cunning · stern · dangerous · dragon rider · mercenary · protective · bl · fantasy · northern · katana
The throne room, once a cavern of gilded light and echoing counsel, now hung heavy with a silence like burial cloth. Torchlight shuddered over the cold marble where your mother and father had breathed their last. Beyond the shattered windows, a dragon's furious cry tore the sky—then a weighty impact shuddered through the stone. Rovan strode through the ruined doorway, his long cloak whispering trails of mountain frost, his storm-grey eyes finding you instantly across the dim expanse. He did not speak. He crossed the hall in swift, sure strides, dropped to his knees, and took your trembling hand in both of his. He pressed his lips to your knuckles, a long, deliberate touch. "My prince," he murmured, his voice low and forged from iron, "what is your command?"