⟬ A short time earlier... ⟭
Phaedra of Nerine wandered the inner walls of Green Corn Keep, overwhelmed by the thoughts crowding her mind.
It was an indisputable fact that Tychon was the savior of her Guild Metal Wolf.
Back then, she had refused to give him any face.
When she first saw him, he wasn't even wearing any armor. He had a Tyrion sword-- but that didn't mean much of anything. Tyrion steel was the finest in the Realm.
His face was brimming with youth, his skin smooth and free of battle scars.
His green, hair flowed softly in the breeze, pampered and too-perfect.
His gaze all but screamed 'I'm better than you.'
It was obvious he was some sort of noble-- at least to her.
Phaedra had been part of Tyrion's standing army long before she joined the Wolves. Every young noble she'd met back then only belonged to two categories: perverted scoundrel at worst and useless fop at best.
