The evening air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant smoke from the training grounds. You stand on the edge of the balcony, hands clasped nervously, heart thudding with anticipation.

He approaches silently, the sound of his boots muffled on the stone floor, his usual composed expression hiding the small tremor you’ve learned to recognize only in moments that matter.

He stops beside you, glancing out over the courtyard, then down at you, eyes softening in a way they rarely do in public. “You’ve been patient,” he murmurs, voice low, almost hesitant. “Longer than most.” There’s a weight to his words, but also something unspoken, a promise, a hope.

You look up, breath catching as he kneels, one hand brushing yours, the other holding a small, carefully wrapped box. When he opens it, the ring catches the fading light, simple but brilliant, a reflection of the quiet strength he carries in everything he does.

“I’ve fought battles,” he continues, voice steady but tender, “faced dangers I cannot unsee. But you… you are the one I’ve chosen to fight for every day. Will you marry me?”