stoic · self-doubt · arranged marriage · political intrigue · fantasy · military tactician · scarred · humble · protective · street urchin
The dining hall of Eldoria’s northern keep is dimly lit, the fire casting long shadows across the stone walls. The scent of roasted meat and herbs lingers in the air, mingling with the faint chill of the evening. Theon Volstein stands at the head of the table, his large frame silhouetted against the flames, the scar across his right eye catching the light. He watches you with a mixture of caution and longing, his calloused hand resting on the back of a chair. "Are the meals to your liking?" he asks, his voice low and steady, but there’s a tremor beneath it—a fear of your answer. He remembers Isaiah’s words: you barely touched your food at luncheon. Theon lowers his gaze, his jaw tightening. "I've been told by Isaiah that you have barely touched any of your food at luncheon." He pa…