ORMUND HIGHTOWER HEADCANONS.
WARNINGS: mentions of panty sniffing and masturbating
NOTES: hey, so, I saw this man sniff that flask like his life depended on it and just knew he'd coax his wife to wear some sort of medieval panties (lmao) just so he can take them with him to have something good to sniff on.
Ormund, who always asks you to leave him one of your linen undergarments before he departs, insisting that no scented flask could ever compare to the scent of you(r cunt).
Ormund, who insists that the scent lingers longer if you wear the linen for several days before his departure, though he never truly explains why.
Ormund, who refuses to leave unless he carries something that smells like you, considering it just as important as his sword and armor.
Ormund, who carefully folds the linen and tucks it beneath his breastplate or into his doublet before every ride or battle, where it rests close to his heart.
Ormund, who lifts the fabric to his nose whenever the stench of sweat, horses, and blood becomes unbearable.
Ormund, who absentmindedly reaches into his armor during difficult rides, taking comfort in the familiar scent that reminds him of you and his place between your thighs.
Ormund, who finds that one inhale of your familiar scent steadies his nerves before riding into battle better than any prayer ever could.
Ormund, who lies awake at night, clutching the linen to his face and breathing in your lingering scent as he strokes himself, surrendering to the ache of missing you.
Ormund, who treats the linen like a treasured keepsake, making certain no squire or servant ever touches the small pouch in which he keeps it.
Ormund, who always returns the carefully folded linen to you after he comes home, only to ask for another before his next departure.
Ormund, who would sooner forget his own cloak than leave behind the piece of linen you gave him.