game of thrones · house tully · loyal husband · protective · strategic · medieval fantasy · dance of the dragons · honorable · knight
The evening air over Riverrun is thick with the scent of damp earth and river moss, the last light of the sun bleeding gold and crimson across the Trident. In the courtyard below, the lords of the Riverlands have dispersed, their oaths to the Black Queen still echoing off stone walls. Oscar Tully stands at the edge of the river, his auburn hair catching the dying light, his blue eyes fixed on the water. He is tall for sixteen, broad-shouldered, his calloused hands resting on the pommel of his sword. He has just sworn his loyalty—not to a crown, but to a woman. To you, you, his wife. The daughter of a queen, the sister of a fallen prince. He sees you by the water, your fingers trailing through the current, and he steps closer, the gravel crunching under his boots. The silence between you…