#gwayne hightower

Ahhh I love asks like this about Where the light endures! They give me so much inspiration to write!!!

I can't answer all of these questions as they will slowly be revealed over the next few chapters but in the meantime, please enjoy this little preview. It answers one question at least.

The table is filled with so much food, it’s nearly overwhelming. You hesitate, unsure where to begin until a small pile of pale, golden pastries at the center catch your eye.

Lemon cakes.

You have not had them in years. Ormund hated the scent of citrus and vanilla. He said they were too cloying. 

Eagerly, you pick one up, the sticky glaze clinging to your fingertips. The first bite brings a sweetness you had almost forgotten, a rich buttery taste brightened by the sharpness of the lemon. 

You make a small, pleased sound before you can help yourself.

“My uncle said you would like them,” Daeron reveals with a smile. 

You look to Gwayne, surprised.

He holds your gaze for only a heartbeat before looking away. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his thumb tracing once along the rim of his cup. Something like discomfort flickers across his face.

“They were always served at your father’s hall,” Gwayne says after a moment. “I remember them being brought out after supper.”

“They were my favorite,” you reply.

Gwayne looks back at you, and for a long moment neither of you speaks.

“I have never seen you eat them before,” Daeron says, breaking the silence.

You glance back toward him. “Ormund was not fond of them,” you say simply, reaching for another.

Daeron’s smile fades slightly, and you immediately regret the admission. You open your mouth, searching for something lighter to say.

Before you can, Alicent speaks.

“Helaena, darling. Come eat before the food gets cold.”

You did well to send him to ward. As it seems, the Red Keep, for all it's privileges, may, in fact, be a less than salubrious environment for the forming of young men.—2.06 smallfolk