Burn Together
Gwayne Hightower x female Tarly reader
Gwayne arrives in King's Landing, and with him a long awaited reunion with a lover
Part 2 of Twin Flames
3.9k words
Warnings: 18+, smut and some familial angst (but it's a HotD fic, what do you expect?) Notes: Finally, here is part deux! It's got a little flashback, a little reunion and a little reunion sex. A plot, porn, plot structure. Please enjoy and please leave a comment if you fancy, as always love to hear your thoughts!
Despite the gathering darkness as the hour grows later, the Keep is still alive with activity as the Hightower army arrives. Tents are raised inside the walls for Gwayne’s men who light fires and enjoy a well-earned meal. You cannot think of sleeping now he is so near. Is he down there, or has he gone to see Alicent? Will he sleep in camp with his men, or will he be given rooms? Your mind is filled with nothing but him and thoughts of when you parted.
……
Samantha had called you to her rooms one afternoon where she waited with a letter hanging lazily in her hand. “Prince Daeron will arrive soon to become Ser Gwayne’s ward,” she announced.
“I know, sister, I believe Gwayne is looking forward to it,” you replied- this was hardly news.
She smiled tightly. “There is more. I have a letter here from Otto Hightower- we have been corresponding for some time regarding your future position here.”
Your face fell and anxiety shuddered through you. “My position?”
“Yes,” she sighed, “he has asked that you take up a post in the Queen’s household, and I have agreed. She is in need of a new companion, it seems. When Daeron’s entourage returns to King’s Landing, you shall go with them.”
You grew hot with anger and tears began to cloud your vision, but you blinked them back. “You never thought to consult me before this decision was made?”
“You would never have agreed,” she answered, smoothing her dress instead of looking at you, “and anyway, as our brother is now Lord Tarly, he and I must decide what’s right for you. Alan agrees, you would be best placed at court to represent us, and far more eligible matches are to be found there.”
“He agrees because you have told him to, and is a wealthy suitor all you have ever wanted for me? We’re not the same, Sam, I know you are content but it’s not enough for me. If only you could see that I am happy here, that I-”
“I know about you and Gwayne,” she cut in, her words like an icy wind. “It will not continue. Another Hightower alliance is of no use, and I will not have you risk bearing a bastard in my household. You will go to King’s Landing, you will satisfy the wishes of the King’s Hand and do your duty to your family by forging new bonds for House Tarly. This is final.”
Your breath stuttered in your shock and words evaded you.
“I will leave you to come to terms with this, sister.” As she left the room, she briefly put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I want the best for you. In time, you will see that and you will forget him.”
“You can’t understand,” you mutter weakly after her. Left alone, you cried bitter and angry tears.
…
When you had composed yourself enough, you sought him out. You found him in your favourite corner of the garden, lazing under a rose arbor. He smiled gently until he saw your reddened eyes. You barely managed to relay the news with an even voice.
“She has made this decision without asking you?” he bit out as he paced in front of you, face flushed with rage.
“I have already tried to reason with her, but it’s impossible. She knows about us, Gwayne. She thinks it…improper.”
“Then we will make it proper, if it pleases Her Holiness,” he spat.
“What do you mean?”
He stopped in front of you and took a deep breath, taking your face in his hands and wiping away your salty tears. “I would marry you, sweet.”
A sob welled up in your chest. “And I would accept you,” you replied shakily, “but it can never be. Samantha has decided that another Hightower alliance wouldn’t serve us, Alan will agree with anything she tells him, and your own father has asked for this.”
“They cannot command you, and who is my father to say where you must go?”
“They can command me, Gwayne, I am not the eldest son. And not even you would disobey your father.” Perhaps in your grief you twisted the blade a little too far, but you held his gaze, even as it hardened.
“I could come with you,” he suggested, although it was half-hearted. He already knew your answer.
You smiled sadly. “I could not ask you to do that, you belong here. And who would foster Daeron? Your sister wanted you to raise him, not Ormund.”
He nodded slowly, his hands dropping to your shoulders as he rolled his jaw, irritated in defeat.
You stroked his hair from his handsome face. “He will be here in a week’s time. Let’s not waste our last days together like this.”
…
In the days before Daeron’s arrival, you allowed yourself to become distracted by preparations for the young prince and left arrangements for your own journey to Samantha and her hand maidens. The nights were spent only with Gwayne, tangled with one another while faltering breaths and low moans passed between you, and soft declarations were whispered into hot skin until the candles burned down and the sun began to rise.
Then came the inevitable day of separation. Hanging back behind the crowd that gathered to see your entourage off, you and he took a moment of privacy in a quiet alcove.
“Allow me one thing before you leave?” he asked.
“Anything, Gwayne.”
“All I ask for is this,” he said, tilting your chin up to meet him in a lingering kiss, “and this.” He took your hand in his and smoothly removed a ring from your finger. You had inherited it from your mother, a simple twisted band of gold and silver. “Would you let me keep it?”
“Of course,” you smiled softly.
“Then, although we may not be allowed to proclaim our love in a Sept, you and I shall know what we are to one another. I will be yours, and you mine.” He tucked the ring inside a pocket and offered you his arm for the last time to escort you to the waiting carriages.
…
You pick up a book to shake thoughts of your parting away, although you’re too distracted to read it. Instead, you leaf through the letters from Gwayne that are hidden between its pages, and certain favourite passages catch your eye.
My sister tells me she is very happy with her new companion. My loss is her gain.
I heard at dinner with Lady Samantha that there are at least two unmarried Lannisters in Kings Landing. Do not marry a Lannister. Although you look resplendent in red you would not know what to do with all that gold.
Daeron keeps me occupied much of the time. He learns to hunt, joust and to play music. Like his uncle, he is the very image of the chivalrous knight. However, he spends a little too long for my liking preening for the young ladies of Oldtown. I could not say where he learned this from.
Sometimes, on my lonelier nights, I try to recall the scent of your skin and how it felt to sleep beside you. I remember how it felt to have you in every way, mine in all but name. Do you think of me?
You probably know by now that I am summoned to King’s Landing. Long months on the road hold no appeal for me, but I am sustained by the thought that at the end I might see you again, sweet. If you can resist wedding a Lannister or a Reyne or a Wylde for a few more weeks, seek me out as soon as you can when I arrive.
You will wait no longer- ladylike decorum has no place in a time of war. You snap the book shut, and venture into the shadowy halls of the Keep to find Gwayne.
…
The evening approaches the hour of the bat as you make your way quietly along corridors to the chambers he’s been given. The last pink whisps of sunset linger in the sky and servants are busy lighting candles.
One passes with an empty platter and used linen towels as you approach Gwayne’s room. If the man wonders what you’re doing here, he doesn’t show it. You watch him disappear around a corner before taking the final few steps up to a half open door.
His back is turned to you. For a moment you pause there, watching him prepare to retire. His white shirt is half tucked into a pair of breeches and clings to the damp skin of his back, fresh from the bath which now cools in front of the fire. Defined shoulders and a slim waist, just as you remember. His hair is a little longer- perhaps from travelling, you think, or perhaps that’s how he wears it now- and the copper ends curl as it dries around his ears. You breathe in deeply, your fingers trembling a little as you push the door closed behind you.
His head snaps around, his face stern and alert until he sees you. “I hoped you might find me,” he says, his voice deep and velvety and lovelier than you remembered.
“You asked me to, so I did,” you reply simply. “Are you well?”
“Far better for seeing you, sweet.” Hearing the name again makes your heart swell. “You truly are a sight for sore eyes, especially after months of travel.”
“High praise indeed,” you laugh, “I’m glad I’m more appealing to you than a camp full of dirty soldiers.”
His smile widens, the same familiar creases and dimples appearing that you always loved. He walks languidly towards you, taking your hand to kiss it. “I haven’t forgotten my courtly manners despite living amongst dirty soldiers. I trust you are well too?”
You begin to answer but go quiet. Your eyes are fixed to a point on his chest where a necklace lies underneath his open shirt. On the simple chain is your mother’s ring. You reach out to touch it.
“You still have it?” you ask.
“I wear it every day. It means as much to me now as if you gave it to me yesterday, and not a thousand yesterdays ago.”
You’re suddenly overwhelmed, and unable to say all that you’ve been waiting to tell him. Instead, all your emotion- joy, fear, grief- crests in a wave that threatens to drown you, and there’s only one thing you can think to say. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Still joined by your hands, he pulls you towards him and smooths a stray hair from your face. His knuckles graze the arch of your cheekbone, down along your jaw to your chin, tilting your face up towards his. You’re reminded of the first time he kissed you. “I have thought of you every day,” he confesses.
Your chests are a hair’s breadth from touching, close enough that you can smell the citrus tang of his soap and something else woody and warm that is distinctly him. You part your lips and his eyes dart to them, then his soft, full mouth meets yours in a kiss that feels like home.
Too soon he pulls away, jaw clenched with restraint though his eyes are darkened with reawakened longing. “Tell me if you don’t want this anymore, if I have presumed too much. Tell me if I should stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” He needs no more convincing. His hands cradle your face, as they had done countless times before, and his lips meet yours again as you slide your arms around his back, pulling him impossibly closer.
The kiss starts chastely enough, but soon he dips his tongue into your mouth, a groan rumbling through him as he tastes you that makes your legs feel weak. He pulls you further into the room and cages you against a tall chest, pressing his body against yours.
Suddenly too hot, your dress feels tight, but you can’t reach the laces at the back on your own. Seeing you struggling, he turns you around and makes short work of them with his deft fingers. It’s difficult to appreciate his handiwork though, as his lips find your neck. Your head rolls back against his shoulder to allow him better access.
Long ago you might have scolded him and worried about how you would hide the marks from Samantha tomorrow. You wondered briefly if she really thought you would forget Gwayne, or if she knew this would happen as soon as you were together again. You smile a little, thinking of her in Oldtown, powerless to separate you now. If she wanted to comment on your lack of shame, then she should come to King’s Landing herself.
Your heavy gown loosens and falls to the ground, and you kick it away from you across the stone floor along with your silk slippers. The heat of his hands through your cotton shift almost burns as he turns you to face him again. After another searing kiss he sinks to his knees, and you laugh at the comically lascivious expression he flashes you as he reaches beneath your shift to roll your stockings down. Your laughter falters, however, and turns to a gasp as his head disappears beneath it and he trails his open mouth over the newly exposed skin of your thighs, his hands running over them and squeezing the flesh. You steady yourself on the chest behind you and hear a muffled groan from beneath your skirt.
“I’ve missed your lovely thighs,” he mumbles, nipping with his teeth while you giggle at him again. Reluctantly he emerges, and helps you pull your shift up and over your head, discarding it along with your gown.
Now he sees all of you, and drinks you in with his eyes and wandering hands. He smooths them along your shoulders and down your arms, ghosts them over your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples as they harden in the cool air. You whimper involuntarily and he smirks, continuing to run his hands down to the curve of your waist, the roundness of your stomach and hips, and finally grasping a handful of your buttocks. “Divine,” he sighs, biting his bottom lip and pulling you against him.
“I think you’re a little overdressed,” you jest through your blushes, reaching to pull his shirt out of his breeches. He chuckles lowly, helping you pull it over his head. You reach for the laces of his trousers next, but squeak in surprise when he grasps your waist, spinning you towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the plush mattress, and you drop gracelessly onto it.
“I’m sorry, was I too forward?” you ask.
“Not at all, sweet, only I feared that if you began to touch me there the night might be over very quickly,” he answers.
“Oh, I see,” you smile, cocking your head at him with a little pride before stretching backwards onto the bed.
“Pleased with yourself?” he questions and you nod, watching him unlace himself. “Pride is not very becoming of a lady,” he tuts as you laugh, “and as for this display, Lady Tarly, I have never known a noble woman to behave so wantonly.”
“If that is how you feel, my Lord, then I must ask your forgiveness,” you apologise dramatically, “I’ll clothe myself and be away at once!” You move as if to get up, but he clasps your ankle, sending you sprawling back on the bed again in a fit of laughter.
“Let’s not be too hasty.” He sheds his breeches and kneels on the bed with you. “But, if you did want to beg for my forgiveness…” he purrs, sliding the hand at your ankle up towards your knee. You sigh as his hand continues upwards, mouth dropping open and skin flushing hot when he strokes over your mound. His fingers slide between your legs, stroking though the curls there to find your entrance, hot and slick and weeping. “All for me?” His voice comes from deep in his chest.
“Always for you,” you reply breathlessly.
“May I?” he asks. You nod, and his middle finger slips inside you. Your hips chase the feeling, so unaccustomed to another’s touch. He’s gentle, as if he’s learning you again after so long. Adding a second finger, he presses them upwards experimentally and finds a spot that makes you gasp loudly. Your hand flies to your mouth to cover the noise as he continues his slow exploration. At last, his thumb finds the center of your pleasure, and you bite down on your knuckle as your eyes roll and you clench around him. “Fuck…I’ve missed this,” he groans, and you can’t stifle the sound you make when you open your eyes to see him touching his cock as he pleasures you.
“G-Gwayne, please,” you stutter between whimpers, “I want you.” Your reach out to pull him towards you by his necklace and his lips are on yours in an instant, his tongue licking deep into your mouth as he settles on top of you. You have other plans, however. With a hand on his chest, you roll him beneath you. Sitting above his hips, you admire him for a moment. His auburn hair falls like a halo around his head, his skin is blushed and his toned chest heaves with every breath. He smiles up at you, veined hands gripping your thighs. “Have I ever told you that this is my favourite way to have you?”
“As I recall, you have several favourite ways to have me,” you reply. Your hand travels lower, finding the trail of golden hair that leads to his member.
“You must remind me of them all,” he smirks, but it’s his turn to gasp as you take his shaft in your hand, his mouth falling open as you stroke it. His groan turns almost to a whine when you run your thumb along the underside to the tip where a bead of his spend gathers. “Do not tease me, sweet, I have waited too long.”
Rising onto your knees, you press him to your entrance and begin to sink down. His neck tenses, fingers digging into your flesh in an effort to stay still while you accustom yourself to his intrusion again. The stretch burns to start with, and you take him slowly, rising a little to sink down again until he’s fully inside. He squirms beneath you. At last, you begin to move, riding him with a steady rhythm that kindles an all-consuming fire within you. “You feel…so good…” you sigh, head falling backwards.
“You feel like heaven,” he groans, hands gripping your hips and grasping your backside. You make a surprised noise as his hips move beneath you, and he controls the pace for a few moments before sitting up beneath you. In this new position, with each movement pleasure ripples through you right to your toes. You clutch him close, a hand in his hair and one at his shoulder. His are at your back while he mouths at your breasts, your collarbones and neck. Before long, your thighs begin to shake. “Gwayne, I-”
“I know,” he breathes into your skin, “I know, give it to me.”
In moments you’re undone, clawing at his shoulders as your forehead falls against his. “Fuck…fuck…,” he nearly growls as you tense around him. Your peak subsides and you relax in his arms, too weak to do anything but accept his last few uneven thrusts. You feel the moan rumble through his chest as his cock pulses inside you, warmth filling you while he presses as deep as he can. You breathe together for a while, regaining yourselves as he strokes your back, and you run your fingers through his hair. Eventually, you laugh breathily, all happiness and disbelief that he’s with you again. He joins you, then kisses you deeply.
…
Afterwards, you lie together in the dim candlelight. “How was Oldtown when you left it?”
“Much the same as when you did- full of Septons, merchants, fish, you remember,” he jokes.
“And my sister?” you inquire hesitantly.
“Very well, as forthright as ever. ‘First in Battle’, indeed,” he smirks. You smile at the mention of your house’s words. “I have often wondered these past years how you managed to avoid marriage? I thought the purpose of sending you here was to attach House Tarly as soon as possible to the richest house with an available son.”
“Well…,” you consider, “I think she sent me here as much to please your father as herself. And it is hard for her to compel me to do anything by letter, harder still if I do not reply.” He breathes a brief chuckle. “I write to her occasionally, but never about suitors. And I have not been receptive to any offers.”
His ears perk at that, eyes widening. “Offers? Might I ask who?”
“You may ask, but I may choose not to answer,” you reply coyly.
“Keep your secrets then,” he grumbles, tickling your ribs. “Have you forgiven Samantha for sending you here?”
“I try to,” your brow furrows, “she thought it was right, but I can’t pretend to understand her endless hunger for rank and riches. She never understood my lack of interest in it though- I suppose we were never much alike.” He lifts his hand and smooths your brow with his thumb, but the crease there only deepens. “I hear whispers that my brother and Alan Beesbury rise against Aegon in the Reach.”
“I heard the same,” he frowns, “have you written to him? He might see reason.”
“I did- your father advised me to when this all began. He said my brother would do well to…to think of the safety of his sister,” you stutter, remembering how Otto Hightower had stood behind you, hawkishly watching you write the words he dictated. “I think I know now why your father was so keen to have me here. Don’t mistake me, I’ve been happy enough serving your sister and I think that I may even call her a friend, but lately I’ve become little more than a hostage. A dagger against the throat of my brother and the rebellious houses of the Reach.”
Gwayne’s jaw sets in anger and he clasps your hand protectively against his chest. “You know my sister would never see you harmed, you should fear nothing while in her service.” You hesitate, deciding not to tell him that Alicent’s authority seemed to slip away a little every day now, and curl closer to him. “I regret that I cannot be here to protect you myself. Tomorrow I must away to wage my nephew’s war, to uncertainty, danger…to death perhaps.” You look up at him, but his eyes are far away.
“Please don’t speak like that,” you say softly.
“I’m sorry, my love. My thoughts turn dark, the world seems very unforgiving in these bleak days. But if this is to be my last night alive, I am very glad to have spent it in your arms.”
“The night is not over yet, Gwayne,” you whisper, raising yourself to kiss him, “not until the sun rises.”
“No,” you feel more than see his smile against your lips, “no it is not. You are mine until then, and I yours.”
“I am yours,” you whisper, “and you are mine.”
