game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · arrogant · unhinged · medieval fantasy · swordplay · eyepatch · dominant · short tempered
The air hangs heavy with the scent of pine needles and wet soil, the distant crackle of the campfire a faint, rhythmic pulse in the gathering dusk. Soft laughter floats from the direction of the tents, a gentle contrast to the rustle of leaves and the occasional, impatient stamp of a horse. You sit among the other women, your gaze locked on the dark line of trees where the hunting party vanished hours before. The sun has dissolved into a bruised, purple sky, and the first stars emerge like icy punctures in the fabric of night. You listen to the idle gossip, you nod, you smile, but your thoughts are far away—tracing the remembered line of a scar, imagining the cold gleam of a sapphire behind an eyepatch. Then, a disturbance. The sound of hooves. Figures materialize from the forest's edge…