what fandom do you write for? jujutsu kaisen (gojo, megumi, nanami), love & deepspace (sylus, zayne, caleb) and a knight of the seven kingdoms (ser duncan, valarr, aerion)
youâre posting! but why donât you answer my asks/messages? despite seemingly online all the time, iâm actually only online barely 30 minutes or so everyday to queue asks and posts to avoid clogging the dash, so i most definitely will miss a lot of notifs and asks. iâll answer you soon!
chu, thereâs this discourse about xxx ! sorry, but iâm a private person. donât ask about or drag me into any sort of discourse, itâs plain dumb. i have a life outside this hobby app
iâve sent you a request! why won't you write it!? has your suggestion fit my rules? regardless, i have all the rights not to pick up a request, so please donât take it to heart and send another one befitting the criteria... you might have a better chance
the reader in your fics is NOT me! she doesnât look or act like me! oh, is that so? thatâs a shame. remember, if you donât like it, you can always block or see yourself out without spewing hate like a cultured person
please write me a story about [character] and a reader who is like this, wears this and uses this as her weapon! sorry, but no. i write most comfortably with creative liberty
chu, can i write a story based on your headcanons? no, you canât. everything under headcanon tag is going to be a part of my fics and overall mine, so that constitutes as plagiarism
can i translate your works and post it in wattpad/quotev/tiktok/etc? no, you canât. i wonât ever permit it, and if you still do then youâre straight desperate for attention and a plagiarist, and should i catch you then iâll call you out as well
whatâs the schedule of fic posting? for longtime readers, you might remember that i used to post weekly, but since i have a lot going on in my personal and professional life, this blog will now have slower updates. i usually post around 00.00 ~ 03.00 CST, so keep an eye out!
why am i blocked? most commonly? spam-liking and posting porn links. for others, please refer to the rules, thank you
i believe i sent you an ask about [topic] and youâre avoiding to answer it on purpose. it must be the vibe your asks brought into my askbox, questions that make me uncomfortable, or i simply just donât want answer it. therefore, please mind your words in the future
why do you stop writing for jjk? will you write for it again? at this point, i believe everyone knows the toxic state of the fandom. maybe one day i will come back. i kindly ask for you to refrain from asking me when though, because it feels like a pressure and that is the last thing i want here
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a princess wed to a dashing knight should be living a fairytaleâbut gwayne hightower is also the son of the schemer who would soon plunge the realm into civil war. how long can you resist his charms... when he proves time and again that his affection is as genuine as his honor?
genre/warnings:
arranged marriage, unrequited love, hurt/comfort, yearning, jealousy, mentions of injury & blood, fluff and lots of kissing afterwards, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, political drama, targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister), spoilers! takes place in season 1 of house of the dragon
notes:
gif by @/bladeofdreadfort. wc. 4.5k ! hotd s3 is finally here and so does my man gwayne <3 i really loved writing this so i hope youâll enjoy it!
For the longest time, Gwayne had known that the matter of his marriage were not his to ponder. As the son of the Hand of the King, his future was a tapestry woven by him in a series of cunning, calculated moves.
Yet, he had never truly expected to be betrothed to youâa princess of the realm.
The young princess for the queenâs brother. By every measure, it was a masterful stroke of politics and his father had once again outdone himself. After binding his sister to the king, it was now his turn to seek the heart of the realmâs most coveted maiden after the Princess Rhaenyra.
However, to Gwayne, you were more than just a political alliance. You were a paragon of beauty, the girl haunting his dreams, the princess who has stolen his heartâ
But seven hells, were you also one hard lady to entice.
Every charming smile he threw your way was met with an arched, unimpressed brow. Every poetic compliment he rehearsed tasted like ash and shattered against your coldness. You didnât swoon like the ladies at the tourney grounds, nor did you soften at his obvious attempts to woo you.
Instead, you looked at him as if you could see right through the nervous man underneath.
Your assessing gaze was currently fixed on him from the shade of the courtyard gallery. Down in the dirt, Gwayne was sweating through his padded doublet, trying his absolute best to look formidable as his sword clashed against his squireâs shieldâbecause he knew you were watching.
He has to look good. Your wedding was in three weeks, so he was fighting to impressâdetermined to give you a show of how your betrothed was as dashing as the realm claimed him to be.
With theatrical flair, he executed an aggressive sequence before driving his squire back with a heavy strike, deftly sweeping the poor ladâs legs out from under him, and sending him sprawling into the dirt with a breathless thud.
Breathing heavily, Gwayne smoothly rested the point of his sword near the fallen boyâs chest in a classic pose of victory.
âYou are just dead,â he declared with his signature grin, before turning to where you were.
You leaned against the stone balustrade, looking down at him with an expression of mild, patronizing amusement. He flashed you a hopeful, boyish grin that begged for even a shred of your approval.
And as if deciding to grace him with your presence, you descended down the stone stairs. Gwayneâs smile widened, and he met you halfway as you reached the bottom.
Ignoring the staring stableboys, he dipped his head and took your hand, placing a kiss on it.
âPrincess,â he greeted, his dark blue eyes meeting yours with an excited crinkle.
âAn impressive display, Ser Gwayne,â you replied, smoothly pulling your hand back from his grasp. He was giddy, about to thank you for the compliment, whenâ
âI must commend your passion. It takes a truly remarkable knight to exert such effort against a boy half his size who is actively paid to lose to him.â
Gwayne winced slightly, but the grin quickly returned to his face, refusing to let your sharp tongue deter him.
âA knight, no matter the age, must practice for all manner of foes. It shall be a good lesson for my squire to learn,â he countered softly. He had always been a naturally courteous man, but he had been practicing an extra measure of gentleness ever since the betrothal was announced, even when you remained frosty.
He hoped that you would recognize itâthat you would see he was willing to bend his pride just for you.
However, you merely lifted your chin higher, your eyes flashing with a challenge.
âIs that so? My, what a chivalrous soul you are. I suppose I shall sleep soundly knowing you are defending the realm with your immense prowess and formidable army of squires.â
One thing he could never truly understand, though... he hadnât asked for this match any more than you had, yet why did you look at him as you would a liar?
And it hurts because... he remembers how the more innocent, younger you, who had wiped blood from his face, hadnât looked at him as you do now.
âWe are to be married in no less than a moon,â he reminded you, still with a smile. âTell me, Princess... what must a man do to earn a genuine compliment from his bride?â
You held his gaze for a beat, letting the silence stretch just long enough to watch the slight twitch in his jaw. Then, a devastatingly sweet smile graced your lips as you tilted your head.
âCompliments are but wind, my good ser. If we are to marry soon anyways, what use would flattering you with empty words do?â
Gwayne let out a defeated chuckle. âI shall just continue striving to become a man worthy of your hand, then.â
You had just insulted him and mocked his swordsmanship in the same breath, and yet, somehow, he still found himself tethered to you still.
What a fool he was.
He didnât give up just like that, of course. Gifts was also Gwayneâs language of affection.
He had commissioned a seven-pointed star necklace for you in Oldtown, crafted from the finest silver and diamond. He had watched his late mother and sister find such profound comfort in it, and so he had believed it would make a fine gift for you.
Yet, now that he presented the gleaming jewelry to you, you were rendered silent.
âYou do not like it,â he realized, a note of disappointment building through his usual confidence.
âIt is exquisite. Truly,â you started, your voice gentle but lacking the reverence he had anticipated. âBut... you must not expect me to wear it often.â
âIs it the design? If it offends your sensibilities, I can have it redone, orââ
âI assure you, I know your intentions are kind,â you looked at him, a certain sternness in your eyes. âIt is just a matter of preference, is all. I treasure this necklace from my mother rather greatly, and wearing it is how I keep her close to me.â
The tragic death of Queen Aemma was not so easily forgotten, least of all when you resembled her so much. Gwayneâs smile faltered, the enthusiasm in his eyes dimming when his gaze found the sapphire necklace of Arryn falcon on your neck, a heirloom passed down.
He looked down at the silver star resting in the wooden box, suddenly finding it so plain, before forcing himself to meet your gaze again.
âI just want you to know that... you are in my thoughts, constantly,â he murmured, his gaze rising to meet yours again. âWhenever I see something I consider beautiful, I think of you. I want you to have it. You should know I have no underlying intentions other than that.â
You gave him an appreciative nod, pursing your lips together. âYour kind thoughts are much appreciated.â
So he had failed, again. Sigh.
What better way to impress your betrothed and prove to the entire realm that you were worthy of her hand than by claiming victory at the Kingâs nameday tourney?
Even you would at least bestow a real smile upon him. That was what Gwayne was after.
Or at least, it was until his gaze drifted to the edge of the battlement grounds where the knights were assembling. There, he saw you.
With Criston Cole.
The sight struck him. You, who usually looked at him with indifference, were attentive, your eyes bright in a way Gwayne had never managed to make them. Cole, in turn, had a reserved smile, his attention entirely locked onto you.
It could have been anyone but Cristonâthe Dornishman!âCole. Why him?!
A sharp spike of resentment flared in his chest. He decided right then and there that this cannot stand, and marched towards you both.
âGood day, Ser Criston,â Gwayne greeted with a forced smile, his voice dripping with a courtly cheer that didnât quite reach his eyes.
Cole returned his greeting, and he turned to you then. âMy betrothed, fancy to have found you here. You shouldnât have to sully yourself with the dirt.â
âI was merely wishing Ser Criston luck in the lists.â As always, the corners of your lips curled into that faux smile whenever facing him. âThe competition looks fierce today.â
What about him? You hadnât thought of wishing him, your own groom, luck?
âFierce for some, mayhaps,â Gwayne nodded, his smile sharpening as he took another step forward, deliberately cutting off Criston Coleâs line of sight to you. He reached out, his gauntleted hand gently but firmly taking yours.
âBut I sure do not fear a crowd of knights of modest beginnings and second sons. And I have hoped that I might find you in the stands later, and you would bestow upon me your favor to assure me of my victory.â
He looked down at you, the forced arrogance in his eyes momentarily cracked. He wanted you to look at him the way you had just looked at Cole, really.
But cruel, relentless you never granted it so easily.
âYour romantic sensibilities are commendable, ser.â You let out a soft sigh, as if lamenting, âbut victory is still guaranteed by skill and the favor of the Seven, and not merely from a scrap of silk.â
The rejection was subtle, but in the presence of Criston Cole, it felt like a public execution.
âIt is said even a scrap of favor from oneâs bride can turn the tide of many battles,â Gwayne replied, his voice dropping an octave as the last traces of courtly cheer evaporated. âUnless, of course, your favor has already been promised to someone else?â
His eyes flicked towards Cole, searching for a reason to draw steel before the tourney even began. And that Dornish wretch had the gall to look at him in the eyes and retorted:
âMay the best knight win, ser.â
Your betrothed had become terribly displeased and you knew it. Your hollow smile deepened, you stepped forward and smoothly slid your hand into the crook of his arm.
âNo, no. You are free to ask me for it later, of course, my dear.â
Gwayne knew better that the honeyed words held no real affection. Yet, like a moth drawn to a flame, he couldnât help but fall for it each and every time.
You held his leash, and you knew exactly how far you could play with and stretch it. But as he looked at you, a quiet ache settled in his soul.
Is it truly so wrong of him to seek your heart? How much longer would he have to endure this torment, giving everything while his affections remained completely unreturned?
âFrom today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.â
That was the first thing he told you when the betrothal was announced. In a den of vipers, Gwayne Hightower was entirely his own man.
He didnât possess the calculating ambition of his father, who viewed every living soul as a piece in his game of thrones. Nor was he prudent like his sister, Queen Alicent, whose motto in life was duty and sacrifice.
You know that. You really knew that your chosen betrothed was everything but unkind. He was everything the songs promised a knight should beâ genuine, posh, with a touch of arrogance that made him charming. He held you in high regard, and his attempts to make an impression on you were sweet.
Despite how you behaved around him, the truth was... it took everything in you not to fall for Ser Gwayne Hightower.
But he is still Ottoâs son. You hated the Lord Hand with every fiber of your beingâthe manâs thirst for power had already forced your childhood companion Alicent into your fatherâs bed, turned your sister Rhaenyra into a scheming cynic, and your own betrothal to Gwayne was just another piece of his grand design.
However, watching the tourney unfold from the royal box, your thoughts swirled with guilt and anxiety. In the end, he hadnât asked for your favor at all. Ironically, his sudden silence unsettled you far more than his persistence ever had.
Looking back on your interactions, the weight of your biting marks pressed heavily against your chest. You had rejected him so many times, using your faux smiles and sharp wit as shields. Every time you remembered the look of hurt that crossed his face before he masked it with a patient smile, a fresh wave of guilt washed over you.
Did he deserve to be punished just for pursuing you? Was it fair to make him pay for his fatherâs sins?
Down in the dirt, Gwayne rode beautifully, unseating two seasoned knights from the Reach and splitting lances with a Lannister to thunderous applause from the crowd. For a moment, watching his silver and green armor gleam in the sunlight, a spark of pride flared in your chest.
Then, Ser Criston Cole rode onto the field.
The tension between the two men was palpable even from the high stands. They chargedâ one lance shattered, then a second. By the third pass, it was clear it was a matter of pride.
And on the fourth pass, the collision was catastrophic.
With a terrifying crack that echoed across the grounds, Coleâs lance struck dead center. Gwayne was violently unseated, flung from his saddle to hit the earth with a sickening crash.
A collective gasp sucked the air from the stands. Through the rising dust, you saw your betrothed lying completely still. Coleâs lance hadnât just brokenâ it had compromised his armor. His steel breastplate was shattered to pieces, the shards visibly lodged into his chest, dark blood already pooling through the fractures.
Your breath hitched, your hand flying to your mouth in horror.
Six years ago, a similar scene had paralyzed your heart the very same way. Blind to the rules of propriety, you bolted from the royal box. Pushing past lords and ladies, you sprinted down into the arenaâdesperate to reach him.
The maesters and several squires had already swarmed him, unbuckling the undamaged pieces of his armor with hurried hands. Gwayne was propped up against a wooden barrier, half-conscious, his head lolling to the side as his eyes struggled to hold focus.
âWill he be alright?â your voice cracked, almost shrill, the composed facade of a princess shattered as you hovered over the maesters working on him. âTell me he will be alright.â
âThe steel hasnât pierced the heart, Princess, but we must move him to immediately to extract the shards,â one of them mumbled, wrapping a temporary cloth around the wound to stem the bleeding.
Gwayne let out a low, guttural groan at the pressure, his eyelids fluttering. Through the haze of pain, he recognized your voice. He knew you were there.
Driven by a sudden, overwhelming surge to comfort him, you dropped to your knees beside him. Your hands were trembling as you reached out, using the hem of your sleeve to wipe away the grime and blood that smeared his pale cheek.
But before your fingers could trace his jawline, Gwayneâs gauntleted hand came up. With a sudden burst of remaining strength, he swatted your hand awayâ
âDo not touch me,â he rasped.
The words were raw and bitter, dripping with an icy venom you had never heard from him before.
. . .
Gwayne refused to meet your gaze. He pressed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone practically strained against his skin.
It wasnât just the physical agony tearing him apart. It was the suffocating, absolute humiliation.
He had lost. He had been unseated and laid low in the dirt in front of the entire realmâand worse, in front of Criston Cole. He couldnât bear to see the pity in your eyes. He couldnât bear to look at the woman he loved and see confirmation that he was exactly what you always thought of him: unworthy.
âIâmâ fine,â he choked out then. âSo... go back to the Keep.â
It was funny how this was the same thing that had happened to him six years ago, during the Heirâs Tourney. He had been brutally unseated by Daemon Targaryen then, and just like now, you had come running to him, wiping the blood from his broken nose with your kerchief.
He fell in love with you then... and he has been in love with you ever since.
The girl holding his heart was a princess, and he had never dared to hope for more, never dreaming his conniving father would actually arrange your hand for him. He had thought it a blessing.
But his pursuit of you the past three moons had yielded nothing but a bitter truthâ you despised him.
So he preferred to choke on the blinding pain, to let it consume him entirely, rather than suffer the indignity of your comfort.
You are in love with him.
You had spent weeks trying to resent the circumstances that led to your marriage with Otto Hightowerâs son, reminding yourself over and over that he had fractured your family, sowing seeds of rebellion that would break once Alicentâs son came to age, and it would spell disaster upon you allâ
But the wounded knight with broken nose six years ago had long since owned a part of your heart, and one week without Gwayne Hightower persistent on your heel, you had found yourself... sad.
âMrawgh...â
âIâm not lonely,â you mumbled petulantly, brushing a hand against Grey Ghostâs silver scales as the dragon curled up, blinking his golden eyes shut to rest.
To occupy yourself, you spent the days with your dragon in the Dragonpit. Tending to Grey Ghost made the long hours pass fasterâ he was a recluse and not keen on flying often, but his quiet presence matched your somber mood.
Leaving him to his slumber, you walked away lost in your thoughts, entirely failing to notice how slippery the stone ledge had become.
Your foot caught on a heavy iron ring embedded in the floor. The world tilted as you stumbled backwards, losing your footing entirely. You braced for a painful impact against the stone floor, but a pair of strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, arresting your descent.
A sharp, ragged gasp left your saviorâs lips. As you stabilized, you realized your hands had instinctively braced against his chestâpressing right over the bandages of the fresh wound.
âSteady there,â the redhead managed, a strained smile tight on his lips as he gently set you back on your feet. His green tunic made you realize who he wasâ
âGwayne!â you breathed. Your hands hovered over him, trembling, almost terrified to touch him again. âWhy are youâyour wound! I didnât mean toââ
âI am fine, truly,â he assured you, his voice softening as he offered a warm, comforting smile. âIt is but a scratch, Princess. It takes more than a clumsy tumble from you to injure me.â
Just like a hundred times before, Gwayne Hightower sought you out. You could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and how he looked pale stillâ
From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.
âYou are supposed to be resting!â Your voice rose despite yourself. âWhy are you here?!â
This wasnât what you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him a lot of other things! Like he was a fool, and that you would forbid him to enter the lists once you two were wed, that you couldnât bear the thought of losing himâ
His blue eyes crinkled with that familiar kindness as he reached out, softly tucking a stray strand of your loose hair behind your ear.
âIf I wasnât here, then you would take a fall.â His voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. âI canât very well let my betrothed hurt herself before our big day, can I?â
This was the first time since King Viserys announced your betrothal three moons ago that you looked genuinely worried for him. It made something inside him burst with joy, even if it was tinged with a bitter aftertaste.
Gwayneâs thumb gently brushed across the back of your hand that was still pressed against his chest.
âTell me... Is this the only way I could truly have your attention? Must I be grievously injured, a step away from Deathâs door, for you to look at me like this?â
Your eyes widened by a fraction. Precious, precious girl. He chuckled softly, a teasing glint brightened his eyes.
Just this once, could he be allowed to be just a little bit cruel?
âEven if you keep looking at me with those beautiful eyes...â he whispered, his smile turning a little wistful, â...my heart might just run out, one of these days.â
He gave you one last, kind smileâa look of affection that no longer held expectations, or reeked of the politics that bound your families. Then, he gently gripped your hand, pulling it away from him before turning on his heel to leave you to your own devices.
When your fingers fell limp into the cold air, a stinging realization pierced through you like a dagger:
Is this how he feels? Is this what he endures every time I evade him? How has he survived it over and over?
As his warmth retreated into the shadows of the Dragonpit, something sharp tore deep inside your chest.
You didnât want him to go. The walls you had spent weeks building to protect your heart against the Hightower name crumbled into dust. Your eyes burned with tears that blurred his retreating figure.
He was nearly out of the pit when you gathered your skirts, abandoning your pride, and ran after him.
âSer Gwayne!â
Before he could turn back, you lunged, throwing your pride and your fears to the wind. You crashed into his back, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist, burying your face against his spine. He stiffened, almost flinchingâ
But then he heard you sob.
âPrincess...?â he asked softly. His tone shifted, turning from startled confusion to a protective concern as he carefully turned around within your embrace. He reached up, gently tilting your chin up, only to find your cheeks flushed and wet with tears.
Realizing you were truly, genuinely weeping, Gwayneâs breath hitched in his throat.
He didnât think. He didnât let past rejections dictate him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his uninjured side.
âShh, please do not weep,â he said in your ear, his own voice suddenly thick with emotion as he rocked you slightly. âDarling... please.â
Darling. Why did the word sound so devastatingly sweet in your ears? As you clung to him, you realized with absolute certainty that you wanted him to call you that for the rest of your days.
As he held you, feeling the warmth of your hands anchoring yourself to him, the pieces finally fell into place:
Has she... returned my feelings?
When your sobs finally quieted and your breathing turned calmer, you gently pulled back just enough to look up at him. Your eyes met his, and an ache settled in your chest.
He was such a beautiful man. Red hair, blue eyes, with ghost of dimplesâ still the very same wounded knight you had secretly harbored affections for with all those years ago.
Driven by a clear wave of clarity, you didnât wait for him to speak. Reaching up, you stood on your toes and pulled him down by his collarâ
âand pressed your lips to his.
Gwayne went rigid at your sudden boldness. But as your fingers tangled into his soft hair, any lingering shock vanished. With a low groan, he leaned into you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that felt like the bursting of a dam.
He drank in your sighs, his lips moving against yours with a desperate longing, as if he were trying to memorize the taste of you. He pulled you closer, his hands tilting your head back, anchoring you to him.
âYou really areââ he growled against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged, âmy utter undoing, Princess.â
Before the words could even fully register, you gasped as he gathered you up and hoisted you backwards, setting you down onto the broad stone railing.
Gwayne stepped between your thighs, pinning you to the ledge as his mouth descended on yours once more, even more ravenous than before. The kiss became a blur of lips, tongues, and breathless gaspsâ
His hands left your face to map the lines of your body, his palm sliding down the column of your throat to the curve of your shoulders. In his mindâs eye, he was already stripping away the heavy, suffocating layers of your gown, picturing the soft, aching swell of your breasts and the intoxicating dip of your waist.
In less than a week... as soon as you swear your oaths before the Seven, he would be graced by that sight.
Gwayne dragged his lips down from your mouth, leaving a trail of scorching kisses along your jawline before burying his face in the crook of your neck.
âSer Gwayneââ your voice came hitched, and that what brought him back to reality.
He bit softly at the sensitive skin there, swallowing the fire that was about to consume him. When he finally pulled away to breathe, his lips lingered against yours.
âWell, you did kiss me first, Princess,â Gwayne murmured, his eyes twinkling, voice delightfully raspy as his arms settled loosely around your waist. âIf I had known a broken rib would finally get you to kiss me, I would have marched up to Grey Ghost and asked him to toss me by the tail weeks ago.â
âPlease donât,â you giggled, circling your arms around his neck.
âAh, but think of the romanceâ a dashing knight, battered and bruised, crawling back from the Dragonpit just to collapse into his brideâs arms.â
A breathless laugh escaped your lips, giving way to a very sweet, genuine smile. To Gwayne Hightower, this was the prettiest you had ever been, and his heart throbbed.
Oh, so she does, he realized, a quiet reverence settling into his soul. She does return my affections.
Gwayne leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, finally certain that his heart was safe in your hands.
âYou might not know it,â he whispered, âbut I have been in love with you for a very long time.â
You looked up at him, your eyes bright with unshed tears, and he met your gaze with a look of such devotion it stole the breath from your lungs.
âSo let me say this once again. From before, now and until the day we breathe our last, all that I am... is yours.â
In that moment, you couldnât have known that the realm would soon be plunged into a senseless civil war, pitting your sister against his in a dance of dragons and blood. You couldnât have foreseen the ashes, the betrayals, or the heavy price the Hightower green and the Targaryen black would have to pay.
None of that matters right now. All you wanted was to lose yourself in his embrace and savor the fragile perfection of your wedding to the man of your dreams... for as long as it would last.
Chu, have you ever played Obey Me! or Mystic Messenger by any chance?
i havenât played obey me but i did play mystic messenger for a bit and i donât really like it :â) before lads i used to play tears of themis and now iâll resume playing it
- gwayne hightower x wife!reader x ormund hightower
ser gwayne hightower may be known for his chivalry, but beneath his courtly smile is a man of steel and blood. vows have made you his lawfully wedded wife, and when his most peculiar cousin starts weaving his traps for you to fall into⊠you will see another side of him you have never seen before
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive contentâminors do not interact!âarranged marriage, lots of romance and fluff, hurt/comfort, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, ormund is his own warning, first time with gwayne (bc he lost it), targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister)
notes:
gif by @/baelcrtargaryen and @/alysmond. part 2 of to court a princess but can also be read as a standalone. this brainrot has been brewing for a while and i love it :)) so i hope you will too!
â...and even when our bones return to dust, may I find your soul still sworn to mine.â
Before the Seven, as the great bells chimed, you and Gwayne Hightower pledged your vows, sealing them with the tenderest kiss.
The wedding between a princess of the blood and a noble knight of House Hightower was the liveliest celebration the realm had seen in a while. King Viserys was overjoyed, and even Queen Alicent wore a rare genuine smile for both you and her brother. Rhaenyra pulled you into a warm embrace, offering her heartfelt wishes with a glowing smile.
Yet⊠amidst the sea of well-wishers, there was one gaze that was heavy upon you.
âMany congratulations on this most auspicious union, cousin.â
Ormund Hightower stepped before you, looking impeccably sharp in his exquisite emerald doublet. His voice was cool and devoid of warmth.
While your new husband was kind-hearted, you had heard the future Lord of Oldtown was a Hightower of a different stripeâa true son of his father.
Then, Ormund turned his gaze to you, his lips curling into a crooked smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. âAnd to you as well, Princess...â
His dark gaze wandered, raking down your face to your bust, before returning to meet your eyes unabashedly.
âThe songs do you a disservice, Your Grace. You are a far lovelier sight than what they claim.â
There was something in the way he appraised you that made you uncomfortable. It was your first encounter with the infamous son of the Lord of Hightower, and yet you knew instantly what sort of viper he was.
Gwayneâs arm, still resting over your waist, tightened subtlyâa silent warning for him, also a reassurance to you.
âShe has my heart, Ormund, and my sword,â Gwayne replied smoothly, his eyes flashing with a protective warmth as he looked down at you. âThe realm has never seen a more beautiful bride, and I am the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.â
âWhy, of course. You have done our house a great service today, Gwayne, and Iâm certain youâll make a fine husband,â he said with a careless shrug, his crooked smile not wavering. He raised his goblet in a mock toast. âMay the Light of the Seven bless your union.â
With a final, lingering look at you, Ormund turned on his heel and melted back into the sea of lords and ladies.
âDonât mind him,â Gwayne hissed under his breath.
The moment his cousin was out of sight, you leaned closer to your groom, noting the sharp clench of his jaw. Sensing your concern, however, he immediately masked his irritation and turned to you with a reassuring smile as he drew you securely against his side.
Yet, as the music surged back to life around you, you couldnât deny the chill that still prickled your skin. Ormund Hightower would remain at court for the rest of your wedding festivitiesâ
And you had a foreboding feeling you would soon see him again.
The first day of your wedding celebration finally drew to a close. With the feast over, the princess and her new husband were left in the confines of their marital chambers, andâ
The time has come for this marriage to be consummated.
A nervous flutter stirred in your chest. Gwayne had given explicit instructions for your handmaidens to leave after removing your headpiece, saying he would take care of the rest.
And try you might to look away as a proper lady should, your eyes kept drifting towards him as he began to undressâ all the while bracing yourself, expecting the shift from chivalrous knight to demanding husband.
âIf youâre stealing glances at me like an innocent maiden does her first love,â he suddenly remarked with an amused grin, âyouâre truly going to make me blush.â
Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, suddenly finding everything more appealing than him.
Left in just his loose linen shirt, Gwayne had a meaningful smile on his face as he stepped behind you, his fingers reaching out to you to unlace the stiff bodice of your gown.
Oh, this is really happening, is it not?
âWe...â You suddenly found it hard to breathe as the heavy layers of your dress came loose. âAre weââ
âYes, darling?â he chuckled softly, his dimples deepening in the firelight. He clearly found satisfaction in how flustered you had become all of a sudden.
You merely looked down, biting your lip to keep yourself from stammering. Your face felt hot too as his large palm traced the contours of your bodyâ from the line of your ribs to the curve of your waist, and the dip of your hips.
After all, you were inexperienced. You had heard stories of how hurt the first night could beâ how rough the men liked it, and how comfort was the last thing a woman should expect.
As his arms circled your waist from behind, pinning you gently against him, you choked out:
âCould you be gentle... at least?â
âHm?â he hummed, smiling against your skin, his breath warm as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
Who could have known that the stern princess could be so shy? Gwayne indulged himself, trailing a path of kisses up the sensitive nape of your neck, savoring the way you shivered beneath his touch.
Precious thing, she truly is.
With a knowing smile, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and you gasped, clinging to his shoulders.
He laid you down upon the silk sheets, climbing in above you, and leaned downâ immediately pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss that tasted faintly of sweet wine.
âMmh...â His mouth moved against yours with hunger, tangling his fingers into the locks of your hair. He kissed you until you felt the room spinâ each time he pulled back a fraction of an inch, it was only to catch his breath before leaning down to devour your lips again, deeper and more bruising than before.
His toned hips pressed down firmly against yours, pinning you into the silk sheets. Through your thin linen shift, you could feel the hard, growing length of his bulge pressing against your thigh.
A quiet moan caught in your throat as he started rolling his hips, the friction sending a wave of unfamiliar heat straight to your core. Your fingers grasped the nape of his neck, and he groaned, a low vibration that you felt as much as you heard.
âDo you even knowââ he rasped against your lips, still grinding against you, his voice tinged with unbridled desire, âhow badly I want you?â
Just as the tension stretched to a breaking point, Gwayne suddenly went still. With a ragged exhale, he pulled away, leaving your lips tingling. He leveled his dark gaze on you, watching you panting for breath.
Lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours, he made no move to strip away the rest of your linen shift. He simply anchored his weight against you.
âSer GwayneâŠ?â You blinked up at him, confusion clouding your eyes.
He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw.
âWe have just survived the court of vipers today, my darling. Both of you and I need rest, nothing more.â
âButââ
His eyes then crinkled, his smile softened, looking at you as if he knew clearly what were currently going through your mind.
âWhat did I vow to you before the Seven?â
Wide-eyed, spellbound, with swollen lips of his making. Gwayne found his princess bride really endearing. Looking at you as he would a treasure, he recited the words he had spoken before the High Septon:
âI pray that my days will be long at your side. May your hand be in mine, by sun and by night...â
His dark blue eyes bored into yours with sincerity that made your chest tighten.
âLet our breaths twine and our blood become one, and even when our bones return to dust... may I find your soul still sworn to mine.â
Once again, he caught your heart with his sweet devotion. The way he was pure in his affections for you made you almost tear up.
Is this what it feels like to feel completely safe?
âThere is no rush.â He traced a finger on your lips. âMy only desire is to cherish you. With me, you are free to speak your mindâ and as I am yours, you are entirely mine.â
He flashed you another sweet smile before rolling onto his side. He reached down to grasp the velvet blankets, pulling the covers all the way up over you both to block out the chillâtucking you securely under his arm and pulling you against his chest.
When you clung to him, he let out a giddy laugh, his hold instinctively tightening around you.
âThank you, husband,â you whispered against his broad chest, nuzzling your face closer to him.
You received a tender kiss on the crown of your head in return.
For the most part, you were the happiest bride in the Seven Kingdoms.
Everyone in the realm, from the lowly stableboys to nobles, had offered their felicitations, your knightâs devotion was absolute and his tenderness behind closed doors a sanctuary against the court.
Yet, you hadnât missed the way Ormund Hightower, the heir of Oldtown and Gwayneâs cousin, had eyed you at each and every turn.
His morning greetings had felt entirely too personal for your comfort, and the way he boldly stared at you made your skin crawl. You hadnât seen fit to tell your husband just yet, choosing instead to give his cousin the benefit of the doubt.
Now, with the last day of your wedding festivities concluded, the gates of Red Keep were open as the lords and ladies of the realm prepared their wheelhouses to leave Kingâs Landing. Seeking an escape from the noise, you ducked into a cloistered walkway near the Godswood.
But you werenât alone.
A shadow fell over the stone floor, and before you could turn, Ormund stepped out from behind a carved pillar, blocking your path in the deserted corridor.
âYour Grace,â he greeted with a cold smile.
âSer Ormund.â Your voice adopting the icy tone you had practiced for years, as you began to question what he was truly after. âShould you not prepare to return to Oldtown? I imagined you would want to be ready for the long journey back to the Reach.â
Ormund didnât answer right away. He closed the distance between you, tilted his head, a patronizing smile touching his lips.
âPreparations can wait. I merely wanted a private moment to bid my farewell to you.â
âYou have had seven days of feasts to bid your farewells,â you retorted.
His smile only deepened. Instead of moving away, he stepped closer, trapping you between his frame and the pillar.
âNow, Princess... You know it as well as I do that we play a less than pretty game here.â
His gaze dropping to your collarbone before lifting to pin yours, with a look of a man who knew how much you weighted before the Iron Throne.
âEverything you lack in birthright is amply compensated by that pretty face of yours.â His blue eyes narrowed. âWith a face like that, you could bewitch knights and lords across the Seven Kingdoms. A tragic shame... If only the timing had been right, you could have chosen me instead.â
A wave of disgust rushed through you. âYou would do well to remember yourself. You are already wed.â
âA man never knows,â he replied in a sultry whisper, âwhen he might find himself in need of another wife.â
Ormund chuckled at your horrified expression. He leaned in closer, his eyes boring into yours with a terrifyingly casual entitlement, and in that moment you caught a striking smell on him.
Incense? Pomander? It was a potent smell, but surprisingly and jarringly pleasant.
âWhy him?â he sneered, placing both arms against the wall on either side of your head. âAn easy prey, is he?â
âHe is kind,â you spat, your gaze hardening with defiance, willing yourself not to tremble before him. âA kinder man than anyone could ever be. Now I command you to let me pass, as I will not suffer you insulting my lord husband, Ormund Hightower.â
âKind, is he now...? My cousin is the very paragon of a gentleman, and you thought you could bend him to your will, no?â
He leaned even closer to your ear that you could feel his breathâhis scent filling your being, his blue eyes narrowing and burning into you with cold certainty.
âA word of counsel,â Ormund warned, his voice dropping to a menacing purr. âGwayne remains a Hightower. The blood of Oldtown runs thick in his veins, and whatever sweet words he whispers in your bed⊠In the end, he will never betray his own house.â
The words echoed in your mind, striking a sudden chord of doubtâ before nausea and fury flared within you.
With a sudden surge of strength, you shoved hard against Ormundâs chest, breaking his hold and causing him to stagger.
Without giving him the satisfaction of another word, you spun on your heel and swept past him, leaving him alone in the shadows of the corridor.
Throughout the seven days and nights of your wedding festivities, Gwayne Hightower had been a man utterly besotted, and he wasnât reluctant in showing it before the court.
These were, without a doubt, the best days of his life. A dizzying happiness bestowed upon him by the Gods.
And patience was a virtue he possessed and would gladly practice if it meant your comfort. He had no wish to rush you and would like to give you as much time as you wanted, because after all, he knew deep-seated worries a new bride had regarding the marriage bed.
To that end, he had been standing by the hearth for a while now, stoking the coals so the chamber would be warm. When the heavy oak door finally creaked open and you stepped inside, Gwayne turned, already expecting you.
âWell, hello again, darling,â he greeted, an easy smile instantly gracing his features. âAre you ready to retire for the night?â
âOhâ!â
A startled gasp escaped you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, completely caught off guard to find him waiting. Even from across the room, he caught the rigid hunch of your shoulders and the panic in your eyes. It took only a second to realize how you were shaking.
His smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp concern.
âYou look unwell,â Gwayne noted, frowning. Immediately letting go of the poker, he stood and crossed the chamber to you.
However, you were always a quick thinker. Meeting his gaze, you forced a placating smile. âNoâ It is just the wind, husband, and I am weary. I shall summon my handmaiden to help me undress and get ready for bed.â
Now there really was an unsettling weight gnawing at his chest. It was something he realized recently, but you were actually a wretched liar when caught unprepared. And now, you looked fragile, as though you desperately needed comfort.
âHas something happened?â He closed the remaining distance, his hands sliding up to catch you gently by the arm, drawing you closer to him.
His first instinct was to unquestionably provide you that comfort, and he was just about to pull you into the safety of his arms whenâ
His nostrils flared as he caught the fragrance clinging to youâ and the air left his lungs. It was a scent he loathed with a visceral hatred, yet one he recognized almost instantly.
Gwayne went rigid, the blood turning to ice in his veins. A dark, sickening realization settled over him in a matter of seconds.
How?
Just how close had you been... to carry his scent so clearly upon your skin?
His gentle demeanor hardened into a sudden steel, and his voice dropped:
âWere you with Ormund?â
. . .
You wanted nothing more than to collapse in his arms.
You were really going to when suddenly you noticed how his face darkened. Gwayneâs blue eyes locked onto yours, demanding the truth you were trying to hide.
âWhy were you with him?â
That striking smell, you realized. âNo, I wasnâtââ you stammered, the words catching in your throat as panic flared inside you.
But Gwayne was far from convinced. He immediately let go of you, stepping back as if your very touch burned him. The sudden loss of his warmth made your heart ache with a sharp pain.
He looked utterly lost now, unable to look you in the eye. And worst of all, he looked terribly hurt.
âNothing happened between us!â you blurted, desperate to bridge the sudden chasm between you. âWe just exchanged a few wordsââ
âDo not lie to me. Ormund has a certain pomander he prefersâa blasted scent I would know anywhere. To carry that scent, you must have been so near to each other, so close that...â
He couldnât even finish the sentence. The compromising image of you and his cruel cousin choked the words right out of his throat, his jaw clenching as he fought back the raw betrayal burning in his chest.
You, however, wouldnât allow him to believe the worst. You forcibly threw yourself into his arms, desperate to mend the fracture between youâ
âGwayne, I swear this upon my motherâs name: I would never hurt you in such manner.â
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, burying your face against him. In that moment, even you found a fleeting peace in his warmth and listening to his erratic heartbeat. At first, his entire frame went completely stiff under your touch.
But as your vow settled over him... the tension broke, and he melted into your embrace in surrender, holding onto you with a crushing grip.
Oh. Such a sweet man, he is. The clarity almost made you cryâeven when he thought he was in his darkest moment, he silently chose to believe you.
The two of you stayed like that for a while until a sudden, dark terror seemed to occur to him. His eyes snapped back to yours, searching your face for any sign of ruin.
âDid he force himself upon you?â he asked then, his voice uneven, almost trembling with rage at the mere thought. âBecause if he didâ if he laid a single unwanted hand on you, I willââ
âNo!â you fiercely rejected the notion. âNothing happened! Iâ I might have incited his displeasure, yes, but nothing more!â
Gwayne let out a relieved sigh, cradling your face with both of his hands to anchor himself, looking down at you like a lovelorn man. The ache in his chest subsided somewhat, and for a moment, he contemplated hearing more.
Ormund was not a kind man. He knew that better than anyone, having spent his childhood under his whims. And Ormund was ruthless and cunningâ so if he had approached you, he undoubtedly had a purpose.
It might prove him a fool, and it would cost him another piece of his soul, yet Gwayne chose faith. Just as he had done a hundred times before.
âWhatever transpired between you, I do not wish to hear of it.â
You blinked at him, only to find him staring back with a grave expression.
âJust do not come near him again,â he warned, his voice a low, commanding growl. âCan you do that?â
You barely nodded when Gwayne leaned down and captured your lips in a punishing kissâone born of relief, jealousy, and a fierce need to erase every trace of his cousin from your skin.
His hands, usually so practiced in their courtesy, lost their gentleness as he crushed you against him. He groaned against your mouth, breaking the kiss only to drag his wet lips down your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over your pulse point just roughly enough to make you gasp.
The sounds of your mingled breaths and sensual sighs filled the room. Your thoughts burned away by the sudden, suffocating heat of him. He backed you towards the high, velvet-curtained bed, and then swept you off your feetâ
âOh! Ser Gwayne!â
Just like your first night together as man and wife, he laid you down on the marital bed, but this time, he came down over youâhis hands tearing at the laces of your dress, his breath hot on your jaw.
âPrincess, I canâtââ His voice broke into a growl as he lost it, capturing your lips in another senseless kiss.
Somewhere in the feverish haze, he shrugged off his own shirt, letting out a grunt when he felt the burning touch of your fingertips wandering across his bare skin.
With a single, fluid pull, he rid you of your dress, and only then did he draw back, his dark eyes wide and dilated as he drank the sight of your naked form.
Every inch of you... is dazzlingly woman. How had the heavens deemed him worthy of a wife so breathtaking?
A primal urge flared within himâ he had to mark you, to write his name upon your skin. Every lord in the Seven Kingdoms should know that he alone was husband to the princess.
Gwayne buried his face in your chest, suckling your breasts, swirling his tongue around the aching peaks until you arched off the mattress, breathless.
Fuck patience.
He roughly parted your thighs next to devour your sweet cunt with his mouth and lips, making you squirm to hold back your lewd moans. Within minutes, the intense coil inside you burst, your fingertips clawing at the bedsheets as your climax tore through you.
Fuck virtues.
Your head were still spinning in a daze as he proved just how masterful he was in pleasuring you. Before you could properly recover, Gwayne parted your knees wider and settled his weight over you.
âWill it hurt?â your voice came in a whisper, laced with such raw innocence when you realized what was to come that it immediately softened him.
âThe first time always is,â Gwayne answered truthfully. âScratch me, bleed me, scream if you must. Tell me if the pain outweighs the pleasure, and I will stop.â
He aligned himself against your entrance and with a push, inched himself inside you. You winced, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the foreign intrusion, your nails digging into the skin of his back.
âHush, darling... I have you,â he whispered thickly. He held you tight, anchoring you against the mattress as he drove himself deeper. You trembled beneath him, half in tears and choked by little gasps of pain, your body struggling to accommodate his sheer size.
So tight. Gwayne really was on the verge of losing it when he realized he had broken your maidenhead. Still a maid, and I have claimed her.
When he sheathed himself completely, your body stretched against an agonizing fullness and more tears fell from your eyes. Gwayne held himself perfectly still, giving your body a moment to adjust to his length, before pressing a tender kiss to your lips to soothe you and beginning to move.
As his hips drove into yours with bruising thrusts, the initial sting quickly melted away, replaced by a deep, rolling friction that felt incredibly good, drawing whimpers from the back of your throat.
You looked sinful beneath him. His hands slid up from the mattress to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the stray tears at the corners of your eyes even as his lower body dictated a merciless pace.
There was only the heat, the slick friction binding you together, and a man utterly possessed.
âYou are mine,â Gwayne rasped against your skin, his voice a ragged edge of pure devotion and dark triumph. âFrom this night... until my last.â
The pleasure wound tighter and tighter within youâ until the dam broke, shattering you in a blinding release. You cried out his name, your body clamping tightly around his length.
Fuck.
The pulsing squeeze of your walls was the final blow to his restraintsâ your husband groaned aloud, as he thrusted into you one last time, before collapsing against you and spilling his seeds inside your womb.
You awoke before him.
With the morning light filtered through the velvet curtains, you observed your husbandâs serene, sleeping face. Free from his courtly mask and the heat from the night before, Gwayne looked peaceful, almost like a boy.
Even in sleep, he had one arm on your waist. His red hair was a mess against the sheets, and the blanket barely covered him, exposing the impressive breadth of his backâand the faint red marks where your nails had scratched him last night.
Sweet man, and heâs all mine.
A wave of tenderness washed over you, a deep-seated realization sank that you were truly his woman now. Reaching out, you gently cupped his jaw, the pad of your thumb tracing his cheek.
At your touch, his eyelashes soon fluttered. His eyes blinked open, unfocused with sleep.
âGood morrow, husband,â you fixed a sweet smile, and he blinked blue eyes at you, staring at you in a hazy daze for a moment as his mind worked to bridge the gap between his dreams and reality.
Then, a soft sigh escaped him. He reached out, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
âForgive me,â he murmured in a drawl, his voice muffled against your skin.
You blinked. âWhat for?â
âI have conducted myself in a manner entirely unbefitting of your husband.â
âOh?â
âI was far from gentle with you,â he mumbled into your neck. âWhen you have asked it from me.â
He really thought that? A giggle bubbled up from your chest, the light sound causing him to curl into you even further, hiding his face like a guilty boy.
âI am perfectly well,â you laughed, hugging him close to your chest. âA bit sore, perhaps, but quite intact.â
You stroked his red hair, and he clung to you a little tighter, as if you were the only anchor he needed. However, you were in the mood of being mischievous.
âAlthough, I must confess, I never knew you had that side in you, husband.â Your lips curling into a smirk as you looked down at him. âI must admit I doubted its existence.â
Gwayne went utterly still in your embrace. Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with an expression of pure despondence. Then as though he couldnât bear to look at your face, he groaned, clenching his jaw.
âI am glad my utter lack of composure is a source of amusement for the princess.â
His cheeks had started to redden, and your heart swelled. Reaching out, you caught his jaw with one hand and stole a quick kiss, catching him off guard.
âAm I not your wife?â you teased. âWhat is there to be so flustered about?â
âAre you secretly a wanton?â Gwayne fired back, a dimpled, shy smile breaking through his lingering embarrassment. âYou certainly seem fond of kissing me first.â
Would a man so devoted to you not choose you, when he is faced by the impossible choice between his wife and his house?
Mayhaps that was a question that would find its answer in the years to come.
âThis is how you kiss, darling.â
And with that, he leaned in and captured your lips in a chaste yet deep kiss. The shyness that had flushed his cheeks moments ago vanished, replaced by the effortless grace of a man who knew exactly how to cherish his wife.
When he finally parted from you, he didnât pull away far. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own as the early morning sun caught the rich blue of his eyes, and his grin was the sweetest as he gazed at you.
What is that light shining through the window? It matters less, because you are the sun, and you are in his arms.
tagging @luvweezer @j3ons4 @heavenlypuggs @salinaiacono6 @thelastemzy @meowingtotheoldies @violetrainbow412-blog @reading-it-all as per request <3
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as someone that hasn't watched any of the GOT shows, do you recommend it or am I gonna get stabbed in the heart?
i recommend watching them only if you have and can keep an open mind :â) bc some things happening in got/hotd/akotsk are really, really brutal, questionable, can get very dark and sometimes just so awful that it will make you so angry. but ultimately the story is goldâ really political, has many actions on dragonback and very interesting, and we can get attached to its characters quick while not knowing when theyâll die đ„č
Jello Chu! I hope youâre doing well. I just wanted to tell you that I love your writing so much. As a English literature major Iâm quite envious of you because your writing is beautiful. I discovered you through your LADS fics but I couldnât get enough of your writing so I started to read your other fics about the dragons hehe. I donât know anything about the show but I love what you write for them nonetheless. As much as I love your LADS fics, I understand if you want to stay away or not write for them anymore. The current stare of the game and fandom makes me so sad, people can be so cruel. But I will continue to support your writing and hopefully when I graduate, I will become a good writer like you too (˶ᔠᔠá”˶) Thank you! Take care đ
thank you for the kind words and for reading đ€ really, iâm average :â) i wish you luck on your studies and i know youâll do great!
what happens in lads fandom now is really eye-opening in the sense of âoh so these are people who i have interacted with and write for?â as a matter of fact, iâve gotten so many asks about how they hate cn and such (the vilest one being an ask cursing me and the entire chinese country wow i hope they get help fast). iâve deleted all asks related to lads on valkoâs cancelled day bc iâm so drained reading the hate, the vent and the self-entitlement
i canât believe how it has descended into hysteria. i get being disappointed and absolutely valko wanters should make their voice heard to infold but the moment they started fanwars and being unapologetically racists and villainizing cn side, i lost all my sympathy and respect bc wow the things they said to real people are so vile and itâs for the sake of a fictional character whoâs barely there for 8 days. itâs almost as if they have collectively lost all their logic, sanity and shame in a mass psychosis. why is it so hard to realize that the main villain of this madfess is infold itselfâŠ?
iâve spent millions in lads so no, iâm not boycotting. i love this game but i do know infold is an ass company so what iâll do is cutting my spending after my aurum pass ends. iâll be taking a break from the fandom until further notice but iâll still enjoy the game on my own
and i hope those reading this wonât come to my askbox preaching their vent or giving me their justification bc i really donât care about childish and idiotic things going on in the fandom anymore :)
- gwayne hightower x wife!reader x ormund hightower
ser gwayne hightower may be known for his chivalry, but beneath his courtly smile is a man of steel and blood. vows have made you his lawfully wedded wife, and when his most peculiar cousin starts weaving his traps for you to fall into⊠you will see another side of him you have never seen before
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive contentâminors do not interact!âarranged marriage, lots of romance and fluff, hurt/comfort, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, ormund is his own warning, first time with gwayne (bc he lost it), targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister)
notes:
gif by @/baelcrtargaryen and @/alysmond. part 2 of to court a princess but can also be read as a standalone. this brainrot has been brewing for a while and i love it :)) so i hope you will too!
â...and even when our bones return to dust, may I find your soul still sworn to mine.â
Before the Seven, as the great bells chimed, you and Gwayne Hightower pledged your vows, sealing them with the tenderest kiss.
The wedding between a princess of the blood and a noble knight of House Hightower was the liveliest celebration the realm had seen in a while. King Viserys was overjoyed, and even Queen Alicent wore a rare genuine smile for both you and her brother. Rhaenyra pulled you into a warm embrace, offering her heartfelt wishes with a glowing smile.
Yet⊠amidst the sea of well-wishers, there was one gaze that was heavy upon you.
âMany congratulations on this most auspicious union, cousin.â
Ormund Hightower stepped before you, looking impeccably sharp in his exquisite emerald doublet. His voice was cool and devoid of warmth.
While your new husband was kind-hearted, you had heard the future Lord of Oldtown was a Hightower of a different stripeâa true son of his father.
Then, Ormund turned his gaze to you, his lips curling into a crooked smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. âAnd to you as well, Princess...â
His dark gaze wandered, raking down your face to your bust, before returning to meet your eyes unabashedly.
âThe songs do you a disservice, Your Grace. You are a far lovelier sight than what they claim.â
There was something in the way he appraised you that made you uncomfortable. It was your first encounter with the infamous son of the Lord of Hightower, and yet you knew instantly what sort of viper he was.
Gwayneâs arm, still resting over your waist, tightened subtlyâa silent warning for him, also a reassurance to you.
âShe has my heart, Ormund, and my sword,â Gwayne replied smoothly, his eyes flashing with a protective warmth as he looked down at you. âThe realm has never seen a more beautiful bride, and I am the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.â
âWhy, of course. You have done our house a great service today, Gwayne, and Iâm certain youâll make a fine husband,â he said with a careless shrug, his crooked smile not wavering. He raised his goblet in a mock toast. âMay the Light of the Seven bless your union.â
With a final, lingering look at you, Ormund turned on his heel and melted back into the sea of lords and ladies.
âDonât mind him,â Gwayne hissed under his breath.
The moment his cousin was out of sight, you leaned closer to your groom, noting the sharp clench of his jaw. Sensing your concern, however, he immediately masked his irritation and turned to you with a reassuring smile as he drew you securely against his side.
Yet, as the music surged back to life around you, you couldnât deny the chill that still prickled your skin. Ormund Hightower would remain at court for the rest of your wedding festivitiesâ
And you had a foreboding feeling you would soon see him again.
The first day of your wedding celebration finally drew to a close. With the feast over, the princess and her new husband were left in the confines of their marital chambers, andâ
The time has come for this marriage to be consummated.
A nervous flutter stirred in your chest. Gwayne had given explicit instructions for your handmaidens to leave after removing your headpiece, saying he would take care of the rest.
And try you might to look away as a proper lady should, your eyes kept drifting towards him as he began to undressâ all the while bracing yourself, expecting the shift from chivalrous knight to demanding husband.
âIf youâre stealing glances at me like an innocent maiden does her first love,â he suddenly remarked with an amused grin, âyouâre truly going to make me blush.â
Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, suddenly finding everything more appealing than him.
Left in just his loose linen shirt, Gwayne had a meaningful smile on his face as he stepped behind you, his fingers reaching out to you to unlace the stiff bodice of your gown.
Oh, this is really happening, is it not?
âWe...â You suddenly found it hard to breathe as the heavy layers of your dress came loose. âAre weââ
âYes, darling?â he chuckled softly, his dimples deepening in the firelight. He clearly found satisfaction in how flustered you had become all of a sudden.
You merely looked down, biting your lip to keep yourself from stammering. Your face felt hot too as his large palm traced the contours of your bodyâ from the line of your ribs to the curve of your waist, and the dip of your hips.
After all, you were inexperienced. You had heard stories of how hurt the first night could beâ how rough the men liked it, and how comfort was the last thing a woman should expect.
As his arms circled your waist from behind, pinning you gently against him, you choked out:
âCould you be gentle... at least?â
âHm?â he hummed, smiling against your skin, his breath warm as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
Who could have known that the stern princess could be so shy? Gwayne indulged himself, trailing a path of kisses up the sensitive nape of your neck, savoring the way you shivered beneath his touch.
Precious thing, she truly is.
With a knowing smile, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and you gasped, clinging to his shoulders.
He laid you down upon the silk sheets, climbing in above you, and leaned downâ immediately pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss that tasted faintly of sweet wine.
âMmh...â His mouth moved against yours with hunger, tangling his fingers into the locks of your hair. He kissed you until you felt the room spinâ each time he pulled back a fraction of an inch, it was only to catch his breath before leaning down to devour your lips again, deeper and more bruising than before.
His toned hips pressed down firmly against yours, pinning you into the silk sheets. Through your thin linen shift, you could feel the hard, growing length of his bulge pressing against your thigh.
A quiet moan caught in your throat as he started rolling his hips, the friction sending a wave of unfamiliar heat straight to your core. Your fingers grasped the nape of his neck, and he groaned, a low vibration that you felt as much as you heard.
âDo you even knowââ he rasped against your lips, still grinding against you, his voice tinged with unbridled desire, âhow badly I want you?â
Just as the tension stretched to a breaking point, Gwayne suddenly went still. With a ragged exhale, he pulled away, leaving your lips tingling. He leveled his dark gaze on you, watching you panting for breath.
Lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours, he made no move to strip away the rest of your linen shift. He simply anchored his weight against you.
âSer GwayneâŠ?â You blinked up at him, confusion clouding your eyes.
He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw.
âWe have just survived the court of vipers today, my darling. Both of you and I need rest, nothing more.â
âButââ
His eyes then crinkled, his smile softened, looking at you as if he knew clearly what were currently going through your mind.
âWhat did I vow to you before the Seven?â
Wide-eyed, spellbound, with swollen lips of his making. Gwayne found his princess bride really endearing. Looking at you as he would a treasure, he recited the words he had spoken before the High Septon:
âI pray that my days will be long at your side. May your hand be in mine, by sun and by night...â
His dark blue eyes bored into yours with sincerity that made your chest tighten.
âLet our breaths twine and our blood become one, and even when our bones return to dust... may I find your soul still sworn to mine.â
Once again, he caught your heart with his sweet devotion. The way he was pure in his affections for you made you almost tear up.
Is this what it feels like to feel completely safe?
âThere is no rush.â He traced a finger on your lips. âMy only desire is to cherish you. With me, you are free to speak your mindâ and as I am yours, you are entirely mine.â
He flashed you another sweet smile before rolling onto his side. He reached down to grasp the velvet blankets, pulling the covers all the way up over you both to block out the chillâtucking you securely under his arm and pulling you against his chest.
When you clung to him, he let out a giddy laugh, his hold instinctively tightening around you.
âThank you, husband,â you whispered against his broad chest, nuzzling your face closer to him.
You received a tender kiss on the crown of your head in return.
For the most part, you were the happiest bride in the Seven Kingdoms.
Everyone in the realm, from the lowly stableboys to nobles, had offered their felicitations, your knightâs devotion was absolute and his tenderness behind closed doors a sanctuary against the court.
Yet, you hadnât missed the way Ormund Hightower, the heir of Oldtown and Gwayneâs cousin, had eyed you at each and every turn.
His morning greetings had felt entirely too personal for your comfort, and the way he boldly stared at you made your skin crawl. You hadnât seen fit to tell your husband just yet, choosing instead to give his cousin the benefit of the doubt.
Now, with the last day of your wedding festivities concluded, the gates of Red Keep were open as the lords and ladies of the realm prepared their wheelhouses to leave Kingâs Landing. Seeking an escape from the noise, you ducked into a cloistered walkway near the Godswood.
But you werenât alone.
A shadow fell over the stone floor, and before you could turn, Ormund stepped out from behind a carved pillar, blocking your path in the deserted corridor.
âYour Grace,â he greeted with a cold smile.
âSer Ormund.â Your voice adopting the icy tone you had practiced for years, as you began to question what he was truly after. âShould you not prepare to return to Oldtown? I imagined you would want to be ready for the long journey back to the Reach.â
Ormund didnât answer right away. He closed the distance between you, tilted his head, a patronizing smile touching his lips.
âPreparations can wait. I merely wanted a private moment to bid my farewell to you.â
âYou have had seven days of feasts to bid your farewells,â you retorted.
His smile only deepened. Instead of moving away, he stepped closer, trapping you between his frame and the pillar.
âNow, Princess... You know it as well as I do that we play a less than pretty game here.â
His gaze dropping to your collarbone before lifting to pin yours, with a look of a man who knew how much you weighted before the Iron Throne.
âEverything you lack in birthright is amply compensated by that pretty face of yours.â His blue eyes narrowed. âWith a face like that, you could bewitch knights and lords across the Seven Kingdoms. A tragic shame... If only the timing had been right, you could have chosen me instead.â
A wave of disgust rushed through you. âYou would do well to remember yourself. You are already wed.â
âA man never knows,â he replied in a sultry whisper, âwhen he might find himself in need of another wife.â
Ormund chuckled at your horrified expression. He leaned in closer, his eyes boring into yours with a terrifyingly casual entitlement, and in that moment you caught a striking smell on him.
Incense? Pomander? It was a potent smell, but surprisingly and jarringly pleasant.
âWhy him?â he sneered, placing both arms against the wall on either side of your head. âAn easy prey, is he?â
âHe is kind,â you spat, your gaze hardening with defiance, willing yourself not to tremble before him. âA kinder man than anyone could ever be. Now I command you to let me pass, as I will not suffer you insulting my lord husband, Ormund Hightower.â
âKind, is he now...? My cousin is the very paragon of a gentleman, and you thought you could bend him to your will, no?â
He leaned even closer to your ear that you could feel his breathâhis scent filling your being, his blue eyes narrowing and burning into you with cold certainty.
âA word of counsel,â Ormund warned, his voice dropping to a menacing purr. âGwayne remains a Hightower. The blood of Oldtown runs thick in his veins, and whatever sweet words he whispers in your bed⊠In the end, he will never betray his own house.â
The words echoed in your mind, striking a sudden chord of doubtâ before nausea and fury flared within you.
With a sudden surge of strength, you shoved hard against Ormundâs chest, breaking his hold and causing him to stagger.
Without giving him the satisfaction of another word, you spun on your heel and swept past him, leaving him alone in the shadows of the corridor.
Throughout the seven days and nights of your wedding festivities, Gwayne Hightower had been a man utterly besotted, and he wasnât reluctant in showing it before the court.
These were, without a doubt, the best days of his life. A dizzying happiness bestowed upon him by the Gods.
And patience was a virtue he possessed and would gladly practice if it meant your comfort. He had no wish to rush you and would like to give you as much time as you wanted, because after all, he knew deep-seated worries a new bride had regarding the marriage bed.
To that end, he had been standing by the hearth for a while now, stoking the coals so the chamber would be warm. When the heavy oak door finally creaked open and you stepped inside, Gwayne turned, already expecting you.
âWell, hello again, darling,â he greeted, an easy smile instantly gracing his features. âAre you ready to retire for the night?â
âOhâ!â
A startled gasp escaped you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, completely caught off guard to find him waiting. Even from across the room, he caught the rigid hunch of your shoulders and the panic in your eyes. It took only a second to realize how you were shaking.
His smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp concern.
âYou look unwell,â Gwayne noted, frowning. Immediately letting go of the poker, he stood and crossed the chamber to you.
However, you were always a quick thinker. Meeting his gaze, you forced a placating smile. âNoâ It is just the wind, husband, and I am weary. I shall summon my handmaiden to help me undress and get ready for bed.â
Now there really was an unsettling weight gnawing at his chest. It was something he realized recently, but you were actually a wretched liar when caught unprepared. And now, you looked fragile, as though you desperately needed comfort.
âHas something happened?â He closed the remaining distance, his hands sliding up to catch you gently by the arm, drawing you closer to him.
His first instinct was to unquestionably provide you that comfort, and he was just about to pull you into the safety of his arms whenâ
His nostrils flared as he caught the fragrance clinging to youâ and the air left his lungs. It was a scent he loathed with a visceral hatred, yet one he recognized almost instantly.
Gwayne went rigid, the blood turning to ice in his veins. A dark, sickening realization settled over him in a matter of seconds.
How?
Just how close had you been... to carry his scent so clearly upon your skin?
His gentle demeanor hardened into a sudden steel, and his voice dropped:
âWere you with Ormund?â
. . .
You wanted nothing more than to collapse in his arms.
You were really going to when suddenly you noticed how his face darkened. Gwayneâs blue eyes locked onto yours, demanding the truth you were trying to hide.
âWhy were you with him?â
That striking smell, you realized. âNo, I wasnâtââ you stammered, the words catching in your throat as panic flared inside you.
But Gwayne was far from convinced. He immediately let go of you, stepping back as if your very touch burned him. The sudden loss of his warmth made your heart ache with a sharp pain.
He looked utterly lost now, unable to look you in the eye. And worst of all, he looked terribly hurt.
âNothing happened between us!â you blurted, desperate to bridge the sudden chasm between you. âWe just exchanged a few wordsââ
âDo not lie to me. Ormund has a certain pomander he prefersâa blasted scent I would know anywhere. To carry that scent, you must have been so near to each other, so close that...â
He couldnât even finish the sentence. The compromising image of you and his cruel cousin choked the words right out of his throat, his jaw clenching as he fought back the raw betrayal burning in his chest.
You, however, wouldnât allow him to believe the worst. You forcibly threw yourself into his arms, desperate to mend the fracture between youâ
âGwayne, I swear this upon my motherâs name: I would never hurt you in such manner.â
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, burying your face against him. In that moment, even you found a fleeting peace in his warmth and listening to his erratic heartbeat. At first, his entire frame went completely stiff under your touch.
But as your vow settled over him... the tension broke, and he melted into your embrace in surrender, holding onto you with a crushing grip.
Oh. Such a sweet man, he is. The clarity almost made you cryâeven when he thought he was in his darkest moment, he silently chose to believe you.
The two of you stayed like that for a while until a sudden, dark terror seemed to occur to him. His eyes snapped back to yours, searching your face for any sign of ruin.
âDid he force himself upon you?â he asked then, his voice uneven, almost trembling with rage at the mere thought. âBecause if he didâ if he laid a single unwanted hand on you, I willââ
âNo!â you fiercely rejected the notion. âNothing happened! Iâ I might have incited his displeasure, yes, but nothing more!â
Gwayne let out a relieved sigh, cradling your face with both of his hands to anchor himself, looking down at you like a lovelorn man. The ache in his chest subsided somewhat, and for a moment, he contemplated hearing more.
Ormund was not a kind man. He knew that better than anyone, having spent his childhood under his whims. And Ormund was ruthless and cunningâ so if he had approached you, he undoubtedly had a purpose.
It might prove him a fool, and it would cost him another piece of his soul, yet Gwayne chose faith. Just as he had done a hundred times before.
âWhatever transpired between you, I do not wish to hear of it.â
You blinked at him, only to find him staring back with a grave expression.
âJust do not come near him again,â he warned, his voice a low, commanding growl. âCan you do that?â
You barely nodded when Gwayne leaned down and captured your lips in a punishing kissâone born of relief, jealousy, and a fierce need to erase every trace of his cousin from your skin.
His hands, usually so practiced in their courtesy, lost their gentleness as he crushed you against him. He groaned against your mouth, breaking the kiss only to drag his wet lips down your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over your pulse point just roughly enough to make you gasp.
The sounds of your mingled breaths and sensual sighs filled the room. Your thoughts burned away by the sudden, suffocating heat of him. He backed you towards the high, velvet-curtained bed, and then swept you off your feetâ
âOh! Ser Gwayne!â
Just like your first night together as man and wife, he laid you down on the marital bed, but this time, he came down over youâhis hands tearing at the laces of your dress, his breath hot on your jaw.
âPrincess, I canâtââ His voice broke into a growl as he lost it, capturing your lips in another senseless kiss.
Somewhere in the feverish haze, he shrugged off his own shirt, letting out a grunt when he felt the burning touch of your fingertips wandering across his bare skin.
With a single, fluid pull, he rid you of your dress, and only then did he draw back, his dark eyes wide and dilated as he drank the sight of your naked form.
Every inch of you... is dazzlingly woman. How had the heavens deemed him worthy of a wife so breathtaking?
A primal urge flared within himâ he had to mark you, to write his name upon your skin. Every lord in the Seven Kingdoms should know that he alone was husband to the princess.
Gwayne buried his face in your chest, suckling your breasts, swirling his tongue around the aching peaks until you arched off the mattress, breathless.
Fuck patience.
He roughly parted your thighs next to devour your sweet cunt with his mouth and lips, making you squirm to hold back your lewd moans. Within minutes, the intense coil inside you burst, your fingertips clawing at the bedsheets as your climax tore through you.
Fuck virtues.
Your head were still spinning in a daze as he proved just how masterful he was in pleasuring you. Before you could properly recover, Gwayne parted your knees wider and settled his weight over you.
âWill it hurt?â your voice came in a whisper, laced with such raw innocence when you realized what was to come that it immediately softened him.
âThe first time always is,â Gwayne answered truthfully. âScratch me, bleed me, scream if you must. Tell me if the pain outweighs the pleasure, and I will stop.â
He aligned himself against your entrance and with a push, inched himself inside you. You winced, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the foreign intrusion, your nails digging into the skin of his back.
âHush, darling... I have you,â he whispered thickly. He held you tight, anchoring you against the mattress as he drove himself deeper. You trembled beneath him, half in tears and choked by little gasps of pain, your body struggling to accommodate his sheer size.
So tight. Gwayne really was on the verge of losing it when he realized he had broken your maidenhead. Still a maid, and I have claimed her.
When he sheathed himself completely, your body stretched against an agonizing fullness and more tears fell from your eyes. Gwayne held himself perfectly still, giving your body a moment to adjust to his length, before pressing a tender kiss to your lips to soothe you and beginning to move.
As his hips drove into yours with bruising thrusts, the initial sting quickly melted away, replaced by a deep, rolling friction that felt incredibly good, drawing whimpers from the back of your throat.
You looked sinful beneath him. His hands slid up from the mattress to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the stray tears at the corners of your eyes even as his lower body dictated a merciless pace.
There was only the heat, the slick friction binding you together, and a man utterly possessed.
âYou are mine,â Gwayne rasped against your skin, his voice a ragged edge of pure devotion and dark triumph. âFrom this night... until my last.â
The pleasure wound tighter and tighter within youâ until the dam broke, shattering you in a blinding release. You cried out his name, your body clamping tightly around his length.
Fuck.
The pulsing squeeze of your walls was the final blow to his restraintsâ your husband groaned aloud, as he thrusted into you one last time, before collapsing against you and spilling his seeds inside your womb.
You awoke before him.
With the morning light filtered through the velvet curtains, you observed your husbandâs serene, sleeping face. Free from his courtly mask and the heat from the night before, Gwayne looked peaceful, almost like a boy.
Even in sleep, he had one arm on your waist. His red hair was a mess against the sheets, and the blanket barely covered him, exposing the impressive breadth of his backâand the faint red marks where your nails had scratched him last night.
Sweet man, and heâs all mine.
A wave of tenderness washed over you, a deep-seated realization sank that you were truly his woman now. Reaching out, you gently cupped his jaw, the pad of your thumb tracing his cheek.
At your touch, his eyelashes soon fluttered. His eyes blinked open, unfocused with sleep.
âGood morrow, husband,â you fixed a sweet smile, and he blinked blue eyes at you, staring at you in a hazy daze for a moment as his mind worked to bridge the gap between his dreams and reality.
Then, a soft sigh escaped him. He reached out, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
âForgive me,â he murmured in a drawl, his voice muffled against your skin.
You blinked. âWhat for?â
âI have conducted myself in a manner entirely unbefitting of your husband.â
âOh?â
âI was far from gentle with you,â he mumbled into your neck. âWhen you have asked it from me.â
He really thought that? A giggle bubbled up from your chest, the light sound causing him to curl into you even further, hiding his face like a guilty boy.
âI am perfectly well,â you laughed, hugging him close to your chest. âA bit sore, perhaps, but quite intact.â
You stroked his red hair, and he clung to you a little tighter, as if you were the only anchor he needed. However, you were in the mood of being mischievous.
âAlthough, I must confess, I never knew you had that side in you, husband.â Your lips curling into a smirk as you looked down at him. âI must admit I doubted its existence.â
Gwayne went utterly still in your embrace. Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with an expression of pure despondence. Then as though he couldnât bear to look at your face, he groaned, clenching his jaw.
âI am glad my utter lack of composure is a source of amusement for the princess.â
His cheeks had started to redden, and your heart swelled. Reaching out, you caught his jaw with one hand and stole a quick kiss, catching him off guard.
âAm I not your wife?â you teased. âWhat is there to be so flustered about?â
âAre you secretly a wanton?â Gwayne fired back, a dimpled, shy smile breaking through his lingering embarrassment. âYou certainly seem fond of kissing me first.â
Would a man so devoted to you not choose you, when he is faced by the impossible choice between his wife and his house?
Mayhaps that was a question that would find its answer in the years to come.
âThis is how you kiss, darling.â
And with that, he leaned in and captured your lips in a chaste yet deep kiss. The shyness that had flushed his cheeks moments ago vanished, replaced by the effortless grace of a man who knew exactly how to cherish his wife.
When he finally parted from you, he didnât pull away far. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own as the early morning sun caught the rich blue of his eyes, and his grin was the sweetest as he gazed at you.
What is that light shining through the window? It matters less, because you are the sun, and you are in his arms.
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I'm only following you for your LADS content so when I see you posting fics about 'Targaryen' I assumed that it was about the series House of the Dragon but it's actually not đŻ I didn't know there was another show! Sorry, I just find it so interesting how big this series is. There's so many Targaryens!
oh yes thereâs a new show called a knight of the seven kingdoms that just aired this year đ„č tbh iâm not really a fan of the original game of thrones but iâve followed house of the dragon since its s1 release so iâm attached to them all <3
- gwayne hightower x wife!reader x ormund hightower
ser gwayne hightower may be known for his chivalry, but beneath his courtly smile is a man of steel and blood. vows have made you his lawfully wedded wife, and when his most peculiar cousin starts weaving his traps for you to fall into⊠you will see another side of him you have never seen before
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive contentâminors do not interact!âarranged marriage, lots of romance and fluff, hurt/comfort, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, ormund is his own warning, first time with gwayne (bc he lost it), targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister)
notes:
gif by @/baelcrtargaryen and @/alysmond. part 2 of to court a princess but can also be read as a standalone. this brainrot has been brewing for a while and i love it :)) so i hope you will too!
â...and even when our bones return to dust, may I find your soul still sworn to mine.â
Before the Seven, as the great bells chimed, you and Gwayne Hightower pledged your vows, sealing them with the tenderest kiss.
The wedding between a princess of the blood and a noble knight of House Hightower was the liveliest celebration the realm had seen in a while. King Viserys was overjoyed, and even Queen Alicent wore a rare genuine smile for both you and her brother. Rhaenyra pulled you into a warm embrace, offering her heartfelt wishes with a glowing smile.
Yet⊠amidst the sea of well-wishers, there was one gaze that was heavy upon you.
âMany congratulations on this most auspicious union, cousin.â
Ormund Hightower stepped before you, looking impeccably sharp in his exquisite emerald doublet. His voice was cool and devoid of warmth.
While your new husband was kind-hearted, you had heard the future Lord of Oldtown was a Hightower of a different stripeâa true son of his father.
Then, Ormund turned his gaze to you, his lips curling into a crooked smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. âAnd to you as well, Princess...â
His dark gaze wandered, raking down your face to your bust, before returning to meet your eyes unabashedly.
âThe songs do you a disservice, Your Grace. You are a far lovelier sight than what they claim.â
There was something in the way he appraised you that made you uncomfortable. It was your first encounter with the infamous son of the Lord of Hightower, and yet you knew instantly what sort of viper he was.
Gwayneâs arm, still resting over your waist, tightened subtlyâa silent warning for him, also a reassurance to you.
âShe has my heart, Ormund, and my sword,â Gwayne replied smoothly, his eyes flashing with a protective warmth as he looked down at you. âThe realm has never seen a more beautiful bride, and I am the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.â
âWhy, of course. You have done our house a great service today, Gwayne, and Iâm certain youâll make a fine husband,â he said with a careless shrug, his crooked smile not wavering. He raised his goblet in a mock toast. âMay the Light of the Seven bless your union.â
With a final, lingering look at you, Ormund turned on his heel and melted back into the sea of lords and ladies.
âDonât mind him,â Gwayne hissed under his breath.
The moment his cousin was out of sight, you leaned closer to your groom, noting the sharp clench of his jaw. Sensing your concern, however, he immediately masked his irritation and turned to you with a reassuring smile as he drew you securely against his side.
Yet, as the music surged back to life around you, you couldnât deny the chill that still prickled your skin. Ormund Hightower would remain at court for the rest of your wedding festivitiesâ
And you had a foreboding feeling you would soon see him again.
The first day of your wedding celebration finally drew to a close. With the feast over, the princess and her new husband were left in the confines of their marital chambers, andâ
The time has come for this marriage to be consummated.
A nervous flutter stirred in your chest. Gwayne had given explicit instructions for your handmaidens to leave after removing your headpiece, saying he would take care of the rest.
And try you might to look away as a proper lady should, your eyes kept drifting towards him as he began to undressâ all the while bracing yourself, expecting the shift from chivalrous knight to demanding husband.
âIf youâre stealing glances at me like an innocent maiden does her first love,â he suddenly remarked with an amused grin, âyouâre truly going to make me blush.â
Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, suddenly finding everything more appealing than him.
Left in just his loose linen shirt, Gwayne had a meaningful smile on his face as he stepped behind you, his fingers reaching out to you to unlace the stiff bodice of your gown.
Oh, this is really happening, is it not?
âWe...â You suddenly found it hard to breathe as the heavy layers of your dress came loose. âAre weââ
âYes, darling?â he chuckled softly, his dimples deepening in the firelight. He clearly found satisfaction in how flustered you had become all of a sudden.
You merely looked down, biting your lip to keep yourself from stammering. Your face felt hot too as his large palm traced the contours of your bodyâ from the line of your ribs to the curve of your waist, and the dip of your hips.
After all, you were inexperienced. You had heard stories of how hurt the first night could beâ how rough the men liked it, and how comfort was the last thing a woman should expect.
As his arms circled your waist from behind, pinning you gently against him, you choked out:
âCould you be gentle... at least?â
âHm?â he hummed, smiling against your skin, his breath warm as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
Who could have known that the stern princess could be so shy? Gwayne indulged himself, trailing a path of kisses up the sensitive nape of your neck, savoring the way you shivered beneath his touch.
Precious thing, she truly is.
With a knowing smile, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and you gasped, clinging to his shoulders.
He laid you down upon the silk sheets, climbing in above you, and leaned downâ immediately pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss that tasted faintly of sweet wine.
âMmh...â His mouth moved against yours with hunger, tangling his fingers into the locks of your hair. He kissed you until you felt the room spinâ each time he pulled back a fraction of an inch, it was only to catch his breath before leaning down to devour your lips again, deeper and more bruising than before.
His toned hips pressed down firmly against yours, pinning you into the silk sheets. Through your thin linen shift, you could feel the hard, growing length of his bulge pressing against your thigh.
A quiet moan caught in your throat as he started rolling his hips, the friction sending a wave of unfamiliar heat straight to your core. Your fingers grasped the nape of his neck, and he groaned, a low vibration that you felt as much as you heard.
âDo you even knowââ he rasped against your lips, still grinding against you, his voice tinged with unbridled desire, âhow badly I want you?â
Just as the tension stretched to a breaking point, Gwayne suddenly went still. With a ragged exhale, he pulled away, leaving your lips tingling. He leveled his dark gaze on you, watching you panting for breath.
Lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours, he made no move to strip away the rest of your linen shift. He simply anchored his weight against you.
âSer GwayneâŠ?â You blinked up at him, confusion clouding your eyes.
He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw.
âWe have just survived the court of vipers today, my darling. Both of you and I need rest, nothing more.â
âButââ
His eyes then crinkled, his smile softened, looking at you as if he knew clearly what were currently going through your mind.
âWhat did I vow to you before the Seven?â
Wide-eyed, spellbound, with swollen lips of his making. Gwayne found his princess bride really endearing. Looking at you as he would a treasure, he recited the words he had spoken before the High Septon:
âI pray that my days will be long at your side. May your hand be in mine, by sun and by night...â
His dark blue eyes bored into yours with sincerity that made your chest tighten.
âLet our breaths twine and our blood become one, and even when our bones return to dust... may I find your soul still sworn to mine.â
Once again, he caught your heart with his sweet devotion. The way he was pure in his affections for you made you almost tear up.
Is this what it feels like to feel completely safe?
âThere is no rush.â He traced a finger on your lips. âMy only desire is to cherish you. With me, you are free to speak your mindâ and as I am yours, you are entirely mine.â
He flashed you another sweet smile before rolling onto his side. He reached down to grasp the velvet blankets, pulling the covers all the way up over you both to block out the chillâtucking you securely under his arm and pulling you against his chest.
When you clung to him, he let out a giddy laugh, his hold instinctively tightening around you.
âThank you, husband,â you whispered against his broad chest, nuzzling your face closer to him.
You received a tender kiss on the crown of your head in return.
For the most part, you were the happiest bride in the Seven Kingdoms.
Everyone in the realm, from the lowly stableboys to nobles, had offered their felicitations, your knightâs devotion was absolute and his tenderness behind closed doors a sanctuary against the court.
Yet, you hadnât missed the way Ormund Hightower, the heir of Oldtown and Gwayneâs cousin, had eyed you at each and every turn.
His morning greetings had felt entirely too personal for your comfort, and the way he boldly stared at you made your skin crawl. You hadnât seen fit to tell your husband just yet, choosing instead to give his cousin the benefit of the doubt.
Now, with the last day of your wedding festivities concluded, the gates of Red Keep were open as the lords and ladies of the realm prepared their wheelhouses to leave Kingâs Landing. Seeking an escape from the noise, you ducked into a cloistered walkway near the Godswood.
But you werenât alone.
A shadow fell over the stone floor, and before you could turn, Ormund stepped out from behind a carved pillar, blocking your path in the deserted corridor.
âYour Grace,â he greeted with a cold smile.
âSer Ormund.â Your voice adopting the icy tone you had practiced for years, as you began to question what he was truly after. âShould you not prepare to return to Oldtown? I imagined you would want to be ready for the long journey back to the Reach.â
Ormund didnât answer right away. He closed the distance between you, tilted his head, a patronizing smile touching his lips.
âPreparations can wait. I merely wanted a private moment to bid my farewell to you.â
âYou have had seven days of feasts to bid your farewells,â you retorted.
His smile only deepened. Instead of moving away, he stepped closer, trapping you between his frame and the pillar.
âNow, Princess... You know it as well as I do that we play a less than pretty game here.â
His gaze dropping to your collarbone before lifting to pin yours, with a look of a man who knew how much you weighted before the Iron Throne.
âEverything you lack in birthright is amply compensated by that pretty face of yours.â His blue eyes narrowed. âWith a face like that, you could bewitch knights and lords across the Seven Kingdoms. A tragic shame... If only the timing had been right, you could have chosen me instead.â
A wave of disgust rushed through you. âYou would do well to remember yourself. You are already wed.â
âA man never knows,â he replied in a sultry whisper, âwhen he might find himself in need of another wife.â
Ormund chuckled at your horrified expression. He leaned in closer, his eyes boring into yours with a terrifyingly casual entitlement, and in that moment you caught a striking smell on him.
Incense? Pomander? It was a potent smell, but surprisingly and jarringly pleasant.
âWhy him?â he sneered, placing both arms against the wall on either side of your head. âAn easy prey, is he?â
âHe is kind,â you spat, your gaze hardening with defiance, willing yourself not to tremble before him. âA kinder man than anyone could ever be. Now I command you to let me pass, as I will not suffer you insulting my lord husband, Ormund Hightower.â
âKind, is he now...? My cousin is the very paragon of a gentleman, and you thought you could bend him to your will, no?â
He leaned even closer to your ear that you could feel his breathâhis scent filling your being, his blue eyes narrowing and burning into you with cold certainty.
âA word of counsel,â Ormund warned, his voice dropping to a menacing purr. âGwayne remains a Hightower. The blood of Oldtown runs thick in his veins, and whatever sweet words he whispers in your bed⊠In the end, he will never betray his own house.â
The words echoed in your mind, striking a sudden chord of doubtâ before nausea and fury flared within you.
With a sudden surge of strength, you shoved hard against Ormundâs chest, breaking his hold and causing him to stagger.
Without giving him the satisfaction of another word, you spun on your heel and swept past him, leaving him alone in the shadows of the corridor.
Throughout the seven days and nights of your wedding festivities, Gwayne Hightower had been a man utterly besotted, and he wasnât reluctant in showing it before the court.
These were, without a doubt, the best days of his life. A dizzying happiness bestowed upon him by the Gods.
And patience was a virtue he possessed and would gladly practice if it meant your comfort. He had no wish to rush you and would like to give you as much time as you wanted, because after all, he knew deep-seated worries a new bride had regarding the marriage bed.
To that end, he had been standing by the hearth for a while now, stoking the coals so the chamber would be warm. When the heavy oak door finally creaked open and you stepped inside, Gwayne turned, already expecting you.
âWell, hello again, darling,â he greeted, an easy smile instantly gracing his features. âAre you ready to retire for the night?â
âOhâ!â
A startled gasp escaped you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, completely caught off guard to find him waiting. Even from across the room, he caught the rigid hunch of your shoulders and the panic in your eyes. It took only a second to realize how you were shaking.
His smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp concern.
âYou look unwell,â Gwayne noted, frowning. Immediately letting go of the poker, he stood and crossed the chamber to you.
However, you were always a quick thinker. Meeting his gaze, you forced a placating smile. âNoâ It is just the wind, husband, and I am weary. I shall summon my handmaiden to help me undress and get ready for bed.â
Now there really was an unsettling weight gnawing at his chest. It was something he realized recently, but you were actually a wretched liar when caught unprepared. And now, you looked fragile, as though you desperately needed comfort.
âHas something happened?â He closed the remaining distance, his hands sliding up to catch you gently by the arm, drawing you closer to him.
His first instinct was to unquestionably provide you that comfort, and he was just about to pull you into the safety of his arms whenâ
His nostrils flared as he caught the fragrance clinging to youâ and the air left his lungs. It was a scent he loathed with a visceral hatred, yet one he recognized almost instantly.
Gwayne went rigid, the blood turning to ice in his veins. A dark, sickening realization settled over him in a matter of seconds.
How?
Just how close had you been... to carry his scent so clearly upon your skin?
His gentle demeanor hardened into a sudden steel, and his voice dropped:
âWere you with Ormund?â
. . .
You wanted nothing more than to collapse in his arms.
You were really going to when suddenly you noticed how his face darkened. Gwayneâs blue eyes locked onto yours, demanding the truth you were trying to hide.
âWhy were you with him?â
That striking smell, you realized. âNo, I wasnâtââ you stammered, the words catching in your throat as panic flared inside you.
But Gwayne was far from convinced. He immediately let go of you, stepping back as if your very touch burned him. The sudden loss of his warmth made your heart ache with a sharp pain.
He looked utterly lost now, unable to look you in the eye. And worst of all, he looked terribly hurt.
âNothing happened between us!â you blurted, desperate to bridge the sudden chasm between you. âWe just exchanged a few wordsââ
âDo not lie to me. Ormund has a certain pomander he prefersâa blasted scent I would know anywhere. To carry that scent, you must have been so near to each other, so close that...â
He couldnât even finish the sentence. The compromising image of you and his cruel cousin choked the words right out of his throat, his jaw clenching as he fought back the raw betrayal burning in his chest.
You, however, wouldnât allow him to believe the worst. You forcibly threw yourself into his arms, desperate to mend the fracture between youâ
âGwayne, I swear this upon my motherâs name: I would never hurt you in such manner.â
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, burying your face against him. In that moment, even you found a fleeting peace in his warmth and listening to his erratic heartbeat. At first, his entire frame went completely stiff under your touch.
But as your vow settled over him... the tension broke, and he melted into your embrace in surrender, holding onto you with a crushing grip.
Oh. Such a sweet man, he is. The clarity almost made you cryâeven when he thought he was in his darkest moment, he silently chose to believe you.
The two of you stayed like that for a while until a sudden, dark terror seemed to occur to him. His eyes snapped back to yours, searching your face for any sign of ruin.
âDid he force himself upon you?â he asked then, his voice uneven, almost trembling with rage at the mere thought. âBecause if he didâ if he laid a single unwanted hand on you, I willââ
âNo!â you fiercely rejected the notion. âNothing happened! Iâ I might have incited his displeasure, yes, but nothing more!â
Gwayne let out a relieved sigh, cradling your face with both of his hands to anchor himself, looking down at you like a lovelorn man. The ache in his chest subsided somewhat, and for a moment, he contemplated hearing more.
Ormund was not a kind man. He knew that better than anyone, having spent his childhood under his whims. And Ormund was ruthless and cunningâ so if he had approached you, he undoubtedly had a purpose.
It might prove him a fool, and it would cost him another piece of his soul, yet Gwayne chose faith. Just as he had done a hundred times before.
âWhatever transpired between you, I do not wish to hear of it.â
You blinked at him, only to find him staring back with a grave expression.
âJust do not come near him again,â he warned, his voice a low, commanding growl. âCan you do that?â
You barely nodded when Gwayne leaned down and captured your lips in a punishing kissâone born of relief, jealousy, and a fierce need to erase every trace of his cousin from your skin.
His hands, usually so practiced in their courtesy, lost their gentleness as he crushed you against him. He groaned against your mouth, breaking the kiss only to drag his wet lips down your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over your pulse point just roughly enough to make you gasp.
The sounds of your mingled breaths and sensual sighs filled the room. Your thoughts burned away by the sudden, suffocating heat of him. He backed you towards the high, velvet-curtained bed, and then swept you off your feetâ
âOh! Ser Gwayne!â
Just like your first night together as man and wife, he laid you down on the marital bed, but this time, he came down over youâhis hands tearing at the laces of your dress, his breath hot on your jaw.
âPrincess, I canâtââ His voice broke into a growl as he lost it, capturing your lips in another senseless kiss.
Somewhere in the feverish haze, he shrugged off his own shirt, letting out a grunt when he felt the burning touch of your fingertips wandering across his bare skin.
With a single, fluid pull, he rid you of your dress, and only then did he draw back, his dark eyes wide and dilated as he drank the sight of your naked form.
Every inch of you... is dazzlingly woman. How had the heavens deemed him worthy of a wife so breathtaking?
A primal urge flared within himâ he had to mark you, to write his name upon your skin. Every lord in the Seven Kingdoms should know that he alone was husband to the princess.
Gwayne buried his face in your chest, suckling your breasts, swirling his tongue around the aching peaks until you arched off the mattress, breathless.
Fuck patience.
He roughly parted your thighs next to devour your sweet cunt with his mouth and lips, making you squirm to hold back your lewd moans. Within minutes, the intense coil inside you burst, your fingertips clawing at the bedsheets as your climax tore through you.
Fuck virtues.
Your head were still spinning in a daze as he proved just how masterful he was in pleasuring you. Before you could properly recover, Gwayne parted your knees wider and settled his weight over you.
âWill it hurt?â your voice came in a whisper, laced with such raw innocence when you realized what was to come that it immediately softened him.
âThe first time always is,â Gwayne answered truthfully. âScratch me, bleed me, scream if you must. Tell me if the pain outweighs the pleasure, and I will stop.â
He aligned himself against your entrance and with a push, inched himself inside you. You winced, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the foreign intrusion, your nails digging into the skin of his back.
âHush, darling... I have you,â he whispered thickly. He held you tight, anchoring you against the mattress as he drove himself deeper. You trembled beneath him, half in tears and choked by little gasps of pain, your body struggling to accommodate his sheer size.
So tight. Gwayne really was on the verge of losing it when he realized he had broken your maidenhead. Still a maid, and I have claimed her.
When he sheathed himself completely, your body stretched against an agonizing fullness and more tears fell from your eyes. Gwayne held himself perfectly still, giving your body a moment to adjust to his length, before pressing a tender kiss to your lips to soothe you and beginning to move.
As his hips drove into yours with bruising thrusts, the initial sting quickly melted away, replaced by a deep, rolling friction that felt incredibly good, drawing whimpers from the back of your throat.
You looked sinful beneath him. His hands slid up from the mattress to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the stray tears at the corners of your eyes even as his lower body dictated a merciless pace.
There was only the heat, the slick friction binding you together, and a man utterly possessed.
âYou are mine,â Gwayne rasped against your skin, his voice a ragged edge of pure devotion and dark triumph. âFrom this night... until my last.â
The pleasure wound tighter and tighter within youâ until the dam broke, shattering you in a blinding release. You cried out his name, your body clamping tightly around his length.
Fuck.
The pulsing squeeze of your walls was the final blow to his restraintsâ your husband groaned aloud, as he thrusted into you one last time, before collapsing against you and spilling his seeds inside your womb.
You awoke before him.
With the morning light filtered through the velvet curtains, you observed your husbandâs serene, sleeping face. Free from his courtly mask and the heat from the night before, Gwayne looked peaceful, almost like a boy.
Even in sleep, he had one arm on your waist. His red hair was a mess against the sheets, and the blanket barely covered him, exposing the impressive breadth of his backâand the faint red marks where your nails had scratched him last night.
Sweet man, and heâs all mine.
A wave of tenderness washed over you, a deep-seated realization sank that you were truly his woman now. Reaching out, you gently cupped his jaw, the pad of your thumb tracing his cheek.
At your touch, his eyelashes soon fluttered. His eyes blinked open, unfocused with sleep.
âGood morrow, husband,â you fixed a sweet smile, and he blinked blue eyes at you, staring at you in a hazy daze for a moment as his mind worked to bridge the gap between his dreams and reality.
Then, a soft sigh escaped him. He reached out, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
âForgive me,â he murmured in a drawl, his voice muffled against your skin.
You blinked. âWhat for?â
âI have conducted myself in a manner entirely unbefitting of your husband.â
âOh?â
âI was far from gentle with you,â he mumbled into your neck. âWhen you have asked it from me.â
He really thought that? A giggle bubbled up from your chest, the light sound causing him to curl into you even further, hiding his face like a guilty boy.
âI am perfectly well,â you laughed, hugging him close to your chest. âA bit sore, perhaps, but quite intact.â
You stroked his red hair, and he clung to you a little tighter, as if you were the only anchor he needed. However, you were in the mood of being mischievous.
âAlthough, I must confess, I never knew you had that side in you, husband.â Your lips curling into a smirk as you looked down at him. âI must admit I doubted its existence.â
Gwayne went utterly still in your embrace. Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with an expression of pure despondence. Then as though he couldnât bear to look at your face, he groaned, clenching his jaw.
âI am glad my utter lack of composure is a source of amusement for the princess.â
His cheeks had started to redden, and your heart swelled. Reaching out, you caught his jaw with one hand and stole a quick kiss, catching him off guard.
âAm I not your wife?â you teased. âWhat is there to be so flustered about?â
âAre you secretly a wanton?â Gwayne fired back, a dimpled, shy smile breaking through his lingering embarrassment. âYou certainly seem fond of kissing me first.â
Would a man so devoted to you not choose you, when he is faced by the impossible choice between his wife and his house?
Mayhaps that was a question that would find its answer in the years to come.
âThis is how you kiss, darling.â
And with that, he leaned in and captured your lips in a chaste yet deep kiss. The shyness that had flushed his cheeks moments ago vanished, replaced by the effortless grace of a man who knew exactly how to cherish his wife.
When he finally parted from you, he didnât pull away far. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own as the early morning sun caught the rich blue of his eyes, and his grin was the sweetest as he gazed at you.
What is that light shining through the window? It matters less, because you are the sun, and you are in his arms.
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- gwayne hightower x wife!reader x ormund hightower
ser gwayne hightower may be known for his chivalry, but beneath his courtly smile is a man of steel and blood. vows have made you his lawfully wedded wife, and when his most peculiar cousin starts weaving his traps for you to fall into⊠you will see another side of him you have never seen before
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive contentâminors do not interact!âarranged marriage, lots of romance and fluff, hurt/comfort, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, ormund is his own warning, first time with gwayne (bc he lost it), targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister)
notes:
gif by @/baelcrtargaryen and @/alysmond. part 2 of to court a princess but can also be read as a standalone. this brainrot has been brewing for a while and i love it :)) so i hope you will too!
â...and even when our bones return to dust, may I find your soul still sworn to mine.â
Before the Seven, as the great bells chimed, you and Gwayne Hightower pledged your vows, sealing them with the tenderest kiss.
The wedding between a princess of the blood and a noble knight of House Hightower was the liveliest celebration the realm had seen in a while. King Viserys was overjoyed, and even Queen Alicent wore a rare genuine smile for both you and her brother. Rhaenyra pulled you into a warm embrace, offering her heartfelt wishes with a glowing smile.
Yet⊠amidst the sea of well-wishers, there was one gaze that was heavy upon you.
âMany congratulations on this most auspicious union, cousin.â
Ormund Hightower stepped before you, looking impeccably sharp in his exquisite emerald doublet. His voice was cool and devoid of warmth.
While your new husband was kind-hearted, you had heard the future Lord of Oldtown was a Hightower of a different stripeâa true son of his father.
Then, Ormund turned his gaze to you, his lips curling into a crooked smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. âAnd to you as well, Princess...â
His dark gaze wandered, raking down your face to your bust, before returning to meet your eyes unabashedly.
âThe songs do you a disservice, Your Grace. You are a far lovelier sight than what they claim.â
There was something in the way he appraised you that made you uncomfortable. It was your first encounter with the infamous son of the Lord of Hightower, and yet you knew instantly what sort of viper he was.
Gwayneâs arm, still resting over your waist, tightened subtlyâa silent warning for him, also a reassurance to you.
âShe has my heart, Ormund, and my sword,â Gwayne replied smoothly, his eyes flashing with a protective warmth as he looked down at you. âThe realm has never seen a more beautiful bride, and I am the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.â
âWhy, of course. You have done our house a great service today, Gwayne, and Iâm certain youâll make a fine husband,â he said with a careless shrug, his crooked smile not wavering. He raised his goblet in a mock toast. âMay the Light of the Seven bless your union.â
With a final, lingering look at you, Ormund turned on his heel and melted back into the sea of lords and ladies.
âDonât mind him,â Gwayne hissed under his breath.
The moment his cousin was out of sight, you leaned closer to your groom, noting the sharp clench of his jaw. Sensing your concern, however, he immediately masked his irritation and turned to you with a reassuring smile as he drew you securely against his side.
Yet, as the music surged back to life around you, you couldnât deny the chill that still prickled your skin. Ormund Hightower would remain at court for the rest of your wedding festivitiesâ
And you had a foreboding feeling you would soon see him again.
The first day of your wedding celebration finally drew to a close. With the feast over, the princess and her new husband were left in the confines of their marital chambers, andâ
The time has come for this marriage to be consummated.
A nervous flutter stirred in your chest. Gwayne had given explicit instructions for your handmaidens to leave after removing your headpiece, saying he would take care of the rest.
And try you might to look away as a proper lady should, your eyes kept drifting towards him as he began to undressâ all the while bracing yourself, expecting the shift from chivalrous knight to demanding husband.
âIf youâre stealing glances at me like an innocent maiden does her first love,â he suddenly remarked with an amused grin, âyouâre truly going to make me blush.â
Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, suddenly finding everything more appealing than him.
Left in just his loose linen shirt, Gwayne had a meaningful smile on his face as he stepped behind you, his fingers reaching out to you to unlace the stiff bodice of your gown.
Oh, this is really happening, is it not?
âWe...â You suddenly found it hard to breathe as the heavy layers of your dress came loose. âAre weââ
âYes, darling?â he chuckled softly, his dimples deepening in the firelight. He clearly found satisfaction in how flustered you had become all of a sudden.
You merely looked down, biting your lip to keep yourself from stammering. Your face felt hot too as his large palm traced the contours of your bodyâ from the line of your ribs to the curve of your waist, and the dip of your hips.
After all, you were inexperienced. You had heard stories of how hurt the first night could beâ how rough the men liked it, and how comfort was the last thing a woman should expect.
As his arms circled your waist from behind, pinning you gently against him, you choked out:
âCould you be gentle... at least?â
âHm?â he hummed, smiling against your skin, his breath warm as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
Who could have known that the stern princess could be so shy? Gwayne indulged himself, trailing a path of kisses up the sensitive nape of your neck, savoring the way you shivered beneath his touch.
Precious thing, she truly is.
With a knowing smile, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and you gasped, clinging to his shoulders.
He laid you down upon the silk sheets, climbing in above you, and leaned downâ immediately pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss that tasted faintly of sweet wine.
âMmh...â His mouth moved against yours with hunger, tangling his fingers into the locks of your hair. He kissed you until you felt the room spinâ each time he pulled back a fraction of an inch, it was only to catch his breath before leaning down to devour your lips again, deeper and more bruising than before.
His toned hips pressed down firmly against yours, pinning you into the silk sheets. Through your thin linen shift, you could feel the hard, growing length of his bulge pressing against your thigh.
A quiet moan caught in your throat as he started rolling his hips, the friction sending a wave of unfamiliar heat straight to your core. Your fingers grasped the nape of his neck, and he groaned, a low vibration that you felt as much as you heard.
âDo you even knowââ he rasped against your lips, still grinding against you, his voice tinged with unbridled desire, âhow badly I want you?â
Just as the tension stretched to a breaking point, Gwayne suddenly went still. With a ragged exhale, he pulled away, leaving your lips tingling. He leveled his dark gaze on you, watching you panting for breath.
Lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours, he made no move to strip away the rest of your linen shift. He simply anchored his weight against you.
âSer GwayneâŠ?â You blinked up at him, confusion clouding your eyes.
He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw.
âWe have just survived the court of vipers today, my darling. Both of you and I need rest, nothing more.â
âButââ
His eyes then crinkled, his smile softened, looking at you as if he knew clearly what were currently going through your mind.
âWhat did I vow to you before the Seven?â
Wide-eyed, spellbound, with swollen lips of his making. Gwayne found his princess bride really endearing. Looking at you as he would a treasure, he recited the words he had spoken before the High Septon:
âI pray that my days will be long at your side. May your hand be in mine, by sun and by night...â
His dark blue eyes bored into yours with sincerity that made your chest tighten.
âLet our breaths twine and our blood become one, and even when our bones return to dust... may I find your soul still sworn to mine.â
Once again, he caught your heart with his sweet devotion. The way he was pure in his affections for you made you almost tear up.
Is this what it feels like to feel completely safe?
âThere is no rush.â He traced a finger on your lips. âMy only desire is to cherish you. With me, you are free to speak your mindâ and as I am yours, you are entirely mine.â
He flashed you another sweet smile before rolling onto his side. He reached down to grasp the velvet blankets, pulling the covers all the way up over you both to block out the chillâtucking you securely under his arm and pulling you against his chest.
When you clung to him, he let out a giddy laugh, his hold instinctively tightening around you.
âThank you, husband,â you whispered against his broad chest, nuzzling your face closer to him.
You received a tender kiss on the crown of your head in return.
For the most part, you were the happiest bride in the Seven Kingdoms.
Everyone in the realm, from the lowly stableboys to nobles, had offered their felicitations, your knightâs devotion was absolute and his tenderness behind closed doors a sanctuary against the court.
Yet, you hadnât missed the way Ormund Hightower, the heir of Oldtown and Gwayneâs cousin, had eyed you at each and every turn.
His morning greetings had felt entirely too personal for your comfort, and the way he boldly stared at you made your skin crawl. You hadnât seen fit to tell your husband just yet, choosing instead to give his cousin the benefit of the doubt.
Now, with the last day of your wedding festivities concluded, the gates of Red Keep were open as the lords and ladies of the realm prepared their wheelhouses to leave Kingâs Landing. Seeking an escape from the noise, you ducked into a cloistered walkway near the Godswood.
But you werenât alone.
A shadow fell over the stone floor, and before you could turn, Ormund stepped out from behind a carved pillar, blocking your path in the deserted corridor.
âYour Grace,â he greeted with a cold smile.
âSer Ormund.â Your voice adopting the icy tone you had practiced for years, as you began to question what he was truly after. âShould you not prepare to return to Oldtown? I imagined you would want to be ready for the long journey back to the Reach.â
Ormund didnât answer right away. He closed the distance between you, tilted his head, a patronizing smile touching his lips.
âPreparations can wait. I merely wanted a private moment to bid my farewell to you.â
âYou have had seven days of feasts to bid your farewells,â you retorted.
His smile only deepened. Instead of moving away, he stepped closer, trapping you between his frame and the pillar.
âNow, Princess... You know it as well as I do that we play a less than pretty game here.â
His gaze dropping to your collarbone before lifting to pin yours, with a look of a man who knew how much you weighted before the Iron Throne.
âEverything you lack in birthright is amply compensated by that pretty face of yours.â His blue eyes narrowed. âWith a face like that, you could bewitch knights and lords across the Seven Kingdoms. A tragic shame... If only the timing had been right, you could have chosen me instead.â
A wave of disgust rushed through you. âYou would do well to remember yourself. You are already wed.â
âA man never knows,â he replied in a sultry whisper, âwhen he might find himself in need of another wife.â
Ormund chuckled at your horrified expression. He leaned in closer, his eyes boring into yours with a terrifyingly casual entitlement, and in that moment you caught a striking smell on him.
Incense? Pomander? It was a potent smell, but surprisingly and jarringly pleasant.
âWhy him?â he sneered, placing both arms against the wall on either side of your head. âAn easy prey, is he?â
âHe is kind,â you spat, your gaze hardening with defiance, willing yourself not to tremble before him. âA kinder man than anyone could ever be. Now I command you to let me pass, as I will not suffer you insulting my lord husband, Ormund Hightower.â
âKind, is he now...? My cousin is the very paragon of a gentleman, and you thought you could bend him to your will, no?â
He leaned even closer to your ear that you could feel his breathâhis scent filling your being, his blue eyes narrowing and burning into you with cold certainty.
âA word of counsel,â Ormund warned, his voice dropping to a menacing purr. âGwayne remains a Hightower. The blood of Oldtown runs thick in his veins, and whatever sweet words he whispers in your bed⊠In the end, he will never betray his own house.â
The words echoed in your mind, striking a sudden chord of doubtâ before nausea and fury flared within you.
With a sudden surge of strength, you shoved hard against Ormundâs chest, breaking his hold and causing him to stagger.
Without giving him the satisfaction of another word, you spun on your heel and swept past him, leaving him alone in the shadows of the corridor.
Throughout the seven days and nights of your wedding festivities, Gwayne Hightower had been a man utterly besotted, and he wasnât reluctant in showing it before the court.
These were, without a doubt, the best days of his life. A dizzying happiness bestowed upon him by the Gods.
And patience was a virtue he possessed and would gladly practice if it meant your comfort. He had no wish to rush you and would like to give you as much time as you wanted, because after all, he knew deep-seated worries a new bride had regarding the marriage bed.
To that end, he had been standing by the hearth for a while now, stoking the coals so the chamber would be warm. When the heavy oak door finally creaked open and you stepped inside, Gwayne turned, already expecting you.
âWell, hello again, darling,â he greeted, an easy smile instantly gracing his features. âAre you ready to retire for the night?â
âOhâ!â
A startled gasp escaped you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, completely caught off guard to find him waiting. Even from across the room, he caught the rigid hunch of your shoulders and the panic in your eyes. It took only a second to realize how you were shaking.
His smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp concern.
âYou look unwell,â Gwayne noted, frowning. Immediately letting go of the poker, he stood and crossed the chamber to you.
However, you were always a quick thinker. Meeting his gaze, you forced a placating smile. âNoâ It is just the wind, husband, and I am weary. I shall summon my handmaiden to help me undress and get ready for bed.â
Now there really was an unsettling weight gnawing at his chest. It was something he realized recently, but you were actually a wretched liar when caught unprepared. And now, you looked fragile, as though you desperately needed comfort.
âHas something happened?â He closed the remaining distance, his hands sliding up to catch you gently by the arm, drawing you closer to him.
His first instinct was to unquestionably provide you that comfort, and he was just about to pull you into the safety of his arms whenâ
His nostrils flared as he caught the fragrance clinging to youâ and the air left his lungs. It was a scent he loathed with a visceral hatred, yet one he recognized almost instantly.
Gwayne went rigid, the blood turning to ice in his veins. A dark, sickening realization settled over him in a matter of seconds.
How?
Just how close had you been... to carry his scent so clearly upon your skin?
His gentle demeanor hardened into a sudden steel, and his voice dropped:
âWere you with Ormund?â
. . .
You wanted nothing more than to collapse in his arms.
You were really going to when suddenly you noticed how his face darkened. Gwayneâs blue eyes locked onto yours, demanding the truth you were trying to hide.
âWhy were you with him?â
That striking smell, you realized. âNo, I wasnâtââ you stammered, the words catching in your throat as panic flared inside you.
But Gwayne was far from convinced. He immediately let go of you, stepping back as if your very touch burned him. The sudden loss of his warmth made your heart ache with a sharp pain.
He looked utterly lost now, unable to look you in the eye. And worst of all, he looked terribly hurt.
âNothing happened between us!â you blurted, desperate to bridge the sudden chasm between you. âWe just exchanged a few wordsââ
âDo not lie to me. Ormund has a certain pomander he prefersâa blasted scent I would know anywhere. To carry that scent, you must have been so near to each other, so close that...â
He couldnât even finish the sentence. The compromising image of you and his cruel cousin choked the words right out of his throat, his jaw clenching as he fought back the raw betrayal burning in his chest.
You, however, wouldnât allow him to believe the worst. You forcibly threw yourself into his arms, desperate to mend the fracture between youâ
âGwayne, I swear this upon my motherâs name: I would never hurt you in such manner.â
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, burying your face against him. In that moment, even you found a fleeting peace in his warmth and listening to his erratic heartbeat. At first, his entire frame went completely stiff under your touch.
But as your vow settled over him... the tension broke, and he melted into your embrace in surrender, holding onto you with a crushing grip.
Oh. Such a sweet man, he is. The clarity almost made you cryâeven when he thought he was in his darkest moment, he silently chose to believe you.
The two of you stayed like that for a while until a sudden, dark terror seemed to occur to him. His eyes snapped back to yours, searching your face for any sign of ruin.
âDid he force himself upon you?â he asked then, his voice uneven, almost trembling with rage at the mere thought. âBecause if he didâ if he laid a single unwanted hand on you, I willââ
âNo!â you fiercely rejected the notion. âNothing happened! Iâ I might have incited his displeasure, yes, but nothing more!â
Gwayne let out a relieved sigh, cradling your face with both of his hands to anchor himself, looking down at you like a lovelorn man. The ache in his chest subsided somewhat, and for a moment, he contemplated hearing more.
Ormund was not a kind man. He knew that better than anyone, having spent his childhood under his whims. And Ormund was ruthless and cunningâ so if he had approached you, he undoubtedly had a purpose.
It might prove him a fool, and it would cost him another piece of his soul, yet Gwayne chose faith. Just as he had done a hundred times before.
âWhatever transpired between you, I do not wish to hear of it.â
You blinked at him, only to find him staring back with a grave expression.
âJust do not come near him again,â he warned, his voice a low, commanding growl. âCan you do that?â
You barely nodded when Gwayne leaned down and captured your lips in a punishing kissâone born of relief, jealousy, and a fierce need to erase every trace of his cousin from your skin.
His hands, usually so practiced in their courtesy, lost their gentleness as he crushed you against him. He groaned against your mouth, breaking the kiss only to drag his wet lips down your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over your pulse point just roughly enough to make you gasp.
The sounds of your mingled breaths and sensual sighs filled the room. Your thoughts burned away by the sudden, suffocating heat of him. He backed you towards the high, velvet-curtained bed, and then swept you off your feetâ
âOh! Ser Gwayne!â
Just like your first night together as man and wife, he laid you down on the marital bed, but this time, he came down over youâhis hands tearing at the laces of your dress, his breath hot on your jaw.
âPrincess, I canâtââ His voice broke into a growl as he lost it, capturing your lips in another senseless kiss.
Somewhere in the feverish haze, he shrugged off his own shirt, letting out a grunt when he felt the burning touch of your fingertips wandering across his bare skin.
With a single, fluid pull, he rid you of your dress, and only then did he draw back, his dark eyes wide and dilated as he drank the sight of your naked form.
Every inch of you... is dazzlingly woman. How had the heavens deemed him worthy of a wife so breathtaking?
A primal urge flared within himâ he had to mark you, to write his name upon your skin. Every lord in the Seven Kingdoms should know that he alone was husband to the princess.
Gwayne buried his face in your chest, suckling your breasts, swirling his tongue around the aching peaks until you arched off the mattress, breathless.
Fuck patience.
He roughly parted your thighs next to devour your sweet cunt with his mouth and lips, making you squirm to hold back your lewd moans. Within minutes, the intense coil inside you burst, your fingertips clawing at the bedsheets as your climax tore through you.
Fuck virtues.
Your head were still spinning in a daze as he proved just how masterful he was in pleasuring you. Before you could properly recover, Gwayne parted your knees wider and settled his weight over you.
âWill it hurt?â your voice came in a whisper, laced with such raw innocence when you realized what was to come that it immediately softened him.
âThe first time always is,â Gwayne answered truthfully. âScratch me, bleed me, scream if you must. Tell me if the pain outweighs the pleasure, and I will stop.â
He aligned himself against your entrance and with a push, inched himself inside you. You winced, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the foreign intrusion, your nails digging into the skin of his back.
âHush, darling... I have you,â he whispered thickly. He held you tight, anchoring you against the mattress as he drove himself deeper. You trembled beneath him, half in tears and choked by little gasps of pain, your body struggling to accommodate his sheer size.
So tight. Gwayne really was on the verge of losing it when he realized he had broken your maidenhead. Still a maid, and I have claimed her.
When he sheathed himself completely, your body stretched against an agonizing fullness and more tears fell from your eyes. Gwayne held himself perfectly still, giving your body a moment to adjust to his length, before pressing a tender kiss to your lips to soothe you and beginning to move.
As his hips drove into yours with bruising thrusts, the initial sting quickly melted away, replaced by a deep, rolling friction that felt incredibly good, drawing whimpers from the back of your throat.
You looked sinful beneath him. His hands slid up from the mattress to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the stray tears at the corners of your eyes even as his lower body dictated a merciless pace.
There was only the heat, the slick friction binding you together, and a man utterly possessed.
âYou are mine,â Gwayne rasped against your skin, his voice a ragged edge of pure devotion and dark triumph. âFrom this night... until my last.â
The pleasure wound tighter and tighter within youâ until the dam broke, shattering you in a blinding release. You cried out his name, your body clamping tightly around his length.
Fuck.
The pulsing squeeze of your walls was the final blow to his restraintsâ your husband groaned aloud, as he thrusted into you one last time, before collapsing against you and spilling his seeds inside your womb.
You awoke before him.
With the morning light filtered through the velvet curtains, you observed your husbandâs serene, sleeping face. Free from his courtly mask and the heat from the night before, Gwayne looked peaceful, almost like a boy.
Even in sleep, he had one arm on your waist. His red hair was a mess against the sheets, and the blanket barely covered him, exposing the impressive breadth of his backâand the faint red marks where your nails had scratched him last night.
Sweet man, and heâs all mine.
A wave of tenderness washed over you, a deep-seated realization sank that you were truly his woman now. Reaching out, you gently cupped his jaw, the pad of your thumb tracing his cheek.
At your touch, his eyelashes soon fluttered. His eyes blinked open, unfocused with sleep.
âGood morrow, husband,â you fixed a sweet smile, and he blinked blue eyes at you, staring at you in a hazy daze for a moment as his mind worked to bridge the gap between his dreams and reality.
Then, a soft sigh escaped him. He reached out, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
âForgive me,â he murmured in a drawl, his voice muffled against your skin.
You blinked. âWhat for?â
âI have conducted myself in a manner entirely unbefitting of your husband.â
âOh?â
âI was far from gentle with you,â he mumbled into your neck. âWhen you have asked it from me.â
He really thought that? A giggle bubbled up from your chest, the light sound causing him to curl into you even further, hiding his face like a guilty boy.
âI am perfectly well,â you laughed, hugging him close to your chest. âA bit sore, perhaps, but quite intact.â
You stroked his red hair, and he clung to you a little tighter, as if you were the only anchor he needed. However, you were in the mood of being mischievous.
âAlthough, I must confess, I never knew you had that side in you, husband.â Your lips curling into a smirk as you looked down at him. âI must admit I doubted its existence.â
Gwayne went utterly still in your embrace. Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with an expression of pure despondence. Then as though he couldnât bear to look at your face, he groaned, clenching his jaw.
âI am glad my utter lack of composure is a source of amusement for the princess.â
His cheeks had started to redden, and your heart swelled. Reaching out, you caught his jaw with one hand and stole a quick kiss, catching him off guard.
âAm I not your wife?â you teased. âWhat is there to be so flustered about?â
âAre you secretly a wanton?â Gwayne fired back, a dimpled, shy smile breaking through his lingering embarrassment. âYou certainly seem fond of kissing me first.â
Would a man so devoted to you not choose you, when he is faced by the impossible choice between his wife and his house?
Mayhaps that was a question that would find its answer in the years to come.
âThis is how you kiss, darling.â
And with that, he leaned in and captured your lips in a chaste yet deep kiss. The shyness that had flushed his cheeks moments ago vanished, replaced by the effortless grace of a man who knew exactly how to cherish his wife.
When he finally parted from you, he didnât pull away far. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own as the early morning sun caught the rich blue of his eyes, and his grin was the sweetest as he gazed at you.
What is that light shining through the window? It matters less, because you are the sun, and you are in his arms.
tagging @luvweezer @j3ons4 @heavenlypuggs @salinaiacono6 @thelastemzy @meowingtotheoldies @violetrainbow412-blog @reading-it-all as per request <3
for as long as you could remember, you and the bright prince have always been bitter enemies... but when duty calls and you are married off to each other, how will you survive this marriage?
genre/warnings:
lots of crack, hardcore childhood enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarrels & usage of "wench" (he is aerion and he's emotionally constipated), assault and injury (not by aerion), forced proximity, mentions of blood (aka aerion going ballistic on your former betrothed), fluff, lannister!reader
notes:
aerion here is the same aerion from this valarr fic but this can def be read as standalone. i actually had so much fun writing this bc this trope is my fav trope to write! i hope you all enjoy it <3
The fool in Red Keep said⊠the animosity between you and Aerion began when you were nothing more than babes in cradle.
He claimed that with the supposed cruelty of infancy, you had pushed him from his cradle and sent him flying to the floor. Thus, he had despised you ever since.
On the contrary, the fool in Casterly Rock said⊠it was the Bright Prince who started it. He was an unruly babe who yanked your hair so harshly it made you wail, and it was no wonder you came to loathe him.
Whether any tale held any truth, you could not say. You had no memory of ever laying a hand on him, or otherwise. Only that the hatred had always been there, as old as time.
You two have always been the bitterest of enemies. So when the news of your betrothal came, it felt like a cruel jest of the highest order.
But of course, House Lannister accepted the proposal gladly. Your father even went as far as breaking your previous betrothal to House Reyne. No matter how wretched Aerion was, he was still a prince of House Targaryenâblood of the dragon, and your house had never been one to shy away from greed.
And so when your new, blasted betrothed, with his silver hair and evil violet eyes, let out a derisive snort and told you right in your face that:
âThe proud Lady Lannister has fallen to my feet at last⊠How sad.â
Gods knew you had never lacked for sharp wordsâbut for once, nothing came, because this was exactly what your house had thrust you into.
And nor were you comforted when you would-be goodbrother, Daeron, came to you in his drunken stupor, saying:
âAt this point, heâs a lost cause. I doubt marriage could fix him⊠but you could at least fuck him, yeah?â
Your life would be an utter disaster, you were sure of it. Why? Why must it be Aerion fucking Targaryen? You could understand politically beneficial marriage, but still, there were other Targaryen princes besides Aerion!
There were Daeron (though he might rope you into his drinking habit), Matarys (who might be too young for you), Aerys (who was said to have little interest in women, and way too old for you besides), and even Maekar?
No, no. The thought of being Aerionâs stepmother just filled you with more grief.
Valarr would be the perfect choice. The Young Prince was everything a bride could want in a husband⊠alas, his princess consort was already living that fairy tale with him.
As the only daughter of House Lannister, you were the perfect piece to be played in this game of thronesâsuch was your fate.
And whether you liked it or not... your wedding with your worst enemy was fast approaching.
Your wedding was a grand event in Kingâs Landing. Held in the Great Sept of Baelor, three days of feasts and a wedding tourney would followâfestivities befitting a royal union between a prince of the realm and a lady from a powerful house.
You stood at the altar, every inch the perfect bride. Beside you, Aerion was draped in Targaryen prince regalia, the very image of arrogance as he recited the vowsâ
âIâm hers⊠and she is mine.â
âIâm his⊠and he is mine.â
The words tasted like ash on your tongue, but when you glanced at him, you caught the triumphant glint in his violet eyes.
âFrom this day... to the end of my days...â
You almost looked away in disgust, but the weight of a hundred watching eyes held you in place.
The High Septon then bound your hands together, silk wrapped tight, sealing a union that neither of you had ever wantedâ and after a very awkward kiss, you became the Aerion Brightfireâs wife, and he your husband.
A union of a dragon and a lion. To the realm, it was a pretty spectacle, but to you, it was a veiled disaster.
. . .
The wedding, by all appearances, had been a resounding triumph. The feasts had been lavish, the tourney lively, the realm thoroughly entertained.
However, the real trial began when doors to your marital chamber closed behind you with a thud, when both of you shed the amicable masks you had worn all day.
At least your new husband had the sense to refuse the bedding ceremony outright. For that alone, you might have been almost grateful.
âI suppose with this, you could consider this the height of your ambitions fulfilled,â Aerion drawled, both hands on his hips, his voice dripping with that same unbearable arrogance you had come to loathe.
You let out a short, humorless laugh. âIf this is the height, then I should like to return it.â
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation breaking through his cool. âHow ungrateful. Most women would kill to stand where you are.â
âYou flatter yourself. Most women would weep to be wed to you.â
âCareful, my lady wife. You shouldnât offend me too deeply, or I will be inclined to have your tongue.â
âI should hope to offend you thoroughly then. Feel free to get my tongue out of me, if you could.â
That was how it had always been between youâvenom clashing like blades. From childhood to now, nothing had changed.
âGods, what a delightful marriage this will be!â
Aerion scoffed, throwing his hands up in exaggerated delight before turning away. He began shrugging off his coat, then bending to pull at his boots. Another silence fellâsharper this time, brittle at the edges.
Your gaze flicked, unwillingly, to the bed... and realizing that as a man and wife, you would be sharing a bed together. Something in you snapped at the very thought.
âOh, bloody hell,â you cursed. âIf you intend to share my bed, I suggest you donât.â
He looked back at you, brow lifting slightly. âYour bed? This is Red Keep, you dullard.â
âI refuse to be anywhere near you!â
âAs if I would wantââ
âThen go and find one of your whores instead!â
Oh no, maybe you had gone to far, but all you could see before you was the little monster who had made your childhood a misery whenever you visited Kingâs Landingâone who stole your tarts, shoved you aside, and screamed at you without cause.
For a heartbeat, the air seemed to turn icy, something dark flickering in your new husbandâs gaze, sharp enough that it nearly made you recoil.
âJust so you wait until we go back to Summerhall.â Aerionâs piercing violet bore through you. âYou wonât be so eager to test me then.â
âI shall try regardless,â you replied, still lifting your chin in defiance.
He held your gaze a moment longer, something unreadable passing behind itâbefore turning on his heel.
âEnjoy your solitude, wench.â
And with that, he strode from the chamber, the door slamming shut behind him. At last you were alone, safe and free from him and the dreadful notion of the first night.
âŠthen, suddenly, you burst into dry, crisp laughter. The sound escaping you as you sank into the chair before your vanity, your limbs heavy with the weight of it all.
There you had it... the first night of your marriage, and your husband really went to the whorehouse.
. . .
âImpudent little wretchâŠâ
Aerion stalked down the corridor, the words slipping through clenched teeth. His temper burned hot, as though the very walls of the Red Keep offended him.
You. Gods, how he hated you. It was not merely the defianceâthough that alone would have been enough. It was the way you met every barb he threw with one of your own since you were children of five. You did not shrink, did not simper, did not bend.
And worse, you had been radiant throughout the day, as much as it pained him to admit. The way your eyes widened just so, the softness of your lips, the slim of your waistâ
Gods, what cruel jest was this, that his sworn enemyânow inconveniently, his wifeâshould be so offensively comely?
A bitter scoff left him.
âImpudent little wretch,â he spat, quieter this time, though the words held no less venom.
As astounding a fact as it was, Aerion was no habitual whoremonger nor witless adulterer. He didnât even frequent the brothels that often!
Which only made this all the more infuriating⊠because now he found himself striding towards the Street of Silk, driven not by want, but by seething spite.
If that was what you thought of him, then so be it! He would give you a tale worth choking onâhe would be tangled in silks and perfumed arms, and by the morning, you would be known as the wife spurned on her very first night.
His lips curled faintly at the thought, satisfaction flickering beneath his irritation.
Aerion slowed at the entrance of a particularly well-appointed establishment. Music drifted faintly from within, low laughter following after it. For a moment, he simply stood there.
Not out of hesitation, but because the absurdity of it all suddenly pressed sharply at his pride. He, a prince of the blood, reduced to staging a petty display all because his own wife had refused him on his wedding night!
Still, his hand liftedâ
âYour Grace.â
The voice cut cleanly. Aerionâs expression darkened at once, already recognizing it. Sure enough, when he turned, two figures cloaked in pure white stood just behind him.
Ser Roland Crakehall and Ser Donnel of Duskendale. Of the Kingsguard.
âExplain yourselves,â Aerion demanded coldly, his gaze flicking between them.
Ser Roland inclined his head, far too calmly for his liking. âWe are under orders, Your Grace.â
âFrom whom?â
âPrince Maekar,â Ser Donnel answered with a tone of finality. âTo keep you⊠in order, my prince.â
For a heartbeat, Aerion simply stared at them, utterly incredulous. That his father had foreseen him marching to a brothel from his wedding feast, and thought it necessary to hatch a contingency planâ how and where did the old man get such a wisdom from?
He moved to brush past Ser Donnel, intent on entering the brothel regardless, but Ser Roland stepped neatly before him and blocked the entrance.
âYou insolentââ
âForgive me, my prince. Our duty is to Prince Maekar, and he has made it clear that you are not to incite any scandal on your wedding day.â
And so the night ended not in scandal, but with a very fuming prince walking back to Red Keep, under the watchful eye of the Kingsguard.
When the news reached you that your husband (of a day, mind you) was unceremoniously escorted back from Street of Silk, you burst not into polite titter or a restrained chuckle befitting a princessâ
But a fit of hearty laughter that rang through your chamber.
Gods. The image of insufferable, pride-swollen Aerion halted by his own fatherâs guards was too priceless in your mind that you wished you had seen it firsthand. This marriage might prove to be entertaining after all!
While you were thoroughly amused, this matter proved rather less amusing for Prince Maekar and Aerion on the breakfast table.
âFather, I fail to seeââ
âYou fail to see quite a great many things, boy,â Prince Maekar spat, not even granting him the courtesy of finishing. You folded your hands on your lap, trying to be the very image of a docile wife, desperately trying not to break into a smile at Aerionâs peril.
Aerionâs jaw tightened. âI was merelyââ
ââmaking a fucking fool of yourself,â Maekar hissed. âOn the night of your wedding, no less.â
âIt was notâ!â
âDo not insult me with excuses.â His fatherâs voice dropped, colder now. âI know you, boy. I knew precisely where your temper would carry you, but you are not a strapping boy of sevenâ you are a prince of the realm!â
Aerion stiffened, pointing a hand at you, which made you look at him scandalously. âSheâ!â
âEnough!â
The single word struck like a lash that you flinched.
Maekar stepped closer, his gaze hard as iron. âYou will not shame this house over wounded pride, Aerion. Not now. Not ever. You are wed. You will act like it.â
Aerionâs hands curled at his sides. âAnd if I will notââ
âYou will,â Maekar said flatly, cutting him off once more. âBecause I will not have whispers spreading that my son cannot even command his own household.â
Even your hands were getting clammy at your father-in-law's warning tone. Was this how Aerion was always disciplined? Now you were feeling a bit sorry for him.
Then, quieter, but no less final, Prince Maekar left him with:
âPlay your part, Aerion. Or you are no son of mine.â
It was a bit strange to see how Aerion took everything in silence as his father strode away from the hall. That was quite harsh, but unlike the fiery man who you knew, he just sat there, jaw clenched tight.
A part of you felt guilty because in a way, you were the one who drove him out last night, and you were not interested in drawing your father-in-lawâs ire anytime soon, so you cleared your throat, having arrived at a decision.
âFor what it is worthââ you began, but before you could finish, his head snapped towards you at once, violet eyes narrowing spitefully.
âSpare me.â
You crossed your arms. âI have no desire to be dragged into your fatherâs displeasure, Aerion.â
His gaze lingered, studying your face. You met it, chin lifting just slightly.
âFor the sake of our self-preservation⊠letâs call for a truce,â you continued, voice measured, âI will play my part. In public, at least.â
âDamn it, wench. Donât pretend to be generous now,â Aerion snarled at you, spitting each word.
But for all his sharp words, there was something almost resembling an understanding between you for the first time since you swore your vows in the sept.
And so, albeit begrudgingly, both of you became the image of blissful newlyweds ever since.
You would walk beside Aerion with demure smile and composed grace, your hand resting lightly upon his arm. He, in turn, played the decent husband well enoughâstanding close, sometimes a hand on the small of your back, his expression schooled into calmness befitting a royal prince.
âI have heard the two of you were inseparable as children,â Myriah Martell, the Queen of Seven Kingdoms, said with a pleased smile when you were presented to her. âYou suit each other beautifully.â
âYou are too kind, Your Grace,â you replied, dipping your head with practiced elegance, your fingers tightening slightly against your husbandâs sleeve.
Aerionâs lips curvedâor more like, twitchedâjust enough. âWe are⊠well matched.â
The queen seemed to take your responses as a good sign, because she smiled so widely at the two of you.
âGood, good... May the Seven bless you with many children, dears.â
You grimaced for the briefest moment. Aerion coughed.
Little did the court know of what had transpired in your marital chamber.
. . .
Asking a separate room would make servants talk, and it would reach Prince Maekar in due course. You couldnât have that, so you came up with an idea and requested a dozen of pillows.
It took three maids to carry them all in. You scarcely spared them a glance, too occupied with your task as you arranged yet another cushion upon the bed with precision.
By the time you were finished, a veritable fortress stoodâtwo layers of embroidered silk dividing the marital bed cleanly in two.
Aerion returned from his bath not long after, about to retire to bed⊠and he was rendered speechless by the sight before him. He kept staring at it, then at you, then back at the barricade.
âYou cannot be seriousââ
You turned your head, meeting his gaze with sweet, dangerous calm. âCross it, and I will make certain you regret it.â
âIs that a threat?â
âAn inevitability.â
A long, charged silence stretched between you. Then, with a scoff, Aerion threw himself onto his side of the bed, turning his back to you with pointed disdain.
âRidiculous woman.â
âDetestable man.â
And so that was how you slept ever sinceâ back to back, divided by a fortress of pillows the two of you swore to never breach.
. . .
At banquets, however, the performance continued and not a soul in court the wiser.
âMy lady,â Aerion grounded out through clenched teeth, extending his hand. âMay I have this dance?â
You smiled, sweet as honey and false as it was flawless, placing your hand in his. âOf course, my lord husband.â
However, the moment you stepped onto the floor, both of you pressed your lips thin in unison. You were each a fair dancerâwell-trained, as any highborn ought to beâand the steps of waltz were second nature. Yet, where other couples moved with effortless grace, you and Aerion were rigid, like two tin men forcing each step into place.
Aerionâs grip tightened ever so slightly at your waist. âWatch your step.â
âI always do,â you hissed. Then a thought, sharp and petty, slipped into your mind.
You drove your heel neatly onto his foot, and he sucked in a sharp breath in response.
âMy apologies...â you said, all syrup and innocence, even as he shot you a scowl.
Moments later, his foot came down on yoursâtoo deliberate to be an accident! You forced yourself to swallow the shriek in your throat, and glared up at him.
âA misstep,â he returned with a taunting smile. âMy deepest apologies...â
To all, the newly married prince and lady shared a dance of perfect decorum. Only the two of you knew it for the battlefield it truly was.
Your lips were always soft. The curve of your cheek felt even softer beneath his palm, the quiet of your breath too... but it was the way you had looked at him that did itânot sharp, not cutting, but so unguarded and trusting.
Closing the distance, his hand caught your wrist, pulled you toward him with a force that startled even you. Your breath hitched, your body pressing against his as he leaned inâ
And his lips crashed against yours.
Not gentle. That was never him. It was hot, fierce, claimingâ like everything else about him. As though he meant to silence you, to steal the very breath from your lungs, to corrupt youâ
. . .
. . .
. . .
And then, Aerion jerked awake.
His breath came sharp, his whole body tense as though he had truly been thereâtruly done that, and damnably, that one specific part of his groin felt hard. For a long moment, he simply stared into the dimness and the pillow wall next to him, disbelief settling over him, while hearing your soft snores.
âWhat the fuck?â he cursed under his breath.
A dream. Just a dream. But for the life of him, it had felt far too fucking real!
Your first official appearance as a royal couple came three moons after the weddingâ a grand tourney at Stormâs End, held in celebration of Lord and Lady Baratheonâs tenth wedding anniversary.
By now, you had fully mastered the art of needling him. Aerion often had half a mind to slip sweetsleep into your tea, if only to spare himself your insufferable remarksâbut, to his credit, his restraint had held⊠thus far.
He could not name precisely what it was about you that set him off. Perhaps it is your stupid hair, or your stupid eyes, or that stupid smile you so freely bestow upon squires, yet so rarely upon him. Sometimes, he just wanted to lock you away from prying eyes and silence that sharp tongue of yours himself... with his.
What...? The scenes from his dream last night filled his mindâs eye, and Aerion shook his head once sharply, as though he could rid himself of it.
The journey to Stormâs End from Summerhall was not long. You rode the carriage, while he remained outside upon his prized stallion. Through the veil of the window, he knew you could hear him swearing at his squire.
For this, there had been no questionâAerion would compete in the said tourney. He had always reveled in the bloodlust and the clash of steel, and took no small pride in winning, even if it meant employing tactics others might deem less than honorable.
When his ever-eager squire asked if he would ask for your favor and name you Queen of Love and Beauty should he win, he only scoffed, saying, âNo need, and I would sooner put the crown on the elderly Lady Baratheonâs head myself.â
âH-huh? Not Lady LannisterâŠ? Whyââ
âNo. And stop asking useless question, you witless fool.â
He did not know what he hopedâinvoking some reaction, perhapsâbut none came from the carriage. What, had he really thought you might rise to it and argue with him?
Aerion clicked his tongue, then drove his heel into his horseâs flank, urging it forward with a sharp kick.
. . .
By the time you arrived, Stormâs End was already alive with celebration. Many highborn lords and ladies gathered for this grand event, and you and Aerion slipped seamlessly into your harmonious facade until the first opportunity arose for you to part ways.
Conversing with ladies your age never held your interest, so you only spared them a few words before excusing yourself. Soon, you decided you had no appetite left for feasting or courtesy, and that the air outside would do you better.
Your husband was an imbecile. Of course you had heard the provoking remarks heâd made earlier, but you left him to his own devices. He was aggravatingâso much so that, at times, you had the impulse to give him a good shake to rattle the madness out of him.
You exhaled, kicking the stones in your feet as if they drew your ire. Cool night air brushed against your cheeks and for a moment, you felt better.
âMy, why is a fine lady such as yourself out here all alone?â
âso much so that you failed to notice the presence that had crept up behind you.
You went rigid at the sound, whirling around at once. And the instant you caught the sight of a crimson lion, dread coiled low in your stomach.
âOh, what a surprise... if it isnât the Lady Lannister.â
Your former betrothed, Rogar of House Reyne, stood before you, tall and imposing, a thin, venomous smile curling his lips.
There was no mistaking the resentment of a man once promised your hand, only to have it torn from him.
You straightened despite yourself, masking the unease clawing at your spine. âLord Rogar.â
âLook at you now,â he drawled, the sharp stink of wine clinging to him. His gaze dragged over your black gown. âA princess of the dragonâs brood. Tell me, does your prince dote on you as sweetly as they claim?â
House Reyne was a proud and ancient line, long at odds with House Lannister in one way or another. Throughout history, there were many matches made to tie the two lion houses together, and you were considered for it... until your father broke it to bind you to Aerion.
You said nothing, clenching your skirts.
Rogar huffed a quiet laugh. âAh, silent. How unlike you.â His head tilted, studying your face as though searching for something. âDo you remember, I wonder, how it was meant to be? You, at my side. Our houses bound, our banners flying as one.â
âMy father never agreed to such a match,â you replied evenly.
âStrange. I seem to recall him swearing it so. Until a dragon came calling. Until your family decided a title was worth more than honor and handed you off to warm Aerion Brightflameâs bed like a common whore.â
You had always detested this manâs boundless greed. And now, you found one thought almost laughableâAerion, for all his faults, was still far more tolerable.
Rogar Reyneâs lips twitched, though there was no warmth in it.
âDidnât they say Lannisters always pay their debts? Iâm afraid you owe me a great one, little princess.â
âAnd didnât you hear that a Lannister lion does not concern itself with the opinions of sheep?â you returned coldly, lifting your chin. âLord Rogar, I fear you are not even a sheep... but a roach.â
The crack of his hand against your face came so swift that you hadnât even realized it. Pain burst across your cheek as you were sent sprawling to the ground, the world spinning for a heartbeat. You tasted blood.
âYou bitch,â he spat. âYou and your house dare to dishonor mine!â
It was the first time in your life a man had ever struck you. In that instant, your survival instincts took overâdriving you to your feet and run.
Your breath came sharp and ragged as you fled through the darkened paths, your skirts gathered in your fists. Behind you, the heavy thud of his boots struck against stone, far too close.
âStop running, you bitch!â
Something snagged at your legâthorn or splinter, you didnât know. The fabric of your dress tore, and pain flared hot along your calf, but you did not stop.
You caught sight of a narrow passage leading to an old door half-hidden in the stables. You lunged for it, fingers fumbling against the handle before wrenching it open and slipping inside. The moment you crossed the threshold, you shoved the door shut with all your strength and slammed the lock into place.
You staggered back a step, pressing a trembling hand to your mouth as you tried to steady yourself. Your cheek still burned, your pulse still racedâbut you were safe. For now. Thenâ
A violent rattling at the door.
You flinched, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat as the handle jerked sharply, once, twiceâthen again, harder, as if someone meant to break it down.
âGo away, you bastard!â you screamed, holding the wooden door with your bare hands.
âOpen the door!â
âI said go bloody hellâ!â
âItâs me!â
You froze. For a moment, you could only stare at the door, your hands trembling where they pressed against it. Then, with a shaking breath, you lifted the latch.
And found your silver-haired husband standing outside.
A vexation wrapped in the flawless guise of a lady. Too sharp, too free, and far too composed for his liking. At times, you tried his patience so thoroughly Aerion thought he might truly strangle the fuck out of you.
And yet... here he was, breathless before you now, having chased you through the night like some fool led more by instinct than reason.
Aerion had not meant to follow you, but when he saw his wife fleeing into the night as though someone was hunting her, how could he leave her to it?
âWhat happened to you?â Aerion demanded, his violet irises blazing, taking in the sight.
You stood before him trembling from head to toe, your eyes wide with something dangerously close to terror. There was a smear of blood at the corner of your lips, andâ
Aerionâs hand came up, firm as he caught your chin and tilted your face toward the dim light. The swelling along your cheek was already rising beneath his touch.
Someone has laid a hand on his wife.
âWhose bastard did this to you?â
âAerion, itâs notââ
âWho?â
You did hesitate, but in the end, you told him of Rogar Reyne, the broken betrothal, and the wroth he had turned upon you.
By the time you finished, Aerion had gone very still. His expression darkened, something cold and vicious settling over his featuresâso much so that even you nearly recoiled from it.
âI will have his head!â he snarled then with righteous fury, to your shock. âThis is high treason. I will demand a trialâ!â
âNo!â You clutched his arm, horrified. âDonât!â
Trial by combatâor any form of trials, reallyâwould spell disaster for the royal family and others alike. You wouldnât let him, and he glared at you, anger still burning hot in his eyes.
âIf you must answer this, then do it in the tourney,â you insisted, holding his fiery gaze. âRedeem my honor on the morrow. Slay him if you must, but do it in the melee.â
Still holding his arm, silence stretched between you. You found yourself looking at himâtruly lookingâas if you just saw him for the first time.
Aerion was ready to demand blood and call for judgment to see your attacker punished. His jawline was sharp, clenched as his beautiful violet eyes gazed at you in return, internally deciding what the best course of action was.
In the end, he listened to you somehow... but that was also when his gaze dropped. There, beneath the torn edge of your dress, blood had begun to seep down your calf.
âSeven hells.â The fury did not leave him, and now shifting to your sorry state. âYou are fucking bleeding.â
âItâs nothingââ you dismissed it, but he ignored you entirely. Instead, Aerion forcefully led you down to sit on the wooden planks before he crouched before you, his hands lifted the torn fabric to see the wound.
With a sharp motion, to your shock (again), he tore a strip from the edge of his own doublet.
âWhat are youââ
âHold still, wench. Iâm trying to stop it.â
He bound the cloth firmly around your calf, his fingers deft despite the dim light, tightening it to staunch the bleeding.
You watched him, something unfamiliar fluttering in your chest. Throughout all the years you had known Aerion, tenderness had never been something you would attribute to him. But now, not only was he furious for your sake, he tended to you with such focus you would never have expected from a man so proud.
ââŠWhere did you learn to do that?â you asked quietly.
Aerion huffed under his breath, not looking up as he secured the knot. âDaeron used to patch me up whenever I took a fall.â A pause followed. âIt will have to do for now. Can you walk?â
You shifted, testing your weight. The sting along your calf answered for you as you grimaced. ââŠNot well.â
He let out of a long exhale, as if exasperated, and you thought you would force yourself to walk regardless rather than risking his ire, butâ
Before you could protest, Aerion bent and swept you up into his arms.
A startled breath left you, your hands instinctively clutching at his neck. âAerionâ!â
âSpare me,â he hissed, already striding towards the way back. âYou are not limping back to the castle.â
Your heart hammered traitorously against your ribs. It was ridiculousâutterly ridiculous!
His arm was firm at your back, the other braced beneath your knees, and you could feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the strength he exuded in every step as though carrying you was the most natural thing in the world.
He did not set you down onceânot even when the hall fell into a hush, nor when lords and ladies turned to stare, their gasps rippling softly in your wake.
A maester was summoned to tend to you the moment you returned. He worked in silence, cleaning and binding the cut in your calf far more thoroughly than Aerionâs efforts. By the time he finished, you were left sitting at the edge of the bed, exhaustion beginning to weigh on you.
You shared a chamber. That much could not be helped. And this was Stormâs End, where you couldnât ask the maids for a heap of pillows, but the biggest concern wasâ
âIt is a small bed,â you noted, casting him a sidelong glance.
Aerion gave a low snort, his gaze flicking to you. âYouâll survive.â
When you both finally lay down, it became more undeniable. There was scarcely any space between you. Your shoulder brushed his with the slightest movement, your legs threatening to tangle should either of you shift.
How were you supposed to rest like this...?
You let out a quiet breath, trying to lift the air. âIf you so much as crush me in your sleep, I will see it counted as an assassination attempt.â
Aerion scowled beside you. âI would sooner have Rogar Reyneâs head before strangling my own wife in her sleep.â
âMust you sound so eager about it?â
âHe dared to lay a hand on what is mine.â His voice sharpened, edged with a snarl. âIf I had my way, his corpse would be hanging naked in the streets of Kingâs Landing. As it standsâheâll beg for death before Iâm through with him.â
His. You ignored the way your heart skipped a beat, and studied him in the dim light. âWhy are you so upset about it, anyway?â
Aerion turned his head, fixing you with a look as though you had spoken pure nonsense. Why? Why indeed? Why had this searing anger taken hold of him the moment he realized some wretched cur had cornered you?
His indifferent, infuriating wife you might be, but still his all the same. That was enough reason.
âYou are an enduring mystery,â you grumbled, saying this because you wasnât aware of any of his thoughts, of course. âYou told everyone and your squire you didnât want my favor and allââ
The Bright Prince barked a quiet laugh. âGods, youâre insufferable.â
âHowâ!â
âBecause,â he snapped, âif I asked, youâd spend the night sewing like some overzealous seamstress just to meet the morning. Everyone knows your ribbons are the finest favor amongst the ladies.â
Your handmade favors had always been nothing more than a quiet pastime of yours. And yet, somehow, they had gained a reputation of their own because word got out that you always put so much care in the stitching.
âWith your favor or not, Iâll beat the shit out of Reyne.â He shifted, settling in to his side and pressing his eyes shut. âNow stop prattling and go to sleep, wife. You ought to watch me on the morrow.â
You lay there for a moment, thoughts drifting. Aerion Brightflame who had become your husbandâ who made your life unbearable at times, and yet this same man whose touch had been careful, whose fury had flared at the sight of your injury, and who now swore vengeance upon who wronged you. You couldnât fool yourself into feeling that you were not flattered in some strange, twisted way.
âThank you,â you murmured almost shyly.
Aerionâs back remained to you, unmoving. Whether he had heard, you could not tell.
. . .
Aerion lay still, listening as your breathing gradually evened, growing slow and steady. When he finally turned his head, you were already asleep.
In sleep, you looked⊠different. All this time, that stupid pillow blockade had obstructed his view that it was the first time he saw you like this. The edge in your expression gone, your features eased into softness. Your lips were slightly chapped, and yet so bloody tempting to him he didnât know why.
He still remembered the little lady with wide, doe-like eyes, clad in Lannister golden dress for her visits to the Red Keep. He remembered the way your face had pinched in irritation when heâd stolen your lemon tarts, clutching the empty plate as though it were a grave offense.
It had amused him then. It still did.
And no insolent fool dared to hurt you would be left alive.
Come the morrow, he would destroy the rat. But now, as he stared at you, his enemy-wifeâ
Aerion decided he would ride into the melee, crush every last opponent, and place the victorâs laurel in your hands after all.
The stands of Stormâs End were alive with color and noise, the roar of the crowd rolling like thunder beneath the gray skies as each knight lined in the arena.
Unlike most ladies, you did not shrink from bloodshed. You had always enjoyed tourneysâhad cheered your brothers rather than fearing for themâand even now, with your husband among those in the field, you only felt a sense of calmness.
Or perhaps⊠you were simply distracted.
Your mind drifted back to this morning, and a flush of warmth rose to your cheeks.
Aerionâs face had been too close to yours when you woke, his arm draped loosely around your waist. His harsh features were nonexistent in sleep, and his expression almost⊠peaceful. With that silver-gold hair, he had looked less like terror and more like, you daresay, your protector.
âGood day, my lady.â
You blinked, dragging yourself back to the present as someone took the seat beside you. Prince Valarrâs smile was gentle, his mismatched gaze clear as he inclined his head in greeting.
âYour Grace,â you returned, offering a small smile.
He settled beside you, watching the field below. For a moment, the two of you simply observed the gathering knights.
âYou are not competing today?â you asked, glancing at him.
âMy lady wife is not fond of me in tourneys,â he replied, a note of fondness in his voice. âAnd she prefers the quiet of the castle with our son. I would have joined her, but I must stand in place of my father, you see.â
The tale of how besotted the Heir of Dragonstone was with his princess had all the makings of a storybook romance. At times, you found yourself envying them.
âAh, and how does fatherhood treat you, Your Grace?â
His eyes softened then. âBetter than any victory in the lists, I assure you.â
You smiled faintly at that, before your attention drifted once more to the field. It was a melee todayâno tilting and just pure strength, steel and survival.
And there, striding into the fray in black and red armor, was Aerion of House Targaryen, the second son of the Prince of Summerhall, as the herald proclaimed.
With the shape of his helmet and spikes of his armor, he cut a menacing figure among the rest. Even at a distance, there was something in the way he held himselfâlike a blade drawn and waiting.
Valarr followed your gaze. âAre you excited, my lady? My cousin is a fine knight. I would not be surprised to see him emerge champion.â
Truthfully? Yes. You parted your lips to answer but the sharp blare of a trumpet split the air, signaling that the melee had begun.
Your husband drove his destrier forward with ruthless precision, scattering men before him. Steel rang, bodies fell, and in the chaosâhe thrived. With that morningstar in hand, he was a force to be reckoned with.
At one point, he forced Lord Tully to the ground, looming over him like something out of a nightmare.
âTell the Reyne bastard that Aerion Brightflame is after his head!â
Valarrâs lips twitched beside you. âAh⊠so someone has offended him yet again. Poor him.â
You remembered an anecdote you had once heard, glancing at him. âI was told Aerion once asked for Her Graceâs favor, and you beat the shit out of him for it... is that true?â
From the meaningful smile he had on his face, it was clear there was more into the tale, but whatever it was, Valarr chose not to disclose it.
âTo be honest, I have the Seven to thank for that. But fret not, my lady. Aerion will not lose this time.â
âAnd why are you so certain?â
The Young Princeâs gaze flicked to you, something knowing in his expression.
âWould you not be the one who knows best? He is the dragon. He ought never lose.â
If Valarr mirrored Prince Baelorâs impeccable duty and honor, then Aerion was the living image of Prince Maekarâs finest lance and furyâthough sharper, fiercer, and far more unforgiving than his sire had ever been. His height might prove to be a challenge, but he more than compensated it with aggressive stances and lightning-fast strikes.
Below, as if to prove the point, the Bright Prince cut through another opponent with brutal efficiency, swinging his deadly mace mercilessly.
Soon enough, he cleared out all the combatants and found his target: Rogar Reyne.
Your former betrothed had barely time to react before Aerionâs destrier crashing forward with terrifying force. The swing of his morningstar came swift and brutalâstriking so hard that sent Rogar flying from his saddle and into the dirt below.
The crowd roared, and Aerion did not stop. He had only just begun.
He dismounted in a breath, advancing like a man possessed. Lord Reyne scrambled to defend himselfâbut the Brightflame fought with something far worse than skill. Entitled fury.
The morningstar came down again and again, each blow denting armor, drawing blood. And when Rogar Reyneâs guard finally brokeâ
Aerion pulled out his sword. He drove the man back, slashing without mercy, carving through what little defense remained. Blood spilled freely, staining the ground, staining his handsâ each strike was meant to answer for the wrong he did to you.
A gasp rippled through the stands. You also felt the shock and horror, but beyond thatâ
The sight of your husband, stained with blood of his own doing, and knowing that he did it because of you⊠it was not as repulsive as it ought to have been.
If anything, it felt gratifying.
Rogar was barely conscious when Aerion seized him by the collar, dragging him across the dirt like a carcass. The field fell into a stunned hush as he hauled him before the stands and forced him to his knees.
Your husband loomed over him, tearing off his skull-like helmetâhis face unmarred by blood, yet no less fearsome. His presence overwhelming as his voice rang out across the arena:
âThis cunt right here dared to dishonor my wife.â
A murmur swept through the crowd. You could feel the weight of eyes turning towards you but the crowdâs attention quickly snapped back to the broken man at Aerionâs feet.
âAnd now let it be knownââ
His violet gaze burns anyone he laid eyes onâuntil it found yours. For a fleeting moment, you thought the corners of his lips curled ever so slightly.
ââany lowlife who dares the same will answer to me.â
With a single, vicious kick to his face, Aerion sent him sprawling into the dirt once more. The stands erupted at once, their roars rising for the champion they had found.
That day, Aerion Brightflame stood victorious⊠having claimed justice in the name of his wife.
Lord Corlys Velaryon once said that history remembers names. The fools of the Red Keep and Casterly Rock might argue over how it was that you and Aerion came to despise one anotherâbut on this, both they and realm would agree:
When the Bright Prince dethroned Lady Baratheon to name you the queen of beauty in the grandest tourney in its timeâ
It was more than clear, that by then... the lion had tamed the dragon.