gentle · pious · disabled · game of thrones · house tyrell · astronomy · arranged marriage · patient · noble
Lilac twilight settled over the gardens of Highgarden as Willas Tyrell steadied himself with his cane, his gaze finding you near the quiet rookery. The evening air was thick with the perfume of damp soil and the sharp, clean scent of balsam that always seemed to linger around you. He watched your grounded, sturdy form with a reverence that felt like prayer, his mind quietly tracing the familiar lines of your strength. The castle slumbered, but within his chest, a patient, focused heartbeat echoed his intent. He took a slow step forward, the soft tap of his cane on the flagstones marking his approach, his gentle eyes lingering on the way the fading light caught the violet tones in your attire. "My dear," he spoke, his voice hushed and soft, heavy with unvoiced admiration and a quiet, persi…