Gwayne Hightower X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Hmmm… Gwayne who captures a member of team black when he’s with Criston. She was flying above when she spotted the green army, unable to help herself flying lower, keen to investigate. The green army launched a weapon at the girl and hit her dragon, the pair plummeting to the hard ground before them. The young girl was taken to the temporary green camp, only for Criston to recognise who she was - she is far too valuable to let go. Her dragon was hurt too, and the girl was stuck in the camp with no way to communicate with her family. Luckily, Gwayne takes pity on the girl.

The whole camp turns wide-eyed towards the tent of the Hightower son, loud cries and moans echoing through the fabric as he ravishes the younger girl. He’s got her under him, face pressed into the furs as he thrusts in and out of her sopping cunt. He’d spent time pushing his fingers in and out of her first to warm her up - he was chivalrous after all. Gwayne’s toned upper body glistened with sweat as he continues his rough pace, reaching down to hold up the hips of the girl. He doesn’t know how many times she’s cum yet, but she’s squeezing him so tightly he knows he’s close to his own release. He feels her clench around him once more as his hips falter, pushing his cum deep inside her cunt. The younger girl pants below him as he looks down triumphantly, her cunt dribbling his seed out slowly.

Rhaenyra receives a letter a day later from Alicent telling of her of the capture of a member of Team Black, the sweet girl’s presence on Dragonstone already greatly missed. Rhaenyra had been worried sick. She doesn’t tell her council of the girl’s fate, Alicent having hinted at her brother’s growing obsession with the girl he keeps in his tent.

!!!!!

Camp bride trope is the hottest oopsie ;)

He would even let her visit her precious dragon as a way of controlling the sweet girl and keeping her under his thumb.

He has so much pent up energy after being in camp for months now and Gwayne has no intention of ever letting her go now. Especially as her mind is slowly softening and she cuddles against his chest in the cold evenings.

He has her against him completely; his fat cock pushed in her weeping pussy as he rocks his hips throughout the night

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/760413965479264256/hmmm-gwayne-who-captures-a-member-of-team-black

Gwayne & his camp bride!!! He adores stroking the girl’s hair as she cuddles into him, her plush body pressed tightly up against his. She always got so touchy and clingy after he’d fucked her and he wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny her wishes, holding her closely. He’d always keep her nude through the night as he would often get hard again, his fat cock waking her up as he stretched her cunt with each slow thrust. In the beginning she had resisted him more, but now he revels in the way she tosses her head back into the crook of his neck. Her soft mewls right into his ear only cause him to thrust deeper.

Gwayne watches as she sleeps on his chest. He can’t help his mind wandering to images of her in lush green dresses, hair styled so beautifully as she smiles up at him. He imagines her holding small cherubic babes in her arms, more tugging at her skirts. She would be his sweet wife standing by his side always. All she would need to do would be support him, take his side and give him pretty little babes. She was a highborn lady and he wouldn’t deny her the pleasure of marrying a man from an esteemed house such as himself - he just needed to mold her a little more. When she seeks the company of her dragon, he always gains something in return. When she asks for protection from Criston, he does so knowing she grows closer and more reliant on him. Gwayne is every bit as calculated as Otto, but people always underestimate him. (Criston is starting to see the resemblance as he watches the girl cling to Gwayne’s side at meal times, the Hightower never letting her move away)

ALL OF THIS!

Gwayne is every bit as calculated as Otto, but people always underestimate him.

Oh they really do and the sweet Princess has fallen into his trap.

All she has to do is give him all that he desires ;)

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/760526273934131201/httpswwwtumblrcomwritingsofwesteros760413965

Imagine the poor girl being really heartbroken and defiant when she’s rescued. Begging the queen to spare his life, the knight had been nothing but loving and protective of her.

Gwayne is the type of lover to have a princess threatening to runaway or harm herself if she’s away from him.

Oh how Daemon is seething in anger as Gwayne plays the knight in shining armour . His pretty Princess completely obsessed ..and it does not help that she has a babe in her arms..already

Gwayne and his camp bride!

She tried to run away once, sometime shortly after her capture. Gwayne was injured and she thought him weaker than usual, presenting her an opportunity to sneak out the tent. She made it into the woods nearby in only a nightgown when the sound of a twig snapping echoed around her. The girl spun around, her eyes wide and surveying the woods. There was no one there. It must have been an animal. As she turned to move again, her body collided with that of her red-headed knight.

Gwayne revels the shocked expression on his sweet girls face. Had she really thought he wouldn’t notice? He was so much smarter than she gave him credit for. His hands fly out to grip her arms as she tries to pull away, her body soon pressed up against his. She’s wriggling against him desperately seeking a way out, only for him to grip harder.

“Stop,” he grits out. His tone is laced with hidden threats and it seems his girl understands, her body stilling in his grasp. “Did you think I would let you go so easily?”

His girl looks up at him so frightened, her big doe eyes boring into his. Gwayne almost feels bad. Almost. His hand comes to brush a loose strand away from her face as she trembles against him, before his hand slowly trails down to the fabric of her nightgown. The moonlight put her body on display, her figure highlighted to him and he can’t help but brush his finger over her pebbled nipple. He delights as she shivers, and soon his hands are opening the ties of her nightgown, despite her quiet protests.

Gwayne has his sweet girl up against a tree within moments as he sheaths himself inside of her. Her moans echo as he sets a brutal pace - he’s angry that his girl wants to leave him. He’s groping her full breasts as he begins to bite at the soft skin of her neck, knowing she would hate the marks the next day. He doesn’t last long with all the emotions rushing through his system, and he reaches around to rub her clit harshly, her cunt tightening around him as her eyes roll back. Gwayne’s filling her with him cum only moments later, his sweet girl crying out.

Gwayne walks with his girl back to the camp as his cum runs down her inner thigh. He ignores the judging look Criston gives him as the girl’s hair blows in the wind, showcasing his marks on her neck to all. She was his and he didn’t care who knew it.

!!!!!

The near public display and prey feel of it all is so very hot thank you

Poor thing truly thought she was going to get away and now she's back in his arms - back in his bed as he keeps her impossibly close now.

Any trust they had built had fallen away with ease

Gwayne and his camp bride!

The girl had been within the green camp for months now, Cole sending them towards a new keep or castle every week or so. Her dragon was allowed to recuperate in the camps and slowly fly alongside the progressing army, though its rider sat where she always did. Gwayne sat astride his horse with his sweet girl in front of him, her waist encircled by his arms. He didn’t let her leave his side no matter the circumstance, and so as they rode each day, she would rest against his armour-clad body as the pair shared quiet conversation and on occasion - small jokes.

It’s as the army marches towards their next camp that Gwayne feels it. He’d taken off one of his gauntlets to stretch out his wrist and his hand had naturally fallen to rest on her waist, the movement of the horse bringing his hand onto her stomach. Gwayne freezes for a moment and glances down at his dozing girl, only to feel her midsection more - a firm roundness protrudes from her lower abdomen, the bump indicating that his seed has taken root. It’s not very large or obvious but the Hightower can tell the difference in her body, especially having her naked so often. He remembers when he squeezed her breast the previous night only for her to squeal and pull away more than usual. She hasn’t bled either, though he assumed that was due to stress. Gwayne can’t help but grin to himself. He’d thought of his precious dragonrider bearing him little babes, but now, that fantasy seemed close to becoming a reality. He resolves to wait to see if his girl grows anymore, just in case, although his chest swells with satisfaction at the idea of binding her to his side forever. His father would be pleased with him at least - another dragon on their side.

The Black Council on Dragonstone receive a letter a month later. They’d had no updates of the condition or whereabouts of the girl, and had suffered many losses and deaths. It’s not until they read the contents that they realise they can still lose so much more; Ser Gwayne Hightower has returned to Oldtown to rule in his father’s stead, accompanied by his captive and her dragon. The letter hesitantly tells of the girl’s condition, writing of a small bump hidden under gowns, a babe that all know Gwayne to have fathered. Team Black can’t hold back their devastation at the news and can only grow more and more desperate to get their family back.

Oh he is over the moon; keeping his suspicions to himself - for now that is as even her dragon is so gentle and sweet. Always so protective when her rider is allowed near that is.

Daemon is so annoyed; thinking of Otto's pathetic excuse for a son taking a Targaryen Princess.

Imagine Gwayne’s camp bride being Rhaenyra and criston’s daughter. That’s why Rhaenyra isn’t too stressed about her capture, she does not think Criston too cruel to kill his own blood. If anything her daughter is in the safest hands as compared to her brothers. And this is also why Gwayne takes her as sex slave/lover, he’s taunting Criston after sleeping with his sister.

She’s afraid of Criston because they have never bonded, she thinks he hates her

!!!

Gwayne takes her as sex slave/lover, he’s taunting Criston after sleeping with his sister.

I love him your honour. He is so wild and we love him oopsie.

Unfortunately for Rhaenyra it does indeed backfire as now Criston can be a father to her..if not unconventional.

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/760672391139590144/imagine-gwaynes-camp-bride-being-rhaenyra-and

Oh this is DIABOLICAL!!!

God, imagine if the girl wasn’t aware of Criston being her father though! She’s so scared of him, thinking he wishes to hurt her or kill her. At a surface level, Criston dislikes her because of her mother and her misdeeds, but deep down, he longs to bond with her and build his family.

It fills Gwayne with so much glee to see Criston notice her growing bump for the first time. The Lord Hand would be a grandfather and yet he was still denied even that. He can’t say anything to his sweet daughter lest Gwayne expose his affair with Alicent, and now that the girl clings to the Hightower, he doubts she would even believe him. He settles for starting small conversations with her as they eat, her smile growing as she speaks to someone other than Gwayne.

Rhaenyra would be thinking all was well until she got that letter from Oldtown, finally realising just how much she had misjudged both Criston and Gwayne. She wasn’t told that her daughter had begun writing letters to Criston, or that Gwayne had begun organising the Septon for his wedding to the princess - his camp bride would now be his proper bride in the eyes of the Seven, and no one could stop him.

YES !!!!!!!!!

Oh Rhaenyra really had no idea what was going on.

The Lord Hand would be a grandfather and yet he was still denied even that. Oh Gwayne is so mean and we are here for it !

The poor wife is just following her husband to be now; soon a babe will be in her arms

Gwayne teaching his camp bride how to ride him…

She was a maiden before she was held hostage by the camp, and though Gwayne had thoroughly removed all traces of her maidenhead, he always fucked her in a position where he was on top. He decides it’s time for his princess to try something new. He can’t stop thinking about her being on top of him - though he won’t let any control over her disappear.

He instructs her to straddle him on night, having already eaten her cunt prior. First, he makes her slide her pussy along his length, up and down. Her cunt is wet and gushing all over his cock as she moves, her hips dragging over his lower stomach where his cock lays flat. She’s already whimpering each time the tip presses against her swollen clit, hips twitching. Then, he makes her lift her hips up and hover over him.

“Take it in your hands, yes, just like that.” She looks at him so hesitantly and he wants to drag her down on his cock immediately, though he resists. “Now, guide it in.”

He groans as she gently pushes the head of his throbbing cock inside her warm, wet walls. His grip on her hips is firm, not letting her move off his cock. “Lower yourself down, take it all in. Hmmm, that’s it. Just a bit more, there we go.”

His girl is whining at she begins to spear herself on him, his length filling her up completely. She’s only made it halfway down his cock when she begins to plead, “Gwa-Gwayne, please, it’s too much. I-I can’t take it!”

Gwayne knows he is being mean as he tightens his grip on her hips and drags her all the way down to meet his hips. The movement pushes his cock all the way inside of her and she cries out as his length prods against her cervix, garbled pleas leaving her lips. Gwayne exhales deeply at the heavenly feeling of her tight cunt clenching around him and can’t help but grin as his girl begins to slump against him, no longer able to hold her body up. She’s gasping at the fullness, her head resting on his shoulders as he sits up. The Princess thinks he has chosen to be merciful to her, only to whine loudly as the Hightower starts to drag her hips back and forth. “You will take it - for me,” he whispers into her ear.

Gwayne’s satisfaction with his precious spoil of war only grows as she soon starts to move her hips of her own volition, her fists clenching his hair as she begins to tense up. The Princess is soon gasping as her eyes roll back into her skull, her pussy spasming as her orgasm washes over her. Gwayne can’t help but cum as her walls grip him unbelievably tight, his head tossed back as he fills her. The sound of heavy breathing echoes around the tent before the man speaks,

“You did well my sweet girl. You were made for me, do you know that?”

All she can do is nod in her post-orgasmic haze, her hands subconsciously stroking at his red locks. He would never let her go, not until he’d ruined her completely.

!!!!!

Oh he stuffs her full; and now she feels so empty sometimes. Gwayne keeps his twitching cock inside her with her gummy walls clamping down throughout the night.

Gwayne and his camp bride!

Just think of the gossip that would stretch across Westeros at the news of the young princess marrying Gwayne Hightower, not to mention the rumours of her being with child. Merely speculation said the crown, and as long as her bump was hidden under her close gowns, then speculation was all it would be.

The pair were married in the Sept at Oldtown in front of all the clergy, and soon, Gwayne was walking around with his pretty Velaryon wife on his arm. She’s always by his side or hiding in their chambers, Gwayne’s hands lingering on her lower back as they stand.

When her bump starts to show, Gwayne tells his court that the Maester believes it to be twins. There’s no other explanation for the size of her bump so soon after their wedding. She’s always so exhausted too, napping wherever she can and taking hot baths each night.

I have this idea that the married ladies of Oldtown wear head coverings like those of Lady Frey. Something like this: https://pin.it/1KM9soIhO. Gwayne loves to see her so proper and stately, but he loves even more to take her veil off each night and play with her hair. Imagine it’s how a member of team black sees her when they try and rescue her, dressed impeccably in a velvety green gown and a silk veil - the very image of a reverent Hightower, her newborn babe clutched to her chest as she stares at the familiar face in shock (and fear)…

!!!!!!!!

Oh the idea of her being dressed like this; Gwayne adores seeing her like this as she walks around the gardens.

She can only compliment Oldtown; its so fresh and clean.

Her eyes are so wide as she recognises the person before her and all the Princess can do is clutch her babe tighter. "Princess..."

She began to look around as her heart pounded in her ear

Gwayne Hightower corrupting his sweet Targaryen niece!

His young niece is sent to Oldtown with her younger brother Daeron, much to Gwayne’s delight.

Though she’s a Targaryen, she looks so much like her mother and Gwayne is simply infatuated with her. His niece was Helaena’s twin, the girl much more lucid and rooted in the earth than her sister.

Gwayne who takes her under his wing, allowing the pair to form a strong bond as she learns more about Oldtown and the history of the Hightower’s.

Gwayne watches as his sweet niece seems to grow even more beautiful as she’s older. He notices the attention she draws and the leering gazes men level at her. It makes something in his chest burn.

His niece was expected to return to Kings Landing when she became of age, and yet the time has passed and her mother and father have not sent for her yet. Gwayne comforts his sweet niece though he’s secretly happy and enjoying her presence remaining longer.

Gwayne finds it more and more difficult to resist his niece as she clings to him more in her sadness, his body growing warm at the idea of taking her for himself. He reasons with himself: if her mother married her other daughter to her full-blooded brother then surely an uncle is a less egregious pairing. Gwayne’s been influenced too much by the Targaryen views at this point.

Gwayne seizes the opportunity to corrupt his niece once and for all when she cries desperately in her arms. She’s sobbing about how no man will ever want her as a wife if she never returns to the capital, how her family do not love her, how her mother sent away.

He’s taking her teary face in his hands softly, brushing her hair back from her face as he looks into her wide eyes. The heavy kiss he places on her lips has her momentarily shocked before she tentatively responds. Gwayne’s slowly guiding her lips in the way he likes, revelling in the feeling as her fingers begin threading through his hair.

Gwayne doesn’t fuck her straight away, no, he waits and waits until his niece is so dependant on him, hanging off his every word. She’s visiting the sept with him each day, dining with him and letting him kiss her as much as he wants.

But once he does, there is no one in the world that he would let take her away from him. He would show Otto the bloodied sheets from their coupling and watch his face fall in horror, disgusted at the sullying of a proper Targaryen princess. Otto didn’t think he had it in him, not to do something so vile.

Gwayne gets his way and soon his pretty little niece is standing in front of him in the Sept at Oldtown, exchanging vows with him.

Alicent is beside herself. Her sweet daughter corrupted and defiled by her own uncle, someone she trusted her with.

Gwayne and his new wife are the picture of marital bliss, always giggling and mumbling to each other. The maids in the keep at Oldtown are always giggling as they walk past their chambers; the gasps and groans escaping enough to make a grown man blush.

Gwayne fucks his wife good. I said it. He’s a munch too and 100% makes his wife cum at least once before getting into the main action. He’s got his niece wrapped around his finger and anytime he wants her, he has her.

It’s no surprise when the Red Keep receives a raven announcing the pregnancy of the Targaryen princess, a babe expected no more than 9 months after their wedding (they got down to business right away!).

(Aegon’s giggling at the rage colouring his mothers expression. He loves seeing her so unsettled and makes a note to tease her AS MUCH as possible.)

Headcanons: Gwayne Hightower

(written with wife!reader, but with no physical descriptors)

No doubt about it, that man loves to eat pussy. He enjoys the act itself but it’s really about getting to watch his wife writhe and whimper under his tongue, his ministrations having her hips jerking off the bed. He has to hold her down with his forearms so he can keep enjoy his meal. He loves to slowly add in a slender finger one at a time, curling them up against the spongy sensitive walls to push against that special spot.

Gwayne enjoys getting head, but only once he’s trained up his wife to his standards. He has to coach her to not gag, to let his heavy cock sit in her throat. He doesn’t like to make his pretty wife cry though, and he’s always letting her take his cock at her own pace. Oh he’d be crazy for eye contact too, always having to lock gazes as he cums.

If he’s on top, he either chooses missionary (again, eye contact) or he mounts his wife like a stallion and fucks her from behind. Gwayne loves to press his entire body weight up against her, chest pressed against her back. He presses her body into the bed until she can’t move, only able to let him thrust into her hard and deep. He’d probably get a kick out of it if his wife begins to try and escape from the pleasure, and he can just press into her further.

Ok but truly I believe Gwayne would love if his wife is on top. She’s not in charge though, but he enjoys having her above him. He’s a bit lazy sometimes and enjoys the reprieve. He’s got his pretty wife riding him slowly, his hands dragging her hips up and down and back and forth. He’s still in control and he guides her movements, and he just loves to sit up and be face to face with his girl, mouthing at her full breasts as she begins to tremble in his grasp.

Gwayne won’t leave his girl unsatisfied. Minimum of two orgasms each round. I don’t make the rules, sorry. He just loves to hear the sweet, sweet sounds as his wife reaches her climax, her body clinging to him.

Breeding kink!!! Man loves the thought of his little wife carrying his child and having little red-headed babes running around Oldtown. He’s pushing his cum back inside of her with his cock, staying inside all night to seal her up.

I don’t think he’s into exhibitionist stuff or doing it in public. He respects his wife too much and doesn’t really want any scandals tbh. The maids getting to hear the noises from their chambers is enough.

The only time he decides to make a point is when he and his wife visit the red keep. His nephew’s gazes linger for too long on his wife, their eyes shining with lust. Aegon even tries to approach her, but Gwayne intervenes. That night he leaves their chamber door slightly ajar, knowing the boys reside down the hall. He’s got his wife squealing and thrashing in pleasure as he makes her cum over and over again, never giving her a moment of calm. He knows without a doubt that the Princes will hear, and he bares a smug grin the next morning as he sees his nephews as they break their fast. Aemond can’t even look at him properly, but Aegon just grins and raises his glass to his uncle.

Blessing in Disguise

Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devout follower of his Knight's oath, Gwayne no longer sees much point when Criston Cole gifts him Princess, his only requirement being to keep her alive. The Hightower Knight has suppressed his own urges for so long, but now, he no longer wishes to, not when he's been given a sweet Princess just for himself.

Warnings: Gwyane is not nice in this, future dub-con/non-con, abuse of power, prisoner/captor dynamics, manky Criston Cole, future 18+ (Not proof read)

Part 2: here

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Blessing in Disguise (2)

Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devo

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Fighting on the front lines of a war was incredibly taxing, more so for a highborn knight with expectations placed on him that felt insurmountable, and a self-deprecating Hand of the King as a companion. Gwayne found spending each day with Ser Criston Cole brought him closer to understanding just why and how the former commander had ended up in such an illustrious position, for no one but his rotten nephew could find a kindred spirit in such a person. The Hightower rode with the army as they acquired more allies, his spirit withering until one day, he was presented with a gift. He thinks he must be dreaming when one day, a princess falls from the sky.

He doesn’t recognise the girl at first, her body a crumped heap on top of a blistered and broken dragon, but it seems the Hand beside him does.

“Seize the princess immediately,” Cole barks, “restrain her and slay the beast of hers.”

Gwayne recalls the ear-splitting screech that her dragon had let out just moments ago as it was hit by the scorpion, the silver body falling rapidly to the ground with its rider still attached. A dragon was a sacred creature and yet, in times of war, nothing could be protected in such a way any longer. The true prize for the army wasn’t the death of the dragon, but the capture of its rider. The only daughter of the Pretender Queen was more valuable to the Greens than the entirety of the Crownlands, for nothing was more precious to Rhaenyra than her daughter.

Gwayne watches as the soldiers handle the Princess, her frame grappled and manoeuvred in ways unbecoming of a lady. The girl doesn't even fight back, still unconscious as her body is slung over the back of a horse. The Hightower wishes to wipe the smug smile off Cole's face as he takes stock of his newest prize, but says nothing as the party ride back to their camp. Gwayne watches her frame jostle with each movement from the horse, not missing the leering gazes sent to the Princess from the other riders.

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"Here lies the daughter of the whore of dragonstone! Her mother is a traitor to the realm and her daughter shall receive the full force of our army, as our rightful King wishes," Criston Cole cries, his voice echoing across the camp. Low mumbles echo across the still soldiers, various expressions crossing their faces. "The Princess shall remain here in our camp as our prisoner until the whore heels to our forces." At his decree, Gwayne takes stock of the soldiers exchanging worried glances - to take the Princess prisoner would incite the fury of the Black's dragons. And yet, he witnesses men smirk and mutter to their companions, believing the Princess would be passed around like a common whore for their pleasure.

His curt voice captures the camp's attention, "And what of their forces, my Lord Hand? Do you think us invincible against the fury of a dragon?" All attention turns to Gwayne, and Criston can barely contain his rage at the clear challenge to his authority.

"If the whore wishes her daughter to live then she will consider her actions," says the Dornish man smugly. The commander is pulled aside harshly by the Hightower knight, avoiding the prying eyes and ears of the camp. The soldiers were all too aware of the discord between the pair, for all had been subject to their quarrels.

"You cannot treat a Princess of the realm as a common prisoner, no matter the situation Cole," Gwayne grits out, tone exasperated as he speaks to the commander like a child. He watches the commander ponder his words silently for a moment. It is only when those brown eyes look up at him sparkling with mischief does Gwayne realise he may have fucked up.

"If you hold the girl in such high regard, then you may take her."

Criston could laugh at the expression that crosses the redheads face, the knight stunned into silence for once in his life. It's his sputtering questioning that prompts the Lord Hand to speak once more.

"She will stay by your side as your ward, your spoil, captive - whatever you wish to call it. Do what you wish with her, have your fun, just keep her alive." The Hightower does not miss the sinister insinuation from the other man, his jaw gritting at the notion, ignoring the twitch of his cock at the idea of the Princess under him. Gwayne goes to rebuke Cole's offer, only to witness him quickly turn and leave. He watches silently as Cole mutters to a soldier guarding the still unconscious Princess, motioning to Gwayne's own tent. Fuck. What was he meant to do with a captive Princess for the remainder of the war, he thinks. Surely her family would come for her.

And yet, the sinister, war-trodden part of Gwayne's psyche begins to consider the opportunity presented to him: a Princess practically given to him. He had been so lonely during their long campaign, so bereft with the losses his army had faced. Each and every day he watched as more men died needlessly for sordid family infighting, their bodies burnt to unrecognisable heaps. With each death, he felt his soul harden, or maybe it was just slowly dissapearing altogether. He felt he cared for little anymore, not truly. He kept his gentlemanly manners and yet, each interaction felt false and like a pantomime. As much as he wished to deny it, the Hightower would be lying to the Seven if he said he had not missed the warmth of female company that he denied when he took his oath. He was still a man.

As Gwayne watches the body of the Princess disappear into his tent, he wonders if the wretched Kingmaker had given him a blessing in disguise : A sweet Princess just for him.

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(Planning on writing a few more parts of this, but this is a longer version of a series of asks I submitted to @writingsofwesteros so please enjoy! Dark Gwayne is so enjoyable to conceptualise and truly I think he has so much potential.)

Gwayne Hightower and his Targaryen niece return to Kings Landing!

Gwayne bringing his sweet niece back to the Red Keep, only now she holds the title of his wife - of the Lady of Oldtown. Whispers and murmurs follow the couple as they walk through the keep, all aware of the more than scandalous marriage that had taken place.

He feels a warm feeling settle across his chest as his niece clings to him, her frame pressed into his side. Gwayne is more than happy to play the protector.

The Royal Family watching the couple walk into the throne room, only to be stunned at the sight of a small bundle being cradled in the young princess’s arms. They had received no word of the birth of the next Lord of Oldtown, and yet, here he was.

Gwayne proudly presenting his little son to the room, the tufts of red hair atop his head a clear indication of his lineage.

Alicent looking on at her daughter in shock and sorrow, her heart breaking as both of her daughters have now truly left her. She didn’t even get to attend this daughter’s wedding, and now her grandchild’s birth had been taken from her too.

Aegon is so pleased to see his younger sister again and doesn’t hold back on teasing her and her new husband. Aegon dislikes his own family greatly and he feels some relief in knowing his kindhearted younger sister has been spared from the worst of their infighting.

Otto is disgruntled by the babe and disapproves of his son’s actions, though there is nothing he can do. Gwayne takes great pleasure in knowing he has out-manoeuvred his father for once, leaving him no way to alter the situation.

Gwayne and his niece taking their son to sit in the gardens, relaxing under the trees as the babe cuddles up to his mother. He can’t help but feel contented with his little family, his own wife and a son who he can raise better than he was himself. As he watches his niece coo at their son, the knight resolves then and there to give her as many red-headed babes as she desires.

Blessing in Disguise (2)

Abstract: A war-torn Gwayne is presented with an opportunity when the dragon of a Targaryen Princess is shot down near his camp. A once devout follower of his Knight's oath, Gwayne no longer sees much point when Criston Cole gifts him Princess, his only requirement being to keep her alive. The Hightower Knight has suppressed his own urges for so long, but now, he no longer wishes to, not when he's been given a sweet Princess just for himself.

Warnings: abuse of power, prisoner/captor dynamics, gross men, restraints, Gwayne is growing more delulu, future dubcon/noncon (not proof read)

Author’s Note: this chapter is seriously diving into just how much Gwayne is loosing it, and building up his motives and morals. He thinks of himself as a saviour and all his actions are rooted in this need to keep protecting the Princess.

Tag List: @torchbearerkyle @beautifultacodragon

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Two days had passed since the Princess was captured, and two days had passed since Gwayne had been given the responsibility of keeping her alive. For the first day, he’d faced little trouble as the still unconscious girl slumbered in his tent, her frame draped across his own makeshift bed. The turmoil was rife within the knight however; for he knew little of what to do with the girl. To keep her hidden away in his tent for the rest of the campaign seemed cruel, but letting the Princess roam around the camp was a risk that could bring doom to the army. While he didn’t know for certain of her likely reaction upon waking, Gwayne felt that the Princess would not take kindly to her newfound position as captive.

The second day helped the knight make up his mind, for the Princess began to rouse herself from her state. He’d been eating the claggy paste they called oatmeal when movement caught his eye from across the tent. With sluggish movements, the girl pushed her weak and frail body up to a somewhat seated position as her eyes took in her surroundings. Gwayne found the confused expression on her face amusing, but sighed deeply as her eyes widened in alarm upon laying her sights on the Hightower Green of his doublet and the red of his hair. He watches as she begins to sputter and gasp as she tries to speak, but despite her best efforts, her brain fails to deliver a coherent question to the knight.

“You are in no position to run, or much less even argue, so I suggest you still yourself whilst I explain the predicament you’ve found yourself in,” Gwayne’s lilting voice cutting across the tent, his words stilling any movement from the Princess. Though he’s attempted to make his tone lighter, it’s clear that his tone carries a subtle warning.

The Princess nods softly before speaking, her voice hoarse and croaky due to disuse, “Wh-who are you?”

She fears she knows and yet some part of her hopes that perhaps it has been a case of mistaken identity - that this man across from her, whose tent she lays in, is not the brother to the Queen Dowager.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower, Princess.” It’s all he says. Gwayne notices the crestfallen expression on her face deepen, her fingers beginning to play with the threads of the blanket. “Your dragon was slain after it flew above our territory, the scorpion striking it down with great accuracy. It was not expected that Rhaenyra would have sent her only daughter on dragonback and yet, there you were.”

“M-my drag-”

Gwayne doesn’t let her speak and instead continues his recounting. “Criston Cole made the decision that your life should be spared. He wishes to use you as tool to garner your mother’s surrender, and in turn, has granted you the most esteemed opportunity of a true camp experience.”

The sweet Princess can only listen silently and a small twinge strikes at Gwayne’s heart as tears begin to fall down her cheeks. He lets her process his words, scraping the last remnants of his oatmeal from the wooden bowl. When she says no more, the knight moves to leave the tent when a timid voice stops him in his tracks.

“What will you do with me?”

The Princess watches the man freeze, his broad back tense and rigid. He stays near the entrance, arms clutching the fabric of the tent as he seems to ponder his answer. She had heard stories of the honourable Ser Gwayne Hightower and yet, chills crash over her at his next words.

“Whatever I so wish, I suppose, as long as your heart still beats in your chest.”

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That night the princess remains in his bed, her hands bound and tied to the wooden post holding up the tents fabric. He’s given her some tether, at least allowing her to relax her arms and continue to rest. The Princess had almost drifted into an unpeaceful slumber when a rustling sound echoed around the tent, and a disheveled Hightower strode through the entrance. She had little time to process his intentions as the knight flung off his boots and undid his doublet, leaving him only in his trousers and tunic, watching wide-eyed as he stalked over to the makeshift bed.

“What are you doing?!” The princess shrieked as Gwayne lowered his body next to hers, the flimsy material dipping with his body weight.

“I am sleeping, or at least I hope to be.”

“Get away from me! How dare you,” the girl cried, her body tense as she flung her body out of the bed.

“You may struggle to recall this, but this is my tent. You have been sleeping in my bed and as much as it pleases me to see you enjoying it so, I too wish to rest,” Gwayne bites out, his tone laced with sarcasm and thinly veiled contempt. She could’ve been sleeping on the dirt floor and here she still complains.

Gwayne hears her muttering “no, no” and finds little inside of himself to care, instead tugging on the restraints binding her hands. The squeal as she falls back into the bed makes him smirk, pushing the girl into the fabric and covering her with a blanket.

“Sleep. And keep any foolish ideas you may have of escaping to yourself, for you have no dragon or the faintest idea of your location.”

Gwayne rolls away from the Princess, feeling smug with himself at the lack of response he receives, though the rigid frame of the girl seems to be conveying enough to him. She knows her hopes of escape will not come to fruition tonight, not with the Hightower sleeping by her side. She can’t even retaliate when his heavy frame drapes over her own during the night, arms slung across her stomach as he clings to her body heat. Restless, she lies there listening to his languid breaths, her own heart pounding with anxiety.

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The Princess had been in the camp for what felt like months, though her stay had only totalled five days. It seemed that her and her captor had fallen into a somewhat amicable routine: Gwyane would venture down with the Princess to the nearby lake to allow bathe, and the pair would break their fast with the rest of the soldiers. He would then return her to his tent while he talked strategy with Criston, leaving the girl alone, but not unsupervised. He’d given up use of the rope that had attached to her ankle after the first night in the bed, but the knight was still wary of the Princess trying to escape. In the evenings the two would sit by a small fire in the common area of the camp and eat their meager meals, Gwayne even allowing the girl her own cup of mead to wash the bread down. Gwayne couldn’t deny that it felt comforting to have another’s presence as a constant, especially after such long periods of loneliness and isolation. He even begins to warm to his captive, small chuckles leaving his lips more often as they conversed.

And yet their moments of ambivalence seemed to come crashing down as Gwayne left to fetch more mead, only to return and see a common soldier leering over the Princess. His stout body crowded into her space, his hands clutching at her shoulders, the fabric ripping in his harsh grip. From a distance it was difficult for Gwayne to hear the man’s words, though he held strong suspicions of their nature, however as he covered ground his ears picked up more and more.

“Mmm… do you think you could handle the cock of a real man, Princess?” the man muttered sleazily, “I don’t think you could. All you Royal cunts act like you’re above us, but maybe you just need a little demonstration.”

The Princess’s discomfort was plain for all to see, no more so than Gwayne. Her shaking frame and teary eyes look around broadly, pleading for an intervention as her bottom lip trembles in fear. It only takes him a moment to unsheath his sword, raising it to the neck of the soldier.

“Remove your vile hands before I do so for you,” he demands, his tone firm and gaze locked on the scum in front of him. Gwayne revels in the shock that crosses the soldier’s face and his disappearance from his sight shortly after. Common-born folk always aim far above their station, coveting what should never be sullied by them, Gwayne thinks.

The Hightower is caught up in his thoughts as he brings the Princess back to his tent. His chest feels as if it’s filling up with anger, breathing growing heavy at the feeling of the Princess trembling under his grip. Many soldiers had been invited to fight with a great army in the name of the King, and yet here they stood leering and preying on the King’s own niece. Such depravity should be expected of commoners but to dare even suggest of defiling a Princess of the Realm would ordinarily be treason.

It’s only the wide, teary eyes that finally snap Gwayne out of his thoughts. The Princess is clutching his arm, her body pressed into his side as she looks up, lower lip still trembling. The girl had been scared out of her mind, too weak and powerless to stop any advances, and now here she stood a wreck because of it. To see the Princess looking up at him in such a way sends a new series of thoughts running through Gwayne’s mind, tightening his breeches and quickening his breathing.

The men in the camp were only acting in such a depraved way due to a misguided conception that the Princess was not spoken for. They believed that she was free for the taking, for any common man to use and keep. She was his captive though no man seemed to acknowledge his stake of claim over her. She slept in his tent each night, in his bed, by his side. If that would not convince these vile men to back away, then only one thing would. Gwayne was a flawed man, he himself could acknowledge that, but he would protect the Princess as was asked of him, in any way he could. And if that meant he would need to make his position clearer to the camp then he would.

The Princess would understand the actions he needed to take, he thinks, as his hand begins to brush at the exposed skin on her shoulder where her dress had torn. As her breath hitches at the contact, Gwayne can’t help his growing smirk - she’s so responsive to him, not even aware of how she’s pushing her body closer to him unconscionably. He can feel her plush breasts press against his chest and her hips against his own, though she seems unaware of the growing hardness pressing against her stomach.

The Hightower knight assures himself that he won’t enjoy his next actions, for it is only his duty to keep the Princess safe and protected from those who wish to do her harm. He assures himself that the Seven will grant him forgiveness, for he is only acting as any nobleman would. Finally, Gwayne assures himself that the Princess would forgive him for what he was about to do - soon she would understand that becoming his own spoil of war would keep her safe from other men of less valiant intentions. She would thank him sooner or later - she would, he reassures himself over and over again as he begins to lead the Princess over to his makeshift bed. He ignores the thought in the back of his mind telling him that even if she withheld her forgiveness, he wouldn’t mind too much - he would care much less than he should.

We need fan fictions for Gwayne Hightower from house of the dragon!!!

Sweet Disposition

summary | Gwayne is welcomed to King's Landing by his beloved niece.

pairing | gwayne hightower x niece!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (m), oral (f), just the tip, cum eating, reader has blue eyes and red hair, gwayne is a classist (and is in love with the niece that looks like him lol), incest, lotsa rubbing, lotsa yappin'

song rec | Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap

wordcount | 3.2k

note | welcome to the stage, gwayne hightower!!! i just had to, u guys. i’m not too sure how the age gap’s looking since idrk how old gwayne is, but do assume they did stuff the first time when the reader was of age :)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Ah, sweetling!”

You squealed at the sight of him, rising from your seat by the window to rush over to the door. Your uncle grunted in surprise as you jumped into his arms, chuckling amusedly in your embrace. You had waited all day for him. Worry began to fester in your gut when there was no sign of him as the day grew dark. Mother said they must’ve gotten held back by the impending storm that was painting the blue sky a desolate gray. However, the gods have granted you your wish. Soon enough, a flurry of green flashed through the gates of King’s Landing, and Gwayne Hightower made his way to find you.

“What took you so long?” you asked, pouting at him. His chest rumbled against yours in another chuckle, the rich sound of his amusement a lively song.

“My deepest apologies, princess. Some trouble down in the Kingsroad had us going a longer way. No worry now, I am here,” he explained, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “Brother dearest keeping you locked in here?”

You scoffed, pulling away from your uncle. His bright blues wandered around the expanse of your chambers, observing the various Valyrian tapestries decorating your walls. He admired you, as you trailed your hands over the cushions of the settee. Pure Targaryen, all except for the vibrant red of your curls. That was all Hightower, much to his delight.

“More so mother than Aegon, he doesn’t give two shits about me. Either way, it’s always him and mother huddled together in those council meetings. And Aemond, when he’s not off to gods know where. War feels pretty boring if you ask me,” you responded, earning a raise of the eyebrow from the redhead. 

“It won’t be boring once thousands of men die for your cause, princess, all so you could stay here and sit prettily while we fight for you.” He remained standing as you plopped down onto the plush chaise, reaching for a cherry from the plate of fruit situated on the side table.

It was tart, bursting with its dark juices as you sunk your teeth into its plump flesh. Gwayne watched as you wrapped your lips around the round fruit. It tainted your lips a luscious red, utterly delectable.

Your brows furrowed in offense, while a frown turned your pretty lips downward. “Are you saying I’m useless? If only I were given the chance, I could fly off on my dragon and burn more than half the enemy’s army before you could even engage,” you said, to which Gwayne replied with an understanding nod. 

“I know you would, darling, but we cannot have you harmed. You are too precious to be sent off to battle, take it from me,” your uncle replied, placating. You huffed, grumbling under your breath, making Gwayne bite back an amused smirk. Throwing away the cherry’s pit, you grabbed a strawberry this time, wrapping your fingers around its leaves to deliver it in one bite. Your cheeks had hollowed as you sucked on its juices, provocating… inviting. This had wiped the amusement off the elder Hightower’s face, making him clear his throat and shift where he stood, A smirk of your own rose on your lips at this success.

“How does Daeron fare?” you asked nonchalantly. Gwayne shrugged, waving a hand dismissively as he continued his exploration of your apartments. It was quite spacious, though the smallest out of the entire royal family, but it was comfortable enough. It was situated at the far end of the hall, farther away from prying eyes and curious ears.

“You know him, itching to fly back at a moment’s notice,” your uncle informed, to which you nodded in understanding. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time in King’s Landing, only in recent years. When the youngest was sent off to Oldtown to squire, you were tasked with accompanying him as his eldest sister. You were ten and five then, only returning after six years when your grandsire decided it was high time for you to be married off. In your time away from the capital, you had missed much, evidently enough. The war had put any courtship or marriage proposals on pause, which aggravated you. If only you had known, you would have spent your days back in Oldtown happily. With Daeron and your dragons. With Gwayne.

“Not curious as to how I’ve been, little red?” he mused. You smirked at him, tilting your head to the side in feigned curiosity. 

“How are you then, uncle? Missing your little squire?” you queried, teasing. Gwayne narrowed his eyes at you, which you mimicked. You were no stranger to your uncle’s tastes. Being away from the careful watch of your grandsire allowed him much freedom to do as he liked, especially when the old codgers were asleep. It was why you hadn’t seen much of him in your first years in Oldtown. The elder Hightower used to barely show an interest in his sister’s children, kept occupied by the pursuit of his merriment. He remained detached from you, up until you accidentally came across some unknown servant stumbling out of his chambers late one night, doublet unbuttoned and breeches unlaced. It sparked your curiosity, had ignited a carnal hunger deep within you. He had opened your eyes to such proclivities, had broken away the conservative mold your faith had locked you in. 

Gwayne feigned a sarcastic laugh, walking around you to your window. “Funny.”

One could see the vastness of the horizon past the Bay from this view. The breeze a salty, refreshing prickle. It held little of the nose-scrunching stench of Flea Bottom. You craned your head to watch your uncle face the wind. His hair had gotten longer, you noted. It looked better. “Though I am a bit peeved to travel all this way to not be welcomed by my whole family, but I suppose our new Hand has been keeping your mother company,” he said, a bite of bitterness in his tone.

You stood from your seat, approaching to stand by his side. The greens of your garments matched perfectly, and so did the reds of your tresses. You were always happy to look more Hightower than Targaryen, though your blood always ran hot, much like a dragon’s.

“Jealous much? Perhaps you could ask to join them,” you teased, bumping your elbow into his playfully. Gwayne merely rolled his eyes at your implication. The sight of the Dornishman leaning too close to his sister had confirmed the rising suspicions his father had made him aware of. How convenient it was for him to be made Hand too, granted a position that brought him closer to Alicent’s level. And to share her bed at night. How exhilarating it must be to a man like Ser Criston.

“I’d rather indulge with someone that stirred something in my loins without stepping on my shoulders for leverage in this society, thank you very much.”

“Anyone in mind?”

Gwayne turned to meet your gaze. The blues of your orbs were much like his, icy and deep. He could see the freckles that dotted the bridge of your nose from the proximity, could spend all day to count each one of them. The corners of his lips quirked upwards, as fast as a blink, before pursing.

He regarded you with a gaze so familiar, yet tantalizing enough to warm the meat underneath your skin. The hairs on the back of your head stood tall in attention, prickly underneath his stare. He turned his body to face yours, and you followed suit. Gwayne could almost feel the heat exuding from you, the dragon that you were, from this distance. Almost. 

You watched him watch you. The momentary flicker of his eyes to your lips was not overlooked, igniting a spark of excitement deep in your chest. Your feet took a step closer to him, nearly closing the gap. Gwayne mimicked you, taking a step of his own. The air between the two of you grew thick, almost dizzying with tension, but neither of you made the move. This was a familiar game with your uncle. It always left you thirsting for more, had made you an addict. It had you almost sneaking off on your dragon back to Oldtown just for a taste. 

“When are you to set off then?” you asked, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. You felt his fingertip begin to trace the outline of your curves, though you paid them no mind. 

“Well, it was supposed to be on the morrow, but this storm hasn’t worked out in our favor. In two days’ time, perhaps.” He had flattened his hand on the small of your back now, pulling you in subtly. You planted your hands on his chest, caressing the firm planes hidden underneath his doublet. His breath was hot on your face, bringing about a flush on your cheeks. 

“So soon?” you pouted. “You’ve only just gotten here.”

A heavy sigh escaped Gwayne’s lips. The skin on his neck was pale as he tilted his head back, littered with a light dusting of freckles. He was close to tipping over, you could feel it.

“War waits for no one, I’m afraid,” he muttered. You hummed in agreement, taking a bolder step by wrapping your arms around his neck. He tutted in warning, to which you only responded with an innocent bat of your lashes.

“We should make most of our time then,” you suggested, preening up at him suggestively. Your uncle bit his lip, pondering, deciding whether it was time for him to succumb to the magnetic pull of his body to yours. 

“Princess.” A warning.

“Uncle.” An invitation.

Gwayne pressed his lips to yours, sweet like cherry. You moaned in delight, a budding warmth in your chest bursting at the feel of his kiss. It was hungry, urgent, tainted with the promise of making up for the time you had spent away from each other’s warmth. Roaming hands found your rear, squeezing the plump flesh through your skirts. Your uncle’s wandering lips traveled their way downward, trailing to settle on the length of your neck. A whine echoed through your chambers as he bit on your neck, before smoothing over with his tongue. Something was starting to poke your hip, and your hand descended to cup it, earning a grunt from the redheaded man before you. 

A breath was hitched into his throat when you dropped to your knees, making quick work to untie his breeches. The heady scent of his cock was familiar, albeit he was unwashed, and it almost felt like coming home. Gwayne was your home. You wasted no time to press kisses to reddening tip, licking a stripe down the underside of his length before taking him whole. Your desperation was evident in your movements, head bobbing up and down fervently while you kept your eyes on him. Above you, the knight could only grunt, running a hand through his ginger tresses to keep himself grounded.

“How is it you’ve gotten better at this in my absence, hm? Had done your own practice?” he groaned, placing a guiding hand on the back of your head. You hummed around his length, the vibrations of your cavern making his cock jump. A hand replaced your mouth when you pulled away, stroking at a uniform pace as you looked up at him.

“One of Aegon’s friends said I certainly do it quite well. I have you to thank for the knowledge, I suppose,” you bragged, smirking when his blues visibly darkened at your words. He pulled you up back to your feet, leading you back to lean against a sidetable before claiming your lips once more. He was unbothered by the taste of himself on your tongue, nor by the spit painting both your cheeks in this messy exchange. You took hold of one of his hands to guide up your skirt, past your smallclothes, and settling on your mound. 

Gods, you were soaked. You had been the moment you felt his warmth, had pressed your nose into the familiar scent of his flesh. 

His fingertips trailed down your slit to collect your essence, before taking it into his mouth for a taste. You watched, hypnotized as his lips wrapped around his fingers. Your skirts were then bunched up to your hips, your smallclothes falling to the floor once you untied the ribbons that held them together. The figurines on your table rattled as the wood accommodated your weight when you had shifted to lean further. You beckoned him closer by wrapping your leg around his trim waist, and an arm around his shoulders. It was almost like you readied to dance as he took hold of your waist, an embrace so rehearsed, so familiar. The underside of his cock pressed against your weeping cunny, and with the sway of his hips, the sweet song of your whines filled Gwayne’s ears. His cockhead snagged against your pearl when he pushed his hips at a perfect angle, making you both moan. 

Calloused hands took hold of your thighs, dimpling the soft flesh under his hold. You gripped the edge of the table to ground yourself, throwing your head back as your uncle rubbed against you deliciously. He knew how much you liked this, well aware of how much power he held over you when he teased you with the promise of his claiming of your maidenhead. It stoked a fire deep within your loins, though today, it was not enough to burn you under.

“Gwayne…” you whined. “More… I need more!”

His red tresses swayed as he shook his head in refusal. His eyes were trained on the sight of your essence coating his cock, angling his hips to press against your pearl more. “I can’t… not yet, my love, you know this.”

You gripped his shoulders in frustration, urging him to look at you with your hands cupping his jaw. Your lips displayed your desperation as you kissed him. You have always asked little from him, naught but for one thing. 

“This could be the last time we ever see each other. Please, uncle,” you pleaded, burying your head into his neck as you sobbed. 

Your uncle had shown you much, had taught you much. However, there was one thing that was not for him to take. He dared not sully his niece, his beloved sister’s eldest girl. That kind of depravity is for Targaryens, and Gwayne thought himself a dignified man, honorable. Yet as you bit your lip temptingly at him, your brows furrowed adorably, the tight noose of virtue continued to loosen.

He grabbed hold of his cock, directing it to your slit. Gwayne kept his hand on the lower half of length to restrain himself, lest he lost all control. His tip breached your walls, reaching only far enough to feel your heat. “Just this much, and I promise when I return we will have so much more,” he panted into your ear. His thrusts were shallow, though some threatened to reach deeper, farther into your warmth. He alternated between rubbing and breaching, an assaulting tease to your senses. 

You moaned his name like a prayer. Devoted pleading. Your grip on the back of his neck was grounding, keeping his head from floating to the heavens to be here with you. You were all over him, from your hands in his hair, your lips on his jaw down to your juices that coated his cock. 

It was too late for him, he realized. To try and outrun a dragon’s fire was a futile attempt, and all he could do was welcome it with resignation. How ever could he deny himself this bliss? How could he deny you?

He came as his cockhead snagged on your folds once more, painting your mound with his pearly seed. Barely catching his breath, your hand on his shoulder ordered him to his knees. Like a devotee, the Hightower kneeled before you, descending his mouth onto your cunny. His own spend was salty as it coated his tongue, mixed with the sticky sweet nectar of your maiden core. The sight of his reds in between your thighs was a heavenly sight, and you could only pray to have him like this until the end of your days.

You were nearing your precipice, evident by the grinding of your hips against his face. With a thumb on your pearl and his tongue dipping in and out of your cunt, you came with a cry. Your uncle slurped up your release like a man starved, groaning against your mound.

When he had returned to his feet, Gwayne’s lips glistened with your essence. Breathless, you bit back a smile, but as his own flushed lips widened, a giggle bubbled from your chest. Your uncle chuckled, planting a small kiss to your forehead before taking you into his arms.

“How I’ve missed you, little red.”

“Why does it have a skirt?” 

You poked the ornate metal decorating the horse, confused at such attire. It even had a matching mask on its head, and you wondered if the poor thing could even see. 

“Tis armor. To ensure my royal steed is kept safe and no harm comes to it, and by extension, me, gods willing,” Gwayne explained, busied by the preparations of the move. Your uncle leaned closer to your ear, the distance between you tethering on violating propriety. “So I may find my way back to you.”

He was clad in his armor, silver steel paired by velvet Hightower green. He looked exquisite. If you were a lesser woman, there was no telling what you would have done right then and there, in the middle of the Keep’s courtyard. You regarded him with a dark gaze, uncaring of hiding your desire despite your mother and the Hand standing only a few paces away. 

Your chest was heavy with dread. A worrying nagging in your head growing harder to ignore. Their journey was sure to be hard, and who knows what else they were to face other than harsh terrain. What if there were dragons? What were he to do to defend himself from such fire? You would beg your brother to let you fly with them, but the fucker barely spared a second of his day for you. 

The prospect of losing Gwayne was daunting enough to drive you mad, yet there was little you could do. He could see it in your face, could feel the fear emanating from your anxious form as you watched him prepare. “Will you be careful?” you asked quietly. 

He gave you a downturned smile, heart swelling. “I will, little red, I promise,” he replied. His vow did little to quench your apprehension, evident in the way you looked at anywhere but him. The knight took hold of your elbow, giving you a comforting squeeze. “And when I return, we could tell your mother,” he vowed.

Your orbs were bright in surprise as you looked up at him, making Gwayne smile. The passing of a stableboy reminded you of your surroundings, making you huddle closer to him. “You don’t jest?” you whispered.

“Never about you,” he responded, sincerity clear in his voice. He took hold of your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. “I shall win the king his army, and ask for his blessing. Until then, wait for me, my sweetling.”

The ground thumped as the knights marched out of the city’s gates. They made for a menacing sight, a symbol for the war that was starting to brew. As you stood with your mother, you uttered a silent prayer. You hoped the gods would hear you now, would let Gwayne find his way back to you.

forget oldtown i need gwayne hightower to take me to POUNDTOWN

— LADY OF THE ROSES (IV)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Tyrell!OC

SUMMARY — Gwayne and his wife visit King's Landing with their children, who are very jealous of the fact that their cousins own their dragons and they do not. In the meantime, Otto Hightower wonders if his daughter-in-law is truly loyal to his house.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is a Tyrell. + You don’t have to know the previous chapters to understand this one and it's the last one of this story. 😊💚 In the show Gwayne mentions that it took him three months to get to King's Landing but I was using some website while writing previous parts where it says that it takes a week from Oldtown to Highgarden and, according to the same logic, it takes less than a month from Highgarden to King's Landing – that's why I decided to make the whole trip only a month long here. 🤔

WARNINGS — Alicent slapping Aegon's face, Reader's child getting hurt (nothing major)

WORD COUNT — 6,870

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

LADY OF THE ROSES (IV)

Past few weeks had been busy and spent on making all the necessary preparations before the long trip. Oldtown would be left without the Lord or Lady to look after it for around three months and it required lots of training and instructing all the servants and knights around the city what to do in your absence.

You had been summoned by your father-in-law and his daughter, The Queen Consort. They had invited your Lord Husband and you to King’s Landing to spend time together – even though you had a very weird feeling the sudden need to create a stronger bond within the family was dictated by some hidden agenda. Either way, you were rather excited for the trip even though it would take about a month on the road to even get to the capital city of Westeros.

What stressed you the most was travelling for so long with four children you had given Gwayne for the past few years. Your eldest son Edmund was twelve now and his brother William was ten. Your daughter Rosalynd was eight and her sister Florys was six. You were glad that the time when you had been pregnant nearly constantly was over now and you could enjoy the ups and downs of motherhood without many worries because your husband was a man devoted to his family. Gwayne had not only been raising his sons and teaching them all they needed to know about the sword but he also made sure to spend quality time with his daughters. And above that all, he was simply a caring and sweet husband. No matter how many years had passed.

Your trip started in the very early morning and you all were half asleep while getting inside the carriage. Rosalynd was sleeping with her head on your lap and little Florys was asleep in her father’s arms. Edmund and William were looking out of the window, excited and interested in everything that they were seeing although the road to The Highgarden was very well known to them. Because you lived so close to your parents, your children were often visiting their castle. 

What started peacefully, soon turned out to be a little nightmare. The children were very whiny and easily getting bored. When you reached The Highgarden a week after leaving Oldtown, you were seriously considering coming back home instead of going further down the Rose Road. 

“It is only the beginning of the trip and it is already exhausting,” you complained to your parents during supper when you were staying overnight at their place.

“You might not get a second chance to go to King’s Landing, my darling,” your father reminded you. “Endure it.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Gwayne chuckled and shook his head.

“I do not understand,” your mother spoke up. “Look at them, my grandchildren,” she smiled at the four of your children eating their meals quietly. “They’re so well-behaved. Little angels, really,” she sighed lovingly.

“Perhaps we might leave them here for three moons, how about that?” Your eyes sparkled at the idea. “We shall leave for King's Landing on the morrow while you watch over them.”

“I would love to,” your mother grinned.

“I would not,” your father’s eyes widened at the idea.

“I do not think that is a good idea, my Lady,” Gwayne put his hand on top of yours gently and you looked at him, confused. “To spend three moons without my little ones would be a nightmare,” he explained and your smile dropped.

Gwayne was right. You would miss your children dearly, too. You were sending them sometimes to spend two weeks at The Highgarden with their grandparents and given the fact the trip lasted a week, it would be a month away from you. It was barely bearable already whenever it happened. Three months sounded like torture.

“My Gwayne is right,” you sighed and laid your tired eyes on your mother. “They must go with us. Also, just like Lord Father said, such a chance might not happen again. They should see King’s Landing, too,” you nodded.

In the early morning of the next day, you were already back on the Rose Road, which took you through the town of Bitterbridge to The Kingswood where you entered The Kingsroad and The Crownlands. You had never been there and only two times before you had been on the road for such a long time. Both times it had been to attend your sister’s weddings. One had taken place in Dorne and the second had been in The Vale. 

Once you entered The Kingsroad, it would only take you a few days to reach King’s Landing and you were more than grateful for that. Both you and Gwayne were exhausted after trying to entertain your children on the road and attempting to tame their tantrums caused by boredom and frustration.

The night before reaching King’s Landing you were sleeping at the castle of some lesser Lord who lived nearby the road. You had been given the guest rooms but you couldn’t fall asleep, both excited and anxious about the next day.

“What are you possibly scared of, my love?” Gwayne soothed you by caressing your face with his fingertips when you were laying in his arms and staring at the ceiling instead of drifting off to the land of dreams. “You had met my father already and he seems to be quite indifferent towards you,” he pointed out.

Otto Hightower had visited Oldtown a few times after your wedding to his son and what Gwayne had said was painfully true – he seemed to be indifferent towards you. Just like he was indifferent towards his own son. The only signs of affection you had seen in him were for your daughters. He hadn’t even thanked you for giving him two healthy grandsons and heirs – his attention had been fully focused on the girls. It was quite adorable, you had to admit. But it was also saddening for your husband and sons.

“What about your sister? The King? Will our children get along with their cousins?” You voiced out all your insecurities in a low whisper. “And The Targaryens… I do fear them, Gwayne. People say they are more gods than men.”

“I am sure they are men just like you and I,” Gwayne smiled and kissed your forehead while caressing your arm.

“They have dragons…” You sighed.

“We probably will not even encounter one,” he assured you. “And do not be afraid of my sister or her husband. Are you not always reminding everyone that you are a sister-in-law of The Queen? Now it is time to meet her personally,” he teased and you rolled your eyes.

You somehow managed to get some sleep on that night. In the morning you had your dress prepared already because you had been planning to wear it for quite a long time. Your maids helped you to put on the elegant green gown that was pretty low-cut. You were a daughter of The Highgarden and you had never stopped wearing such necklines. Your own Lord Husband had given up already on trying to change that – in fact, he enjoyed it. You decorated your exposed neck with a golden pendant of The Seven-Pointed Star to make Queen Alicent happy.

Gwayne found it quite funny but you gave him a scolding look.

Your children had green outfits, too. Pretty little green dresses on your girls and dark green tunics with The Hightower beacon embroidered on them on your boys. The Hightowers were coming to King’s Landing.

When you reached the city you were staring out of the window with as much curiosity as your children. Gwayne had been in the capital once before for the tournament when he had been very young so his excitement was not as big.

Lots of people were staring at your carriage with a hint of curiosity. They knew that The Hightowers were The Queen’s family and for that reason some of them waved shyly at you. You were trying to wave back but Rosalynd and Florys were the ones who actually enjoyed it the most – feeling like little Princesses greeting the crowd. So, you allowed them to have fun as you leaned back on your seat. Your hand found Gwayne’s immediately and you squeezed it.

“You better be on your best behaviour once we reach The Red Keep,” you told your sons. “All of you,” you laid your eyes on your giggling daughters.

“You do not need to worry, mother,” Edmund nodded at you and straightened his back, trying to present himself more mature.

“I cannot wait to train with my cousins,” William added. “Father, will we be able to?”

“I do think so,” Gwayne nodded with a smile at him and leaned in to fix William’s ruffled hair.

“I cannot wait to spend time with Princess Helaena,” Rosalynd sighed dreamily. “She must be so ethereal… A Targaryen Princess…”

“I want to see grampa,” Florys’ eyes sparkled and you chuckled at your sweet little girl.

You smiled nervously at your husband when you realised you were already entering The Red Keep’s courtyard and a few people were waiting for you. You spotted your tall father-in-law and that beautiful woman standing next to him had to be Queen Alicent herself. She had soft, curly hair in the auburn colour and her dress was of the same shade of green as yours. You sincerely hoped it would not be considered rude of you but you had no idea. There were three silver-haired children with them – two boys and a girl. They had to be Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena and Prince Aemond.

“Grampa!” Florys clapped her hands excitedly and already moved to the carriage’s door.

“Florys, mummy and daddy are leaving the carriage first,” you reminded her softly.

“Do try to behave like a big girl!” Her older sister scolded her. “We are in King’s Landing!”

“Rosalynd, you are not her Lady Mother,” Gwayne reminded his daughter.

In the meantime, the servant announced your family and opened the door of the carriage. You took a deep breath in and watched your husband get out before offering you his hand to help you. You took it softly and wore a nervous smile before facing your in-laws.

The moment your feet touched the ground, you felt something moving behind your skirts. It was little Florys jumping out of the carriage already and running as fast as possible towards her grandfather. Everyone froze for a moment and widened their eyes at the scene.

“Grampa!” Florys reached her hands out and Otto Hightower let out a nervous chuckle before crouching down to give her a tight squeeze.

“You are being impatient, Lady Florys,” he greeted her and she clapped her hands.

Rosalynd stood by your side with a sigh and an eye-roll. Meanwhile, your sons chose to stand by their father. Since Florys had broken all the protocols already anyway, you decided to simply walk up to The Queen without caring about the right order as you nodded at your husband. He nodded back and only then Rosalynd ran up to her grandfather as well to give him a hug, too.

You sighed and shook your head before walking up to Queen Alicent herself. Your sons followed you and Gwayne while Otto whispered something to the girls, which made their faces go serious as they joined your side, too. You all bowed down respectfully. 

“My Queen,” you greeted her.

“Sister,” Gwayne kissed the palm of her hand.

From the corner of your eye you spotted the older Prince yawning. Queen Alicent blushed and pushed him slightly with her elbow.

“I see we both struggle when it comes to disciplining our offspring,” she smiled at you but you noticed how she looked down at your low-cut dress and the religious pendant on your exposed chest. She chewed on the inside of her cheek at the sight but she decided not to comment.

“Lady Hightower,” your father-in-law kissed the palm of your hand.

“Lord Father,” you greeted him and he gave you a shadow of a smile.

At his son, he only nodded. Gwayne nodded back and clenched his jaw.

“My grandsons,” Otto approached your boys and shook their hands. “Let me introduce the young Princes to you,” he pointed at the silver-haired boys standing by Queen Alicent’s side. “Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond.”

“Lord Edmund,” Edmund introduced himself and extended his hand towards Aegon. Prince Aegon looked him up and down and after a while of hesitation, he shook your son’s hand.

“Lord William,” your younger boy introduced himself and reached out for Aemond’s hand. Prince Aemond shook it shyly.

“Are you Princess Helaena?” Rosalynd stood in front of the Princess with Florys hiding behind her. 

The silver-haired girl widened her eyes and looked pretty startled. She took a step back and Rosalynd furrowed her brow.

“Princess Helaena is of a… rather timid nature,” Queen Alicent explained.

“Let us come inside, you must be exhausted after the journey,” Otto pointed at the doors leading to the castle.

“Do not even get me started, Lord Father,” Gwayne chuckled. “And certainly do not get my Lady Wife started,” he added teasingly and you shot him a scolding glance.

The first day was pretty chaotic because everyone was exhausted but also excited to see as much as possible of The Red Keep. Otto Hightower gave you and your children a tour himself. The only place he avoided were the chambers of The King who was ill and you had already been told you would not see him most likely.

Gwayne had already seen The Red Keep before but it had been before his sister was The Queen so now he was allowed in more places. He joined your little tour and kept his hands on your sons’ shoulders, while your daughters were holding Otto’s hands. 

To your surprise, during the supper, you quite befriended Queen Alicent. Of course she was still frowning upon your dress but you bonded over the experience of motherhood.

“The Red Keep is so green now,” your father-in-law pointed out happily at the sight of you, his children and grandchildren by the long table. All dressed in green clothes to show off their Hightower surname. “It makes me glad. Gwayne, I would like to have a word with you after supper.”

“Tomorrow, father,” Gwayne shook his head. “We are tired after the journey.”

Otto didn’t say anything to that but he gave his son quite an unpleasant look. You squeezed your husband’s hand underneath the table and caressed the palm of his hand lovingly to soothe him.

You retired to your chambers pretty early because you were longing for the comforts of a bed. Your husband and children followed and you made sure they all found their rooms and beds before you went to your own chambers.

“What do you think is the matter he wishes to discuss with you?” You asked Gwayne while brushing your hair in front of the mirror by the vanity table. He was sitting up on the bed and watching you with admiration in his eyes as every evening. “Do you think it is something about Oldtown?”

“No,” Gwayne shakes his head. “Those instructions have always been sent to us by ravens. It must be something about… the future and its possibilities.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You furrowed your brow and turned around to see his face better.

“You know that my father wants Prince Aegon on The Iron Throne, not Princess Rhaenyra,” your husband reminded you. “And The King might die soon. We are not even allowed to see him.”

“They say he is slowly decaying with each passing day,” you winced when you imagined such a thing happening to a person.

“That must be a terrible fate,” Gwayne sighed. “However, his death will bring the conflict of succession.”

“What conflict?” You asked. “Aegon is his eldest son.”

Gwayne squinted his eyes and then shook his head with a chuckle.

“My father is underestimating you, my sweetling,” he hummed to himself. “Now, come here, since we are sleeping in The Red Keep, I want to make you feel like a Princess,” he opened his arms for you to join him but you only scoffed and put the hairbrush down before fixing your hair with your hands.

“I am not a child anymore, Lord Husband,” you teased. “You shall make me feel like a Queen.”

You and Queen Alicent were sitting in the garden together and watching your daughters trying to befriend each other. Rosalynd and Florys were pretty grossed out and shocked to see Princess Helaena sitting on the grass and picking up all sorts of bugs and insects to examine with her curious eyes. She handed Rosalynd a spider once and your daughter nearly fainted at the sight.

Princess Helaena was of a gentle nature, though. She seemed to like her younger cousins and she was whispering to them all the details about every bug she was picking up. Florys was more interested in them than Rosalynd. Your eight years old daughter was often shooting you meaningful glances but you were only smiling at her in return.

The young princes and your sons were training together in the courtyard with Gwayne and Ser Criston Cole, whom you had recently met. You wondered how it was going, so you decided to finally put Rosalynd out of her misery.

“Shall we check on our sons, Your Grace?” You asked Queen Alicent but she seemed to be surprised.

“What for?” She inquired. “Are they not with the men who teach them?”

“I like to watch my sons while they train and cheer for them,” you told her and smiled softly. She visibly did not understand the appeal of it but she stood up from the bench and you followed. “Girls,” you looked behind your shoulder and extended your hand. “Come.”

Florys ran up to you to take your hand while Rosalynd and Helaena followed quietly behind you. You could hear your daughter desperately trying to start a conversation she was dying to have with a real Princess.

“You must own so many beautiful dresses, Helaena! What is your favourite colour?”

“Beige,” Helaena answered, clearly uninterested but also not wanting to make her cousin sad.

“Nice…” Rosalynd sighed and you could hear that she was disappointed in that answer. “Do you think you could give me some of your old dresses that do not fit you anymore?”

“Rosalynd!” You gasped as you scolded her.

“That is quite alright, Lady Hightower. We shall gift Rosalynd some of Helaena’s old dresses,” Queen Alicent nodded at you and caressed her daughter’s head lovingly.

“Thank you, my Queen,” you smiled at her and then you gave Rosalynd a meaningful look.

“Thank you, aunt,” the girl bowed down happily.

You reached the courtyard but to your surprise, your sons and the young princes were spending time together on their own, whispering and laughing about something, while your husband seemed to be in the middle of an argument with the other knight.

“Is that what you teach them, Ser Criston?” Gwayne was irritated. “Knights shall be chivalrous and rightful.”

“They are no knights, Ser Gwayne, for they are young princes,” Ser Criston answered.

“Gwayne,” you approached them quickly to stand beside your husband and rub his arm before intertwining yours with his. “How is the training going?”

“Oh, rather marvellous, Lady Wife,” he answered, his voice filled with irony and mockery as he looked Ser Criston up and down. “I have a fascinating conversation with Ser Criston here about the manners of a knight. Perhaps they do not teach them in Dorne.”

“You are from Dorne, Ser?” You tried to change the subject as you looked at the man standing in front of you.

“Yes, my Lady,” Ser Criston nodded at you.

“My sister Olenna married a lesser Lord from Dorne,” you told him. “A Toland,” you explained.

“I hope she has found her happiness with him, my Lady,” Ser Criston cracked a smile at you, which made Gwayne move uncomfortably.

“Barely,” you had to admit with a sigh and Ser Criston’s smile turned into a frown.

Before the conversation would become even more awkward, you were interrupted by Edmund and William running up to you and tugging onto your skirts, making both you and your husband turn around.

“What is it?” You asked them.

“Can we go to the dragon pit to see the dragons?!” William’s eyes widened out of excitement.

“I do not think that is a good idea,” you shook your head as your heart skipped a beat out of fear at the thought.

“We only wish to see them,” Edmund explained. “Father…”

“Your mother is right,” Gwayne agreed with you.

“But should not a knight be brave? I want to see a dragon and so does William!” Edmund insisted and sadly, the mention of the knighthood convinced your husband – especially after an argument with Ser Criston about the very same matter.

“Alright then, but be careful you two,” Gwayne nodded and you watched with terror in your eyes as two of your sons ran away to join their cousins and a few servants on the way.

“Gwayne…!” You gasped.

“Worry not,” Queen Alicent’s voice made you turn around. “The Dragonkeepers and the guards are there.”

After hearing this, your daughters seemed to be interested as well. Rosalynd gave you puppy eyes.

“Can we go, too, mother?” She asked.

“Are you a squire, Rosalynd? Or Florys – is she?” You shook your head.

“Let them go, my Lady. It is better to feed the curiosity instead of letting it grow,” Ser Criston spoke and you shot him a deadly glance but you were sort of forced to agree to your daughter’s request now.

You nodded, reluctantly and watched the girls run away to join their brothers and cousins. Princess Helaena remained by her mother’s side, though.

“What about the young Princess?” Gwayne asked her with a smile and lifted her chin up gently with his finger.

“I do not find pleasure in flying, uncle,” she admitted.

You quickly regretted your decision to allow your children to see the dragons. They seemed to be mesmerised by the creatures and they could not stop whining about the fact they did not have their own beasts to ride.

“They are our cousins, mother,” Edmund kept whining to you on your way back from the supper. “Vhagar is so huge… It is so unfair we do not have any dragons and they do have so many!”

“They are princes and you are lords,” you reminded him. “They are Targaryens and you are Hightowers,” you added. “There is no shame in being different.”

“We are not different, Lady Mother,” Rosalynd rolled her eyes. “We are simply worse.”

“I am not jealous,” Florys saved the day with her sweet confession although her siblings shot her a deadly glance. She clinged to her father’s hand and sighed. “Dragons are big and I am small,” she explained and you chuckled because you found her reasoning adorable.

“You are just a coward because you are a girl!” William pointed out.

“I am a girl, too!” Rosalynd protested. “And I am not afraid. In fact, I would surely have a bigger dragon than you!”

“That is enough,” Gwayne shushed them. “Go to your beds, all of you. Sweet dreams about dragons – dreams, only,” he pointed out with a chuckle but the children did not find it funny.

“Goodnight, daddy, mummy,” Florys nodded and dragged Rosalynd with her to their shared chambers. Your older daughter only mumbled her goodnight.

“Goodnight,” Edmund and William both nodded and walked away, still frustrated and offended by the injustice of life and your light treatment of their situation.

You and Gwayne looked at each other and chuckled before going to your own bedroom.

You were asleep in your husband’s arms. The bed you shared in The Red Keep was twice as big as the one you had in Oldtown but you still were sleeping close in the middle of it. Your face was buried in the thin fabric of his shirt and Gwayne had his chin on top of your head and his arms wrapped around you just like yours were wrapped around his chest.

Sudden, loud and rapid knocking upon your doors made you both startle in your sleep and open your eyes. Gwayne sat up and rubbed his eyes and you hid your yawn with your hand.

“What is it?!” Your husband grunted and left the bed to grab a robe laying on the chair and put it on loosely. You sat up as well and watched his silhouette approaching the doors in the darkness of the room. “Someone better be dying,” Gwayne opened the doors and looked the servant up and down.

“F-forgive me for the rapid interruption, my Lord, my Lady…” The man stuttered. He was holding a candle to light up the room a little. “It is about your children…”

Your heart skipped a beat at that and you jumped out of the bed to stand behind your husband.

“What is it? What happened?!” You inquired. “Which children?”

“Lord Edmund is hurt, my Lady. Lord William and Lady Rosalynd seem to be alright but they were involved in it, too,” the servant swallowed thickly after delivering the dreadful news.

“Hurt?!” You squealed and squeezed your husband’s arm out of fear.

“Involved in what?” Gwayne furrowed his eyebrow.

“Apparently, young lords and the lady attempted to claim their own dragons with the help of Prince Aegon,” the servant explained and you nearly fainted at the news. Gwayne’s face went a shade paler in an instant.

“Where are they now?” He asked.

“Everyone is gathering, my Lord. You are expected in the dining hall,” he explained and walked away.

“Gods…” You whimpered and grabbed the very first dress to put on over your nightgown. You did not care much about your appearance at such a moment. Your hands were shaking because you were worried about your children, especially Edmund who was hurt.

Looking presentable enough, both you and Gwayne hurried downstairs and straight into the dining hall. Queen Alicent was there, too and so were Ser Cole and your father-in-law. Your eldest son was being looked after by a maester while William and Rosalynd were standing behind him with their heads kept low. Florys was scared and clinging to Otto’s hand. Prince Aegon looked pretty terrified, too, and he was not even smirking or laughing as usual.

“What happened?! Edmund!” You left Gwayne’s side to rush to your son. Your heart clenched inside your chest at the sight of his cheek burnt slightly. His lips and eyes were unharmed and for that he was lucky but there was a long burnt line on his cheek that would surely not heal completely and leave a scar. “Oh, Edmund…!” You sobbed and pressed the good side of his face to your chest.

“I am alright, mother,” he whispered.

“What were you thinking?!” Gwayne lost his temper but you knew it was dictated by worry and fear. “Grown tired of living, have you?!” He addressed William and Rosalynd now and they both looked away, ashamed.

“I did not go, daddy!” Florys exclaimed proudly. “And I was telling them it was a bad idea!”

“Shut your mouth, Florys!” Rosalynd scolded her and Florys hid herself behind her grandfather. Gwayne clenched his jaw.

“Do not speak to your sister this way, Rosalynd. Do not speak at all, I advise,” he pointed his finger at his daughter and she looked down again. “Whose idea was it?!”

Both William and Rosalynd pointed their fingers at Edmund. Even Florys stuck her little hand out from behind her grandfather to point at her eldest brother.

“Traitors!” Edmund shouted at them.

You looked down at your son’s face. He winced while the maester was putting an ointment on his injury.

“You’re scarred for life,” you sniffled your tears back. “My sweet boy…”

“I have nearly gained a dragon,” he told you proudly. “And the scar does not bother me, mother, for I have survived the attempt. I shall try again soon.”

“You could never own a dragon, son! Only Targaryens can own and ride them! It is common knowledge!” Gwayne raised his hands up as if he was giving up.

Aegon moved uncomfortably while Edmund shot him a glance full of hatred.

“What is it?” Queen Alicent asked, already sensing her own son’s involvement in this whole thing being much worse than she had expected.

“It was Aegon!” Edmund’s lower lip trembled suddenly. “He told us we could gain our own dragons, too! That we can claim the spare ones or Helaena’s since she has no interest in it!” He confessed.

Now everyone’s angry eyes were laid upon the young Prince. He huffed with an eye roll but his cheeks turned crimson red.

“I did not know,” he whispered. “I did not know that only we can ride them.”

You were filled with rage. Your eldest son liked to pretend he was more mature than the rest of his siblings but he was only twelve after all – he was still a child. Prince Aegon was the eldest out of the cousins and he should had known better.

“You have cruelly teased my children to risk their lives… To… To possibly lose them and die!” You approached him angrily and began to shake him by his arms. You couldn't care less that he was a Prince. You wanted him punished. “And now you are playing a fool by saying such a stupidity! You insolent son of a–”

“(Y/N),” Gwayne stopped you as he rushed to you and put his hand on your shoulder but you shrugged it off.

“Edmund has a scar for life!” You sobbed again.

“Mother, I am alright!” Your son’s voice reached your ears.

“I did not know…!” Scared Aegon was trying to get out of your grip and Queen Alicent was attempting to help him by pushing your hands away.

“Lady Hightower, be reasonable!” She pleaded. “I shall punish my son accordingly but it is my punishment to give him, not yours!”

“My children could have died! All of them!” You screamed at her.

“Not me!” Florys squealed.

“Shush, my darling,” Otto scolded her gently. “All of us should calm down now. After all, everybody is alive, thank Gods,” he pointed out and you pushed Aegon away before angrily turning around.

The maester was no longer sitting by Edmund’s side and now you approached your boy to grab him by his shirt and drag him towards Otto.

“Look at him! My son nearly died!” You yelled at him. “Do not order me to calm down, Lord Father!”

“Mother, let go of me, it hurts,” Edmund whined and you stopped pulling him by his shirt but your whole body was trembling out of anger, fear and frustration. “Young Prince Aegon should learn how to treat other people, especially the weaker ones…” You patted your own chest with your fist and your son huffed at the word weaker. “...if you wish to put him on the throne!” You finished and the whole room went silent.

It was something that should not be said out loud. Thankfully, everyone inside the dining hall was on the same side when it came to the conflict of succession.

“That is enough, my Lady,” Gwayne shook his head and put his hands on your shoulders to walk you out of his surprised father’s sight. “I am sure Prince Aegon will be punished for his behaviour by his own parents.”

“I did not know, I swear!” Aegon whined. “I would not want cousin Edmund or cousin William to get hurt and especially not cousin Rosalynd!”

“Save it!” Queen Alicent scolded him angrily and slapped his face. “You have outdone yourself this time, Aegon!”

Gwayne was rubbing your arms soothingly and pressed you closer to his body by putting his hand in the back of your head. Your heartbeat was slowing down and your breath was coming back to normal.

“I think we should all agree to collectively remove Lady Hightower’s accusation from our memories,” Otto spoke calmly. “And that it is time to go back to our beds.”

All of your children approached you, clinging to your skirts, except for Edmund who felt stupid and guilty now, embarrassed. He was looking down and clasped his hands behind his back but Gwayne put his hand around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Your grandfather is right, it is time to go back to our beds. If we manage to fall asleep after such a night,” he pointed out.

Prince Aegon did not show up for the breakfast and you were glad he did not because you would tear him apart if you saw him. Now, after taking a better look at your son’s injury in the morning light, you were heartbroken. His scar would probably look intimidating when he would become the fearsome knight he wanted to be but you were his mother and your heart ached for him. 

The breakfast overall was pretty quiet and after the meal Gwayne took your sons to the courtyard to continue their training while Rosalynd and Florys followed Queen Alicent to Princess Helaena’s chambers for the girls to embroider together. Rosalynd also hoped to try on some of Princess Helaena’s dresses. You considered not allowing her to take any as a form of punishment for yesterday's stunt but you eventually decided it would be too cruel.

You were asked by your father-in-law to see him after breakfast and you kind of dreaded the conversation because you had a feeling what it would be about. Gwayne wanted to accompany you but you disagreed because it would make you look weak and scared. You had to face Otto Hightower alone. Gwayne had reluctantly agreed but he had assured you that he would remain by your side no matter what your father-in-law would say to you.

On your way to his chambers, you walked past Prince Aegon’s room. The doors were ajar and he was sitting on the edge of his bed. At first, seeing him brought back all the memories from the last night and all the anger. But after a short while of staring at him, you noticed that he was… sad.

It confused you as you kept staring and in the meantime, he spotted your presence. He got startled a little, knowing that you were alone now since his guard was nowhere to be seen and his mother was not there to push you away if you attacked him again.

He approached the doors to close them but he kept glancing at you like a beaten dog and even dared to speak.

“Is my cousin alright, aunt?” He asked quietly, his voice filled with guilt and worry. Suddenly, you started to have a feeling he had not been lying. Perhaps he truly had not known about the Targaryens being the only people who could ride dragons.

It would not surprise you because your father-in-law had been complaining about Prince Aegon not wanting to study his books and his knowledge of High Valyrian was… questionable.

“Edmund is quite alright,” you nodded at him and took a step ahead before he would close the doors. “Can we talk?”

Aegon hesitated but he looked down and nodded, letting you inside. You entered his chambers and looked around, humming at the sight of a wine goblet on his nightstand table.

“I truly did not know about the dragons, I am sorry,” Aegon confessed. “I know I am of a rather careless nature but I would not risk my cousins’ life,” he added and you sighed.

After a short while of hesitation, you approached him and caressed his hair before putting a silver strand behind his ear and lifting his chin up to make him look into your eyes.

“I am sorry for my outburst, young Prince. I do believe you now,” you assured him with a soft smile. “It still was irresponsible and foolish but I see now that your intentions were not malicious,” you nodded and his eyes sparkled at your words.

“Really? You do believe me, aunt?” He couldn’t be convinced and it made you sad to see it.

“I do,” you moved your hand away from his face. “To see a scar on my son’s face is painful for a mother but I do realise he does not mind it at all and he is proud of how he gained it. Let it be then,” you sighed. “It cannot be undone anyway.”

A short while of silence occurred between you two and you smiled at Aegon before approaching the doors again.

“You should join uncle Gwayne and my sons in the courtyard, my Prince. They are training with Ser Cole and young Prince Aemond,” you encouraged him. “And I shall leave now to speak with your grandfather.”

Aegon nodded at you and you left his chambers to hurry to Otto Hightower’s room where he was already waiting for you. He gave you a scolding look when you entered.

“What took you so long, Lady Hightower?” He asked, sitting on an armchair by the fireplace.

“I was stopped on the way, Lord Father,” you explained calmly and he pointed at the armchair next to his. You took a seat there and waited for him to start the conversation.

“We shall speak about last night,” he started.

“I do believe it was your idea to remove my accusations from the memory,” you reminded and he shot you an unpleasant glance.

“I need to know where you stand,” he looked deep into your eyes.

“Where do I stand?” You furrowed your brows. “What does it matter?”

“You have a great influence on my son. Much bigger than a wife should have on any man,” Otto pointed out. “I need to know I can trust you.”

“Speak plainly, Lord Father,” you challenged him with a head held high. “And I shall tell you.”

Otto hesitated as he looked at the dancing flames for a while. You waited patiently until he eventually laid his eyes on you again with the most serious expression.

“Do you support Prince Aegon as the future King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men?” Otto lowered his voice – his whispers were nearly audible.

“I believe you wish to know if I support your treason,” you raised an eyebrow and Otto clenched his jaw. “I do,” you nodded. “Prince Aegon is half-Hightower and I shall always support my family,” you added and stood up. “Does that answer satisfy you, my Lord? I shall join my sons and husband in the courtyard. I have promised them to watch their training,” you explained.

“You can go,” Otto dismissed you and you turned around but then you stopped.

“Lord Father?” You looked at him one more time.

“Yes?” He looked up to meet your gaze with furrowed brows.

“I shall ensure that my own Lord Father – Lord Tyrell – supports King Aegon when the time comes,” you promised.

Otto only nodded at you and you nodded back before walking out of his chambers and hurrying downstairs to the courtyard.

You smiled at the sight of your boys being instructed by their father. Prince Aegon joined them in the meantime as well and you waved at them all before taking a seat on the bench as usual – to watch and cheer.

After giving your sons their instructions, Gwayne gave them some space and joined your side as he sat next to you.

“What did my father want from you, darling?” He asked, worryingly.

“He wondered about my loyalty,” you scoffed and looked up at your husband’s face to fix a reckless auburn hair strand falling onto his face. “As if I didn’t give him four grandchildren to inherit his wealth and titles. As if I didn’t run Oldtown in his name for years. As if I didn’t love his son with every heartbeat of mine,” you finished quietly and a slight blush brightened your husband’s cheeks.

“Last night must have frightened him,” Gwayne explained. “You were rather furious with Prince Aegon.”

“Every parent would be,” you rolled your eyes. “Were you not furious, too?”

“I was but I did not show it,” Gwayne pointed out.

“Every person reacts differently,” you shrugged. “Either way, such conflicts always happen sooner or later between the family members. I shall not take them outside,” you assured Gwayne and took his hand to squeeze it. “I gave birth to four Hightowers. How could I play on any other team?” You asked, genuinely.

Gwayne squeezed your hand back and moved a little closer to you, as much as his armour allowed him. You both watched your sons train with loving smiles on your faces.

At one point, young Prince Aegon looked at you and smiled at you nervously. You smiled back and waved at him even, which caused his own smile to grow wider. Poor boy had no idea what responsibility was being plotted to be put onto his back.

MASTERLIST