#gwayne hightower

you look over at your lover. the bored stare of annoyance across his face and curled into the soft lips you had kissed just moments before. he's cleaned up now, you had been sent for by daeron with great urgency from oldtown to tumbleton when news of your beloved was to return. it had been months since you had seen him, the words etched with ink and desperation has held your life by snagging threads. but when you had finally laid eyes on him, mud-stained, dishevelled to the core and worse of all, hopeless, you really started to feel yourself unravel completely.

he had all but collapsed in your arms, his body slammed against yours with the pure desire to be held and loved and even as the tiredness from the journey had begun to set in your bones, you held up strong for him.

gwayne hightower was a man of pure strength. a man amongst men. his bravery and reputation would stretch across kingdoms but in the presence of his wife would he let himself not be weak, but only then would he let himself fall and be fussed for. he let you lead him quietly to the bathing chamber, your heart lurching at the small whimpers he made when he rested his weight on his feet for too long and you ignored them, letting him lean his weight into your side, sharing and carrying the burdens of this war between the two of you.

he sat there patiently in the warm waters as you made slow careful work of the washcloths. minutes folded into each other till quite possibly an hour had passed, but what is an hour to what has felt like an eternity in your absence. he bit back the hiss when you had scrubbed a little harder, breaking free the mud and dirt in the crevices and when you let the dirty wash cloth sit in the bucket, you hoped the grime of this tiresome fight would cleanse away too.

"hey," you murmured, your lips pressed between his shoulder blades, the water tickling down his back and he closed his eyes in sweet relief, "you came back," and where your lips parted the distance, your forehead rested deeper into the curve of his spine.

"i told you i would," his voice was gruff, harsher at the edges and he tried to clear it, become softer. your gwayne, the unguarded weightless version of him reserved only for you.

"i know," you hummed, and your fingers make work rinsing the grey from his copper hair. a moan slipped from his lips when you tug just too right and you had teased him, "there'd be plenty of time for that later, lord husband," and his hand had come to catch your wrist. he brings it to his lips, placing a feathered kiss to your pulse, the taste of orange perfumed oils and your heartbeat in his mouth. momentarily, you're brought to standstill. completely at the behold of gywane hightower, consumed by his attentiveness.

"do not tease a broken man," he whispered into your skin and the butterflies in your stomach had been sent roaring.

"you are not broken," his body was wet but you wrapped yourself around him fiercely. skirts could be changed, self-doubt however was hard to shift for someone like gwayne who holds himself to the highest of standards. "you fought valiantly, you have travelled long and far in the name of your family, and despite the exhaustion and fear you still stand. we may not be in oldtown, my heart but you have made it back home to me. you are strong, my love. the strongest man i have ever known. you need rest, time to heal what wounds lay open but you are not broken," and like honey your words had stuck to him, glued together the pieces that were falling free and it warms him inside. "you are not yourself right now and that is fair," your words of love still hold an edge of threat to them, "but i will not let you insult my husband." and he grants you the smallest of smiles but its enough to stretch and expand your heart with more room to love for him, "my protector," you whisper, you kissed away the hard lines between his brows, down to the length of his nose and before you landed at his lips, "my life."

he's mustered some strength since his time in the bath and whilst he misses the feeling of your fleeting touch roaming his body and hair, he's glad he looks sharper. more like himself and feels it so.

his hand is interlocked with one of yours, firmly in his lap. his thumb constantly caressing your own as if its a constant reminder that you're there. you're not leaving. he is safe.

you are loading bites of meat onto a fork, a satsified hum serves as music when he opens his mouth without force and takes a bite. you're patient with him, the way your hand steadies as he drinks some water, your finger catching the falling droplets and wiping them away tenderly. daeron watches on, grateful the two of you are here with him. it's been lonely and tiresome with ormund and though he holds some resentment for his uncle leaving, the overwhelming feeling of missing the two of you replaces it in a heartbeat.

you sip from gwayne's cup, it's only natural to steal a secret kiss from the print of his lips on the rim and he exhales slowly. "it has been so long since we have shared a meal together, i have missed moments like this," daeron's voice draws you to him. you send him a saccharine smile and reach out, gently covering his palm with your own. he feels the warmth of it and returns the contentment.

"it has been hasn't it?" you muse, "as much as i love the air in oldtown, it will never compare to how it feels by your sides," you look at each of your family. your gaze skims over ormund, focusing on daeron and then back at your husband. gwayne murmurs in agreement, your interlocked hands raise from his lap and to his lips, lingering for a moment longer as he breathes you in.

"i've missed you," his admission tickles against your knuckles and you feel your blood pool to the surface.

"and oldtown too?" you tease.

"yes," he grins, "but you so much more," and he decides the distance between the two of you is the most grating thing in existence and his hands find your hips, lifting you with grace and into his lap. your laughter rings in his ears at the sudden closeness and he can feel is you. you've been the missing puzzle piece he's been incomplete the last few months on the road and only now he can finally let himself rest.

"spare us," ormund scoffs at the pair of you and six eyes are already rolling in his direction. "send me to an early death if you must," and he shoves another forkful in his mouth.

"i must," you gasp, "truly?" and it's comical how hopeful you beam his direction and ormund hits you back with a sneer. "careful, cousin, it might be the first wisest decision you've made during this attempt at reign."

"my apologies, lady, but who exactly called you to tumbleton?" he presses in annoyance.

"easy now cousin, play nice," gwayne warns and you fold your arms defensively, leaning back into your husband's hold, his chest firm and solid beneath your melting form.

"yes well, it's truly a marvel as to how you are still without marriage ormund. a man of such charm and great intellect would surely have the women of the cities lined up for leagues," you pick up gwayne's cup, half full with water and guide it gently to his lips, "or men if that's your cup of tea, whoever is unlucky enough to snag you first," and gwayne tries to smother his laughter in your neck.

"or shag," you feel the graze of his teeth just before your jaw.

"gwayne, your wife is cruel," ormund hisses at his cousin in retaliation and shoots at you, flicking a small carrot in your direction. its childish and lazilly aimed that gwayne blocks it with his fist and a scrunch in his brows. he then flips over his palm and uses the force from his middle finger and thumb to direct it back in ormunds direction, knocking him directly in the corner of his mouth.

ormund lets out a cough, a wheeze of incredulity and disgust as he stares down at the vegetable in betrayal.

"my wife speaks of her mind and for the both of us," gwayne mindlessly shrugs, rocking your body alongside his in a slow sway. you lean down to press a kiss to his cheek, your finger sliding where his dimple accentuates and he grins harder, the indent poking deeper.

"for the three of us," daeron joins in, his smile small and a tad bit unsure. you nod your head in encouragement.

"you've picked the winning side," you laugh and daeron reciprocates the sentiment.

"i should send the two of you back to oldtown," ormund mutters to himself and but you catch it. to the naked eye, your falter is so brief it gets carried in the breeze and out the windows of the city. the way your heart momentatily flutters could be accidental, the way you don't freeze but just slow down for a second. but gwayne catches it all in the palms of his hands and he softens.

"soon," comes his whisper as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, "i swear it, my heart." your lips turn in a half smile, lopsided and the best you can manage. "for the three of us," he shoots a wink at daeron, who is more grateful for you two as the minutes swing to hours as his words echo.

gwayne's hands rest in your lap as you continue to eat and feed your husband. you're busy engaging with daeron and plans for his upcoming name day celebration with excitement. you had plans to gift him an animal, a pet as a companion- one that would likely irritate ormund further. or even a small trip to the north with your husband, you could show him your side of history, you have a feeling he'd also love cold. a bite suddenly goes down the wrong way and it has you wheezing, oxygen squeezing through your lungs and tightening that you almost dont realise that when you pick up the goblet, it's wine and not your water.

it feels thicker as it runs down your throat, relieving some of the tension as gwayne pats your back firmly, "easy, my love. slowly," and you feel the force of it die down. you take another swig of the wine and it numbs part of your oseophagus and you try to cough.

"water," you croak, using whatever energy you can muster to shake your head, "water, please," and he's there with his cup, the rim resting gently on your lips as he tips your head back letting you sip at your own pace.

"better?" he murmurs.

"a little, though perhaps the wine is past its prime?" you push away the goblet, "do not drink, daeron. it's," you pause thinking of the right words, "like chalk." gwayne inspects the cup immediately, sniffing it, swirling it around its and immediately setting it down. ormund does the same, the scent tickling at his nostrils that he almost gags and reaches into his pocket for a small tube of salt.

the suspicion is heightened however when the smell of horse shit, mud and weeded plants rings through his nose and into the room, you try and pay it no mind. it's not as strong to you as it is to ormund and hardly to gwayne who has seen and smelt far worse. but there's something else in the air, something that's shifted and then you feel the grip of your palm tighten under the table.

gwayne squeezes it twice in warning and shoots you a look in daeron's direction and your heart drops to your stomach as you all make a move to stand in front of your guests. "be discreet," he whispers his order and you stand from his hold and move to your chair next to daeron subtlely, pretending to dust off your gown. it's nothing to draw attention to you.

ormund is talking but you cannot hear, the voices sound muffled as if your head is underwater and your limbs feel a step too behind than your mind can master.

"arrion baratheon," comes the name and you see the moment something passes over your husband's face, he's careful not to let it show suspecting. his eyes harden as they roam the room, counting the swords, the men, the eyes watching his family. he counts the steps he thinks it'll take for you and daeron leave and reach safety, how many throats he'll have to slit to give you enough time to flee.

you see him carefully make his way around the table, pretending to divert his focus downwards and sneaks a reassuring smile to daeron. you can see the downward curl of his lip and your pulse shatters inside your body, loud and begging to start moving but you still wait for gwayne's confirmation. the sliver of a second before he picks up the knife, he nods to you and you turn at the same time the blade slashes against the intruder's throat. you don't catch sight of the blood that leaks down like a river, splashing back on his porcelain skin as he throws the dead weight off of him and reaches for his sword. your flinch is enough as you reach for your son.

his shout of desperation and in the haziness you can't tell whether he shouts for your name or daeron's but the two of you are already on your feet, clutching at each others sides as you make a shift in the direction of the exit.

"stop him!" ormund screeches but daeron grabs your guard firmly.

"assassins," gwayne hisses as his sword slices through another body, "sent for you and daeron," he lands a punch, a jab of the elbow and another cut through before his eyes try to find yours, "go!" his voice cracks at scream, "now!"

the bodies fall one by one till only gwayne and ormund stand at the center of the room, "follow them, do not stop till they are in their chambers, now." he grits out. throwing his sword to the side and your guards turn in the direction of where you and daeron have departed, escorting you safely on route to the chambers.

"arrion baratheon has hair of light chestnut, is about a foot taller" he growls out, his hand tugging on the dark haired scalp, rising its half decapitated head for ormund's view, "and as it happens, is far more comely."

"i will cut her," ormund heaves, "from crown to cunt," the edges of his hands grip the table to steady himself. gwayne opens his mouth but the words die incredulously as his eyes settle on the goblet. its further amplified by the voice gasping from the floor.

"you speak of our queen when you should be worried of your own lady," it croaks and gwayne hightower sees pure read. his forearms grip the bleeding body and throws it against the table looming over it.

"you bastard," he seethes, "what have you done?" and the soldier refuses to reveal anymore information, the lazy smirk taunting gwayne that he reaches for a dagger and lunges it straight into his heart. in then out. in again and out. four swift stabbing motions till the bodies strung lifeless and he kicks it to the floor.

"ormund," he breathes, "the wine, my girl-"

"fuck!" ormund shouts and he reaches for your cup, throws it with great strength as it shatters, the liquid staining the walls as he stares at gwayne in horror. he attempts to let the apologies fall in panic from his tongue but gwayne's too quick, his legs are carrying him into a full sprint to where your body was left. his heart is in his throat as it pounds and swallows him whole, the tears are fresh but he just needs to get to you.

a few metres away, you can still feel yourself being lulled down, your body weight growing heavier by the minute as you reach to daeron's arms, "something doesn't feel so good," you drool, everything just feels so hazy.

"aunt?" comes daeron's worried call, his lips wobbling as he tries to steady you. "hey, hey, please, aunt?" and your eyes are closing in, you just feel so tired. a firm hand grips your side and a flash of auburn holds you tight as the voice screams, ringing in your ears, "gwayne! somebody get gwayne!"

it's bloodcurdling how his nephew's screams pierce his heart and travels across the kingdom as he dives just in time to catch your falling form, to brace the weight daeron's struggling to hold and he presses his head to yours. "i'm here sweet girl, i'm here," he murmurs, his hand at the back of your head and cradling you into his chest. he swings your body into his hold and breaks the distance in half to the chambers. he needs to lie you down, let the maestars work on you but he's so afraid that if he lets go, he'll lose you forever.

you'e heating up, feverish as beads of sweat pool at your hairline and burn into his skin. "gwayne," you mumble, "i don't feel so good," and bile rises in his throat, closing up.

"honey, keep your eyes open for me. look at me," he directs your chin upwards and into his panicked orbs, "just look at me," he begs.

"i feel so tired," you almost whine through the gasps, "i need to just," and your eyes close halfway before he's shaking you awake again.

"darling girl," his palms cup your face, and he tries to slow his thundering heart beat down to hear yours pulse softly. "we can sleep later, right now i need you to just focus on me. don't focus on them," he shakes his head at the shouting of ormund, the stress of daeron as he calls for the maestar and your lady that has pooled at the doors in distress, "focus on me, you're fine, i promise."

"sweetheart," your finger is heavy and you lazily land it on his cheek in an attempt to carress his face. it almost slips but he catches it and holds your palm to his cheek, grasping on as he leans his forehead into yours. his hold on you tightens as concotions are mixed at the table side and your body falls limper in his hands. "daeron? is he-"

"he is safe, my love. just as you will be," and his heart aches at how even at what feels like your final breaths your first thought is still your son. "i love you," you use your last breaths to sweeten his soul before you close your eyes and gwayne's chest heaves, struggling for air. "no, no, no," he shouts and looks to the maestar, "you fix her and you fix her now!" he roars, your body lies beneath him, your chest weakly rising and lifting before deflating every few moments. gwayne has your breathing burned into memory, its far too slow than usual, he doesn't know what to do.

"sweetsleeper" the maestar speaks, thawing his frozen panic. "a thick pasted sedative," he lands a hand on gwayne's shoulder in comfort.

"like chalk," daeron echoes in horror, "she drank from my cup, i did this," his eyes widen and spill with tears, "please uncle, please no i did not mean for this to happen," gwayne doesn't take his eyes off of your body, his hand is still holding yours firmly on your chest as he feels for your heartbeat. he's silent, tucking you into the covers and pressing a kiss to your lips. its longer than he's done in months, he can taste the cherry from the sauce you had eaten earlier and its now bitter. he inhales you in, and a small whimper leaves him.

"i just got you back," he whispers, his voice cracking at the edges with sorrow and desperation, "i cannot let you go, please my heart, please awake and return to me."

"she shall be in this slumber for a while, i am unsure of how long or the strength at which the wine might have diluted its properties so, but i have hopes she will live," the elder speaks to gwayne but he can hear nothing, so ormund nods.

"thank you," he offers and the maestar nods tightly with a promise to return in the next few hours for regular check ups and ormund dismisses everyone but the four of you. "this could have happened to any of us," he starts but gwayne hasn't moved a muscle from your side. the blood has dried from his face and in bis fingernails as the copper strands stick out unruly and wild, he looks terrible.

"they almost killed her," and when he speaks its devoid of its usual emotion as his gaze is stuck on you. they could have killed you, taken him from you and cast him to a life of loneliness far worse than death, one without you. his wife, his greatest companion and sweetest oath.

"they could have killed daeron," ormund attempts but it's the wrong words that rips gwayne from your held hands and straight at his cousin's throat up against the wall. ormund tries to thrash against him, kick him down but gwayne in his fury and rage holds him beneath him. the reds creep up his neck in claw marks until its all he can see.

"cousin," ormund tries to get out. his head bobs as he thrashes but gwayne doubles down, baring his teeth and for a second, gwayne doesn't see his cousin beneath him. he sees the face of the false baratheons, the sly soldier who taunted him before and he almost reaches for his dagger.

"uncle, please," a smaller voice desperately pleads and claws at his back. pale hands reach around him and to his elbows to pull him back, "uncle gwayne please stop, she wouldn't want this" and gwayne reluctantly lets go. ormund scurries away, eager to put some distance between him and tries to regulate his breaths, gather enough air to bring him back to the surface. his oxygen supply may have been temporarily cut off but the scars around his neck will bruise for weeks.

"she is my wife," gwayne's voice is ragged, rough at the edges with a wrenching desperation, "my wife, and they almost murdered her," he feels the rage gnawing at him again as his heart bleeds and bleeds, "do you understand the gravity of this ormund?" he takes a thundering step forwards and ormund has the decency to look ashamed, flinching from the hurt, "my wife."

"i am sorry," ormund apologises. he was the one to pour the wine, to not check the contents, to blindly trust the hope of a high house finally falling into allegiance. admist his excitement, the prospect of treason never ocurred to him. ormund hightower may be a strategist, but he's not perfect.

"sorry will not bring her back to me right now," gwayne's tone is lethally low, rings with a little pity and heartache as he looks back at you sleeping so soundly, so peacefully and blissfully unaware of the torment he is suffering from now. "she was safer in oldtown, she never should have left," he admits in defeat.

"i called for her," daeron lowers his gaze to the floor, "it is my fault. and it was my cup she drank from, i am to blame," and gwayne shakes his head softly. he motions for daeron to draw nearer and holds his arms out tiredly. daeron steps in his hold and can feel the exhaustion of his uncle seeping through his hug.

"you are not to blame," he sighs, "i am, i should have never left."

"you are protecting our house, gwayne," ormund scoffs, "do not forget the cause of your duty, who we are here for," and gwayne's bones tighten. surely the rings of red around ormund's neck are squeezing his one functional brain cell dry.

"what good is it ormund when i could not protect my wife?" he shouts in irritation, annoyance at rhaenrya targaryen, annoyance at aemond for deserting them, for criston cole for leading him to an almost death march, to his damn cousin for plotting this whole hightower parade, "my cause is my love for her, my duty is to her for i am bound, ormund. she is who i am here for, who i live for, sworn to her first and her alone. so do not stand there and lecture me about cause ormund because like those soldiers who you stood squeamishly before, i will kill you," he promises, "another word and i will slice your throat too, or at the very least your tongue," he hisses and ormund sighs, accepting defeat.

"i am sorry," he tries again.

"yes, you appear to be very sorry today," he rolls his eyes and takes a seat at the edge of the bed. "stop being so sorry and start disappearing, you are blocking the light. my lady wife likes to see the light of the sun as it sets," and the dismissal reeks in the air. ormund opens his mouth to say something further but its daeron's warning glance that decides otherwise.

daeron makes a move to your bed and presses a soft featherlike kiss to your cheek, bidding you a goodnight not a goodbye and does the same to gwayne. he'll most likely visit again and longer when gwayne's had a chance to rest, they'll take it in turns to watch guard and take care of you. but gwayne doesn't move a muscle. he wants nothing more to climb into bed next to you and hold you, hold you for life as he nurses you back to health but he's bloodied and rotten and does not want to dirty your sheets or you in the slightest. the last thing he wants to do is ail you further so he removes himself from the edge and sits on the floor next to your bed post, his back against the wall as you sleep soundly on his left, inches above. he presses a kiss to your lips and watches.

he won't sleep. not whilst he knows who did this is is still out there. his legs will most likely ache from stiffness of being outstretched but he sits firm, hand on his blade and eyes fixed on you.

he's only just gotten you back, he'd be damned if he has to let you go once more.

you're out for six days.

it isn't long but for gwayne it might have been six separate lifetimes.

the maestars had deduced that the concentration of the poison and the amount of ingested was not enough to kill you but enough to relax your body and mind that when you awake, your limbs would be likened to a slight paralysis, and you would need aid.

gwayne had not left your room once.

he abandoned his post at meetings, refused to join for meals with servants having to bring his dish to your chamber. and when they had taken it away hours later it may have very well been untouched.

the blood has gone from his nails and face thankfully, a change of clothes but not of heart so he could lie next to you. he cradles you close, he tells you of his time away on the road. the stories of comradarie with criston cole and the worst of it all; the filthy bog that had almost come close to breaking him. he's still restless though he lies in your feather bed, he plays with your fingers and sings your favourite songs.

there was one point where he thought you would wake, he had hummed a melody that had played on your wedding day and for a second you stirred, a small groan released from your lips that had gwayne's heart soaring and mouth screaming for the maestar.

you had slept for two more whole days after that and it added an additional weight to his chest. if you could see the state of him now, so helpless and afraid, you wouldn't know what to do with yourself. he doesn't even know what to do with himself.

as unfair as it seems, he has been avoiding both daeron and ormund. his mind is far too busy occupied with you, he needs to be here when you wake, when you return to him so he can tell you that he loves you back, loves you more. your eyes had closed in on him before you could catch the words but he kisses them into your temples every hour of the day.

he presses cool linen to soothe your fevers, he changes your sheets and nightgowns when the sweat had unconsciously drowned you and he lets in as much light as he can. he thinks of the sunrise of oldtown, the last time he had seen it from the beacon with you and his heart aches to go back home. to be done with this campaign and go back with you. as it sets in the sky now, it reminds him of you as everything does.

ormund has visited daily, regret and pity on his tongue and gwayne lets him wallow in it. he's had plenty to share and daeron visits too. they both had tried to plead with gwayne to get him to leave, to eat, to just live but the knight had refused. it didnt feel right for him to exist without you by his side, not when his purpose is you.

when you awake, he wants to go for a trip. just the two of you tangled in each others limbs, love and laughter that can echo across cities. he wants to show you just as much as he's missed you and he beats himself up for having just a few hours of your love again before it has disappeared on him.

you finally wake just as he draws the curtains with night falling, he's lit a few candle around the room and sweetens it with your favourite lemon fragrance you wear. it engulfs him and surrounds him and its the closest he'll get to you whilst he waits in this torture. part of him no longer longs for revenge, he just misses you and wants you to return to him again. it had been more wretched on the road where at least back then he knew you were safe in oldtown and out of danger's sight.

he hears you stir and immediately turns, his fingers are frozen between the last two buttons of his shirt he had been in the midst of shrugging it off, ready for his slumber watch. you groan, your breath uneven as you attempt to sit up. you've not gathered the strength and will of your limbs yet so the weight crushes downwards and you fall back to the mattress.

"easy," he whispers, tears glistening in his eyes, "easy, my love."

"gwayne?" you call out, "i can't feel my legs properly, or even my arms," you blink on confusion, "am i?" you pause, "am i dead?" and your jaw drops lightly with dread. "no," you breathe not even giving him the chance to respond. he's still starstruck on your voice, music to his ears and he feels himself floating, "if i am dead then why are you here? oh seven hells, are you also dead? which evilness murdered us, husband?"

in a gentle launch he wraps his form around yours tenderly, melting his body like wax into yours that when you seperate itll surely burn and sting him. "you came back," he cries into your hold, broken and bare. "oh my darling girl, we are alive, you are alive" and you pull away slightly.

"gwayne? whatever is the matter?" and the innocence shadowing your face has him stopped clean, "good heavens, what have you done to yourself?" your fingers come to trace the darkness under his eyes and the shadow of stubble streaking his jaw.

"what have i done?" he whispers incredulously, the smile fights at his lips as he beams at you, "my love what have you done to me?" and it stretches into the midnight air. "you have consumed me, completely. i am unravelled at your will and in your absence i am destroyed."

"honey," you start and he quietens you with a kiss, you melt into his touch as your lips part for his, making room for his breath that becomes your air as he swallows you whole. he kisses you like its the first and last time, unspoken with all the words that six days of silence has cost him and he pulls apart just to breathe before sinking in again.

"i thought i lost you," his voice cracks and you still look clueless, "the poison- it was laced in daeron's wine you drank from and it sentenced you to this slumber. i knew you'd fight it but the moment you dropped in my arms, god i was so scared," and you bite down your lip in anguish. he runs his thumb over the spot where your teeth have left a small indent and presses into it gently to soothe "i should've been more careful, i, i should've been watching what was put on the table, i shouldn't have left you i-" and you muster enough energy to push your index finger into his lips.

you kiss your teeth in disapproval and push on his bottom lip playfully, you know exactly how to put a pause on his blaming thoughts, you have to redirect him to an easier task. and when he's distracted enough you can lay down the assurance, "my love," you start, "if we're talking about things that we should do, i think we should for one start with a bath. i have not moved in days and i need a good soak, and i think you should carry me," you tell him sternly, cutting off his starting rant of self-doubt. "i think with whatever time we have been blessed with we should love and live without regret," you lift your finger from his silenced lips and they curl at the edges in a small smile, "are we in agreement ser hightower?"

he bends his back to hook his arms under your knees and one stretches across your back as you're lifted from the bed. he does it with such ease that you hardly feel the weight of it, you're airborne and full of feathers as he pads to the bath chambers. you sigh in his arms, with your own hands hooked around his neck as he rumbles with a "i think we are, lady hightower."

he sets you to the edge of the tub as he prepares the water, he had called for it a while ago just as he has been doing every day in hopes of you waking from your poison-induced sleep. you sit patiently, the coolness of the tumb a nice refreshment against your skin as gwayne makes work of fragranced oils and suds.

"may i?" he asks and you raise your arms above your head, its a struggle and he helps hold them up so tenderly as he pulls the nightgown from over your head and tosses it to an empty basket. the chill of the night bites at your bare skin but as you sit beneath him, his gaze warms you slowly. "come on, petal," he coaxes and lifts you up from under your arms, "in you go," and he lays you down so gently. the warmth of the water welcomes you home and you let out a moan of bliss as your muscles soak it up.

"incredible," you murmur, sloshing around in the water and gwayne watches with a careful fondness, marvelling at how beautiful and serene you are.

"yes," he breathes, and you look up at him, craning your neck slightly, "you are." you smile up at him and then move forwards a few inches.

"husband?" you ask as he waits.

"yes, wife?" he matches your inquisitive tone with a tease.

"what are you waiting for?" you tilt your head to the side in confusion, "get in."

he hesitates for a moment, "i don't think i should," he begins and you scoff immediately.

"i wasn't asking, gwayne," your bare ankle dips out from the water as you splash him with your feet. its a harmless tease but he reaches out and catches your leg, his thumb just above your heel and he clears his throat, "please?" you try, "i'm asking really nicely," you stick your bottom lip out in a pout and he laughs.

it's the first time he's allowed himself to relax in days and he takes his time stripping out of his clothes and into the bath behind you. you feel the water slosh and rise as you make room for him and then he groans.

"what is it?" you ask.

"i forgot the washcloth," he mutters and tries to make a stand, using the edge of the tub to steady himself. it'll take him no more than ten seconds to grab it and return to you but it's not a risk you're willing to take. you almost tug him back down into the tub at such a speed he almost slips.

"you have hands husband," you shake your head, "don't get all shy on me now," and you place your own hands on his to guide them on your body. the suds gently scraping alongside your skin as he helps wash you. you know in moments to come, you'll attempt to do the same for him if you can muster enough strength to move. though youre likely to just give up and let your husband do all the heavy work for tonight.

"you've gotten bolder, wife." the whispers of the water breaks the silence "i've missed you, gorgeous," he murmurs into your hair, and you lean back into him, his hands now come to settle on your stomach and you close your eyes.

"it could be the months apart or the near death," you try and land it as a joke but it lingers stiffly in the air, an uncomfortable ugly truth.

"i am sorry," he apologises to you.

"it is not your fault," you shake your head, "i drank from the cup, though not given the choice i am glad it was me who suffered and not daeron, how is our little dove?" you ask, you make a mental note to visit him when you feel more of yourself and gwayne's fingers drum along your abdomen.

"well," he nods, "misses you terribly, he's been visiting often, leaves just before he's about to cry," and your heart breaks.

"he is precious, our boy. i shall comfort him in the morrow," you plan and gwayne presses a kiss to your temple.

"only if you feel well enough to do so," he warns gently.

"sweetling, a little poison is not going to break me," you chuckle, "nothing could keep me from you, perhaps they did me favour, the journey from oldtown was tiresome and now i feel well rested," you hum and you feel the scowl before you can even see it.

"you jest but it was serious, you almost died," he stresses.

"i heard you, you know. bits of your voice when i was asleep. you were always there and i think it kept me going," you admit, "i don't think you left this room once?"

"i didn't," he confirms, "how could i leave you?"

"i love you, gwayne," he encloses your palm with his, "i don't think i've ever loved someone so much," and it leaves him purely defenseless.

"thank the seven," he closes his eyes, "because you're the only one for me, i mean it, truly. these six days have been pure agony, my heart has been broken in ways that only you can heal, my love."

you close your eyes, feeling the warmth of the water, your husband and his love engulf you at once. it's oddly healing and despite sleeping the past six days you feel the rest calling you once more. you snuggle into your husband, humming as he slips his fingers through your hair and rinsing the suds. your soft snores fill the air that it almost pains him to gently wake you.

it's endearing as he wraps you up in the towel, taking his upmost care and patience to dry the water droplets off of you, stealing kisses to keep you awake whenever he senses your eyes drooping a little longer. you sit and wait for him to wrap you up in one of his shirts, the smell thick of him that you beam at him, pure sunshine setting his heart alight and he ruffles your hair.

"almost, sweet pea," and he carries you for a final time, when he lays to rest next to you this time he still watches over for a few moments. your chest rises and falls in the normal even steady beats he could recite for years.

"gwayne," you murmur, one of your legs is swung over his hip as you're curled tightly into his side. your face plastered across his bare chest, "i can feel you awake, go to sleep," its an incoherent slur of mumbles as you swat him gently in annoyance, pressing your face further into him till he flinches in tickles.

"i am!" he moans and draws the covers over the two of you, "goodnight sweetheart."

"goodnight, honey."

it's silent for a few beats and you can still feel a pair of eyes burn holes into your head

"gwayne! i can still feel you staring!"

"just checking you're still alive." you groan and grab his palm and place it on your chest, just where it beats gently

"there," you complain, "still alive."

and for the first time in months, gwayne finally lets himself fall asleep. its soft and sound and all he's ever wanted. you by his side. he'll hold you forever, and even when forever falls apart, he'll build a new dimension, timeline or earth where you and him co-exist no matter who, when or what could ever try to tear you apart.