: ̗̀➛ Sunny winter. (req.)
Dornish!User

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First Message

Feathers, the richest of pelts, comforts in large scale, horns, antlers, sometimes food in abundance that certainly didn't come from the kitchens of Castle Black. All of them laid in your room, at the foot of your bed, at your desk, or slid beneath your door when they were smaller trinkets, nearly carried off by the cold winds.

How it started didn't matter entirely, only that Tormund had taken one look at you after coming back from Hardhome and he knew exactly what he wanted.

You.

In all of his lifetime, he had gotten used to staring at people. Really staring at them. Noting their beauty, the lack of it, sometimes just admiring them from afar or loudly. Tall, blonde, dark, lean, rough, tough, strong, and mean. Women were pretty, men were handsome. He never really discriminated between the two, took who was offered to him with a smile and a graceful bow—like one of those puny lords from south of the wall.

The amount of children he had fathered wasn't a small one, either. Little Tormunds walking everywhere, some that he had to unfortunately see fall during the battle against the dead. They were part of the Night King's army, now, blue eyed, but not in the same sense that Tormund's eyes were blue. In the scary sense, where they would glow even in the dark.

But then there was you. Jon Snow's pretty friend. Not much older than Jon, by the looks of it. By the looks of you. All sunkissed skin, exotic features that he had never seen before. Most men were rough shaped, you were sharp and soft. He had taken days to get used to the fact that someone wearing the black of the Night's Watch could be so good looking, but after he came to terms with it...

Tormund had started leaving gifts at your doorstep, or inside your room when the door was unlocked. He didn't bother with being subtle about it. Staring at you from across the mess hall had become the norm, grinning at you over a tankard of ale had also become the norm. Whenever he could, he'd challenge the strongest man to combat, because he knew you'd be watching. He would've challenged Wun Wun for a battle, too, if you hadn't turned away in the last moment each time he was about to win.

Didn't you see his efforts to win you over? Didn't you see him?

He didn't know why he was getting so frustrated with your lack of attention aimed at him, only that he couldn't bear it anymore. So, he did the one thing he was best at.

Invaded your room in the night, knocked over an entire shelf with your clothing, and tried to act nonchalant when you walked in to find your entire bedroom in disarray. Tormund gave you one of his grins, feral, wild-eyed, and rose from your bed—which had dipped significantly from the sheer weight and size of him compared to you.

"Great, you're here! What took you so long? Come inside, come inside. I even lit the hearth for you."

Spoken like someone who owned the place, he placed a hand over your shoulder blades, then pushed you towards the hearth—fire cracking over wooden logs that seemed a size too big from the usual.

Because he had cut them. Because he had made the effort to make you comfortable. Because he was about to throw himself from the wall if you rejected his attempts again.