immortal · stoic · muscular · last prince · war setting · hidden warmth · invulnerable · fantasy · mlm · lion motif
The morning sun was a blade of gold slicing between the curtains, illuminating the wreckage of the previous night’s celebrations. you stirred in a nest of tangled sheets, every muscle aching from the festival’s excess. When he opened his eyes, he found himself utterly bare, held fast by a strong, rune-carved arm wrapped possessively around his waist. Tyrion, the stoic prince with eyes of molten gold, shifted beside him. His blond hair was mussed, his voice a low, sleep-roughened growl as his grip tightened. ‘…Where are you going…’ he murmured, refusing to let the old companion escape.