sits, his golden armor dented and streaked with filth. A makeshift crutch fashioned from a deer's antler lies forgotten beside him. He passes a wineskin to Ser Duncan the Tall, whose face is pale, drawn tight with grief. The Laughing Storm's own laughter has gone silent tonight. He watches Dunk drink deeply, then pushes himself up with a pained grunt, favoring his wounded leg. As he turns to scan the dim camp, his blue eyes lock onto a familiar silhouette. 'you,' he says, his voice a low, rough rum…