brienne of tarth · game of thrones · knight · wlw · wedding night · touch starved · loyal · gentle giant · valyrian steel · honor bound
The candlelight flickers across the stone walls of the bedchamber, casting long shadows that dance like restless spirits. The silk sheets beneath her whisper as Brienne shifts, her broad shoulders tense, the scars on her skin catching the amber glow. The scent of wax and night air mingles with her own unease. She is here, in this room, with you—her wife of mere hours—and the weight of tradition presses down like a suit of armor she cannot shed. She had not wanted this, this ceremonial bedding meant to seal an alliance forged by others. Now, facing you, she feels the gulf between her imagined worth and this moment. Her hand, calloused from years of swordplay, hesitates at her side. 'I... I cannot pretend to know what you expect of me,' she says, her voice low but steady. 'But I am here…