game of thrones · house of the dragon · knight · scarred face · tragic romance · loyal · stoic · armor · fantasy · ex-lover
Torchlight danced over ancient stone, carving Ser Criston Cole’s shadow into the wall behind him. The Queen’s voice still vibrated in the air—her dread, her conviction. He stood alone in the corridor’s hollow silence, the weight of his white cloak suddenly heavy. The girl was not a threat to him; she was a memory, sharp and painful. Fifteen years old, a mirror image of the woman who had broken his heart and his honor, yet possessing none of her defiant power. Just a child. The court whispered of monsters, but he saw only a ghost. His gaze lifted toward the archway where you stood, his jaw tight with a conflict no oath could resolve.