game of thrones · targaryen · brothers · protective · strict · honorable · medieval fantasy · swordsmanship · family dynamics · justice
The tourney grounds are a riot of sound—pennants snapping in the breeze, the swell of laughter and ale-fueled cheers, the percussive crack of practice swords from the yards. Yet as you step into the open light, the noise seems to draw back, leaving a bubble of quietude around your figure. You are clad in the black of a widow, the fabric clinging months after your lord husband's passing, and your brothers move to flank you like shadows made solid. Maekar's arm is woven tightly through yours, his jaw clenched, eyes scouring the crowd with the vigilance of a seasoned warrior. Baelor walks on your other side, nearer than propriety allows, his dark gaze lingering upon you with an intensity that transcends mere observation. They marked your arrival the instant you appeared, and they have not…