azula

He does not have an immediate reaction, as you expected. He’s quiet; his brows lift ever slightly. You think that he’s just too stunned to speak.

"A child..." He repeats, as if his mind was elsewhere.

“Yes!” You chime with the same excitement, though your chest heaves slightly as you await his approval. “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He smiles finally, though you see plainly that it is his practiced smile. The controlled, polite one you often watched him give pestering low lards and servants that made mistakes. He stands and leans to kiss your forehead, “This is…wonderful news.” 

“Is it?” Your laughter falters; he’s speaking in that displeased tone you had come to know. “You- you don’t seem very happy?”

“I am pleased.” He falshes his smile again.

“You don’t look it.” You frown.

“And how should I look? I am happy.”

“Ormund.” Your voice wavers slightly, enough to draw his full attention back to you. He exhales, reaching for you as he sits back down. 

He pulls you between his knees where he sits. “You have just surprised me, is all.”

“Surprised you?”

“We have been married such a short while.” He explains, dragging his hand up and down your arm slowly.

You flash a smile. “Perhaps the gods have been extra kind to us!” 

He leans back in his chair. “Perhaps.”

He retires later than usual that night. He comes into your chambers well after you turned in, expecting you to be sound asleep, but he finds you still perched up in bed. A book lay open in your lap, the candlelight beside you dim and flickering. “You need to rest.” He comments, walking about the room.

“I wanted to wait for you.” You comment, looking up with a small smile.

Ormund smiles to himself, coming to his side of the bed and sitting down carefully. “You need lots of rest in your condition.” He says. He sits up beside you, and you’re quick to come to his side, wrapping an arm around his midsection and cuddling up. He listens quietly as you sleepily talk of names you like, how you hoped it was a girl, but ought to hope for a boy to be Ormund’s heir.

"If it's a girl... perhaps she'd have your mother's eyes." You look up at him when he only hums absentmindedly. 

“Ormund?”

"How long did the maester say?" He asks suddenly.

You blink. "How long?"

"The babe."

“Oh, right, nearly two months!"

“It’s just been such a short time since our wedding night.”

You do not pick up on his change of tone, or his raised brow.

“You be proud. It seems my lord husband required only one attempt.” You tease, pressing the side of your face into his side and squeezing him.

“One try.” He repeats. 

“You remember it, surely.”

“I remember.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“As though I've said something troubling.”

Ormund opens his mouth to say something, but catches himself. “How far along did the maester say you were?”

“Nearly two months, he thinks.”

“Two? He is certain?”

Your smile falters. “Why wouldn't he be?”

“I did not say he isn’t.”

“No. But you're asking very strange questions for a man who's just learned he's to have a child.”

“No, no,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to your knuckles. “Forgive me. I just imagined I would have more time before we were blessed with a child.”

Ormund presses his lips, slowly recounting every night since your wedding. His expression changes subtly; you think he’s just tried so you blow the candles out and settle for bed. 

He doesn't sleep

In the following days, Ormund finds time to summon the maester. Privately. He sends you off with Gwayne for a walk amongst the gardens; the fresh air should do you good, and your favorite flowers were soon to begin their bloom.

"Tell me... when would conception have occurred?"

The old maester answers matter-of-factly. "There is no way to know the precise hour, my lord."

“Approximately." Ormund bites out, sterner.

The maester stumbles a bit over his words, eventually giving him an estimate. 

It's close, Ormund knows. But not exact, enough to unsettle him further. 

He’s distant the next few days. Quieter at supper when you mention the babe and how excited you are for it to come. He doesn’t attend the maesters with you, though you ask him to. He shrugs it off, simply saying he has work to do.

The final straw is when he moves you to a separate room. Claiming it is best to have your own chambers to rest in, where he won't disturb you coming in late, or entice you to stay up into the late hours waiting for him. “Have I done something wrong?” You finally ask/

"No." He sighs, flipping another page of the report before him. You huff, stomping over to slam your hand on the pages.

"Then why won't you look at me?" He flicks his eyes up to you momentarily, annoyance clear in them. 

“I’ve been occupied; this is the busiest time for me.” He states.

“You don’t speak to me much anymore.” You frown. “You’ve hardly touched me since I told you.”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to risk harming the child.”

You nod slightly; yes, that did make sense. However, it did not change the fact that your husband had been acting odd- odder than he may usually behave. “Take a walk with Gwayne.” Ormund tilts his head to the door. “Relax so you may sleep well.”

“I do not want to walk with Gwayne; I want to walk with you! Are you not my husband anymore?” You cross your arms, albeit childishly, as you glare at him. 

“Tomorrow I’ll attend you on your morning walk.” He brushes it off.

It is no use arguing with him when he’s in these kinds of moods. You assume, maybe, a lord or some petty matter was nagging at his mind. Maybe the weight of fatherhood was beginning to frighten him. You leave, scurrying off to find Gwayne upon his demands. 

In the morning, you wake to find Gwayne waiting. Ormund would not attend you on your walk once again; he would guide and protect you this morning.

You return that night, spending the evening in town with Gwayne. It was pleasant; you loved Gwayne and Gwayne despite your complaints. They were kind to you, treated you well as Lady Hightower; they were perhaps your only true friends here in Oldtown. But they were not your husband.

“You’re avoiding me.” You spit plainly. The clatter of Ormund’s tableware stops suddenly. You had stormed in, leaving Gwayne in your wake as you marched to the dining hall to find Ormund eating alone.

"I am doing no such thing."

"You are."

He set his silverware down carefully. “What has given you this idea?”

You almost laughed. It was such an absurd question that for a moment you could only stare at him. "You no longer walk with me."

"I have duties."

"You had duties before. You scarcely speak to me. You send Gwayne to sit with me in the gardens, or Gwayne to accompany me into the city. You have not come to my chambers in nearly a fortnight."

"You require rest."

"I require my husband." You step closer. "I thought you would be happy."

"I am happy."

"You keep saying that."

"Because you insist upon asking."

"Because you do not behave as though you are!" Your voice cracks. “You no longer find me appealing?” You swallow hard, blinking as the sting of tears enters your vision. “My body is changing. I am tired constantly. I have been sick nearly every morning and-"

"Enough." Ormund stands with a soft clang to the table. “Do not think of such things.” He walks closer to you. "Do not ever think that."

"Have I displeased you?" You continue quietly. “Have I embarrassed you? Do you regret our union?”

His eyes harden. “No.” He hisses, “How dare you question-”

"Then what have I done?"

He takes a long moment to reply. "You are carrying my heir." His voice is quieter now. "You require more sleep than you did before. You should not be wandering through Oldtown without escort. Gwayne enjoys your company, and Gwayne is perfectly capable of accompanying you when I cannot."

"When you cannot," you repeat. "Or when you will not?"

His jaw clenches. "Do not twist my words."

"I am not twisting anything. I am asking why my husband will no longer sit beside me."

"I sit beside you every evening."

"In silence."

"Must every silence be an insult?"

"It feels like one." You whisper; finally he quiets himself. His eyes soften just slightly.

"I told you we were going to have a child, and somehow I have felt alone every day since." He keeps quiet. His eyes wander to your stomach. 

"Is it the babe? Do you not want it?"

"Do not be ridiculous." He gives you an offended look. He steps closer, reaching for your arms, but you turn away. “There are matters you do not understand." He speaks slowly.

"Then explain them to me."

His temper finally cracks; annoyance takes his face once more. “I do not know what to believe!” He snaps.

"Because I do not know what I am meant to believe!"

“What do you mean?” 

Silence falls over the room, stark and deafening. Ormund simply stares at you. 

“We shared a bed only once.”

“The dates do not make sense to me.”

“Tell me there has been no other laying hands on you.”

You pull away when he reaches for you again. Ormund cannot bring himself to speak his concerns.  "You wanted me to rest?" you whisper. "Very well. I shall."

He catches your hand as you turn to leave; you only yank your hand away and continue walking. “How much more of my husband am I expected to surrender before he decides he wants me again?"

Agner passed his features again. For weeks he had held his tongue. Swallowed every question and suspicion- every ugly thought that clouded his mind.

He had watched Gwayne walk beside you through the gardens when once that place had belonged to him. He had watched you smile when Gwayne whispered some foolish thing into your ear at supper. He had watched his cousin offer you his arm when you were tired, watched him bring you books when you were confined indoors, watched him make certain you ate when your stomach rebelled against nearly everything placed before you.

Ormund had arranged most of it himself. That was perhaps the cruelest part.

"Tell me what you have done." He finally exhaled.

"There is nothing to tell."

"Do not lie to me."

"Lie?" You scoff, “You tell me you are busy every hour of every day; you are the one lying! You tell me to rest, to have Gwayne keep me company when you clearly cannot be bothered to-”

"Say his name," he hissed.

"Gwayne?"

"Of course." He laughed bitterly.  "You mean to stand here and pretend you don’t understand?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about!"

His weeks of restraint were crumbled. The hours of silence he spent alone simply thinking drove him from the ledge. “You are nearly two months along?” “Three now, if you paid any mind to my condition!”

"I have counted the days. Again and again. I thought perhaps I had mistaken them. Perhaps the maester had. Perhaps you had." He settled his hands behind his back, his expression icy. “We shared a bed only once, and suddenly my wife is carrying a child.”

You looked at him, brows furrowed, and mouth parted slightly as you took in his words. The tone behind them, how he spoke so cruelly in this moment. “It doesn’t make sense.” He trails closer to the desk, while you take a weak step following him. Before you can speak, he cuts you off; his hand slams onto the table. “It does not make sense; nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”

You jump, startled. Your face grows pale, and your stomach churns. “There must have been another man.” He finally lets out. 

"No…” Your voice is quiet, uncertain as you watch him.

"Do not lie to me."

"I am not lying!"

"Then explain it!"

"I cannot explain something that requires no explanation! You came to my bed. That is all!"

"Once."

"Once can be enough!"

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"You think I've betrayed you?” Your voice wobbles; you bite back the tears swelling your eyes and chest. “Who would I lay with if not you? You are being ridiculous!”

Something vicious flickered across his face. "Gwayne."

"Gwayne?"

"Do not pretend the thought is absurd. He is forever with you."

"Because you send him to me!"

"He wants you. I see the way he looks at you. How he finds reason to touch you.”

"He takes my arm! I am carrying a child; sometimes I become faint, and he helps me.”

"He has always been too familiar with you. He knows when you are ill. He knows what foods you can stomach. He knows when you have slept poorly. He knows when you wish to walk and when you wish to sit and when you would rather be left alone."

"Because you refuse to!” You shout. “You haven't been here!”

"I have spent days wondering why Gwayne was so eager to take my place."

"You gave him your place!"

"I gave him nothing."

"You gave him me!”

His expression darkened. "Do not say that."

"Why? It is true! You sent him to walk with me. You sent him to dine with me. You moved me from our chambers. Every time I asked for you, there was some excuse and another man sent in your stead!"

"And you seemed perfectly content with Gwayne. Too content.” Tears spilled down your cheeks; Ormund only scoffed. “You asked for my truth. This is it.”

“I asked why it seems my husband no longer cares for me.” You choke out. 

"I never said I did not love you."

“You accuse me of carrying your cousin's child! You truly believe it- there is no arguing with you.”

"Gwayne has access to you. You trust him. You spend hours in his company-"

"At your command!"

"Stop saying that!"

"Why? Because it reminds you that this great betrayal you've invented was arranged by your own hand?"

"I did not arrange for my cousin to fuck my wife!"

Your hand struck his cheek. Suddenly. Without thought. Silence fell over the room once again. "How dare you." You willed yourself ot sound strong, but your resolved curmbled more and more as Ormund kept countering your every word. Your voice tightened, and tears spilled freely now. "I have never thought of another man. I have never allowed another man into my bed. I have never wanted another man." 

You turned from him, heading for the door. “There is nothing more I can say to convince you this is your child.”

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you."

"You will not leave the Hightower." His voice rises, cold and demanding.

Gwayne was not gentle or kind.

He had approached Ormund in the days following your argument, venom dripping from his tongue as he slammed the solar’s door behind him. “You are a damned fool.”

Ormund's head snapped up at his cousin's interruption. He twisted his face in a sneer, “Mind yourself.”

“I have minded myself long enough. As your wife weeps herself so sleep every day because she has married a daft fool.”

“Do not speak as if you know what is transpiring between us-”

"I know enough.” Gwayne interrupted, “You have asked me to accompany her. You asked me to walk with her when you were occupied, to make certain she did not wander through Oldtown alone. And then you accuse her of bedding me for obeying your desires of me."

"I know what I asked."

"Do you?" Gwayne stepped closer. "Because you seem to have conveniently forgotten it while convincing yourself that every moment I spent in her company was laced with ill intention.”

Gwayne looked to him with disgust. “Nothing happened between us, and you know it. I have never touched your wife improperly.  I have never entered her chambers without invitation and servants present. I have never desired to dishonor you." Gwayne paused. "And she has never given me reason to believe she desires anyone but you."

“It does not make sense-”

"She loves you," Gwayne continued. "Apparently more than you deserve. You have convinced yourself you understood a woman's body better than the maesters. And when the maester told you conception was entirely possible, you decided even that was not sufficient because suspicion suited you better."

Ormund remained silent and still. Gwayne approached, resting a hand on his shoulder. “We may argue and prod one another, cousin, but I would not do such a thing. Your wife would never dishonor you in such a way; do you not remember your wedding day? She looked to you as if you had arranged the stars just for her- complete adoration.”

Ormund turned his head away. He could remember very well how you looked to him at the altar. So beautiful, eyes brimmed with excitement and love as you smiled through the ceremony. 

Gwayne hesitated, "She is ill."

"What?"

"She has been abed since yesterday."

"What illness? Is she fevered? Has there been bleeding? Is the child-"

"The maester has seen her." Ormund rips away from Gwayne’s soft touch, straining for the door. 

"Why was I not told?"

"She tried to." He sucked in an annoyed breath. “You dismissed the servant ordered to tell you this morning. She asked them not to trouble you again after that."

By the time he reached your chambers, which he now realizes is so painfully far from his own now, his heart drums in his chest and up to his ears.

The room was dim. The curtains were drawn tight against the afternoon light, and a fire burned despite the warmth outside. A basin sat beside the bed alongside half-finished cups of water and untouched food.

And then his eyes found you. Curled beneath the covers, skin pale against the white sheets. He called for you and your eyes opened slowly. Confusion came first, followed by recognition. You struggled, turning away from him to face the covered windows.

He lowered himself beside you. "My love."

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

"The child?"

"Fine."

"Has the maester—"

"The child is fine, Ormund." He reached for your hand, but you weakly brushed it away and pulled it beneath the blankets. “

"I should have come to you sooner." You could only close your eyes and pull the covers tighter. “I spoke with Gwayne,” he offered quietly.

"You would not believe your wife, but Gwayne tells you he has not bedded me and suddenly you come running."

"I should never have needed another man's word. You told me the child was mine," he continued. "That should have been enough." Your face softened only slightly; tears brimmed in your eyes once again. “Why didn’t you follow me when I left?”

“I was angry," he admitted after a long pause. "After seeing what I had done to you, some vile part of me still wondered whether I might be right." His voice cracked. "I have regretted it from the moment that door closed."

Your face crumpled. Ormund moved instinctively toward you, then stopped. For perhaps the first time in your marriage, he waited for permission.

You began to cry. Heavy and hard, your shoulders trembled beneath the blankets as weeks of loneliness and humiliation finally spilled from you. “You hurt me,” you rasp, “I was so happy to tell you and all you did was hurt me.”

“I know,” he whispers, repeating it over and over. Slowly your hand crept from beneath the covers, fingertips brushing his. 

"I thought you didn't want me anymore," you whispered.

"I wanted you every miserable moment I spent away from you."

"You are an idiot."

“I know.” he almost laughed. “Gwayne has made sure I never forget it.” He reached for the water at your side, carefully drawing it to your lips. “Drink, my love; you must.” You choke it down, your fever leaving drips of sweat at your forehead.

“I will give you a proper yelling at when I recover.” You rasp, settling back into bed. “But I suppose, for now, your words will have to do.”

He smiled, reaching to fis the blankets at your shoulders. “Rest for now, my love. I intend to make all of our time apart up to you, and more.”

You nod slightly, “Will you stay?” You ask uncertainly, “Until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.” He sighs.

And when exhaustion finally pulled you into sleep, and your fingers went slack within his, Ormund remained exactly where he was. Through the night he sat by your side, dismissing whatever work had to be done. He didn’t summon Gwayne or Daeron to take his place; he did not leave until morning light broke and your fever had begun to dissipate.