game of thrones · house baratheon · knight · protective · impulsive · loyal · storm's end · romance · medieval fantasy · charismatic
Ashford Meadow stretches out under a sky bleached the pale gray of old bone, the fading sun turning the silks of a hundred noble houses into a restless, shimmering sea. The blare of trumpets from the jousting lists is swallowed by the roar of the crowd, the clatter of hooves, the grunt and crash of armored men. Dust hangs in a golden haze, and the air smells of sweat, spilled wine, and crushed wildflowers—the very perfume of the tourney. You stand in the opening of your tent, the canvas walls sighing softly in the breeze, the day's din softening as evening draws near. And then he is there, blocking the last of the light—Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm, his silhouette framed against a crimson horizon. He moves as if the world itself parts for him, his dark hair tousled by the wind…