first little entry of my septa oc & gwayne !! CW: unedited, faith of the seven blasphemy, male masturbation, religious guilt, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree & he’s kinda got ormund’s scent thing but freaky
Gwayne remembered when she came to Oldtown.
A new septa, Ormund had said, and by the way she walked alone, he could tell. Her steps carried a weightlessness, an airiness that older septas had yet turned rigid. As they filed into the sept one by one, she tripped over a loose stone, and he held his arm out to catch her by the shoulder.
“Shit,” he heard her mutter under her breath. That habit would have to die fast. Her eyes darted to the hand on her shoulder, to the sigil on his chest, then straight into his own gaze. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne.”
He pursed his lips to the side to hide a smile. “We must tidy the steps, lest we lose a pious girl to a pebble.”
Her bashful face had softened into a smile of her own as she gave a small nod and walked inside. She brushed by him with a subtle dusting of her shoulder, and with it carried the familiar scent of incense and something earthier. Grass, perhaps? His cousin had the keener sense of smell, the gods know. It pierced through the heady smell and lay underneath it all, lingering as she walked by.
He had gotten the answer a some time later. “I like to forage when I can,” she had told him one of the latest times they ran into each other- near the woods by the Starry Sept- when he asked what she was doing. She had a crude knife in one hand, a clump of stems and petals in the other. “I know I needn’t, really, but when my hands are idle I get dreadfully bored.”
A smile crept to his face again, his endearment of this strange little septa overpowering the urge to reprimand her for going out alone. “Your hands are idle, so you get them dirty?”
“No, Ser Gwayne, my hands are idle,” she leaned down with her knife again and cut another stalk of green leaves and purple buds, “so I use them to find things.” She presented him with her little bundle and a grin, a dimple rising on the apple of her cheek. The summer heat had slicked her headpiece back, and a stray strand of hair had laid free on her forehead, dangling above her eyebrows like one of the delicate boughs surrounding them.
The tips of his ears rushed with red. He averted his gaze. “Is that…lavender?” He hesitated, looking over the bundle, trying to identify with what little he knew of his cousin’s aromatic proclivities.
She nodded. “It is. It’s the season for it.” She separated a sprig from the rest. “Would you like some, Ser Gwayne? My family kept it to aid sleep.”
The buzzing in the very tip of his ears threatened to spread its way to his cheeks. A sprig of wild lavender, dirty, fresh, presented like a lady’s favor. He took it, his calloused palm brushing her soft, damp one for a moment. This sweet, strange little septa. “Thank you kindly.”
“Anyone can use the extra aid, you most of all.” Her eyes went wide with her eyebrows to her hairline as she stammered a correction. “N-not that I think you look like you need it, it’s just that-“
He snorted, unable to help it. “Don’t lie, septa, I look like I need it.” He was aware. He knew what he looked like since his sister sent word for him. “I’ve been summoned to King’s Landing.”
She frowned in understanding. Wordlessly, she split her bundle in half and gave him more. “You may need this on the road. I know I cannot sleep anywhere but my own bed.”
The heat crawling under his skin was back again. “Y-you…” he almost scoffed in disbelief, “are most…” lovely, “…gracious. Thank you.”
She nodded with her dimpled smile. “Of course, ser.” He saw a hesitation in her face. “When will you return?”
“I do not know.” He sighed. “It seems as if my family has…dragged me into a skirmish.”
Her face fell, and she gave him the rest of her lavender.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The Riverlands are far less mild than Oldtown, more unforgiving.
But even wild lavender still blooms while it’s the season.
His arms ached, his legs screamed, and yet he could not find rest. He had been a slave to his comforts, he wouldn’t deny it— what was it she said? That she could not sleep unless she was in her own bed?
Frustrated, he shoved himself out of the bedroll and looked around in the dim moonlight.
“Can’t find sleep?” Criston asked gruffly.
“I can’t.” Gwayne sighed. “Let me keep watch.”
Criston was the most stubborn man he had met, but that night, he didn’t need to be told twice. “Wake me when you’re fading.”
Gwayne tried desperately to focus on his duty, but it wasn’t only his limbs that were restless. He could see it, a patch across from him, his eyes adjusting to the dimness- purple. Wild lavender.
The strange, sweet little septa- with the dimpled smile, and the scheming eyes, and the kind heart.
He’d used up half the lavender she gave him, and regretfully lost the rest to quick retreats. He unsheathed his dagger and sliced through a stem, hastily lifting it to his nose.
He felt his pants tighten.
“Gods, what is wrong with you?” He muttered aloud to himself, sinking down against a tree.
She’s a fucking septa. The uniforms are designed to be the very essence of modesty, of chastity- colorless and formless…
But he saw that strand.
The loose hair, on her forehead. Thick enough to display to him the color, the texture. Thick enough to supply his mind with her whole head of hair.
He squeezed his eyes shut. She’s a fucking septa.
Does she wear it loose at night? Is it cropped short enough to make her neck glow in the candlelight in her modest little apartments? Is it long enough to drape like curtains over her breasts?
She’s a fucking septa.
“You’ve fucking lost it…” He groaned to himself, unlacing his trousers mindlessly to find some relief.
He whimpered into the batch of lavender, pressing it to his nose again as he took himself in his hand.
Her hands.
They were soft. Not calloused from years of sword wielding, like his. No, soft. His fingers eclipsed hers. And her palm- damp.
No. She’s a fucking septa.
Would she spit in it, to take him in her fist? Or could she take her fingers for herself, the dampness all her own?
“You fucking madman.” He growled through his teeth as he felt himself close to the edge.
She’s a fucking septa.
With one more whiff of the sweet, subtle lavender, he finished in his hand. Heaving breaths rose through his chest, and tears stung the back of his eyes.
Gods forgive him. He longed in that moment, not to kneel for them, but her.
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☆ i refer to her as septa oc and in fics i won’t have her name so everyone can self insert but in my head her name is roslyn
☆ similarly with her appearance so everyone can self insert but i do have a fc if anyone’s interested to see!
☆ she’s common born, from the reach. she grew up growing crops and selling jam and juice and things like that
☆ she had a calling to become a septa because her family was going to marry her off to a wealthier farmer’s son, so she said uh actually i’m feeling very religious rn
☆ she is sent to oldtown to begin her training
☆ she of course meets gwayne here. not sure what their first meeting is yet, but she’s fond of him after seeing the way he is with daeron
☆ speaking of, she doesn’t believe rhaenyra or aegon should have the throne, she has fully drank the daeron kool aid being in oldtown. she disagrees with ormund’s methods to make him this cruel ruthless king when she believes he can be a just, peaceful and pious one blessed by the gods basically
☆ her religion is kinda tricky. she definitely believes in it, but she’s only clinging to it so strong as a subverted way of liberation from marriage. but once she gets interested in gwayne, she starts seeking real liberation from this percieved liberation. sexy blasphemy ensues.
☆ she has secretly longed to learn to use a sword all this time and gwayne teaches her how
anyway….wrote a septa oc for gwayne hightower brainworms. the fact that this show took over my life again and all it does is ragebait me and make me horny for one character and one character only because i cant even enjoy the other characters i was horny for because they are not being written with any consistency!!!!! is humiliating. but i need an outlet for this
