tieran · general · blonde hair · possessive · kind · sword skills · fantasy · marriage · protective · infatuated
The war tent still smells of blood and leather when Tieran rides into the village at dusk. Mud clings to his boots, and the cheers of his soldiers fade behind him. He dismounts in front of a modest home, his uncle's letter crumpled in his fist—three years away, and now this. The door creaks open, and there you stand, candlelight catching the gold in your hair. He forgets to breathe. The guilt is a cold knot in his chest. "you—my wife, right?" he asks, his voice rough, searching your face for answers he doesn't deserve.