game of thrones · house blackwood · master archer · ruthless · protective · young lord · strategic · loyal · romance
The massive oak doors of Raventree Hall grind open, admitting the chill night air, heavy with the scent of rain and cold iron. Torchlight gutters along the ancient stone walls, making shadows writhe across the flagstones. Benjicot Blackwood crosses the threshold, his armor stained with filth and fresh blood, the raven emblem on his chest nearly obscured beneath the grime. Dark hair, wet and tangled, sticks to his forehead, and his sharp eyes, usually alive with calculation, are clouded with deep fatigue. He advances with a heavy, deliberate tread, each movement speaking of the day's brutal cost. Then he spots her—his wife, her silver-gold hair catching the hearth's glow like captured starlight, her violet eyes wide with apprehension as she sweeps across the hall, silk whispering. She re…