Despite his injuries, Gwayne appears at Viserea's nameday feast. Bound by forbidden warmth and shared secrets, princess and knight escape the suffocating feast for quiet sanctuary.
Gwayne Hightower X TargaryenOC!Reader
word count: 3.3k
warnings: none
series masterlist | requests
Striding up the royal hall, Viserea took each step with a grin.
The edges of her gown were covered in dirt from her journey to visit Gwayne’s tent. On any other given day, this could have thrown her whole mood out the window. But all she could picture was Gwayne.
His smile. His voice.
The way his hand felt.
The way he called her ‘princess’.
In the same manner, everyone who walked past her drew surprised glances. It has been a while since Viserea was seen bearing a content attitude by the people in these halls.
Since Queen Aemma’s passing, she found it hard to wander past the courtyard. In every direction she turned, it bore a memory of her mother. Viserea locked herself in her chambers, afraid to venture near the weirwood tree where she took her first steps, or the room her mother bled out in.
When she was not in her room, she was in the library. If not, she was in the sky.
The guards could not keep her in the Red Keep, for she found it easier to escape her grief by riding Silverwing for miles across the realm.
For her, when she is up in the sky with the clouds, nothing else exists except her and her dragon.
No pain. No dead mother. No dead brother.
While Viserys was concealing his grief, and Rhaenyra was weighed down by the role of being her, Viserea was left alone to recover. For two years, her heart only had anger. Anger towards her father, for what he did to her mother, and for marrying Alicent. She planned on sowing these seeds of anger all her life until one man relentlessly woke her up from her grudge.
She recalls that encounter like it was yesterday. Otto Hightower visited her chambers, witnessing her so vulnerable and drained of any will to live. Her hair was in disarray, and dark circles grew beneath her eyes. Her eyes swelled from overflowing tears.
At first, he kept his distance and stood, remaining a few feet away from her. As she wiped her tears, Viserea glanced at the Hand.
“I hear you have not been eating, Viserea.” She winces at the mention of her name, especially from his mouth. “Your father will be heartbroken at your loss of appetite.”
“It is not just my appetite I have lost.” Viserea spits out. She kept her eyes on the stone floor, refusing to look at Otto’s tall, demanding figure. She heaves her chest up and down, suddenly aware of how weak and frail her bones were to even stand from the edge of her bed.
Otto slowly moved towards her, keeping his hands behind his back. He watched the young princess freeze in her place, frightened by his presence. Stopping in front of her, he bent down to meet her eye. Viserea slowly raised her head, peering at the old man’s eyes.
“Your father traded your mother’s life for the chance of fathering a son. That is what it may look like to you. But at that very moment, he took his chance, thinking that it would be a wise decision. For his family and the realm.” His words were carried away by the wind, and it struck her heart.
“You may have lost a mother, but your father has lost his wife,” Otto whispers. “I am not in a position to speak entirely of how you feel, but I am aware of how your father feels. Do not be so hard on him. That does not mean you must punish yourself.”
“Then who must I punish?” Her small voice asks.
Otto gives her an innocent smile, lightly clutching at her hand. His large, aged hand felt different against her pale, child-like skin.
“Those who must be punished, princess.”
That was the first and the last time she ever encountered Otto in such a warm and vulnerable manner. While the conversation has done her good, it still left an uncomfortable feeling on her skin, as if he was marking her. But it was not a truth she would like to admit to.
“Bāne ābra ofos bāne houros.” (The woman of the hour).
Turning her head around, she saw from the bottom of the staircase her uncle, Daemon. Viserea maintained her smile, but did not bother to step towards him.
“Kepus.” (Uncle).
“Shouldn’t you be changing for your grand entrance?” Daemon carefully strides up with a proud smile on his face, bearing no trace of his defeat not too long ago this morning.
Viserea lifts her chin, not letting his words go through her demeanor of glee. “I had other matters to attend to.”
His eyes went to the edges of her gown, pursing his lips before huffing a smug laugh. “Well, I hope it's not sweeping the dirt outside with your gown.” He points with his fingers.
She rolled her eyes at his remark. Instead of walking away, she played along. His presence bore the darkness masquerading as enlightenment, and it was best not to get consumed by it.
“You’re rather chipper for someone who lost today’s match.”
“That does not account for my many victories.” His satisfied expression quickly faded, and his shields of hostility were up. It was difficult for Viserea not to feel amused by it. Daemon may be a few things, but he certainly has his own share of skill when it comes to…arrogance.
“One I am particularly proud of is defeating Otto’s shiny, uptight son. Know of him?” Now, it was Viserea who lost her look of satisfaction. He was already underneath her skin from the mention of Gwayne’s defeat. It probably even got him off that he was once again slammed into the dirt of the arena.
As quickly as the tables had turned, did she bother to turn her back on Daemon and stride to her chambers. Without so much as throwing a glance, she could picture her uncle’s glint of dark amusement.
“Sūvī jēdo, Viserea!” (Joyous nameday, Viserea!) He yelled from afar, before his usual throat-deep laugh, his eyes flashing with a wicked glint.
The heavy air of the morning’s tourney was replaced with joyous energy for tonight’s feast. Some houses cast poisonous glances at one another, while the others interacted with a sense of civic obligation. However, at the high table, the music and clinking of goblets were a distant, unimportant buzz.
Daemon sat in his chair, slouched back, and it drove the Hand mad with his contempt. He looked less like a royal guest and more like a beast thoroughly amused by the petty squabbling of the birds caged around him. As he reached for his gold chalice, he saw Rhaenyra walk to him at the corner of his eye. Preparing himself, he gulped down a heavy sum of his wine before meeting her gaze with a smirk.
“You should not have returned, Daemon,” Rhaenyra murmured in a low tone. Displaying a close-lipped smile to the crowd, she spoke through her gritted teeth before sitting down beside him.
Daemon let out a low, throat-deep chuckle. A dry, raspy sound that carried no true warmth. He leaned in just a fraction closer, the silver hair at his temple brushing the edge of her vision.
“Viserys,” he glances towards his brother, which makes Rhaenyra follow along his direction. “Kā rāpa iksos zirto lēda dōvī riñny, pūllon se tor rēn.” (He is too soft to see the vipers in his garden, or the rot at his table.)
Rhaenyra cast a fleeting glance at Alicent and then her father, Otto, who stood nearby. Daemon noticed her line of sight and chuckled, nodding along with her quick connection.
“Bona sȳz rēb hā mēty jēdos rāenagon lēda zaldrīzes bletny. Pāpē rā rēn hā menty.” (That old man is building a cage to trap the dragon's blood. He already holds the key.) He whispers before moving away, his face and holding his chalice near his lips, peering through Otto through the rim before swallowing the wine entirely.
Rhaenyra’s bitter wandering thoughts have found their way back to her mind, glancing at Otto. At the corner of her eye, she saw Gwayne sit in a chair near the high table. Furrowing her eyebrows, she took Daemon’s word with every ounce of earnestness.
Her eyes went back and forth to Gwayne, then Otto, who stood to make his way to his son. They share a few words, unaware of her focus on them.
The heavy oak doors of the Great Hall violently swung open, and everyone’s attention along with it. The herald’s staff struck the stone floor with a deafening crack that shattered the music and silenced the whispering courtiers in an instant.
"Princess Viserea of House Targaryen, on her fifteenth nameday!" the herald bellowed, his voice echoing off the vaulted rafters.
Hundreds of lords and ladies rose from their seats, bowing low as the youngest princess stepped over the threshold. Her black and red gown from this morning was replaced with gold, shining in the same way her hair did.
Rhaenyra smoothed her expression, the protective older sister replacing the wary heir. Beside her, Daemon slouched back into his chair, his low laugh dying into a knowing, silent grin.
His eyes locked onto Viserea as she walked down the center aisle, tracking her with a sudden, sharp curiosity. While just a step below the high dais, the severe shadow of Otto loomed, his pale eyes tightening. He watches her face, her gown, and the slight hesitation in her steps, making her feel his suffocating presence before she even reaches the high table.
Viserea tried her best to keep her eyes on the crowd, glancing at the lords and ladies present. She gave courteous smiles and bows to whom she could, before turning her head to see Gwayne near the high table.
Suddenly thrown off her guard, she stops for a moment. Gwayne bows with a knightly grin, making her continue her steps. Otto watched behind his son as the princess took small steps with hesitation.
Viserea neared the high table, and behind her was Otto, who also took his place at the high table. “Come here, sweet child,” Viserys murmured. She briefly turned her head to glance at her father, as he gestured with a jewel-encrusted hand for her to ascend the steps. Her eyes went to Gwayne, who sat only a few distances from her.
As she finally sat down, Viserys’ breath came a little too short, a faint tremor shaking his fingers as he reached out to press a warm, heavy kiss to her forehead. “You outshine every tapestry in this hall tonight. Your mother would have wept to see you looking so grand.”
Oblivious to Viserys’ eyes but fairly noticeable to Otto, who sat at Viserys’ other side, her smile dropped for a moment. Viserea forced a wider grin before forcing herself to turn away, clutching at the fabric of her skirt.
It dawned on her that the whole reason today felt so incomplete was because of her mother. Her mind suddenly wandered; indeed, what would Aemma have thought of when she saw her youngest daughter tonight? Would she have wept as her father said? Or would she have had the brightest smile in the room?
She gulped down a lump in her throat, her vision beginning to feel blurry.
He pulled back, his hand lingering affectionately on her shoulder, completely oblivious to how his mention of Queen Aemma made Viserea’s chest tighten. “Sit, eat. Tonight, the realm feasts in your name! Let no heavy thoughts touch you.”
Her eagerness to dig into the meal in front of her was suddenly lost at his words.
“Princess,” Otto whispers, near her ear. “Meet Ser Harwin Strong. He won this morning’s last match.”
“Thank you, Ser Otto,” Viserea mumbles with a nod, trying to be painfully unaware of his close distance to her. While she must admit it was suffocating, she knew it was best to conceal how she felt about it.
“A well-earned victory, Ser Harwin.” She greets with a grin. Ser Harwin stood in front of her, a few steps below the high table. He was not far off his stature in the arena, but not covered with metal armor. He still resembled the mountain that threw Gwayne off balance. “You have certainly proved yourself as the strongest.”
“The honor is mine, Princess.” He replied. “A joyous nameday to you. May your coming years bring you peace, health, and a fortune worthy of your house.” Ser Harwin Strong stepped back from the royal dais with a deep, respectful bow.
Viserea watched as he once again joined the crowd, his laughter echoing across the halls along with the tune of the song. Before she could sink back into the safety of her loneliness, Otto’s shadow stretched across her plate from behind.
“You have hardly touched your plate,” Otto murmured, his voice a quiet, confidential rasp meant for her ears alone. His pale, calculating eyes locked squarely onto her face, tracking the subtle tightness around her eyes. “I noticed you faltered when the King spoke of your mother.”
Viserea’s breath felt trapped in her throat, the seed he had planted when she was young twisting sharply in her chest. She looked up into his weathered, unblinking face, feeling entirely naked under his clinical focus.
“My lord Hand, I—”
“You need not hide your grief from me.” Otto interrupted. His thin, icy fingers reach down to adjust the heavy gold necklace resting against her collarbone. His touch lingered for an agonizing second, his thumb brushing the bare skin of her neck, sending an instinctual shiver of pure dread down her spine.
It left the same amount of dread it did three years ago.
“Your father has always been wary of matters such as this. I am here to—”
“Princess.”
The familiar voice cut through the heavy, suffocating air like a drawn blade.
Otto’s hand froze, recognizing the host of the voice. He turned his head slowly, his brow furrowing sharply as Ser Gwayne Hightower stepped onto the royal dais, completely severing his father’s perimeter.
Gwayne stood rigidly with his tight and pale face. He completely ignored the severe warning glare his father leveled at him. Instead, Gwayne kept his dark eyes fixed entirely on Viserea, kneeling politely before her chair and extending his calloused hand, palm open.
Her lips curved into a smirk at his pending question.
“I apologize for intruding. If your father, the King, permits—”
“And if your injuries allow.” She cuts off. Gwayne then nods at this.
“—And if my injuries allow, I shall count myself the most fortunate man in the Seven Kingdoms to claim the first dance, which I believe you still owe me,” Gwayne said, his voice steady but carrying a rare, fierce edge of defiance that made Viserea’s heart leap.
Otto’s hand slowly dropped from her shoulder, his pale eyes narrowing as he stared down at his son. The silent, suffocating calculus between the father and his son hung heavily in the air, but Viserea did not care for it. She stood from her seat, making her way to him, and slid her fingers instantly into Gwayne's warm, calloused grip, breaking free from the shadow of Otto.
Gwayne then led them to the presence of her father, King Viserys.
“Your Grace, I wish to ask for a dance with your daughter, Princess Viserea.”
His sister, Queen Alicent, furrowed her eyebrows at his request. Viserys, however, had a look of content on his face.
“Then you shall have it, Ser Gwayne,” Viserys said.
Just as Alicent wanted to object, Gwayne, who actively and willfully denied his sister's chance, quickly went with Viserea to the crowd.
Viserea’s suffocating feeling had left her, feeling Gwayne’s hand on hers once again.
“Your bold move just now will cost you heavy glances by every knight in this room, Ser Gwayne.” She whispers.
“I have certainly earned it, my princess,” Gwayne replied with a grin, taking their place at the center of the crowd. He let go of her hand momentarily, keeping his eyes on her. A southern melody from the Reach echoed through the air, and in an instant, everyone around them danced in a synchronized manner.
Gwayne placed his right hand gently against the small of her back. Viserea let out a breath she felt she had been holding for years. But the moment she rested her left hand on his shoulder, she felt the unnatural tightness in his posture. Through the thin fabric of his doublet, she could feel the heavy linen bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.
He took his first step, and a microscopic flinch crossed his jaw, his dark eyes darkening with a flash of sharp pain.
“You are hurting,” Viserea whispered, keeping her head low to look at him closely. She tried to ease her weight off him, but his grip on her waist only tightened, pulling her a fraction closer.
“I am entirely whole, Princess,” Gwayne murmured, a faint smile breaking through the tension on his face. He swept her into a slow turn, his movements technically perfect despite the agony it caused his ribs. “Do not look at my chest. The court is watching. My father is watching.”
She knew he was right. From the high dais, Otto’s gaze followed them like a hawk tracking its prey. On the other end, Rhaenyra, Viserys, and Alicent watched them with curiosity.
“You shouldn't have interrupted him,” she said, her heart hammering against her ribs as they glided past a table of cheering Riverlords.
“I would have interrupted anyone, really. For I am honored to be in the presence of Princess Viserea Targaryen, and that I may bask in all her regal glory.”
His breath hit her cheek, warm and laced with the scent of wine.
“My, I must applaud your father for having a son with flowery words.” Viserea teased. Gwayne guided her through a graceful dip, his arm trembling slightly under the strain of her weight before smoothly pulling her back up to his chest. “Are all the knights in the Reach like you?”
“My words have substance, Princess, unlike other knights who only mean to show face.”
She scoffed. “And your act at the tourney was not to show face?”
“It was to capture your attention.”
Viserea’s breath caught. They moved in perfect synchronization now, the music swelling around them.
Feeling a smile forming on her lips, she dares to ask a question. “And why was my attention worth capturing, Ser Gwayne?”
“I was told you possess the free spirit of a princess with principle.”
“Flowery words.” Viserea rolled her eyes with a chuckle, feeling him guide her to a slow spin.
Gwyane followed her laughter. “A Targaryen princess who stood out from the rest.” His exaggerated tone made her giggle through her smile.
“You are not making your case.”
As the final notes of the song began to fade, Gwayne slowed their steps, his hand lingering on her waist for a heartbeat too long. Neither one of them wanted to finish their moment so soon. Evidently, there was already a herd of other knights and lords nearby who awaited Viserea to finish her dance with him.
Gwayne did not bother to entertain their attention and decided to break away to ask her a question.
“Well then,” Gwayne starts. “Care to join me as I prove it?” He offered up his hand once more, palm facing upwards. Viserea stared at his hand once more. Devoid of any agency she might have possessed, she took his hand and was led away from the crowd.
At this point, Viserys was talking with Otto to even notice the absence of his youngest daughter from the room. Alicent was lost in her thoughts, but Rhaenyra saw the faint silhouette of her sister leaving the room.
Despite his injuries, Gwayne appears at Viserea's nameday feast. Bound by forbidden warmth and shared secrets, princess and knight escape the suffocating feast for quiet sanctuary.
Gwayne Hightower X TargaryenOC!Reader
word count: 3.3k
warnings: none
series masterlist | requests
Striding up the royal hall, Viserea took each step with a grin.
The edges of her gown were covered in dirt from her journey to visit Gwayne’s tent. On any other given day, this could have thrown her whole mood out the window. But all she could picture was Gwayne.
His smile. His voice.
The way his hand felt.
The way he called her ‘princess’.
In the same manner, everyone who walked past her drew surprised glances. It has been a while since Viserea was seen bearing a content attitude by the people in these halls.
Since Queen Aemma’s passing, she found it hard to wander past the courtyard. In every direction she turned, it bore a memory of her mother. Viserea locked herself in her chambers, afraid to venture near the weirwood tree where she took her first steps, or the room her mother bled out in.
When she was not in her room, she was in the library. If not, she was in the sky.
The guards could not keep her in the Red Keep, for she found it easier to escape her grief by riding Silverwing for miles across the realm.
For her, when she is up in the sky with the clouds, nothing else exists except her and her dragon.
No pain. No dead mother. No dead brother.
While Viserys was concealing his grief, and Rhaenyra was weighed down by the role of being her, Viserea was left alone to recover. For two years, her heart only had anger. Anger towards her father, for what he did to her mother, and for marrying Alicent. She planned on sowing these seeds of anger all her life until one man relentlessly woke her up from her grudge.
She recalls that encounter like it was yesterday. Otto Hightower visited her chambers, witnessing her so vulnerable and drained of any will to live. Her hair was in disarray, and dark circles grew beneath her eyes. Her eyes swelled from overflowing tears.
At first, he kept his distance and stood, remaining a few feet away from her. As she wiped her tears, Viserea glanced at the Hand.
“I hear you have not been eating, Viserea.” She winces at the mention of her name, especially from his mouth. “Your father will be heartbroken at your loss of appetite.”
“It is not just my appetite I have lost.” Viserea spits out. She kept her eyes on the stone floor, refusing to look at Otto’s tall, demanding figure. She heaves her chest up and down, suddenly aware of how weak and frail her bones were to even stand from the edge of her bed.
Otto slowly moved towards her, keeping his hands behind his back. He watched the young princess freeze in her place, frightened by his presence. Stopping in front of her, he bent down to meet her eye. Viserea slowly raised her head, peering at the old man’s eyes.
“Your father traded your mother’s life for the chance of fathering a son. That is what it may look like to you. But at that very moment, he took his chance, thinking that it would be a wise decision. For his family and the realm.” His words were carried away by the wind, and it struck her heart.
“You may have lost a mother, but your father has lost his wife,” Otto whispers. “I am not in a position to speak entirely of how you feel, but I am aware of how your father feels. Do not be so hard on him. That does not mean you must punish yourself.”
“Then who must I punish?” Her small voice asks.
Otto gives her an innocent smile, lightly clutching at her hand. His large, aged hand felt different against her pale, child-like skin.
“Those who must be punished, princess.”
That was the first and the last time she ever encountered Otto in such a warm and vulnerable manner. While the conversation has done her good, it still left an uncomfortable feeling on her skin, as if he was marking her. But it was not a truth she would like to admit to.
“Bāne ābra ofos bāne houros.” (The woman of the hour).
Turning her head around, she saw from the bottom of the staircase her uncle, Daemon. Viserea maintained her smile, but did not bother to step towards him.
“Kepus.” (Uncle).
“Shouldn’t you be changing for your grand entrance?” Daemon carefully strides up with a proud smile on his face, bearing no trace of his defeat not too long ago this morning.
Viserea lifts her chin, not letting his words go through her demeanor of glee. “I had other matters to attend to.”
His eyes went to the edges of her gown, pursing his lips before huffing a smug laugh. “Well, I hope it's not sweeping the dirt outside with your gown.” He points with his fingers.
She rolled her eyes at his remark. Instead of walking away, she played along. His presence bore the darkness masquerading as enlightenment, and it was best not to get consumed by it.
“You’re rather chipper for someone who lost today’s match.”
“That does not account for my many victories.” His satisfied expression quickly faded, and his shields of hostility were up. It was difficult for Viserea not to feel amused by it. Daemon may be a few things, but he certainly has his own share of skill when it comes to…arrogance.
“One I am particularly proud of is defeating Otto’s shiny, uptight son. Know of him?” Now, it was Viserea who lost her look of satisfaction. He was already underneath her skin from the mention of Gwayne’s defeat. It probably even got him off that he was once again slammed into the dirt of the arena.
As quickly as the tables had turned, did she bother to turn her back on Daemon and stride to her chambers. Without so much as throwing a glance, she could picture her uncle’s glint of dark amusement.
“Sūvī jēdo, Viserea!” (Joyous nameday, Viserea!) He yelled from afar, before his usual throat-deep laugh, his eyes flashing with a wicked glint.
The heavy air of the morning’s tourney was replaced with joyous energy for tonight’s feast. Some houses cast poisonous glances at one another, while the others interacted with a sense of civic obligation. However, at the high table, the music and clinking of goblets were a distant, unimportant buzz.
Daemon sat in his chair, slouched back, and it drove the Hand mad with his contempt. He looked less like a royal guest and more like a beast thoroughly amused by the petty squabbling of the birds caged around him. As he reached for his gold chalice, he saw Rhaenyra walk to him at the corner of his eye. Preparing himself, he gulped down a heavy sum of his wine before meeting her gaze with a smirk.
“You should not have returned, Daemon,” Rhaenyra murmured in a low tone. Displaying a close-lipped smile to the crowd, she spoke through her gritted teeth before sitting down beside him.
Daemon let out a low, throat-deep chuckle. A dry, raspy sound that carried no true warmth. He leaned in just a fraction closer, the silver hair at his temple brushing the edge of her vision.
“Viserys,” he glances towards his brother, which makes Rhaenyra follow along his direction. “Kā rāpa iksos zirto lēda dōvī riñny, pūllon se tor rēn.” (He is too soft to see the vipers in his garden, or the rot at his table.)
Rhaenyra cast a fleeting glance at Alicent and then her father, Otto, who stood nearby. Daemon noticed her line of sight and chuckled, nodding along with her quick connection.
“Bona sȳz rēb hā mēty jēdos rāenagon lēda zaldrīzes bletny. Pāpē rā rēn hā menty.” (That old man is building a cage to trap the dragon's blood. He already holds the key.) He whispers before moving away, his face and holding his chalice near his lips, peering through Otto through the rim before swallowing the wine entirely.
Rhaenyra’s bitter wandering thoughts have found their way back to her mind, glancing at Otto. At the corner of her eye, she saw Gwayne sit in a chair near the high table. Furrowing her eyebrows, she took Daemon’s word with every ounce of earnestness.
Her eyes went back and forth to Gwayne, then Otto, who stood to make his way to his son. They share a few words, unaware of her focus on them.
The heavy oak doors of the Great Hall violently swung open, and everyone’s attention along with it. The herald’s staff struck the stone floor with a deafening crack that shattered the music and silenced the whispering courtiers in an instant.
"Princess Viserea of House Targaryen, on her fifteenth nameday!" the herald bellowed, his voice echoing off the vaulted rafters.
Hundreds of lords and ladies rose from their seats, bowing low as the youngest princess stepped over the threshold. Her black and red gown from this morning was replaced with gold, shining in the same way her hair did.
Rhaenyra smoothed her expression, the protective older sister replacing the wary heir. Beside her, Daemon slouched back into his chair, his low laugh dying into a knowing, silent grin.
His eyes locked onto Viserea as she walked down the center aisle, tracking her with a sudden, sharp curiosity. While just a step below the high dais, the severe shadow of Otto loomed, his pale eyes tightening. He watches her face, her gown, and the slight hesitation in her steps, making her feel his suffocating presence before she even reaches the high table.
Viserea tried her best to keep her eyes on the crowd, glancing at the lords and ladies present. She gave courteous smiles and bows to whom she could, before turning her head to see Gwayne near the high table.
Suddenly thrown off her guard, she stops for a moment. Gwayne bows with a knightly grin, making her continue her steps. Otto watched behind his son as the princess took small steps with hesitation.
Viserea neared the high table, and behind her was Otto, who also took his place at the high table. “Come here, sweet child,” Viserys murmured. She briefly turned her head to glance at her father, as he gestured with a jewel-encrusted hand for her to ascend the steps. Her eyes went to Gwayne, who sat only a few distances from her.
As she finally sat down, Viserys’ breath came a little too short, a faint tremor shaking his fingers as he reached out to press a warm, heavy kiss to her forehead. “You outshine every tapestry in this hall tonight. Your mother would have wept to see you looking so grand.”
Oblivious to Viserys’ eyes but fairly noticeable to Otto, who sat at Viserys’ other side, her smile dropped for a moment. Viserea forced a wider grin before forcing herself to turn away, clutching at the fabric of her skirt.
It dawned on her that the whole reason today felt so incomplete was because of her mother. Her mind suddenly wandered; indeed, what would Aemma have thought of when she saw her youngest daughter tonight? Would she have wept as her father said? Or would she have had the brightest smile in the room?
She gulped down a lump in her throat, her vision beginning to feel blurry.
He pulled back, his hand lingering affectionately on her shoulder, completely oblivious to how his mention of Queen Aemma made Viserea’s chest tighten. “Sit, eat. Tonight, the realm feasts in your name! Let no heavy thoughts touch you.”
Her eagerness to dig into the meal in front of her was suddenly lost at his words.
“Princess,” Otto whispers, near her ear. “Meet Ser Harwin Strong. He won this morning’s last match.”
“Thank you, Ser Otto,” Viserea mumbles with a nod, trying to be painfully unaware of his close distance to her. While she must admit it was suffocating, she knew it was best to conceal how she felt about it.
“A well-earned victory, Ser Harwin.” She greets with a grin. Ser Harwin stood in front of her, a few steps below the high table. He was not far off his stature in the arena, but not covered with metal armor. He still resembled the mountain that threw Gwayne off balance. “You have certainly proved yourself as the strongest.”
“The honor is mine, Princess.” He replied. “A joyous nameday to you. May your coming years bring you peace, health, and a fortune worthy of your house.” Ser Harwin Strong stepped back from the royal dais with a deep, respectful bow.
Viserea watched as he once again joined the crowd, his laughter echoing across the halls along with the tune of the song. Before she could sink back into the safety of her loneliness, Otto’s shadow stretched across her plate from behind.
“You have hardly touched your plate,” Otto murmured, his voice a quiet, confidential rasp meant for her ears alone. His pale, calculating eyes locked squarely onto her face, tracking the subtle tightness around her eyes. “I noticed you faltered when the King spoke of your mother.”
Viserea’s breath felt trapped in her throat, the seed he had planted when she was young twisting sharply in her chest. She looked up into his weathered, unblinking face, feeling entirely naked under his clinical focus.
“My lord Hand, I—”
“You need not hide your grief from me.” Otto interrupted. His thin, icy fingers reach down to adjust the heavy gold necklace resting against her collarbone. His touch lingered for an agonizing second, his thumb brushing the bare skin of her neck, sending an instinctual shiver of pure dread down her spine.
It left the same amount of dread it did three years ago.
“Your father has always been wary of matters such as this. I am here to—”
“Princess.”
The familiar voice cut through the heavy, suffocating air like a drawn blade.
Otto’s hand froze, recognizing the host of the voice. He turned his head slowly, his brow furrowing sharply as Ser Gwayne Hightower stepped onto the royal dais, completely severing his father’s perimeter.
Gwayne stood rigidly with his tight and pale face. He completely ignored the severe warning glare his father leveled at him. Instead, Gwayne kept his dark eyes fixed entirely on Viserea, kneeling politely before her chair and extending his calloused hand, palm open.
Her lips curved into a smirk at his pending question.
“I apologize for intruding. If your father, the King, permits—”
“And if your injuries allow.” She cuts off. Gwayne then nods at this.
“—And if my injuries allow, I shall count myself the most fortunate man in the Seven Kingdoms to claim the first dance, which I believe you still owe me,” Gwayne said, his voice steady but carrying a rare, fierce edge of defiance that made Viserea’s heart leap.
Otto’s hand slowly dropped from her shoulder, his pale eyes narrowing as he stared down at his son. The silent, suffocating calculus between the father and his son hung heavily in the air, but Viserea did not care for it. She stood from her seat, making her way to him, and slid her fingers instantly into Gwayne's warm, calloused grip, breaking free from the shadow of Otto.
Gwayne then led them to the presence of her father, King Viserys.
“Your Grace, I wish to ask for a dance with your daughter, Princess Viserea.”
His sister, Queen Alicent, furrowed her eyebrows at his request. Viserys, however, had a look of content on his face.
“Then you shall have it, Ser Gwayne,” Viserys said.
Just as Alicent wanted to object, Gwayne, who actively and willfully denied his sister's chance, quickly went with Viserea to the crowd.
Viserea’s suffocating feeling had left her, feeling Gwayne’s hand on hers once again.
“Your bold move just now will cost you heavy glances by every knight in this room, Ser Gwayne.” She whispers.
“I have certainly earned it, my princess,” Gwayne replied with a grin, taking their place at the center of the crowd. He let go of her hand momentarily, keeping his eyes on her. A southern melody from the Reach echoed through the air, and in an instant, everyone around them danced in a synchronized manner.
Gwayne placed his right hand gently against the small of her back. Viserea let out a breath she felt she had been holding for years. But the moment she rested her left hand on his shoulder, she felt the unnatural tightness in his posture. Through the thin fabric of his doublet, she could feel the heavy linen bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.
He took his first step, and a microscopic flinch crossed his jaw, his dark eyes darkening with a flash of sharp pain.
“You are hurting,” Viserea whispered, keeping her head low to look at him closely. She tried to ease her weight off him, but his grip on her waist only tightened, pulling her a fraction closer.
“I am entirely whole, Princess,” Gwayne murmured, a faint smile breaking through the tension on his face. He swept her into a slow turn, his movements technically perfect despite the agony it caused his ribs. “Do not look at my chest. The court is watching. My father is watching.”
She knew he was right. From the high dais, Otto’s gaze followed them like a hawk tracking its prey. On the other end, Rhaenyra, Viserys, and Alicent watched them with curiosity.
“You shouldn't have interrupted him,” she said, her heart hammering against her ribs as they glided past a table of cheering Riverlords.
“I would have interrupted anyone, really. For I am honored to be in the presence of Princess Viserea Targaryen, and that I may bask in all her regal glory.”
His breath hit her cheek, warm and laced with the scent of wine.
“My, I must applaud your father for having a son with flowery words.” Viserea teased. Gwayne guided her through a graceful dip, his arm trembling slightly under the strain of her weight before smoothly pulling her back up to his chest. “Are all the knights in the Reach like you?”
“My words have substance, Princess, unlike other knights who only mean to show face.”
She scoffed. “And your act at the tourney was not to show face?”
“It was to capture your attention.”
Viserea’s breath caught. They moved in perfect synchronization now, the music swelling around them.
Feeling a smile forming on her lips, she dares to ask a question. “And why was my attention worth capturing, Ser Gwayne?”
“I was told you possess the free spirit of a princess with principle.”
“Flowery words.” Viserea rolled her eyes with a chuckle, feeling him guide her to a slow spin.
Gwyane followed her laughter. “A Targaryen princess who stood out from the rest.” His exaggerated tone made her giggle through her smile.
“You are not making your case.”
As the final notes of the song began to fade, Gwayne slowed their steps, his hand lingering on her waist for a heartbeat too long. Neither one of them wanted to finish their moment so soon. Evidently, there was already a herd of other knights and lords nearby who awaited Viserea to finish her dance with him.
Gwayne did not bother to entertain their attention and decided to break away to ask her a question.
“Well then,” Gwayne starts. “Care to join me as I prove it?” He offered up his hand once more, palm facing upwards. Viserea stared at his hand once more. Devoid of any agency she might have possessed, she took his hand and was led away from the crowd.
At this point, Viserys was talking with Otto to even notice the absence of his youngest daughter from the room. Alicent was lost in her thoughts, but Rhaenyra saw the faint silhouette of her sister leaving the room.
I'm gonna mourn him like you guys mourned rhaenyra's twink RIP goat you never did anything good in your life and died as a consequence of your own actions I'm gonna miss you forever
I am once again begging people to realize that AI checker doesn’t work. it’s never worked. it’s notoriously known to have flagged human-made works as AI and AI-generated works as human-made. and by feeding it people’s works, you are feeding more works to AI, because apparently the machine itself is AI.
the only thing AI checker does is harm genuine artists and people in general too.
I can't with the double standards in this fandom when olenna tyrell weaponizes her gay relatives to terrorise a blonde woman and put her bloodline on the iron throne every calls her "queen" and "woke grandma" 🙄 but when I, otto hightower
So happy with how House of the Dragon ended. My queen is on her throne and Otto Hightower is dead. There will be 100 years of peace, everyone is happy, and ALL the dragons will be perfectly fine!!
♥️🐉👸☮️🔥🖤
No, I will not be accepting all this talk of “six more episodes and another season”, you all are delusional.
