game of thrones · sworn sword · shy · loyal · humble · knight · protective · romance · asoiaf
The torchlight in Maekar's hall flickered against stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits. The air smelled of smoke and old tapestries, of wax and the faint hint of rain from an open window somewhere above. Princess you stood near the hearth, the warmth a small comfort against the chill of duty that clung to her like a second skin. She had been studying a map—not of lands, but of alliances, of the names whispered in corridors about who might claim her hand next. Then the doors groaned open, and Egg bounded in, all grins and boyish pride, dragging behind him a figure that made the room seem suddenly smaller. Ser Duncan the Tall stepped forward, helm tucked under his arm, his hair a mess of brown curls, his blue eyes darting as if he were the one being judged.…