could I ask for a Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader- where the reader is on team black and he is obviously on green, And he sees her on dragon back during one of the battles he’s apart of ?
back to you | g.h
Pairings: Gwayne Hightower x Wife!Reader
Summary: at Rock’s Rest you find more than battle
WARNINGS: angst, hurt to comfort, reader is team black, reader is Rhaenyra’s sister, reader is mentioned to have silver hair, my man is desperate in this one
A/n: bring back men yearning pls
masterlist | wc: 6.3k
THE ROAR of dragons tore violently through the sky, and you felt it vibrate in your bones even before Cannibal spread his immense black wings over the battlefield of Rook's Rest. The air was so thick with smoke it burned your lungs with every breath, heavy with the acrid stench of ash, freshly spilled blood, and the metallic tang of clashing weapons. Beneath you, the battle stretched to the edge of the forest like a vast open wound carved into the earth: thousands of men fought amid agonized screams and frantic neighing, tattered banners whipped through the flames, while shattered catapults and overturned wagons littered the ground with splintered wood and lifeless bodies. From the sky everything seemed small, and yet you could make out every detail, every knight struck down, every blade sinking into flesh. Cannibal let out a low, rumbling growl, his massive body trembling beneath you, eager to descend into what, for him, was nothing more than a feast.
Your eyes were fixed on Rhaenys Targaryen. She had fought like a queen, like a legend destined to be remembered for centuries, and even from that distance you could see the fierce elegance with which she guided Meleys through smoke and fire. You had arrived too late. Fate had already chosen for her. You watched the enormous jaws of Vhagar close around the red dragon's neck with a brutality that stole your breath, the sound of bones breaking blending with Meleys' desperate roar, and for a moment time seemed to slow to a halt. Then the dragon fell. It dropped like a star devoured by the sky, crashing into the castle walls below in an explosion of stone, fire, and dust. The impact made even Cannibal shudder, and a towering column of flames surged upward, swallowing everything. You gripped the saddle so tightly your fingers ached, as a dull, savage pain tore through your chest.
Cannibal roared, and his cry echoed across the mountains and over the battlefield, forcing men and horses alike to pause for a fleeting instant. Even Vhagar seemed to stiffen. Atop the oldest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms, Aemond Targaryen slowly turned his head toward you. His single eye narrowed, immediately recognizing the dark shape of Cannibal emerging from the clouds like an omen of death. A faint, almost amused smile touched his lips. He knew you. He could read the fury consuming you better than anyone, because that same fury ran in his blood as well. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Brother and sister remained suspended above an army that continued slaughtering itself, watching one another like two predators deciding which would devour the other.
Below, Gwayne Hightower, the man who had become your husband only a few years earlier, found himself unable to breathe. He saw you emerge from the sea of smoke with a determination he had never forgotten, Cannibal's vast wings spread like a shadow capable of blotting out the sun itself. For a moment, the clash of swords, the cries of the wounded, the noise of armor, and the crackle of flames all vanished. The world seemed to shrink until it held only you. You, who had once shared his bed in the silent chambers of Oldtown. You, who in rare moments of peace had spoken his name with softness. You, who laughed so quietly that he had to lean closer just to hear you. You, who now rode toward death. His fingers tightened unconsciously around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He had spent the past weeks trying to convince himself he had forgotten you, that he had buried every feeling along with your broken marriage. He had told himself the war had erased everything, that oaths mattered more than love, that you now belonged to different worlds. And yet one glimpse of you was enough to shatter every lie he had so carefully built.
He still loved you. He understood it with brutal clarity as he watched you lean forward in the saddle, completely fused with your dragon. He could still remember the warmth of your skin against his, the scent of your hair when you fell asleep on his chest, the way you would look away whenever he tried to kiss you first, only to make him chase you with a laugh. In truth, he had always been the desperate one. He was the one who sought your lips with impatience, who chased every small gesture of affection as though it were a privilege. You never denied him, but you always made him earn it, and that was what he missed most. Not the caresses, not the kisses, but the constant need you had created within him, that hunger for your presence that no other woman had ever been able to satisfy. He looked at you now, smeared with ash, infinitely different from the girl he had married and yet exactly the same. Still capable of breaking his heart with a single glance. He wanted to meet you in the ashes of your yesterdays when life was easier, waiting where the light used to fall, recalling what you had when present felt empty. Learning how to miss you.
He understood it completely the moment Cannibal lowered his head and plunged into a dive toward Vhagar. The sky itself seemed to crack under the force of the impending collision. Gwayne stepped forward without even realizing it, as though reaching out a hand might somehow touch you up there. "Don't do it..." he whispered, but his words were swallowed by the chaos of battle, lost to the wind and the thunder of dragons. No one heard him, not even you. Perhaps that was for the best, because he knew you well enough to understand that you would not have stopped anyway.
You faced your brother without the slightest hesitation. There was no fear in your movements, no doubt, not even the faintest trace of mercy. Only fury, fueled by the grief of Rhaenys's death and years of smoldering resentment. Cannibal opened his jaws, revealing rows of enormous, jagged teeth, and his roar made the air tremble before a torrent of black and red flame engulfed Vhagar. Aemond's dragon answered at once, unleashing a blaze so vast it resembled a burning wall. The two infernos collided in the sky, creating a storm of sparks and ash that rained down upon the battlefield like fire. Below them, men screamed and scrambled for cover, while terrified horses broke ranks, trampling friend and foe alike. Aemond guided Vhagar with precision, every command delivered through the slightest shift of his body, while you responded with equal instinct, as if Cannibal were an extension of your own will. The two dragons crashed into each other with devastating force, claw against claw, wing against wing, locking together in a violent dance that seemed to shake the very air.
It was an impossible battle. Gwayne knew it. Everyone did. Vhagar was the oldest, the largest, the most powerful of the living dragons. Every battle she had fought had carved scars into her immense body, shaping her into a creature that seemed made for war. Cannibal, for all his ferocity and wildness, was still younger, smaller, forced to make up with speed what he lacked in strength. And yet he did not yield an inch. He continued to assault Vhagar with relentless determination, forcing even the colossal dragon to recoil beneath the violence of his attacks. Gwayne followed every movement, his heart clenched in a vice. He saw you lean from the saddle as the wind lashed your ash-streaked hair, saw blood running down your temple without you seeming to notice, saw your eyes burning with rage. It was the same expression you had worn the day of your separation, the day he had spoken the words that destroyed you both, confessing that he would fight for Aegon. He still remembered the silence that followed, far more painful than any scream. In that moment, you had understood that something between you had broken forever.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. Cannibal seized a fleeting opening in Vhagar's guard and lunged at the massive dragon's neck with savage ferocity. His jaws snapped shut with a terrifying crack, sinking his teeth into the ancient armored scales until they pierced through. The roar that erupted from Vhagar's throat was so powerful it made the sky tremble, a sound filled with pain and fury that echoed for miles and brought the battle to a stunned, fleeting halt. Dark blood streamed down the old dragon's neck, evaporating almost instantly in the heat of the flames. Vhagar writhed violently, trying to break free from the grip, while Aemond pulled hard on the reins, shouting commands in the tongue of Old Valyria. Cannibal did not let go. He tightened his hold with relentless determination, intent on tearing flesh down to the bone. Below, Gwayne held his breath, unable even to blink.
Vhagar crashed to the ground with brutal force. Her enormous claws sank into the blood-soaked earth, shattering stone, wagons, and bodies alike without distinction, while a wave of dust and debris rose all around her, forcing men and horses to retreat in panic. The thunderous beat of her wings swept away already-tattered banners, feeding the fires that devoured Rook's Rest, and her roar echoed through the broken castle walls. You did not hesitate for even a moment. You pulled sharply on Cannibal's reins, guiding him with the weight of your body, and the dragon understood your command before you spoke a single word. With a powerful beat of his wings, he soared back into the sky, leaving behind the black smoke and flames that reflected across his dark scales. You were finally satisfied.
Below, Gwayne Hightower followed your every movement without even noticing what was happening around him. The screams of soldiers, the clash of steel, the shouted orders, all of it reached him as though muffled and distant, as if he were submerged underwater. Only you existed. His eyes could not leave your figure as you slowly pulled away above the battlefield, higher and higher, closer to the smoke-blackened clouds. That was when something caught his attention. A short distance away, among the charred remains of a collapsed tower, an archer stood as still as a statue. He was filthy with dirt and blood, his face smeared with soot, his hands trembling so badly it seemed impossible that he could still draw a bow. And yet his gaze was steady, fixed on you. The arrow was already nocked, ready to fly. For one terrible instant, Gwayne saw clearly the path it would take. His body made the decision long before his mind did.
It was as if he moved on instinct alone, adrenaline suddenly surging through his veins. In a few strides he reached the man, slamming into him hard enough to make him stagger. But the archer's fingers had already released the string. The arrow flew regardless, slicing through the air with a thin, deadly whistle, so fast it was almost invisible. Gwayne lifted his gaze at once, unable even to breathe. He felt his heart pounding so violently it hurt, as he followed that slender line of death climbing into the sky.
The arrow that would have surely struck your heart hit your shoulder instead. Even from that distance, he saw your body jolt from the impact. Blood splattered across Cannibal's black scales, staining the already dirtied fabric of your clothing, while your face twisted in a sudden grimace of pain that made his stomach tighten. Your body wavered dangerously on the dragon's back. One hand reached desperately for purchase on the saddle, the other instinctively grasped the wound. For a long, endless moment, it truly seemed as though you might fall.
Gwayne felt a scream rise in his chest, but he could not release it. It remained trapped there, choked into nothing more than a broken breath. "No..." he managed to whisper, his voice so weak it was swallowed instantly by the wind.
Then he saw you react. With sheer stubbornness, you clenched your teeth and slowly straightened in the saddle. Your hand trembled as it grasped the shaft of the arrow lodged in your flesh, but you did not try to pull it free. You simply pressed your palm against the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the blood that continued to run down your arm. Cannibal, sensing your pain, let out a low, uneasy growl, but continued to climb, obedient to your commands. Gwayne released a trembling breath he had not even realized he was holding. He had saved you. He had changed the course of that arrow. He had betrayed his men, his oath, his very house. He had done it for you. He had chosen you. He watched you grow smaller and smaller against the gray sky, his chest rising in uneven, ragged breaths, unable to find a rhythm.
And then he saw you fall.
Your hand slipped. Your fingers, weakened by blood loss, slowly lost their grip on the saddle. Gwayne's eyes widened. For a moment, he convinced himself you would recover once more, that you would seize the reins again, that Cannibal would correct his flight. You were strong, the strongest woman he ever knew. But it did not happen. He watched you slip from the dragon's back in slow motion. Your body separated from the saddle and hung suspended in the void for a fraction of a second before being swallowed by the sky.
"No." This time the word left his lips with more force, but it was still too small, too fragile to reach you.
His heart seemed to stop. Gwayne took a step forward, then another, without even knowing where he was going. He kept staring at the sky like a madman, reaching out a hand in your direction, as though the distance between you might suddenly vanish, as though wanting it enough could make it so. But you were too far away, too high above him. And he was only a man, with a sword too heavy in his hands and too much love in his heart, bound to a ground that would never let him reach you. He watched you fall, powerless to do anything at all. Your hair scattered in the air, and from that distance your face seemed strangely serene. At peace, as if the war and all its suffering had suddenly been stripped away from you. Then your body disappeared beyond the veil of smoke and low clouds, swallowed by a void Gwayne could not see.
The noise of battle returned all at once, crashing over him with unbearable force. Everything felt too loud, too close. Gwayne stood frozen in the chaos, his eyes still fixed on the place where you had vanished. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and his sword nearly slipped from his grasp, held only by a strength that was no longer there. He could not move. He could not even think. He saw the moment again and again in his mind. He had tried to save you. He had seen the arrow. He had acted without hesitation. If he had not struck that archer, the shaft would have pierced your heart and killed you instantly. And yet it had not been enough. He had only changed where the wound landed. Only delayed the inevitable.
A cold, unbearable emptiness began to consume his chest, hollowing him out from within, stealing the breath from his lungs. His knees nearly gave way beneath him, and he had to drive the tip of his sword into the ground to keep from collapsing. He felt his heart tightening more and more, as though an invisible hand were crushing it without mercy. All his life, he had tried to be the man others expected him to be, a good knight, a worthy son of his house, a man faithful to his oaths. And he had failed. He had tried to be a good husband too, when he had still had the chance, but he had failed at that as well. Every choice he had made, every sacrifice he had endured, seemed to have led him inevitably to this exact moment. You had fallen anyway. The arrow had reached you anyway. And he had not been able to stop it.
He slowly raised a hand to his face, brushing at his eyes as though wiping away the tears threatening to fall might also erase the image of what he had just seen. But the memory of your body falling into the void remained etched behind his eyelids with brutal clarity. The more he tried to push it away, the more vivid it became, the heavier the weight of guilt pressed against his chest. Perhaps this was his punishment. For the selfishness that was planted in the human body. Perhaps the gods were punishing him for his greed. He had wanted both, had demanded to keep the honor of his house and, at the same time, the love of the woman he had lost. He had believed he could serve two masters without losing anything. And the gods, as they always did, had claimed the price of that illusion.
Night fell slowly over Crow's Rest, swallowing everything in its darkness, erasing every trace of the battle. The last cries of the wounded had faded one by one, replaced by the low crackling of fires lit among the ranks of the victorious army. Tongues of flame flickered in the night wind, casting brief light upon exhausted faces smeared with dried blood, soot, and dirt, eyes reddened by fatigue and war, hands still unable to stop trembling after hours spent gripping a sword. The acrid smell of smoke lingered everywhere, mingling with that of burned flesh, worn leather, and blood soaking into the ground. Here and there someone laughed; others drank in silence, staring into the void with hollow gazes, too drained even to speak. The crows had already begun gathering in the trees at the edges of the battlefield, patient and still, waiting for morning to claim their feast.
Among the soldiers, the same words passed from mouth to mouth, whispered beside the fires. They said the battle was over, at least for that day. They said Vhagar had survived, though gravely wounded, and that Cannibal had vanished into the sky, never to return. But above all, they said that you were dead. That after falling from your dragon's back, you had plunged into the lake beyond the forest, swallowed by the black waters without leaving a trace. Some even claimed they had seen your body disappear beneath the surface. Others swore no one could survive such a fall. Each time your name was spoken, it was followed by a satisfied laugh. To many, you had been nothing more than a traitorous princess who had met the fate she deserved.
Gwayne Hightower, however, could not believe a single word of it. He simply could not. Sitting a short distance from the others, his back resting against the rough trunk of a great oak at the edge of the encampment, he stared straight ahead without truly seeing anything. His cloak was still stained with mud and dried blood, his armor scratched in several places, barely reflecting the flickering light of the nearest fire. His hands lay motionless on his knees, as still as those of a statue. Around him, the camp slowly drifted to sleep. Some soldiers continued recounting moments from the battle, their voices thick with exhaustion and wine. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else wept, believing no one was watching. The blacksmiths gradually extinguished their makeshift forges, the stablehands checked on the last surviving horses, and little by little every sound seemed to fade, becoming muffled and distant. Gwayne had the distinct sensation of standing behind an invisible barrier that separated him from the rest of the world. His body was present, but his mind remained suspended in the sky, in the exact moment he had seen you fall.
No matter how hard he tried to distract himself, it took only the briefest closing of his eyes for it all to begin again. He saw the archer. The arrow leaving the bowstring. The moment he struck the soldier in a desperate attempt to deflect the shot. Then he saw the bolt reach you anyway, burying itself in your shoulder with a violence that stole his breath. He saw the blood staining your dress. Your hand clutching desperately at the wound. Your fingers slowly losing their grip on the saddle. Your body tilting ever so slightly. And finally, the fall. Again, and again, and again. Each time, his stomach twisted painfully, forcing him to bend forward. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his eyelids until it nearly hurt, as if physical pain might erase what tormented his mind. But it did not work. The image remained there, seared behind his eyes with unbearable clarity. The more he tried to push it away, the more vividly it returned, as though the Gods liked the way it devoured him from within. All he could do was relive it and hope, somehow, to earn forgiveness for his sins.
A long, trembling breath slipped from his lips as he slowly ran a hand over his weary face. Beneath his fingers he felt skin caked with dirt and dried blood, and the cut he had taken across his cheek during the fight. He was exhausted, but he knew he would not sleep. Around the fires, some soldiers drank to their victory. They had accepted your death with a readiness that made him sick. They called you a traitor. They laughed, imagining your body dragged to the bottom of the lake. Someone even claimed that Cannibal had abandoned you, unable to save his own rider. Gwayne had clenched his jaw until he tasted blood, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to tear it, just to keep himself from rising and striking the first man who dared speak your name with such contempt.
Dragons fell, and their riders died. It had always been so. Ever since the Dance of the Dragons had begun, every battle had claimed its toll of fire and blood. It was the fate of those who rode such creatures, everyone knew it. Everyone accepted it. But that simple truth did nothing to comfort him. Because to him, you had never been merely a rider. You were not just a Targaryen princess. You were not simply a name destined to appear in the songs of bards.
You were his wife. The woman before whom he had spoken vows he believed eternal. The girl he had learned to love long before politics, war, and the duties of your respective houses forced you apart. You had been his home, his refuge, his greatest weakness and even greater undoing. Even after your separation, even after finding yourselves on opposing sides, he had never stopped thinking of you. He had tried to convince himself otherwise, of course. He had told himself that time would heal every wound, that distance would extinguish that feeling that picked at his chest. But every attempt had failed miserably. You had remained his greatest regret. His ruin. And, despite everything, you were still his only love.
When the last fire in the camp dwindled to a bed of reddish embers and even the final conversations faded into silence, broken only by the snores of sleeping soldiers, Gwayne knew he could not remain still a moment longer. He rose slowly, careful not to make a sound. His joints protested from the strain of the day, but he did not notice. He adjusted his cloak over his shoulders, left his sword sheathed, and walked away without looking back. He moved between the tents like a silent shadow, avoiding the sleeping men and the sentries who watched the forest with heavy eyes. Each step carried him farther from the camp and closer to the place where you had vanished. He did not truly know what he was searching for, perhaps only a body to mourn, a grave before which he could kneel. Perhaps he needed to see with his own eyes the final proof of your death, because a part of him stubbornly refused to believe it.
The forest welcomed him with silence. The trees towered high above his head, turning the moonlight into thin blades of silver that barely pierced the dense weave of branches. The ground was damp, covered in leaves and moss that muffled his steps, while the wind stirred the treetops, producing a constant rustling like an incomprehensible whisper. Now and then a broken branch cracked beneath his boots, or a nocturnal creature fled through the underbrush, but otherwise the forest seemed to hold its breath with him. The air was far colder than in the camp, damp and heavy. Each breath filled his lungs with a painful sensation, yet he kept walking without slowing. His heart beat faster with every step, feeding a hope he desperately tried to smother, for fear it would destroy him.
When at last the trees began to thin and the lake appeared before his eyes, Gwayne stopped instinctively. The water lay still as a black mirror, so dark it seemed bottomless. The moon reflected upon its surface in trembling fragments, barely disturbed by the wind, while a thin mist began to rise from the shore. No sound came from the water. No ripple. No sign to tell what had happened only hours before.
Gwayne swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "Please..." he whispered hoarsely, not knowing whether he was praying to the gods, to the lake, or to you. It was a desperate plea, spoken without even realizing it.
He began to walk slowly along the shore, his eyes darting frantically from one point to another. He searched every reflection, every log carried by the water, every dark shape lying among the stones and reeds. His hands trembled so violently that he had to clench them repeatedly to keep from losing all control. The farther he went, the more despair grew within him. He was ready to throw himself into the lake without a second thought if only he glimpsed a fragment of your cloak beneath the water. He did not care about the depth, nor the cold. He did not even care about dying. He only kept searching for you, with the same stubborn determination he had always had when it came to you.
Then, suddenly, his gaze stopped. You were there, lying on the shore, motionless, just a few steps from the dark water. Your hair, still wet, spread in disarray over the damp grass like threads of silver in the moonlight. Your clothes were soaked with water and blood, clinging heavily to your body, while one of your arms lay abandoned at your side. For a long, endless moment, Gwayne stood completely still. His heart nearly stopped, and terror seized his throat so tightly he could not even breathe. From that distance he could not see the rise and fall of your chest. He could not tell whether you were breathing. And his greatest fear, the one that had driven every step he had taken toward the lake, rose up once more to devour him. He feared he had arrived too late. He feared the gods had made a mockery of him.
Gwayne lunged forward, breathless, running along the uneven shore of the lake without regard for the slippery stones, the low branches that scratched his face, or the mud that slowed his steps. The only thing he could see was you. Every beat of his heart felt like a blow struck directly against his ribs, so fast it stole his breath. When he finally reached you, he dropped to his knees beside you, splashing water and mud across his cloak. For a moment he remained completely still, unable to convince himself that you were truly there. He stared at you with a terrified expression, as if a single wrong movement might make you vanish before his eyes. Then his hands, trembling uncontrollably, moved slowly toward your face. He brushed your forehead gently, as though he feared even the pressure of his own fingers. He caressed your cold cheeks, still damp with lake water, tracing the line of your jaw down to your neck in a desperate attempt to feel a pulse. A strand of silver hair, stuck to your skin, covered part of your face. He moved it aside with infinite care, letting his fingers linger briefly in your hair in a gesture so familiar it almost hurt him. How many times had he done the same in your chambers in Oldtown, when you fell asleep beside him with your face hidden against his chest? How many times had he watched those strands spread across the pillow, convincing himself that such happiness would last forever? Now that same hand trembled too violently to even touch you.
He was already sinking into the abyss of despair when it happened.
A faint breath, barely perceptible, slipped from your parted lips, breaking the silence of the lake. It was the slightest whisper, so weak that another man might not even have noticed it. But Gwayne felt it, felt it with every fiber of his being. His eyes flew open in disbelief as the world seemed to halt around him once more. He remained motionless for a few seconds, almost afraid he had imagined it. Then your chest rose slightly, in a slow, labored movement, but enough to shatter, in a single instant, all the pain that had suffocated him until then.
A broken sound escaped his lips before he could stop it, something between an incredulous laugh and a choked sob. Tears stung his eyes, but he made no attempt to hide them. "You're alive..." he murmured softly, as though he feared that speaking the words too loudly might frighten the gods into taking back what they had just spared him. He was definitely a selfish, selfish man. "You're alive..." he repeated, this time with his face bent close to yours, as if he needed to hear the words from his own lips to truly believe they were real.
Urgency immediately replaced his astonishment. Gwayne roused himself, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and without wasting another moment he seized the edge of his cloak. With a sharp tear, he ripped a long strip of fabric from it, ignoring the sound of the cloth splitting. His fingers were clumsy, made awkward by fear and cold, yet he tried to press the makeshift bandage gently against the wound still bleeding on your shoulder. The arrow was gone, likely broken during the fall or lost in the waters of the lake, but the blood continued to seep slowly, soaking your already drenched clothes. Each time the fabric darkened with red, Gwayne's heart seemed to tighten further. He lifted you with the utmost care, slipping one arm behind your back and the other beneath your legs just enough to move you away from the shore. He drew you against his chest, trying to shield you from the cold night and the damp ground. At once he felt the weight of your body yield against him as he had never felt before. Your breathing, weak but present, broke against his armor and passed through the fabric of his tunic to reach his skin. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
"Stay with me..." he whispered, his voice breaking as he lowered his head until it brushed against your forehead. "Please... stay. Don't leave me now."
For several endless moments, he feared you had not heard him at all. Then your lashes began to tremble softly. Your eyelids lifted with agonizing slowness, as if even that simple movement required immense effort. Your eyes, still clouded with confusion and pain, wandered aimlessly before finally settling on his face. You looked at him for a long time in silence, your expression lost and distant. It was as if you were trying to remember where you were, or perhaps simply trying to understand whether he was real. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Gwayne held even his breath, terrified that this fragile connection might shatter.
You continued to stare at him. Your lips parted slightly and, in a voice so faint it nearly blended with the wind through the trees, you asked: "Am I dead?"
Those words pierced his heart. Gwayne shook his head immediately, leaning closer to you. One hand remained firm behind your back, the other still cradled your face as if he feared you might vanish at any moment. "No." The answer came too quickly, broken by emotion. "No... you're here. You're alive." He swallowed hard, but the words poured out of him uncontrollably, dragged forth by weeks of silence and a guilt he could no longer contain. "I'm sorry..." he whispered, lowering his gaze briefly before searching for yours again. "I'm so sorry. I... I didn't mean— I saw that man. I thought that if I could stop him..." His voice broke. He drew a deep breath, but it did nothing to steady the tremor in his chest. "If I hadn't intervened, maybe... maybe the arrow would have taken a different path. Maybe you wouldn't have fallen. I—" He closed his eyes for a moment, unable to continue. "I can't stop thinking about it."
His hands instinctively sought yours. They always sought your. When he finally managed to lace his fingers with yours, he was almost startled by the contrast between the warmth of his own skin and the cold that had overtaken yours. They were freezing, so cold it frightened him. He held them with the utmost care, as though afraid of hurting you, then slowly brought them to his lips. He pressed a long, trembling kiss upon them, just as he had done countless times during your marriage. It was a gesture that had become an involuntary reflex of his love. Every time you were sad, every time you were afraid, every time he returned from a long ride and found you waiting for him, he would take your hands and kiss them in that exact same way. Now he did it again, his eyes shining with unshed tears, his heart in pieces.
You were so pretty even like this. His pretty girl.
"It's my fault..." he whispered against your skin, almost unable to look at you. "You fell because of me. I made you fall. I don't even know how to ask for your forgiveness, my love."
You watched him for a long time without interrupting. There was no anger in your eyes, only an infinite weariness, made deeper still by the pain of your wound. Slowly, with an effort that broke his heart just to witness, you freed one hand from his grasp and lifted it toward his face. Your fingers trembled visibly as they reached his cheek. You touched him lightly, with a caress so gentle it felt like the brush of a feather. Gwayne remained completely still, holding even his breath. It had been so long since you had last sought his face. "You need not to apologize..." you murmured, your voice barely audible. A faint smile appeared on your chapped lips. "You were only protecting your family. Just as I do."
He lowered his gaze slowly, letting his forehead rest against yours. What an angel you were, he thought not even the fairest maiden could ever hope to be like you. What monster he was to ruining you like this, rotting you until your core. "It shouldn't be this way..." he whispered bitterly, gently stroking your still-damp hair. His fingers moved through those strands with the same tenderness as before, as if every gesture might carry you back to when you had been happy. "We shouldn't be on opposite sides. We shouldn't be forced to choose." He lifted his eyes again to meet yours. "You too are my family."
His hand lingered on your face for a few moments more, caressing you hesitantly. It was as though he were touching you for the first time, and yet as if his body remembered perfectly every line of your face. His fingers traced slowly along your cheek, the curve of your jaw, until they came to rest near your lips. The most beautiful lips he so loved kissing. For a moment, it felt to him as though he were back in your chamber in Oldtown, he could almost hear the rain against the windows, smell the burnt candles and the warmth of the sheets. For a few heartbeats, the war ceased to exist. There was only the two of you.
He leaned down toward your face, and finally he kissed you. That kiss carried every unspoken word, every night spent longing for you, every wrong choice that had led you both to that lake. His lips trembled slightly against yours, as though he feared it might truly be the last time he would ever be able to do so. They were soft despite being chapped by cold and exhaustion. And you, despite the pain coursing through every part of your body, let yourself fall into him, into his arms, against his chest. That was where you belonged, in his arms. Gwayne held you a little tighter, one hand finding your waist, careful not to touch your wound.
How he loved kissing you. How he loved when you clung to him as he was your savior. His heart always exploded in an hundreds of sparkles, making him dizzy with your taste. He felt so drunk of you, feeling you everywhere. Yet Gwayne wanted to feel you even more, merge his body into yours, flesh into flesh. He wanted to burn into you. He wanted you to kiss him forever.
He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. Why he wanted so much? Is he allowed to wanting?
It’s was so hard not to when you touched him so, looking like the prettiest dream.
When he finally pulled back, it was only by a few inches. Your breaths still mingled in the cold night air, your foreheads nearly resting against each other, lips still chasing. His eyes could not leave yours, as though he feared that looking away might cause him to lose you again. He remained there, motionless, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. He could not let you go. After believing you dead, after watching you fall from the sky, after thinking he would never hear your breathing again, separating from you now felt simply impossible.
I just found out that you write for Assassin’s Creed, and as a fan myself, I have to ask if you could create something with Edward Kenway x reader, since Assassin’s Creed Black Flag resynced is now out 😼
I give you complete freedom…I just wanted to revive the fandom (and read something new, lol)
No Getaway ~ Edward Kenway x GN!Reader
A/N: Reviving the fandom is one of my specialties ! It's been a hot minute since I played AC4, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies D: I don't have the resources rn to get the resynced version. Let's gooo !
Just a lil blurb ~1k words
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The sun beat down on your skin as you walk along the coastal line; the sand slipping between your toes as you opted to take off your shoes to feel the cool and moist sand beneath you. You welcomed the breeze, salty and rough as it whips past your face, drying the light sheen of sweat that gathered along you brow.
It was one of your rare days where you weren't needed at your job; the household wouldn't fall apart without you there for one measly day. So, you decided it was the perfect opportunity to spend your hard earned coin at the market on some new clothing, as well as a present for your mother. But it seems your spending habits have attracted a wrong pair of eyes.
Faster than you could react, a burglar grabbed your belongings in full sprint, making you spin around as well."Hey, that is mine ! " You manage to yell after them, but to no avail. Before you can take up pursuit, a man in light armor bolts past you "Oi ! Give that back, you scum !"
You don't see much detail of him, other than his swords clinking at his sides with every move. You chase after them as quikly as you can, but they are faster than you, and you have to stop and lean against a house wall. As you try not to cry, you sink down to sit in the dirt. The bastard took all of your belongings, including unspent coin that you were planning on saving up for emergencies. Now, all you can do is crawl back home, disappoint your mother tomorrow with yet another selfmade gift rather than a valueable one, and stay clothed in the rags you still own.
Rubbing your hands over your face, you push your head back against the shaded house and open your eyes, to see the man from before standing before you, albeit bent over by the waist. He holds out your satchel "Got 'im." He explains breathless, as his heavy accent shines through.
With no hesitation, you grab the bag out of his hand and check inside. It's all still there. Unbelievable. Your gaze strays back to the man, who is still trying to catch his breath it seems. Hands to his waist now, his looks up to the skies. Crystal clear today.
"Thank you so much... but... why did you help me ?" You question him, and he ponders for a moment, before answering "Helping the helpless, that's what I do." He preens, looking down and gifting you a small smile. He is a handsome fella, sure, but not many people here have that kindness in their heart. To be honest, he doesn't really look the type either, the coat he wears fits a pirate, the boots those of a captain.
"I don't know how to repay you, stranger." You admit sheepishly as you stand back up. "You can have the coins I have left."
"Nah, don't bother. I took my pay from the bastard along the way. My name's Edwards by the way." Ah, so not simply just a nice man, just nice to you.
You tell him your name, and he offers you his hand to shake. Taking it firmly, you shake it twice, before retracting your hand. "Thank you, Edward. If you need a place to sleep for the night or a warm meal, you are always welcome." You offer him, finally believing the way he holds himself as some kind of hero to the small people.
Edwards regards you for a second, before staring out at the water. "Do you like the sea ?" He asks then, stunning you for a second.
"Yeah, I grew up here. It's part of my life." You tell him truthfully.
"Would you like to repay me by joining in on our adventure ?" Edwards suggests, and you think he is joking. Yet he looks determined.
"You want me to sail with you ? Why ? I have no qualifications whatsoever."
"Something is telling me you're a quick leaner. You yearn for adventure. For freedom. Spending your coin wisely, but you want so much more." Edward states.
He is right. You do dream of more. Adventure. Friends. Companionship. Riches.
"Doesn't everybody do that ?" You want to know.
"To an extend. But only few take up the courage to do it. To actually seek it. Come with me, get to know me, and my crew. And if you're not convinced then, I won't bother you again."
"Are you flirting with me, Edward ?" You look at him with a sly smile.
"Maybe." HE smirks.
"Very well. When do we start ?"
Edward laughs, taking your hand, pulling you with him towards the sun.
ser gwayne cannot work out for the life of him why you're acting so strange. you're suddenly too busy for him these days, how you're now very close with his cousin ormund and why even criston cole has been found whispering at your side. alt. reader just wants to throw her husband a surprise name day celebration but gwayne is too nosy, its a good thing he's very pretty and can make up for it.
husband! gwayne x wife! princess! reader, platonic! ormund and cole x reader, daeron x reader (love my boy), jealousy, accusation of cheating (strictly no cheating!), angst. fluff! hurt to comfort! suggestive. sassy! gwayne (i love my king.) bit of a long fic- oopsy sorry! :)
it's been four days since the two of you went to bed together.
every single night gwayne finds himself tangled in your arms, your leg thrown over his hip and your face smushed against his bare chest. he holds you, rocking you gently till your soft snores fill the chamber and only then does he relax and fall asleep himself. its not uncommon for gwayne to arrive at your shared chambers and find you already tucked in, long gone and disorientated. if not for the guard stationed at your door, gwayne wonders how you've even made it alive this long for in this state you could probably sleep through the war and not stir the slightest.
it is however uncommon for it to have been four days since he has last touched your skin, to have you so unraveled beneath his body and set ablaze. he's not complaining exactly, he'd have you in any way, shape or form, however you'd have him. he's at your service for now and for life. it's just so peculiar, he wonders. he tried initiating it on half the nights but you shrugged him off with a peck to his lips and a claim you were fatigued from the day. on the second half, he arrived in the night to find you already plastered and drooling on his half of the bed. it was so endearing that he almost forgot that you've been avoiding him.
the first sign something was so obviously wrong was when his cousin ormund knocked at his door early morning. too early in the morning for you to be awake but yet there you were. gwayne had groaned at the sudden pound at his door and rolled over, trying to reach out to you on instinct. to bury his nose into the nook of your neck and ignore what the world would have in store for him today. yet he was met with rumpled sheets and the faint heat of where your body had lain.
the knocking continued, louder and quicker and gwayne with a grimace curled into his thin pink lips opened the door with pure annoyance, "what?" his snarl comes and the sight of his cousin smirking irritates him further. "what could you possibly want from me at this time, ormund?" he gets out. his arm leans against the door frame opened a fraction, elbow taking the brunt of the solid wood at a right angle as the cool draft from the hallway bites at his bare chest.
"from you, cousin?" ormund grins, "absolutely nothing," and he's all bright teeth and sunshine at this ungodly hour. gwayne's gaze narrows in on him dangerously.
"ormund," he grits out, the free hand not gripping the door to death, runs through his already tousled orange strands, "i'm going to slam this door in hopes it'll take off your nose and i'll never have to see your face whole again," he swears sincerely and ormund knows full well his cousin is capable of it. gwayne has led battles and armies, a little teasing between cousins might as well have ormund at death's door.
"i'm here for the princess," ormund smiles, the ghost of a giggle gracing his lips in a taunt, "we have important matters to discuss."
"what matters?" gwayne straightens.
"none which concern you," ormund instantly deflects, crossing his arms across his broad chest. gwayne wants to reach out and grab him by his lapel but restrains himself with a tired rage.
"i know the concept of a loyal loving marriage may be unfamiliar to you ormind but, she is my wife," gwayne's voice drops to a dangerous level, "any matters concerning her concern me," and at the vibrating timbre of your husband's growl you emerge from the bathroom. freshly bathed, the scent of floral and lemon dancing around your skin as you are dressed in a green gown.
your hands come and creep up on gwayne's back, fingers running across the cool skin with a gracious warmth gently till they tug at the back of his hair. the ends of your hair at still damp, soft waves falling against his skin when he nestles and buries himself into your touch.
"wife," he murmurs, completely disregarding the unwanted visitor at his door and turns in your embrace. arms wrapping around your torso in a bone crushing hug, he sways you as you melt, "i didn't know you graced your company with the likes of idiots," and as ormund scoffs, he presses a kiss to your ear. you roll your eyes and gwayne brings a hand to your neck, cupping your jaw. "come," he mumbles against your mouth, "come back to bed." its a soft order that burns you alive to deny.
"i cannot gwayne," you whisper, running your hands through his hair, "i have some matter of business to sort."
"yes," he murmurs, "it seems i also have some matter of business to conduct as well," and he tries to walk you backwards into your chambers again, his bare feet scuffling as he tries to navigate you whilst half blinded in your lazy kisses.
your hands plant themselves firmly on his chest and pause. "husband, we have a visitor," you press. and gwayne rolls his eyes.
"it is only ormund, you say it as if i'm supposed to have a care if it was the king himself at the door. he is visiting. and now as visitors must do, he must leave," he stresses and ormund chuckles.
"princess," he calls out, "we either leave now or cannot make this happen today," its a warning from ormund, as much as he likes to wind his cousin up, its really time to get moving. ormund hightower is a busy body and you're relieved he had even gotten aboard with your plans, it took much pleading and convincing and in the end, you used your power of the crown to hold him tight in a promise.
you hold gwayne at arms length, hands braced at his mid arms and gaze into his deep sea eyes. theres a brutal mix of annoyance and longing swirling deep and you press a kiss to his cheek softly. your lips linger and hover as he closes his eyes sleepily, savouring your touch. he's distracted for a moment and that's when you press a hasty almost sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth and step aside before his tired brain can register what's happening.
"have a good day, my love!" you call out, ormund already offering you his arm politely.
"but breakfast?" gwayne almost whines.
"i'll make sure she eats," ormund promises, "in a while, cousin," and the door slams shut. gwayne's brain speeds up and registers whats happening, he's marching over to the door and swings it open but by then you and ormund are long gone.
"what on earth," he mumbles, brows knitted tightly. your stationed guard clears his throat at the sight of near naked gwayne in the biting cold. gwayne has the slightest shame and dips his head awkwardly before shutting the door and making his way back to the covers. its useless, he won't get any sleep without you by his side and in his sight, he sits there waiting for morning to fully make its appearance before he gets ready for the day.
his thoughts occupy him senselessly, if he hadn't opened the door to ormund would you have just left without saying anything? just what could you be hiding from him?
gwayne has a plan, he has to corner and catch you because avoiding him is one thing? sneaking off with ormund before daylight? his cousin ormund who you've frequently voiced your dislike for?
gwayne's plan has a fault of its own. how can he corner you when he has no idea where you are?
he tries to subtlely question daeron during a friendly game of chess. the younger has such a soft spot for you that he halts like a deer in headlights at the mention of your name.
"daeron?" gwayne's brows lift in curiosity, the reaction pausing his thoughts, yes. this is good he thinks, "whatever is the matter?"
"nothing," he mumbles out, boyish grin plastered on his face in a smooth recovery, "i have no idea what you're talking about," he shrugs.
"i see," gwayne slowly stretches out in the silence, trying a different tactic of being upfront with it "say, do you notice anything different about the princess?" daeron doesn't even try to think, he shakes his head abruptly and stands before his uncle, their game of chess drawn to a sudden end.
"no uncle, if you excuse me i have to go somewhere."
gwayne stands immediately, "where?"
"somewhere," he whispers, heat rushing up his neck. daeron has never been a great liar and you've never raised him to be one, its almost soul crushing how in love and in awe gwayne is of you and your presence.
"daeron if you know something," he drawls out, "it'd best to be honest, thats a kingly virtue you know to be true." and its almost like a gentle threat the way he nudges towards his nephew.
"i'm sorry ser, but i know nothing," daeron whispers, his face pooling with an obscene amount of guilt. disappointing gwayne is a thing he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, but the thought of disappointing you? thats an idea that daeron cannot even stomach and with a slight bow he all but races out the room, once again leaving gwayne hightower in the dust.
"what is wrong with everyone in this house?" he shouts into the silence, rubbing the frown lines gathering between his brows. he stretches his hand across his whole face, wiping away the lingering doubt and sighs heavily. this game must stop, and it must stop tonight.
he tries to catch you during the rest of the day to entice you but you were engaged with other ladies of the court, whispering and giggling. it all silenced when your group had spotted gwayne walking past, a wave at your fingertips and a knowing smirk resting on theirs. it was unsettling, but gwayne didnt let his demeanour drop. no, he was noble and knightly and dipped into a gentle bow of recognition before continuing his walk. a walk you were supposed to join him on but cancelled last minute.
something ugly grows inside of him when he decides after a few minutes of failing to clear his head in nature that he's had enough. he turns and makes his way to stalk in your direction, he'll take you to the side and the two of you will talk this nonsense out. he just can't make any sense of it.
in the time it takes gwayne to reach your chair in the gardens your ladies in waiting have all but disappeared and have been replaced by a certain dark brunette that has gwayne seething through his nostrils. but its not just the hand of the king that has gwayne irrational, its the fond look in your eyes as you beam up at him in delight. he halts, breath heavy and shoulders bouncing because that smile? that light bending, life altering, heart stopping smile is reserved for him. it has gwayne's name all over it and he hates it.
"ser cole," he doesn't bother to acknowledge the other, his gaze firmly planted on you. criston has half the decency to look ashamed but that only heightens gwayne's inner turmoil. "i see you make it a habit of preening with my family, and here i thought one was enough," gwayne's remark slides right over cole and there's heaviness landed in the air. cole narrows his eyes into icy slits but gwayne refuses to budge.
"gwayne," you gasp, mouth falling as you make way to stand before your husband, "that was not nice," you pause attempting to break the tension with a hand to his shoulder. it hurts more when gwayne refuses to budge, almost as if your touch is weightless despite it being days of being starved of it. he's not being fair, he knows it but how could he be given slivers of your attention when you've been serving it on the platter for the likes of ormund hightower and criston cole? its beyond him, no, thats even more unfair.
cole lets out a dark chuckle and shakes his head at gwayne then throws you a knowing look, "i'll see to it tomorrow," he promises you and bows respectfully. he makes it a point that when he passes gwayne he lets his shoulder knock into his slender frame and despite cole's slightly wider frame and taut muscle, gwayne holds his ground.
"you won't be seeing to anything tomorrow," he turns, pushing you behind him, almost protectively, like an animal protecting its own. you scoff at his silliness and try to reach around him but he shuffles at your every move, matching it with a blockade.
"gwayne," you huff into his back, "must you be so difficult?" you complain. and the second the words land, they slice straight into his chest, ripping open the chambers he's allocated just for loving you and he bleeds.
"what?" he faults, the stutter on his lips. you stop, hand flying to your mouth agape.
"that's not what i meant," you start, but gwayne has taken a step back. the two of you have never really argued much in your marriage, you've always moved in harmony. a perfect tandem. he's never been difficult because your love has always come easy, its natural, its the air he breathes and the life he lives. he's always tried to be the dutiful son, the dependable one, difficult? it stings, it burns and it swallows him whole.
"that was unkind of me and if you'll allow me to explain," you try and reach out to him but a force washes over him of steel. he's trying to be patient gwayne, compassionate gwayne, gentle gwayne, noble gwayne but he's just hurt at your words and deflection of your absence. god you have no idea what you're doing to him.
"not here," he quietly retreats and you're left to follow his footsteps back to your shared chambers. he's offered you his arm but your footsteps are a beat slower likened to your nervous heart and gwayne in his fury does not slow down till hes met with silence and reclusivity of your space. the door is a reminder of your secrets with ormund and now he imagines cole's taunting face and he grimaces, blood heating in his veins and he tries to steady his breathing.
he still holds the door open for you, waits for you to be safely inside before kicking it shut and facing you.
"what is going on?" he tries a steady approach, keeps his voice calm and level but the innocence in your eyes and the fact hes met with silence has him groaning and throwing his weight against the door in impatience.
"wife," he stalks over to you till youre barely atoms apart from each other and at this position hes a full head taller peering down at you. "this ends now, whatever stupid game where you have replaced me with the likes of ormund and cole? it is cruel and i want an explanation," he's seething and he can see the gears in your head turning, cogs sliding and locking to find some sort of reason.
"gwayne, i," you start and then you stop. revealing this now will only spoil what tomorrow brings and you've worked so hard on this you're willing to let him sulk. "it's nothing, i needed help with something and ormund and criston offered their services."
"their services?" he laughs, and your eyes widen at the insinuation, maybe it was the wrong choice of words but no. you'd never. he knows that right? "deny me and take them," he scoffs, "i understand."
"no gwayne wait, i think you're misunderstanding," you try and cup his jaw, bring his attention back to you hoping you'll see the earnest in your eyes and but he shrugs you off and puts the distance back between you.
"misunderstanding?" its outrageous the way his voice does not even raise once at you. "you havent sought me out in four days, i wake to a cold lonely bed, i do not hear from you all day but i find you with ormund then with cole- both whom of you you detest? tell me wife, were your feelings then just a misunderstanding? are they clarified now?"
it hurts the way hes questioning you, questioning your faithfulness and your bottom lip wobbles. "gwayne, i am your wife," you release in exasperation. "i am loyal to you- i would never-"
"you are my wife," he nods his head, "and yet you do not offer me honesty. what has happened? what has changed? do you not wish to love me anymore?" his voice breaks and it almost shoots straight to your knees, unsteadying you in a heartbeat.
"gwayne, my heart. that's absurd and you know it. i love you, i am yours, i am here?" you get out.
"but you are not here," he whispers and the air stands still. "you are not here in the way you have always been and i just, i don't understand why and you will not offer me the mercy of understanding why," he breathes, his eyes boring into yours. "i think," he pauses, "we ought to have some space between us, some room to think and reflect and remember why our marriage works so well."
you shake your head in defiance immediately, "no, i don't want to," you try to cross the distance but are met with his palm in the air. the slender fingers like a barrier.
"i think we need to," and its final in the way he says it. you lower your head, the tears creeping in the corners of your eyes. this is spiralling and you have the power to stop it but you also just wish your husband would trust you enough to leave it alone.
he sighs quietly, footsteps light as they make their way over to you and he tilts your chin to look up at him, wiping away the free tear that has fallen. you feel a sense of hope fill you, tired optimism that he's surrendering this silliness, a petty arguement harbouring into something messier. but then his words land a heavy blow and it feels oh so real "after dinner i'll move my things," and you step out of his hold.
"if thats what you wish," you whisper, the words betraying you and bitter on your tongue. "if you mean to question my loyalty then very well, ser gwayne," you bring his nobility and rank, ridding yourself of the familiarity. "when you are ready to be my husband again then you may join me," and with that, you walk away from the chamber and away from gwayne.
this time when he's left alone for the fourth time today he feels nothing but loneliness and regret swirling in his throat till he feels he can no longer breathe.
oh how something dreadful has truly happened.
dinner comes with a heavy blanket of quiet. its tense and for good reason. the hightowers look to each other in quiet concern. gwayne sits at the centre of the table, solemn and silent- he's hardly uttered a word all night. and you? you are not in your designated seat next to him. you are three seats away at the end of the table with daeron tucked at your side.
its rare for the two of you to be separated, meal times arw usually spent with the two of you sharing knowing looks, whispering sweet nothings and eventually, you'll lean your head tiredly against his shoulder and he'd find an excuse for the two of you to escape. its oh so homely and you are set in motion, moving as one.
however, tonight the distance is noticed and felt. ormund's eyes dart between the two of you but gwayne braves a steely look ahead.
"we are quiet tonight?" ormund questions, carefully scratching his fork against the plate, filling the silence.
"i wish you were also," gwayne nods, "say, what did you get up to this morning?" ormund pauses, glances in your direction and you just shrug, the fight leaving your body before its even began.
"am i intruding on anything?" ormund furrows his brows and gwayne looks at him with tired indifference.
"i am both sure and unsure," he nods solemnly, "but enlighten me, what did you get up to?" and theres no malice in his tone, nothing but careful curiosity.
"i headed to some merchants, picked up a few things, nothing too interesting," ormund replies and gwayne just nods throughout, not caring to pay further attention to any story that ormund dives into. instead he focuses sharply onto you. "that is nice, very nice."
he hears your sweet mumbles to daeron. how its so different to the words you shared earlier and how the world sets a little softer around you. he loves how you are with daeron, you're good to him, good for him. good for everyone but most importantly, youre perfect for gwayne. he hates fighting with you, its so passive, so reductive, so annoyingly easy it is for the silent treatment to get under his skin.
he watches as you carefully cut remenants of meat that you dislike and then you pause, you look over at him in his direction and you immediately look down to your lap.
gwayne's heart lurches in his throat, he knows you usually like to make swaps, its gwaynes favourite thing to do where he'll take on anything that brings you the slightest distaste and he'll make it right for you. except now, he can't find it in him to move an inch. daeron spots your hesitation and gingerly reaches out, eager to be the peace maker, "aunt, would you mind me having that piece?" and you look to him, a shadow of upset crossing your features and you try so hard to let it slip and front a smile but its too late. gwayne has seen the edges of that frown and lets out a noise likened to a strangled animal.
all attention diverts to him and he mumbles under his breath, "daeron it is impolite to watch over other people's plate," he then looks down at his own and without even thinking, he makes a move to stand with his plate in his own hand and walks in your direction.
"but uncle gwayne?" daeron questions confused.
"but nothing, daeron. keep eating, you'll need your strength to grow strong," he pats his head softly and waits patiently. you gingerly move the meat onto his plate and he shovels a portion of potatoes you love onto yours. its a temporary truce, you've never been great at disagreements so you're grateful for the moment of relief. gwayne then retreats back to his seat and the table continues eating.
"gwayne is right, daeron," ormund lifts a glass to him, "you'll be the strongest amongst us," and he watches as you pat daeron's shoulder affectionately in encouragment. dinner continues with clutter and clatter of dishes, of faint laughter and longing looks and gwayne wishes more than anything it was you by his side.
when everyone gears up to make a move and call it quits for the night, gwayne finds himself in the pensive mood to right a few wrongs, "ser cole," he calls out. you're long gone in the direction of the chambers, escorted by daeron and criston turns to gwayne.
"ah," he clicks his tongue, "have you come to hurl more insults ser gwayne?" and gwayne shakes his head slowly.
"to apologise, more like. i am sorry for earlier, it was unnecessary and unkind," he speaks with earnest and upmost genuineness. cole nods, a knowing look in his eyes and gwayne has the tiniest thought gnawing at his temples to immediately take it back and walk away.
"you know," cole punches his shoulder lightly, "i think there's someone more important and deserving of an apology," he raises his brow and gwayne lets out a heavy exhale.
"i know," he looks in your departed direction, the ghost of your figure haunting him, "what is truly going on? what madness am i being subjected to?" and cole can see the nerves in his brain stretching to make room.
"i can't say it is my place ser," he breathes, "but whatever you're thinking? it is the furthest thing you've known and actually? it's quite simple really, its a little humourous watching you work in circles over something so simple," and with a laugh he bids and leaves a confused gwayne to the night.
sleep does not come gracefully to gwayne.
its a lonesome stranger, the cold bites at his sides, the mattress has lumps that gwayne's sure is just in his head and no matter what he does, how tight his eyes squeeze shut all he can picture is the sorrowful look on your face and he hates himself.
he thinks he should go to you. its your first night apart since being married and nothing about it feels right at all. so he gets up throws on the shirt hes already worn the life out of today and with steel determination he sets foot outside the door and makes his way across the hall to the opposite direction where your shared rooms are located.
he almost flies through, the way he paces with eager urgency that he doesn't register how he must look like an absolute madman. his breath halts unevenly when a force is barricaded into his chest and his hands reach out to steady you instantly.
"love?" he whispers incredously, and your head whips up in a rapid reaction. he moves his hands from your waist and up to your shoulders as he checks you thoroughly for any injury. the force at which you two tumbled was enough to almost knock him clean off his feet, "are you alright?" and you nod tightly.
he takes in your appearance, your nightgown slipping down your right shoulder and your hair free from its usual weave of braids, just how he likes, likely tousled from endless turning in a bid to gain some sense of slumber. you shiver in the dead of the night, the moon casting a subtle glow over your features and he brings you closer to him, hoping some of his body heat will extend to yours and youre grateful for it immensely. he focuses on you completely and his heart soars at the realisarion. you had also come looking for him the way he longed to reach for you.
"gwayne i need to talk to you," you pull back an inch, "you were right, i haven't been truthful and i'm sorry. the sneaking around was excessive but it was the only way i could get it done," you breathe out, the words rushing before you can stop yourself. this might ruin everything but nothing could be worse than a minute more of silence and restraint from your lover.
"get what done, darling?" and you decide its better to show him then just tell him. you take his hand and walk him to the main hall thats been cordoned off the last few days- not that hes noticed, hes been too busy chasing after you to pay any attention to the changes of the house. its silent when you walk, the gentle pitter patter of your heart guiding the rhythm for your footsteps as you move at the same pace. gwayne doesnt offer any more questions, he doesnt say anything, hes patient this time and he's more than willing to wait for you to explain.
the hall opens with a soft thud as your palm pushes it open and gwayne pauses, tentative at the sight and he wants the ground to swallow him whole. all he can feel is shame as he stares ahead.
"you can come in," you say, letting go of his hand and he immediately steps forward to regain the heat of it, winding the interlocking fingers across to his chest where his heart rests.
"this is ... for me? truly?" and your heart swells, with pride or sympathy you are ensure of but tininess of his voice has you in shambles, completely undone. you've never heard the great gwayne hightower so unsure of himself and you decide that you never really want to again.
"of course," you draw out, gauging in his reaction. how his eyes turn and marvel at the side of banners, streamers, a portrait of him hanging in the centre, a banquet table yet to be set up and a pile of gifts right at the corner. he makes his way over to them, carefully as if even taking the wrong step might wake him up from this dream. "i know you don't usually like to make such a fuss but i wanted to do something special," you murmur and he turns completely to you. he marches across the inches with great fierceness and joins his lips to yours.
you let out a little oomf as his hand splays across your back steadying you and morphing your body into his. he kisses you so deeply, so intimately that youre sure his soul has conjoined with yours and all you can think, hear, see and feel is just all gwayne. he melts into you and youre floating and for the first time all week you feel at peace. there's no running around, no planning, no sneaking around your husband theres nothing.
you draw back just a milimeter and its not enough, he chases after your lips in an instance, absorbing every molecule of you with a burning intensity he's not sure he can control. he tries to slow himself down, to steady and ground himself but he's swarmed with all your love and attention its blinding.
"so this is what you've been up to?" he presses a kiss to your forehead, its soft and featherlike before he brings his own to yours, your noses touching in a teasing dance. a giggle bursts from your lips and you nod, stealing a look into his eyes and relax entirely.
"ormund helped massively, he headed with me to the merchant stalls this morning to retrieve your nameday gifts, and one of the cooks has a soft spot for you it didnt take much to entice them with the idea of preparing your favourites and cole? he helped set this place up, he's organised for your sister to safely join us and he's prepared a tourney in your favour. daeron was supposed to keep you preoccupied in the morrow till we had everything sorted and you husband," you sigh, "you were supposed to be surprised," and you swat his chest in disappointment. "it was supposed to be perfect."
"it is perfect, you are perfect" he returns to you and finds it harder to hide his growing smile by the minute, "and i am surprised, greatly, you really did all this for me?" he asks again and you hold his innocent gaze.
"of course?" you repeat, "gwayne you are the love of my life, in every life," you stress, "everything is for you, don't you see?" your palm finds its way to the side of his face.
"i'm sorry, my heart," he apologises, and he turns his head to the inwards of your palm, placing a soft fleeting kiss there. he had been so caught up in the confusion and his jealousy that he had completely forgotten tomorrow was technically his name-day celebration and he feels so damn stupid. "the accusations i held against you earlier were uncalled for. i was angry, i was mad and i was wrong," he tells you sincerely, "and i shall make up for it for the rest of my life."
you meet his swear with a tired eye and deep understanding, "i hate fighting with you gwayne, nor do i think we are good at it," he lets out a deep chuckle, the rumble landing between your bones.
"no," another laugh comes and its yours this time that joins him, "i don't think we are." he looks across the room once more and his blood warms to a liquid jelly. in all his years alive hes never paid much attention to having a name day, the two of you usually spent it together and alone but to see all this effort, all this attention and recognition for him? he truly is in awe.
"you love me," he whispers into the stillness of the hall.
"now you're being ridiculous, husband," you roll your eyes, "of course i do."
"and i love you," he reaffirms, "it was unkind and uncalled for to doubt your loyalty."
"you know, i could have you beheaded for treason," and there's a mischievious glint in your eyes.
"but then who would kiss you," his own sea eyes glisten back, "who would make you laugh? who would lay you down and love you all over," he teases, his fingers running along the bare skin peeking out from your gown. he presses just above your collarbone, then finds your pulse and lays a soft kiss to rest there.
"gwayne," you breathe and he hums a faint yes against your skin. you hardly hear it over the roar in your bloodstream but you lean in closer than ever. "come," you whisper to him, an echo of the morning, "come back to bed," and he smiles, his teeth against your jaw.
"always, my sweetheart," and he hooks his arm under your back and one under your knees, hoisting you up as he carries you back to your chambers. your laughter rings in the hallway and as much as hed like to bottle the sound of it and store it for an eternity he knows the rest of the house to be sleeping and tries to silence you with a few more hasty kisses.
when tomorrow comes he feigns surprise, the hall is alight, filled with food and music and all the people he loves. as he talks with alicent, laughs with ormund and teases daeron he keeps you by his side all afternoon and evening long, extending praise and gratitude to you at all times.
"this has got to be the best celebration you've ever had," ormund claps him on the back, "your exclamations of gratitude are ready for me now, please do not hold back," he grins but gwayne shakes his head and as you lean into his side.
"i think the best celebration has to be my wedding," he grins to you, a knowing tease swirling in his eyes singing you home. "but yeah, this does come pretty close."
Summary:
Princess Alyssa Targaryen never wanted the Iron Throne, only a quiet life with the man she loved. Married to Ser Gwayne Hightower before the Dance of the Dragons begins, she believes their love is strong enough to survive anything.
She is wrong.
When King Viserys dies and the Greens seize the crown, Alyssa refuses to betray her sister, Rhaenyra, and is imprisoned within the Red Keep by the very family she married into. Worse still, her husband chooses to remain at his family's side, believing he can protect her from within.
To Alyssa, it feels like the deepest betrayal.
As war consumes the realm, Gwayne slowly realizes that his loyalty has become a prison for the woman he loves. Faced with losing her forever, he must choose between the family that raised him and the vows he made to his wife.
A story of love tested by war, painful betrayal, second chances, and two people learning that forgiveness is earned—not given.
Warnings: Heavy angst • Emotional betrayal • Imprisonment • Slow-burn reconciliation • Hurt/Comfort • Trauma recovery • Family conflict • Canon-typical violence • Dance of the Dragons spoilers • Happy ending • Eventual Team Black Gwayne Hightower • Married couple • Original Female Character (Princess Alyssa Targaryen)
summary: After the battle at Rook’s Rest all Gwayne wants is you. Hopefully longing just like he is and cherishing his safe return. And yet he is met with an absence that makes his breath hitch and grim remarks he does not appreciate. Despite being a lord and a noble knight he is also nothing but a man, and how long can a man go without the comforting presence of his wife? And especially a wife who is worth worshipping, every battle and every whispered word of blasphemy?
word count: 5.8k+
a/n: or to put it differently gwayne goes ‘where the hell is my mate with whom i can complain about the greens and their overgrown winged lizards’
“Ser Gwayne?”
He didn’t miss the call. It simply felt irrelevant at this moment, too shallow and meaningless to attract his attention.
Backnoise, perhaps even an annoying one that disturbed Gwayne’s thoughts that were turning more anxious with every second. He didn’t react, focused on scanning the courtyard with his gaze. He furrowed his brows, then grimaced to eventually run a hand over his tired face.
It turned from expressing irritation and discomfort of the travel to a look of deep worry. He could feel his breath growing heavy, barely rhythmic when his eyes moved from one person to another.
Even though he knew and memorized every inch of your face he kept replaying it in his head as if it could help him through the search. The search that slowly started to wear signs of desperation. He suspected that it was caused by the turmoil in his mind that howled and roared ever since he witnessed the huge winged beast on the ground, lifeless.
The closeness of the dragons brought up worry in him and it wasn’t something he cared to be ashamed of.
While brushing through his own hair to stick it back and get rid of the disgusting, sweaty feeling, he thought about your eyes which had a spark in them whenever they found him in a crowd. It was something your husband never got used to fully and it always thrilled him. It was so special that it turned to the main thing he could focus on during the travel back to King’s Landing.
It was the first time in your short years of marriage when he had to march to a true battle.
He imagined how you’d smile with your whole face, a shine of relief washing over you. Your lips would curve gently at first, before he’d gather you in his arms and then the soft greet would turn into a heartwarming laugh. Your lips…
Gods, your lips.
And yet you weren’t here.
The second headman of the Hightower army and Gwayne’s right hand cleared his throat again. “My lord?” He asked louder.
“Ah, yes,” he muttered while breaking out of his trance of worry and madness. “You are dismissed, commander. You did well.”
It was said quieter than he used to speak, not hesitating but not very sure either. He found it hard to focus, only managing to nod at his companion before his gaze shifted to the people gathered around again. Gwayne swallowed a bitter taste on his tongue and straightened his back.
He was falling into unnecessary insanity, surely.
“The men did well too, my lord,” the commander remarked with pride.
Gwayne clasped a hand on his shoulder like the good leader he always tried to be.
“Naturally. We brought a slain dragon’s head with us, after all. You deserve to rest, my friend.”
He couldn’t care less right now if he was honest with himself. You often pointed out his arrogance but lucky for him he also lacked the audacity to mention out loud that the dragon, the victory, the king’s suffering… It all meant very little to him right now.
He spotted the queen with ease. Handing his horse to a stableboy he approached her with his hand clasped behind his back.
“Alicent,” he greeted, probably betraying his outraged frame of mind with the annoyed tone.
He bowed his head. It was respectful enough, he hoped. He had no strength for bending his back, his knees, for ostentatious gallantry and for calling his little sister ‘queen’...
“Brother. I’m happy to see you unharmed and–” she spoke after having a good look at him.
Gods, she really resembled their mother when her eyes travelled all over him like that. It made him clench his jaw and look away from her, searching for you again. He was turning pathetic in it, he feared.
“Where is my wife?” He asked, interrupting Alicent’s words. Silence settled between them for a moment. Either she was unused to such savage manners, let alone from Gwayne, or the question troubled her. “Sister?” He called again when he was left unanswered.
The queen shook her head.
“I haven't seen her,” she said simply. “She is… Well, she is a woman hard to find these days.”
She clearly didn’t grieve that you weren’t her. It could be Gwayne’s own sorrow about it that made him so angry at his sister’s calmness. He breathed in deeply before turning to her.
“You dislike my wife.” It was a statement, not a question, and also not an accusation. Just a fact he found disappointing.
“No. I worry, that's all. She is just–” she cut and blinked at her brother’s unfamiliar expression. The corners of her lips fell further down. “She is of a peculiar character that I failed to notice before,” she explained, almost diplomatically which earned a scoff from Gwayne.
“You dislike her,” he repeated sharply.
“Brother,” she said with firmness that could bring an unruly child to peace. “As I said, I worry. She reminds me of Helaena and that is… It isn’t a good sign,” she said with a sorry face as if she was informing him of his wife’s deathly illness.
“You don't speak about your daughter with much fondness either,” Gwayne pointed out, despite noticing what she tried to say. “Makes me wonder how much of what you see I should put faith in…”
He knew the rationality of your mind. Your wit, your skills and intuition. He would never agree to bring you to a castle so full of viciousness as The Red Keep if he thought you were too fragile to bear it.
“Ser Gwayne.” He heard the voice of Criston Cole behind him which made him realize his tone has risen a bit. More than he wanted. The knight wandered next to him, bowing in front of the queen. “Could that be the truth that your marriage is not as cheerful as you described it to be?” He mocked , certainly recalling Gwayne's lectures.
Malicious cunt. In one moment Gwayne regretted ever mentioning his wife in the presence of a man like him.
“Ser Criston–” Alicent almost choked on her breath while trying to scold the knight, but didn’t find the right words. She turned to Gwayne with a look that could be taken for understanding. “Brother, I see that you worry. You are excused and forgiven.”
“Forgiven for–” Gwayne tried to clarify. Clarify, he told that to himself. In truth he sought an opportunity to argue and release some of his anger.
“Take the queen’s mercy and leave, ser,” Cole said firmly.
It would be below his decency to stay.
Gods, even though you left home with him he wished to see Oldtown as soon as possible again… Suddenly he thought that it could be a mistake. Disturbing your peace so much… On the other hand, if he never offered you would force him anyway. Of that he was sure.
Three months on the road. Alicent always thought you’re heedless and daring. Childish even. What woman with common sense would take up a travel this hard by the side of her lord husband? It was beyond her comprehension no matter how much he tried to understand your reasons. She could appreciate your devotion for her brother, though, and because of that she would never refuse her hospitality to you. That didn’t mean deep sympathy, naturally, and the lack of it was mutual, too.
The queen was faced with her own envy as well when she witnessed you offering comfort to her grieving daughter. You visit in the capital settled on unsteady days full of fear and pain. You were glad that Helaena allowed you to wrap your arms around her gently, even if you had to live under the jealousy of her mother’s gaze.
You felt bad for the dowager queen too. She was too hasty, too expressive in her dislike towards her to make you show compassion. You were also far too well-mannered to show pity.
One way or another, you saw the shadows of vultures that circled over the queen. She wasn't the one with true predatory nature toward the weak perhaps, but you were sure she would gather a harvest of corpses around her anyway. Your only hope was that neither you nor your husband will be amongst them…
You were plagued with the future as much as the past. It was an alliance of both that caused the decision of staying away while the army returned. You should be there awaiting your husband, you knew it but there was this vicious whisper inside you…
Gods, you managed to settle your mind on the matter when you knew it was already too late.
Running through the corridors of the Keep you made a few servants turn after you passed but you no longer cared. You brushed your hair out of your face before leaving the cold walls, stepping into the yard and stumbling onto Gwayne almost immediately.
“Husband,” you mumbled out of breath, too stunned to react properly.
You offered your hand to him, going for a handshake that made him freeze for a moment. It must have been a joke, he thought, but you made no effort to change it. To fix it.
He wanted to move closer, cup your face, smell your hair, remind himself of what true home meant, and here you were offering him your hand to shake.
Gods, no. He was a respectful man, always, but he now almost snatched your hand, leaned down and placed a long kiss on the skin of your knuckles. Not a peck, nothing chaste about it.
You didn’t dare to move and couldn’t help but look at the people gathered around. No one seemed to mind, save for the queen and the man beside her. You turned away as fast as you met her eyes.
Your breath hitched when Gwayne straightened his back and looked you in the face. Your love, your husband that you begged the gods to see again. He looked tired, that you expected, but he was also annoyed. Perhaps it was a mistake and your longing for him led you in the dark; you should have been more patient, stay in your rooms…
“Wife,” Gwayne said with a nod of his head. Only then you noticed he still didn’t let go of your hand. “You look even more delightful than I remembered.”
“It’s only been a few days,” you noticed in a hushed voice.
He grimaced as if you painfully belittled his feelings. Misled by your childhood’s grim experience you thought that it was your voice itself that angered him further. That he was just proper as always, greeting you because he had to before he would drown the memory of the fight in something of his own choosing.
Gwayne wasn’t fond of drinking, he certainly didn’t look around for other women nor he gambled, but in that moment you were sure it wasn’t you from whom he wanted comfort.
You could live with it. Despite the pained look on his face he made the effort to not flaunt it, to not humiliate any of you publicly, so you could do the same. Play the restrained, good wife until he could walk away from you freely without attracting any attention.
“Was the march hard, lord husband?” You asked in the tone of a stranger who made simple conversation.
His eyebrows twitched up at the sound of the title. It was almost unfamiliar coming from you. You, who knew how his name felt on your tongue whispered, cried out, moaned and in laughter… ‘Lord husband’ felt like an insult when he knew how sweet his true name sounded.
“The memory of you made it more bearable,” he answered but the smile didn’t really get to his eyes.
“Oh.” How could you not love him? Even in annoyance and when he wanted to be alone he could play the role of an admirer. “Well, I won't bother you with questions about the battle itself. It must have been horrible.”
He nodded and threw the last look around the yard before offering you his arm. He didn’t understand what in the name of the seven hells was going on but he knew he hated it. Perhaps if you stepped away, stayed in the company of each other.
But you didn’t jump into his arms when you both left, as he wanted. You allowed him to hold your hand, but that was it.
“It is behind us now, dear wife,” he explained to your worried voice. At least it was genuine, that he didn’t doubt. “That is what matters.”
“And that you are unharmed.”
It was strange, made his head spin, that you muttered such careful, lovable words while walking so unsure behind his side. He didn’t fail to notice that you weren’t close enough. Whenever you two strolled together you always rested against him, moved more into him than it was necessary and he adored it. It felt right, having you in his arms. He loved calling himself your husband, your lover, but if he was ever stripped from that he would at least want to be named your protector and supported. That’s how he felt when you showed him so much trust with your actions.
And now your bodies barely even brushed.
Dark thoughts settled in his mind. Did he cause you any pain? Have you heard a vicious rumor about him? Did… Did someone hurt you when he was away?
He called your name quietly, but you spoke up before it could truly get to you.
“Do you wish to have the chambers all to yourself?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. “I can't stay in the garden to offer you some space.”
He matched your gaze slowly, as if he was in pain from his shallow injuries, but it was just the shock. The look on your face seemed small to him, like an intimidated dove, afraid not only of her companion but also her own voice.
You never acted like that.
“I wish for no space,” he declared immediately and couldn’t hold back from moving his free hand up to brush your cheek with his fingers. “You offer strange things, dearest. If it's not too much to ask for, I want my wife's presence right next to me. Caring for me, if she feels strong enough today.”
You nodded and leaned more into his touch.
Gods, so the worry truly blinded you. It was still your Gwayne, after all.
“Of course. I meant no offence,” you explained, partially hopeful he wouldn’t question your behaviour any further. Only if you knew how troubled he was by it.
“And you gave none,” he assured.
“Good. I would love to care for all of your injuries. It will surely calm my nerves, knowing you are in good health.”
But would it really?, he asked himself.
In his common sin of arrogance he lied to himself that he wasn’t easily offended. Yet now he had to admit in front of himself. It struck him painfully.
“You don't seem happy that I'm back,” he noticed eventually while walking. It was a difficult thing to say, as hard as seeing it.
You stopped in your tracks.
“How can you say that? Of course I am.”
He hummed, clearly having a thought about it before stepping in front of you. He took both your shaking hands in his and held them, while lowering his head to you. “Speak to me, wife.”
“B–but I do, don’t I?”
Despite the exhaustion, the dark marks under his eyes and how unruly his hair looked, the lenient smile he put on was honest. There was also a visible fair share of worry in him.
“Something's happened, hasn't it?”
You shook your head, struck by the fact that he turned even more pale. “Nothing, husband, no. You know I would never lie to–”
“Then why are you so afraid?” He asked firmly, never stopping to gently brush your hands.
“I just... I missed you greatly.”
“You did?”
The question rang in your ears for a while. Your husband wasn’t sure if you spoke truthfully about your feelings towards him. You didn’t know if falling into laughter or sobbing was more due in this situation.
Your hands moved, not not only laying in his but interlacing your fingers.
“Yes,” you repeated. “I lived in fear and I was surrounded by strangers, Gwayne. Only the idea of seeing you again kept me sane.”
“I missed you too…”
He almost gave in into leaning closer, bumping your nose with his and resting his forehead against your face. Eventually he held back, too disturbed by your behaviour to let it lay unsolved.
“And yet I'm welcomed with distance and restraint,” he said. “Why?”
“Distance? I–”
But he didn’t let you finish. He moved your hands up to his chest. You could feel his warm breath over your skin.
“Why didn’t you kiss your husband when you saw him? Why didn’t you bless him with your touch if you missed him so?”
He saw your conflicted expression and he couldn’t hold back anymore. Freeing his hands from yours, he moved them to your face. You held onto his wrists gently when he cupped your cheeks like that. Just the way you wanted and dreamed about.
The tears went freely, you no longer tried to stop them when his fingers were placed on your warm skin.
“You terrify me, wife,” Gwayne confessed in a whisper, brushing away some of your tears. “Is it because you try to hide something? If you've experienced any wrongdoing... Gods, I promise that whoever hurt you will pay. Even if I have to go through this whole castle.”
“N–No,” you muttered at once, irritated by how weak your voice sounded. “It’s not that.
He’s never seen you like this before.
“Then…”
“It's my father,” you snapped eventually, annoyed yet glad you got it out of your throat. It was choking you, suffocating for the well part of the day and you had enough.
It should have been enough a long time ago.
“Your father, dove? What about him?”
“He hated it when we waited for him after battles. My mother thought it to be proper and I never understood her stubbornness, but–” The words died on your tongue. You felt foolish, a child again. Gwayne didn’t let you turn your head away from him. “He pushed me and my sisters away when we tried to hug him, and only shared a feast with us to not attract whispers. I suppose all he wanted then was to have a cup of wine and a quiet corner for himself. He was embarrassed by the displays of emotions... I thought–”
“You thought I would push you away like he did,” he said slowly and with understanding.
It sounded stupid, you didn’t even realize how much. You sniffed and took a deep breath to calm yourself.
“Well, I knew you wouldn't but... I felt it somewhere deep under my skin,” you explained and dried the tears on your cheeks. “I couldn't. The shame I felt back then. The feeling like I did something wrong... I couldn't fight it.”
Your husband nodded, taking in the sight of you with pride, not at all unpleased by how shaken up you were. He wasn’t easily annoyed by such things, on the contrary to when he couldn’t understand the situation.
“I see,” he said. He was out of words for a moment when you took his hand from your cheek and placed a kiss on it, just like he did to you every day. “I would never do that to you, you have my word.”
“I know. I always knew it, I just…”
“It is alright, dear. Don’t put me through it again, though. I’m not sure I can take it,” he joked, but there was some true seriousness buried within it. “Can you promise me?”
You smiled at him. Oh, how he missed that. “I can.”
“Good.”
His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. There was no rush in Gwayne’s actions. He touched your hair, took his time in playing with it before brushing it behind. His lips found yours when his hand finally settled at the nape of your neck.
He kissed you like a man who was left without air ever since he saw you for the last time, and yet he still had the strength of his mind to not impose. To not appear desperate, starved, even if all he wanted was to devour every moment of your love that he was given. The thought of pulling back didn’t even cross your mind.
His lips weren’t as soft as usual. Drier from the harsh wind and sun as well as marked by a bruise and poorly cleaned dry blood. He lingered just over your mouth when he was forced to take a breath.
Gwayne pushed his forehead to yours, resting with his eyes closed as his hand still played with your skin and hair. It made you raise your hand as well, gently touching his face, tracing shallow wrinkles and searching for the familiar feeling of warmth caused by an injury.
“We shouldn’t stand here,” you whispered.
“Why, will you complain about the way I smell, or–”
“That’s not what I said,” you cut in and boldly draped your arm around his neck. Gwayne almost purred when you pressed your body against his. “I would never complain about my own husband’s smell, you know that.”
“Gods, you are right,” his voice broke a bit but there was no shame in him. Not in front of you. “You are right, we shouldn’t be standing here. I want you all for myself.”
“And that you shall have,” you promised with a bashful smile. “Just later. Allow me to have a proper look first.”
He hummed in displease when you stepped back to look at him. Only now he realized you were shying away from that before, silly girl…
“Don’t worry,” he spoke when he noticed how your eyes changed when you set them on a bloodied spot on his doublet, uncovered by the plate armor, “Alicent offered to send her maesters.”
It didn’t soothe your nerves and he was a fool if he imagined it would. You only grimaced and nodded in acknowledgment.
“What is it?” He asked, spotting the shift immediately.
“Her servants are…” You clasped your hands together in front of you and sent him an apologetic smile. “Well, the queen is very kind but I would prefer to tend to you myself, if that's not of much difference to you.”
But Gwayne shook his head with a small grin and showed you to keep strolling to your chambers.
“It is a crucial difference,” he said firmly. “I would prefer no other touch than my wife's. The wounds you dress yourself… they always seem to heal better.”
“Do they?” You asked, taking his hand in your again. “Then I suppose true care can do miracles. Thank the gods those are not necessary today. Well, at least not in flesh….”
“Strange times we live in,” he agreed, seeing that you were speaking of the realm’s position.
The realm’s and yours, as those who sat the closest amongst the family of the ruler, either it was Aegon or Aemond now – you weren’t sure.
“You and my sister,” Gwayne spoke up, “ didn’t find much common ground, I see.”
“We don’t hold love for each other, if that is what you ask about,” you admitted, making your husband chuckle.
“For that I had no hope. Still, I thought you might have some comfort in the presence of another… I believe I was very wrong.”
You tightened the grip on his hand.
“I don’t wish to offend you by speaking ill of your sister. She is the queen, after all and–”
“Wife,” he interrupted with fondness, as if to make you realize who’s side he was on. “When I first saw your sorrow today I feared it was her who had done something horrific to you. Now tell me all.”
So you did, even if there were no tragic tales or shaking plots to mention. Gwayne could be a great listener when he wanted and to you he was always.
He opened the door to your shared chamber when you reached it and let you pass. He could already feel his insides aching from how hard you made him laugh.
“So she goes, still not looking at me, now listen–” you cut to clear your throat.
Resting one arm on a nearby desk you clutched the other to the neck of your gown, the way the queen often did, and lowered your voice to match hers.
“I hear you are fond of politics, my lady… I said that local politics, yes, but not the capital one. That is... that is certainly too overwhelming for a woman like me.”
“Mm.” Gwayne sat on the bed without moving his eyes from you.
“And then: Well, I’m sure you are very grateful to my brother then, she says, for allowing you to be involved in it. Politics, she meant, even the local one.”
“Allowing?” Your husband questioned, still trying to fight the smile brought up by your little act.
“Yes! Her words exactly,” you squealed in emotion. “So I replied that if she knows you well, which I don’t doubt she does, then she knows you aren’t fond of all your duties. My husband, I went, is gravely bored by the matter of grains and wheat, let’s say, so to be a good wife I free him of this subject and tend to it myself. And then she gives me a look so dirty as if I just confessed I want to slay Ormund Hightower and take the title of lord paramount myself. Or murder one of her sons, whoever is king now, since I lost count in that…”
Gwayne thought for a while, then waved his hand. “I’m not sure, now that Aegon is… Well, the way he is.”
You quickly moved to his side and occupied the spot nearby. You lowered your voice almost to a sound of conspiracy. “He is not dead, though, is he? People whisper different things…”
“Not dead yet, at least,” he admitted indifferently. “That I can say.”
You frowned for a moment then shrugged.
“You see my point, anyway,” you continued.
“I do. And I know my sister well, I can imagine her killing you with her gaze.”
You nodded like he described it perfectly. “Even your father is less demanding and, gods, backward, than her.”
“He is. Yes, Alicent is…” he sighed while looking for a good word, then smiled and turned to face you. “She’s just Alicent.”
“She is.” It made you giggle. “Now let me prepare some water and clean cloths…”
He was rather properly cleaned up already but you wanted to have a look yourself and make sure he was unharmed. One of his squires came to help you take off his armor, then bowed to you and left.
“You’re staring, Gwayne…” you noticed while struggling with the laces of his green overshirt.
“I am.”
He really had no shame when it came to the things he felt for his wife.
You were already bent forward to see the strips and belts better, almost resting your head on Gwayne’s shoulder. He barely had to move to cup your lips with his and still he made sure to tug you closer, earning a half-swallowed whine from you. You would have fallen, your body collapsing into his, but he gracefully directed you to his lap, making you laugh at how cheeky he could be sometimes.
You didn’t break the kiss nonetheless, and moved against him with matching eagerness. He let out a deep, content sigh and it was the most beautiful sound you have heard in days.
Draping your arms around his neck and shoulders you allowed him to tug you even closer, his own arms caging you, wrapped around your middle. You picked at his lower lip earning a hoarse, pleased groan from your husband. It wasn’t hard and still you could feel the iron taste of blood on your tongue.
“Forgive me,” you said in worry, pulling away and spotting that the bruising opened again. “I’ve forgotten myself–”
But he didn’t care. He tugged you in for another kiss and only calmed down when you rested your chest and head against him. This is where he wished to be ever since they left the camp at Rook’s Rest. Here with your body in his arms.
“You know I found it harder to pray to the gods with every moment I spend away from you,” he confessed. You felt him shiver at the sensation of your breath over his neck. “I could only think about you.”
He moved one hand from your back to pick at his necklace and raised it to his lip. Where his sister wore a sign of religious devotion, Gwayne wore his reminder of loyalty to you. It was poetic in a way, much more romantic than you would ever imagine him to be. Before Gwayne you thought nothing of gestures like that, thinking you would never find happiness with a man like that.
“Stop, husband,” you hushed, brushing the side of his face. Eventually he allowed you to take a wet cloth and slowly run it over his skin. “It is blasphemy.”
“It's you,” he argued. “You are worth every blasphemy.”
What could you possibly say to that? What could you do instead of placing a kiss on his face and making your touch even more gentle? It was bliss, even despite the blood that ran with water and stained your fingers. For a while you could forget about wars, kings and battles that were to come.
The worry laid deeply, though, and the everlasting grim of the Red Keep never made it better. Your husband always noticed it on your face.
“What is it that scares you, dearest? I can see it.”
A sigh left you. “The walls. They have ears and eyes around here. It makes me go mad, husband.”
Some more blood dripped from his lip when he smiled.
“Then I promise to make sure to get you out of here before you start collecting bugs like my niece,” he said jokingly.
“You mock me,” you pointed out sharply and tapped his chest with your finger. “And my worry. too, when it is very adequate.”
“No, love, not at all. I don’t mock you.”
He coughed into his sleeve and made an innocent face. At least he was in a good mood.
“I am only being rational, even if you view it as paranoia. Oh, and trust me, Helaena’s company sometimes feels like she is one of very few sane people around here.”
Gwayne chuckled. “It must be bad if you say it.”
“It is bad. That’s why I pray for the war to be finished. So you can take off your armor for good and we can go home.”
“Not so many innocent lives could be spared?” He suggested.
Frolics.
“That too, of course. And honestly, I never want to see a dragon again. Not close, not far, not at all,” you said with a grimace.
Gwayne sat more comfortably with you in his lap, resting his back on the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment like he was dreaming, and yet it was nothing pleasant.
“The dragons, love,” he mumbled. When he opened his eyes there was nothing but worry in them, like he could recall the fire and death in its every detail even now. “They… Gods, they are nightmares.”
You watched your husband with carefulness, and dried his skin. “Do you wish to speak of it? The battle?”
You saw the hesitation on his face. The way he was questioning if he should bother you or not. Like he was picking between being a husband or a friend and trustee. Choice you never wished him to make.
“Do not offend me,” you said softly, “with the idea that I have not enough courage to bear those things you were forced to face.”
He nodded, yet no word of the battle itself left him at once. He needed time, you knew. Whenever something happened you tended to spend long nights talking about it in bed and you didn’t doubt it would be similar this time.
“We brought the head of the fallen beast…” he said.
“So it's true,” you hummed in awe. “I heard the voices from town. People didn’t like it.”
“No, they didn’t,” he agreed. “Truth be told, I don’t like it either. It stinks.”
“Reeks of a dead dragon? Who would have thought,” you teased ironically, making him stick his fingers more into the flesh on your waist.
“The only advance this place has over Oldtown,” you spoke up again, “is that rumors seem to be more reliable. To those who know how to understand them they are almost always valid. I find that entertaining.”
“Yes? And what did you hear, love?”
“I heard that your cousin is on his way here. And he’s with Daeron, too,” you informed proudly of your discovery. “People already whisper about another dragon.”
But Gwayne’s face fell and he sighed like the weight of the world was just dropped on his shoulders. For a moment you thought that it came from worry about his young nephew, but you finally understood when he spoke up.
“Are we not allowed some time away from him?”
It was sharp, annoyed, and ‘him’ must have been none other than Ormund Hightower.
“You haven’t seen him in months, Gwayne. There are two of us who don’t miss him, but…”
“I see him enough at home,” he remarked then lowered his head to your shoulder. “I’lll have to keep an eye on him when he’s around you,” he muttered.
“What? Do you have no trust in me, husband?”
“Oh, I have all trust in you,” he promised, feeling something bitter even at the thought of his cousin laying his eyes on you. “I just don't want him bothering you.”
You waved it off. “It will be fine. There is no need for you to get angry.”
“Him or his men…” Gwayne kept going.
You rolled your eyes and quickly got off his lap to dry your own hands and pick up the bandages.
“At least we’ll see your nephew again.”
With that he could agree.
“Yes, at least. You're fond of the boy, aren't you?”
“Yes. He’s… “You merely shrugged. “He is different from his siblings, you know? Perhaps Helaena… Well, the future of house Targaryen, I think, lies in Daeron alone. It's good that he's not cruel like his kins…”
Gwayne nodded and moved to stand up, slowly growing restless about the absence of your warmth against him.
“In that you might be just right, my dear. But Ormund… I keep no love for my cousin now that I have you to protect,” he confessed.
“I don't need–”
“I know,” he interrupted quietly and leaned to kiss the uncovered skin on your shoulder. “I know but I would go mad if you didn't allow me to be protective and just a little bit overbearing.”
a/n: you noticed that i made all of those hightowers quite crazy about smells, right? RIGHT? you noticed??
Keegan randomly mumbling, “I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” When you’re sleep in his arms or something when you’re both like 18.
And you do in fact, spend the rest of your life with him.
There was a tipping point (there always is) but never an end, always the first to apologize. So timid trying to hold your hand when the words fall from his lips, ‘I’m sorry.’ A man who can be nonchalant with everyone but he can’t help but stare at you for a life time. The love and longing in his blue eyes, pupils dilating as he becomes memorized by you again.
Whether it be when you wake up, scratching yoru stomach in a scarf, blinking through the sunlight that hurt your eyes. Or the way you hold him even close be it just randomly or after a fight, the way you dance around the house playing your favorite songs, terrible singing he only encourages to sing louder. The way you don’t have an issue with correcting him, all while he slides a hand to the small of your back and kiss all over your face. Spontaneous trips when he’s free or how you just get so soft with him. Want to do the mundane or some scrapbooking with him. Listen to him talk all day long about his favorite art work.
He’s imagined so many different variations of the house with the white picket fence for you, maybe one day as he stares at the side of your face it’s some 3 bedroom lake house, with a dog or two, quiet evening by the fire or when he sees you all dressed up for a date. Taking the lead and guiding him through the city, it’s some small apartment but it’s cozy, the two of you, a little Terrace for grilling, take the little baby to the park so they can run around in the grass. Or when he’s done making love to you, the after glow on your body as he wipes you down, it’s that classic house, 4 bedroom, one for a shared office, two for the kids who are causing havoc, one for you both to share. Sneaking long kisses before your kids are dragging you off to play in the quaint back hard. Letting them climb all over him while you watch not so far away giggling uo a storm, pointer on how to defeat the dragon he’s become for them.
Stupid in love, always in love, let the years go by yout yout hair turns grey with wrinkles and frown lines and the whole galore, and Keegan would find a new way to love you, to be in love with you. Want to explore that pretty kind of you’re all over again. Nuzzle his head in your curly hair full of products, bring you another plate of food, footsie at dinner with the grandkids—
“Keegan!” You call out to him, snapping in his face. “Are you listening or not? I’m feelin alone in the conversation.” You laugh off, falling back against the armchair of the couch.
His eyes soften, cheeks becoming red whilst he grabs a decorative pillow to hide his face. He peeks his eyes at you, drawn to that beautiful face of yours. Smirking with your eyebrow raised.
“Just… your my everything Dollface, think you’ve got my heart pounding just from looking at me for so long.”
You laugh, playfully nudging him, “You’re joking.”
The pillow squeeze in his hand, can’t help the corners of his lips curving upward, “There it goes again.”
AN: 🩵💗 - so sorry for how long this is (also here is the unofficial part two to this fic - fall back into place)!!
“Come along, Y/N!” Rhaenyra yelled. “The flowers will still be there when we return.”
“Very well, Your Highness.” She sighed, hooking her arm through the princesses. “They only bloom once a year. I am simply taking in their beauty before they wilt.”
“I understand. Unfortunately for you, I now need a chaperone to walk my own halls, as every lord in the land vies for my hand.”
“Oh, poor poor Rhaenyra.” Y/N teased. “I can only imagine.”
“Rhaenyra, Y/N!” The girls turned around, Alicent running toward them with a young man in tow.
Y/N leaned over, whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear. “It seems even your own friends are playing matchmaker.”
Rhaenyra laughed, coughing to cover it up. Alicent looked suspiciously at Y/N. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, Alicent, nothing at all.”
“Oh, never mind.” She pulled the man forward. “May I introduce my brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown. He’s just arrived for the tourney.”
Alicent’s brother was handsome: tall, with auburn hair and deep blue eyes. One could tell from a single glance he and Alicent were related. Freckles adorned his face, and Y/N could only assume it was from his ample time outdoors. She curtsied quickly, staring at the ground.
Protocol regarding courting was odd and often confusing. With different social statuses came different rules. The Princess was the highest ranking of the two girls before him; thus, he would kiss Rhaenyra’s hand last. It was an honest mistake, a lapse in judgment, Y/N was sure. Odd, she’d thought to herself, she assumed that Gwayne was taught these sorts of things.
Her eyes drifted back to his, holding back a gasp as he extended his hand to her, after Rhaenyra. She placed hers in his palm hesitantly. He bowed once more, his hold gentle, like he was scared to break her. His lips were soft, and her cheeks turned bright red from the touch, eyes wide with shock.
She realized, amid her thinking, that Alicent and Rhaenyra had been taunting her, much too entertained by this simple encounter. Y/N ripped her hand away; any passerby would have thought it was on fire.
“My lady.”
She’d almost frowned. “I am no lady, Ser.” Entertaining the thought of him would only come back to haunt her, she told herself. The entire point of the tourney was to field potential suitors for the Princess, none were here for the ward of the crown, an orphaned bastard in her own right. He was attractive, there was no denying it. The way his eyes twinkled, or the way his hair fell over his eyes, or when his smile-
“Oh?” The young man frowned, his voice snapping her back to life. Her cheeks were still flushed. This avoiding business would prove to be harder than she previously thought. “My mistake. You are the very picture of a lady, I must say.”
Their spectators gasped. Y/N scoffed. “Do not think you can mock me, Ser.” She tightened her hold on Rhaenyra’s arm. “If you will excuse us…”
Not bothering to wait for a response, she turned around, dragging the princess along with her. Rhaenyra whispered, nudging her friend. “I believe he was smitten.”
Y/N shook her head. “And I believe it was all a game, most likely a way to make you jealous.” Her heart clenched at the thought. “Just a game.”
Rhaenyra’s room was a disaster, but when had it not been?
For as long as either of the Princess’s companions could remember, her suite had been covered with gowns and riding suits thrown haphazardly on the floor.
Not that either of the other girls cared, they were happy to lay on the Princess’s plush cushions, taking in the sun as it filled the room. Y/N’s head hung off the sofa, laughing as her friend ran through her closet. “If it were any larger, you would get lost inside.”
Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “I would be content with just my riding suit, thank you very much.”
Alicent laughed. “You know you’d rather die than look simple. You live for fine silks and designs-”
Y/N nodded, doing her best to imitate the Princess. “Oh Y/N fetch the purple dress, will you? Fetch the red dress! No, not that one. The one with the jewels. No not that one, the other-” A pillow slammed against her face, and she giggled, holding her hands up defensively. “Mercy, I beg of you!”
“You could have had all this.” Rhaenyra sat beside the girl, whispering. “If my father simply acknowledged-”
“That my mother gave birth to me out of wedlock? No amount of Targaryen blood can excuse that dishonor.” Y/N sat up, frowning. “It does no good to dwell, Rhaenyra. Besides, I am content with the life I lead, spending time with my favorite cousin.”
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “I am your only cousin.”
“Not true.” She laughed. “There is Daemon and-”
“My brother seems rather taken with you, I must say.” Y/N’s heart broke at the thought of Gwayne being smitten with Rhaenyra.
Why, she could not quite place. “Hear that ‘Nyra? I told you I was-”
“I was talking to you, Y/N,” Alicent smirked.
Her cheeks grew hot, her hands itching to cover her face. “You must be mistaken.”
“Do you truly think so little of him?” The auburn-haired girl reached out, grabbing Y/N’s hand comfortingly. “I assure you, he is honorable and loyal to a fault.”
“I am sure he is.” Y/N smiled. “He must be leaving soon, now that the tournament is nearly over.”
Rhaenyra smirked. “I must say, it was not as extensive as I would have liked.”
“Really?” Y/N laughed. “It has already been a fortnight since its beginning.”
“And if the Princess feels it is not finished…” Rhaenyra wiggled her eyebrows. “The Princess will announce an extension.”
Alicent giggled. “Or rather your father.”
“My lady.”
She’d almost escaped. Y/N sighed, turning around. “My lord.”
She had seen the man following her for quite a while, hoping that he was merely visiting the library. She bowed quickly. “How may I be of service?” Lord Frey’s scent could make a man grown faint. She felt the bile rise as he took a step closer, whispering.
“I was wondering if you could put in a word with your Princess.”
She nodded. “What would you like me to relay?”
“Well-” His ‘kind’ facade was cracking. If he could barely handle a simple question, she doubted Rhaenyra would enjoy him. “If you could-”
“My lady.” Her heart fluttered at the sight of Gwyane Hightower, his hair bouncing as he walked toward her. “I’ve been waiting. We agreed to meet in the gardens.”
“I am sorry.” She smiled, genuinely smiled. “I was simply talking to Lord Frey.” She looked back to the older man, urging him to continue. “You were saying, my lord?”
He gritted his teeth. “It is of no consequence. I shall take my leave.” He bowed. “My lady. Ser Hightower.”
“Lord Frey,” Gwayne replied, waiting until he had rounded the corner. “Always a pleasure.”
Y/N fought the urge to laugh. She walked past the young knight, her heart beating faster as he diligently followed after her. “Do you not have somewhere to be, my lord?”
“As I said, I have been waiting for you.”
She scoffed. “I must say, you are the very picture of a knight. Saving a damsel in distress? How chivalrous.”
He smiled, bowing sarcastically. “Thank you, my lady.”
“I am not a-”
“A lady. You have said.” He grabbed a book from the shelf, pretending to read it before throwing it over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, walking around him to pick up the book he’d discarded. The maester would have her head if he found it lying there. “I must say, a lady has never been so-” He laughed as she opened her mouth to correct him. “So unmoved by my advances.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint. If you’ll excuse me-”
“What are you doing with the remainder of your day, I wonder.”
“Why?”
“I would like a proper tour of the castle, and my sister has been too busy as of late.” He looked too eager, too eager to spend time with a mere lady in waiting. “Would you care to show me?”
“I would not.”
“Wonderful. I will-” He stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, I would not.” She put the last book away, climbing up the ladder. “It is quite cruel, this game you are playing.”
“I am sorry?” He tilted his head.
“I know this is a ploy to gain Rhaenyra’s favor, to win the tourney, and possibly win your father’s approval.” She scoffed, eyes watery at the thought of yet another man using her to gain advantage. “This is by far the cruelest way, I must tell you.”
He laughed, actually laughed at her, which only angered her further, tears falling as a result. He stopped his laughing, reaching out to comfort her, frowning when she stepped back. “Do you really think I am using you for your lady’s hand?”
“I do.” She climbed back down from the ladder, ignoring the way he held it from wavering beneath her. “There is no reason for you to be interested in me.”
He shook his head as if he’d misheard her. “Are you aware you are beautiful?”
Y/N ignored that comment, facing him with pleading eyes. “Please spare me from your taunts. I understand that you may- you may find it amusing-”
Gwayne was confused, extremely, and utterly confused. He had just complimented her, why was she asking him to spare her? “I must make this clear and simple, as you seem to get the wrong impression from me. I am not interested in your lady. I am interested in-”
“Every suitor I have encountered has gone through either myself or Alicent to gain Rhaenyra’s favor. By the gods-” She flailed her arms. “Some even go to me inquiring about your sister!”
He practically growled, her heart leaping from the sound. “Then they are cowards.”
“Yes, well…” She had to leave before her resolve broke. “My lord.”
“Do you let anyone other than yourself speak?”
Y/N gasped, whipping around. “Excuse me?”
“I have been trying to explain myself to you, to tell you that-” He stopped himself. “So far every attempt has been overpowered by you.” He crossed his arms, a smirk gracing his lips. “Now…” His voice was practically a whisper. “May I speak?”
“I-” She swallowed, nodding. She did not trust her voice when he looked at her so… so longingly?
“The outing I suggested earlier, would simply be a tour, nothing more.” He took her hand in his. “Nothing untoward will come of it, I swear to you.”
He looked sincere. So sincere that she began to consider it. “We will need a chaperone. The king would not allow me to go off alone, even with a knight.”
“The king?” Gwayne was intrigued. “Exactly why would the king care?”
“Because I am a ward of the crown. I have been since I was born. My mother was a-” She stopped herself. “She was a close friend of King Jaehaerys, and he took me in. King Viserys has been gracious enough to let me stay.”
“Well, then I shall have to thank him.”
“For?”
“If it had not been for him…” He reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “We would have never met.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling herself out of his hold. “I shall see you tomorrow, my lord.”
He grinned, calling after her. “I look forward to it!”
Gwayne smiled as he watched the woman in front of him. She was glowing in this light and practically skipping through the gardens with joy. It was funny, seeing a woman he had often seen as melancholy at best so energetic. “Do you often find yourself at peace here?”
“I do.” Y/N nodded. “I was told my mother loved the gardens, I suppose I feel she is still with me when I am here.”
“Did you know her?” Gwayne inquired. “Your mother, that is.”
“She died when I was a babe.” She leaned forward, taking in the scent of the roses in front of her. “I have glimpses of her. She had bright eyes, bright hair. Her laugh was the most beautiful melody you could ever hear. At least…” She drifted off, staring at the ground. “From what I can remember.”
“I have the same.” His voice was quiet. “Although, my mother died when I was eight years of age.”
“That’s awful.” She frowned. “Alicent told me she had died, but not how old you’d been. That must have been worse, I suppose. Having known her, and then in a moment, gone.”
He shrugged. “My mother was… less than maternal. She had always been one for court and fashion rather than her children.”
“Ah.”
“Still, it hurt. Me more than Alicent, I suppose. She’d only been four years old.”
She ached to reach out and hold him. “I am sorry.”
“For?”
“Reliving the past.”
“If I remember correctly…” He plucked a nearby daisy, placing it behind her ear ever so delicately. “I found this topic of conversation.”
“Yes well…” She smiled, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. “Still…”
He leaned forward, his breath hitting her nose. “I am sure your mother would be proud.”
To that, Y/N laughed. “She was always the adventurous sort, at least, that is what I’ve gathered from the stories. She was highly admired too, beautiful…” She looked down, picking at the skin around her thumb. “I hope to be half the woman she was.”
“You are.” He whispered, holding her hand. He had noticed, much to his dismay, that she’d adopted the habit of picking at her skin. It hurt him, to see her do that to herself.
His sister did the same.
Her heart stopped, looking up to meet his gaze. He was beautiful. Staring into his eyes, she began to realize how inappropriate of a position they were in.
Where was their chaperone? She took a step back, forgetting the rose bush behind her. Yelping, she jumped forward, falling into his arms.
Gwayne laughed, throwing his head back. “Have I startled you?”
She scoffed, pushing him away. “Not at all. I simply remembered we have much more of the tour to get through.” She darted around him, leading the way out of the garden. “Now, come along.”
“Yes sir,” Gwayne muttered, mockingly saluting.
She looked behind her, a smile gracing her lips. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” His pace quickened until they were side by side. “Simply admiring your hospitality.”
She shoved his arm, rolling her eyes. “Ever the jester.”
The remainder of their day passed quickly, much quicker than Y/N would have liked. By the end, she came to realize that the noble knight was a near-perfect companion. Serious when required, a jester when the moment called for it, he was kind, and a good man.
Their last moments had been silent, soaking in the dull roar around them. Every so often, their hands grazed, neither daring to reach out. The sunset with the perfect blend of orange and pink, the waves crashing against King Landing’s rocky cliffs. It made Y/N smile, the way it brought out the red in Gwayne’s hair. She whispered, the words barely leaving her. “You’re hair is the most perfect shade. Have you noticed?” His cheeks turned red, and she smirked, taking his silence as a no. “If only it were transferable.”
That had made him laugh. “Have you just given me a compliment?”
She laughed. “We are friends, are we not?” The night was coming to an end, her door just a few paces away. “Friends compliment each other.”
His shoulders visibly deflated, but he smiled nonetheless. “Yes. Friends compliment each other.” Silence fell over them again, neither daring to speak until she’d reached for her door. His hand grabbed her wrist, holding her just so.
His voice was raspy, quiet enough the breeze itself could have carried it away. “You are perfection itself.” Her cheeks were bright red, and she grew grateful he could not see her, knowing that she would surely become the subject of his jests if he saw her blush. “As your friend…”
She nodded, smiling to herself as she pushed the door open, his hold releasing her wrist. “Goodnight, my lord.”
“My friends do not call me my lord.”
She turned around, curtsying ever so lightly. “Then goodnight, Gwayne.”
He bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Are you not terribly tired of reading?”
“If I was tired of it, I would not still be doing it, now would I?”
Gwayne groaned, rolling over on their shared blanket, staring at the sky. “One should not confine themselves to a book when the whole world is sitting in front of them.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, setting the book down in her lap. “I will have you know I am not confining myself.”
“Oh?” He laughed, his eyes closing. “Then what exactly are you doing?”
“I was trying to relax.” She murmured. “Something I can never seem to do when you are present.”
“What was that?” His smirk was growing increasingly mischievous, and she knew that he had heard her.
“I will not repeat myself. You heard me.” Grabbing her book out of her lap, she opened its pages once more. “Now hush. This is the best part.”
“Read it to me then.” He closed his eyes, laying beside her. “I would like to hear what is so interesting it has taken you away from me.”
“It was you who suggested the picnic, Gwayne, not I.” She laughed. “They are supposed to be tranquil.”
“Maybe in King’s Landing.” He muttered. “In Oldtown, they are supposed to be fun.”
“Well, I am not from Oldtown, nor are we there, which could imply why I was unaware of your customs. Which could also explain how we have reached this argument.”
His eyebrows raised. “Is this an argument?”
She ignored him, mumbling to herself. “This is fun.”
“Well, it would be.” He teased. “If you read to me.”
“You jest.” She mumbled. “Now let me sit in peace.”
He stood up, walking behind her just to sit down once more. “May I?”
“May you what, exactly?” Her cheeks felt hot, he had this effect on her.
“Alicent once taught me to plait hair, when she was young.” He smiled to himself. “I assume it was a self-serving act, but still.” He leaned forward, his voice causing goosebumps to run up her spine. “At least let me pass the time this way.”
“Fine.” Y/N could never say no to him, no matter how hard she tried. “Do not make me look hideous.”
“That…” He pulled out the pins that held her hair elegantly. “Is not possible.” Her cheeks flushed, ignoring that compliment. “Are you attending the tourney tomorrow?”
Y/N nodded. “I must. Rhaenyra has insisted I attend as her lady-in-waiting.” She laughed. “It is quite odd.”
“How so?”
“She has never required that of me before.”
Gwayne grinned. “Well, I shall enjoy knowing you are watching.”
“Really?” She laughed again. “I thought you would enjoy it more if I had not attended. Then you could recount the story as outlandishly as you pleased.”
“Y/N…” His voice sounded desperate, and her heart skipped. “If you do not wish to attend, I’m sure the Princess will understand.”
“No!” She practically yelped. “I want to.”
He smiled, his blush growing darker. “Then I shall do my very best.” His fingers grazed her neck, a gasp leaving her lips before she could silence herself. Gwayne made no comment of it, simply finishing the braid and standing up, extending his hand.
She glared playfully, standing up of her own accord. She knelt, picking up the blanket and folding it haphazardly.
“Let me.” Gwayne took the blanket and basket from her arms, carrying them back up to the castle. “A lady should never carry such things.”
“A basket and blanket?” She raised an eyebrow. “I am not weak.”
“I know.” He smiled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “You are decidedly, not weak.”
She nodded, puffing her chest. “If we walk any slower, you shall be late.”
He groaned. “Why must I attend this soiree?”
“Because it is meant for you. For knights participating in the tourney, that is. Rhaenyra will be there, as will her father-”
“And will you?” Gwayne interrupted. “Be in attendance?”
“I shall.” She smiled brightly. “Now come along and follow after me closely.”
He tilted his head. “Where are you taking me, exactly?”
“Maegor’s tunnels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “They were made as an escape plan. Now the servants use them to move around the castle unseen.” The corridor was dark, the lanterns doing little to illuminate the path.
Gwayne felt a chill run down his spine, and he reached out, grabbing her hand. “Are you quite sure this is safe?”
“I have used them my whole life.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Trust me.”
He smiled, all fears of imminent doom leaving him as her skin touched his. “Lead the way.”
“You are going to break my hand.” Rhaenyra hissed.
Y/N smiled guiltily, releasing the Princess's hand. “My apologies, Princess.” She straightened the fabric of her dress, sitting tall. “I am simply excited. I love tourneys.”
“You do not. You have not been to a tourney since we were ten years of age.”
“Untrue,” Y/N muttered, looking over the edge of the box for her knight. “I am simply busy.”
“With what?” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “Who are you looking for anyhow?”
Alicent sat on the other side of the Princess, leaning forward and wiggling her eyebrows. “I believe she is looking for my brother.”
Rhaenyra grinned. “Has that-” Alicent elbowed the Princess, widening her eyes.
Y/N tilted her head. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Rhaenyra muttered, holding her side. “Nothing.”
A knight approached the royal box, and Y/N grinned, waiting for Rhaenyra to stand first, as was customary. Rhaenyra smirked, looking at Alicent quickly before approaching the ledge. “Ser Hightower.” Alicent and Y/N approached second, arm in arm. Curstying quickly, she smiled at Gwayne brightly. The knight nodded his head. “Your Highness.” He turned to Y/N, his eyes softening. “My lady.”
“Ser Hightower.” Y/N greeted. “This is quite the tourney. I’m impressed.”
He grinned. “May I-” He swallowed. “May I have the honor of wearing your favor?”
Her cheeks grew bright red. “You-” She looked at Rhaenyra. “Do you not-”
He laughed. “I believe it is quite obvious I do not.”
Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. She leaned over, whispering in her cousin’s ear. “This is when you give the man your favor, Y/N.”
“But, I-” She turned back to Gwayne once more. “Are you quite sure?”
He nodded, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes, my lady.”
She turned around, pulling her arm out of Alicent’s. As she was a bastard, her house colors were unknown, opting to simply decorate the ring with her favorite flowers.
Of course, Rhaneyra and Y/N had known, but to blatantly defy the order of the king… she locked eyes with King Viserys, who was gazing at her curiously. Her eyes darted to the floor, turning back around. “May your luck bring you to victory, Ser Hightower.”
“As long as I have you to think of…” He looked positively giddy. “I shall never lose.”
Y/N was sure her cheeks were bright red. She rolled her eyes, ignoring his compliment.
Her heart twisted, knowing that they could never marry, as who would allow their firstborn son, their heir, to wed a bastard? She pushed his lance playfully, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “Go on, then.”
“You look stunning.” Alicent smiled, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “The very picture of a lady.”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “I cannot name a time I have dressed so…” She smiled. “So elegantly.”
“It is a ball,” Rhaenyra interjected. “I will not have my dear friend in something drab.”
Alicent glared, and Rhaenyra stuck her tongue out. “She knows I do not mean that she is drab. I was simply-”
“It is alright, Rhaenyra.” Y/N laughed. “I was not offended in the slightest.”
“Red is most definitely your color.” Alicent grinned, spinning her friend around.
Rhaenyra smirked. “Your knight shall not know what to do with himself.” Alicent gasped, smacking Rhaenyra’s arm. The Princess winced, glaring at her friend. “You cannot keep hitting me whenever you are disappointed.”
Y/N tilted her head. “My knight?”
“It is no matter.” Alicent stopped the Princess from blabbing anymore. “Shall we?”
The ballroom was filled to the brim with nobility from all over the Seven Kingdoms, the Hightowers, the Tullys, even the Starks had come to participate in the tourney and celebrate its results.
Y/N stepped back, watching as her friends entered. The squire stomped his cane, effectively silencing the ballroom. “The Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, accompanied by the Lady Alicent Hightower.”
They looked elegant, lighting up the room as they walked. Y/N walked up to the squire, smiling lightly. “No need to introduce me, Orvyn.”
He nodded, smiling kindly. “As you wish, my lady.”
The ballroom had not paid attention as she walked, not that she minded. It was better that way, she convinced herself as she glanced around the room. She smiled, waving at Gwayne, who was already staring back at her, rather intensely. His eyes… she shivered, ripping herself away from his gaze as she curtsied before the King. “Your Majesty.”
Viserys smiled, eyeing her royal red dress with curiosity. “Y/N.”
She rose; she could still feel Gwayne’s eyes fixed on her. Sitting beside Rhaenyra, she took a large gulp of her wine. “Is Gwayne still-”
Rhaenyra nodded, laughing to herself. “He is walking over.”
“What?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her heart pounding. “Why?”
“I assume…” She whispered, Gwayne now mere inches away. “He is going to ask you to dance.”
“He-”
“Your Highness.” The knight bowed. “My lady.”
Y/N avoided eye contact and took another large sip. Rhaenyra smirked. “Ser Gwayne, congratulations on your victory.”
“Thank you, Princess.” He smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I stole your lady for a dance?”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “Not at all, my lord.” She looked at Y/N, enjoying this situation too much. “Y/N?”
“What?” Y/N whispered.
“He is asking you to dance.” Rhaenyra hissed. “Now get up.”
“I-” Y/N looked at Gwayne for the second time that night, feeling as if she could faint at any moment. “I would be delighted.”
His hand waited for hers, as it had so many times before. He whispered, placing his arm around her waist as they stood on the dance floor, his touch shocking her to her very core. “Is something the matter?”
She shook her head.
“Then why, pray tell…” His voice sounded desperate. “Have you refused to meet my eyes? I have missed your company.”
She raised her gaze, falling for the trap he’d set. “I saw you but two days ago, Gwayne.”
“There you are.” He grinned, pulling her closer as the dance began. “Now tell me, what is the matter?”
“You are leaving soon.”
“I am.” He replied as if this were any normal conversation. And perhaps it was, but Y/N would not say so. No normal conversation made her heart beat as fast as this.
“And I-” She sighed. “I did not want to bother you while you prepared for your journey back.”
“Back?” He tilted his head. “And where am I journeying to?”
“To Oldtown, of course.” His eyebrows scrunched, and Y/N fought the urge to burst into laughter. “I assumed-”
“Well, there’s no good in that, is there?” He whispered. “Assuming is a dangerous business.”
“But why would you stay?” She felt entirely confused. He had won the tourney and now would go home to tend to his duties. “There is no-” His eyes sparkled as she spoke, halting her momentarily. “No reason.”
Gwayne leaned down, his breath hitting her cheeks. “There is one reason. A very compelling one, in truth.”
Her heart stopped. “Is there?”
He nodded, eyes fluttering down to her lips.
Oh.
She was the reason.
Before she could fall for his spell, she pulled back, disrupting the dance. His eyes widened, reaching out to hold her hand. “Y/N?”
She ripped her hand back, staring wide-eyed. “I am not feeling well.”
His tone was gentle, it made her stomach flip. Gods, he had to stop being so- so perfect. “Would you like me to-”
“No!” She yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Nobles from around the room curiously gazed at the couple. “No, I shall go alone.”
“Y/N-”
She whipped around, stalking out of the ballroom. It broke her, to walk away from his hold. She knew she could no longer be around him; she was fighting her very soul to leap up and attach her lips to his.
There was only one solution to this problem, this vexing complication - she would have to avoid him entirely. No more traipsing around the halls waiting for him to see her, no more walking by the stables or the training yard.
No, she would have to stay confined to her and Rhaenyra’s rooms.
That was the best course of action, for both her and Gwayne.
Little did she know, Gwayne would not stand for it.
“They say-” Rhaenyra spoke carefully as she addressed her cousin. “That your knight is leaving today.”
“Ah.” Y/N nodded, staring off into the distance.
“Y/N…” The Princess sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Punishing yourself because of your birth… You must stop refusing any sign of affection or love simply on the-”
“Who said it was love?” Y/N scoffed, walking out to the balcony. “Certainly not I.”
“Anyone with eyes can see it. He is mad for you, as you are for him.” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath. “Even if you refuse to admit it.”
“I cannot admit something false, Rhaenyra.” Her lips curled into a twisted sort of smile. “I am content with my life, serving you.”
“All perfectly fine with me,” Rhaenyra reassured. “But you have a chance with Gwayne. Swear to me you will not waste it.”
“I-” She sighed. “I must retrieve your dinner, my lady.” Y/N curtsied before racing out of the room. By the gods, she couldn’t breathe when Rhaenyra lectured her. It was horrible enough that Alicent had begun to look upon her as if she was a kicked puppy, now Rhaenyra had began to do the same.
She pushed open the servant's door, twisting through Maegor’s tunnels with ease. It was odd, she told herself, at the lack of maids in its halls. Normally, she was dodging servants left and right. This felt strange, unnerving in a way.
Footsteps echoed behind her, and her heart leapt when a hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her into a dark corner. She gasped, flailing her arms around, doing anything that could beat this intruder off her. Gwayne’s familiar voice ripped her from her panicked cries. “It’s me! It’s me.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What possessed you to drag me-”
“You will not talk to me.” He crossed his arms, staring at her intensely. “I am sorry if I scared you.” She turned around, walking back to the hallway. Gwayne followed diligently. “My party is set to leave today.”
Y/N nodded, ignoring the way her heart clenched. “So I’ve heard.”
“I wanted to say goodbye before I left.” His voice wavered. “I will miss-”
“You’ve said goodbye.” She cut him off, whipping around. “Now you may leave.”
He closed the space between them, eyes running wild with confusion. “Why must you be like this? Have I truly upset you?”
“Will you not respect a lady’s wishes?” She took a step back, scoffing. “I thought you were a knight, Lord Hightower.”
“Don’t.”
“I must attend to my lady. Her dinner is past due.” She continued her walk through the tunnels, ignoring his overwhelming presence.
“Damn her dinner.” He hissed, walking a pace behind her as he whispered. “I have been trying, for weeks, to court you, and you’ve denied me every step of the way. Just as soon as I-”
She scoffed. “Court me? Did Lord Tyland put you up to this?”
He shook his head, laughing. “Is it so hard to believe that I am interested in you? That the very thought of you consumes me?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why?”
She could only imagine his expression, his beautiful face creased with shock. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. “I am a bastard, you a lord’s son. By the gods, your father is hand to the King, and I am merely a lady in waiting.” She frowned, eyes watering. “It is not proper-”
“Then damn propriety!” He yelled, grabbing her wrist and halting her in her tracks. Her back was pressed against his chest. “I- I am mad for you, you must see that.”
Her shoulders shook, tears falling down her face. “Gwayne, it is for the best.”
“No!” He twirled her around, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You- you make me think, and feel, and act as none have. Your laughter- it brightens my day. Your wit makes me proud. I am-” He sighed, smiling brightly at the mere sight of her. “How?”
She tilted her head. “How?”
“How can I show you?” Her back collided with the wall, her breath leaving her, her heart thumping at their proximity. “How can I make you believe?”
“Gwayne…”
“Damn it to hell…” He leaned down, colliding his lips to hers. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut as she instantly pulled him closer. “I am not deterred by your status, nor do I care. I will have you, regardless of what the court thinks is proper.” His forehead leaned against hers, his hand resting at the bottom of her neck.
“We cannot-” Tears continued to fall down her face. “Gwayne, it cannot happen-”
“Do you want it to?” He remained steadfast. “Is this what you truly feel, or merely what the lords and ladies of Kings Landing shall say?”
“Gwayne, your father will never approve.”
“By the gods woman…” He laughed. “Do you love me?”
“Love?” She choked on a sob. Her body felt as if it could burst into flames at any moment. He was standing close, closer than what was deemed appropriate. “Do I-”
“I do.” He whispered, nudging her nose with his, lips barely touching. “I love you.”
“Gwayne, just listen to me.” She was fighting every bone in her body not to kiss him senselessly. “I am not good enough for you. There are hundreds of ladies-”
“You are, you are good enough. Perhaps too good. Besides…” He whispered. “I want you. Only you.” His eyes were intense, his thumb caressing her collarbone. By the gods, he was trying to make her burst into flames. “Only you.” His lips collided against hers, her eyes fluttering shut once more.
Her hands found their way to his chest, slowly pushing him away. “We cannot.”
“Oh?” He looked around the hallway. “I do not see anyone.”
“You know what I meant, Gwayne Hightower.”
“Would you like to stop?”
“No!” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
His eyebrows rose, laughing to himself. “So eager.” He nudged his nose against hers. “Whatever shall I do with you?”
“Why have you stopped?” Gwayne’s voice was but a murmur.
“I did not know you were listening.” She smiled. “You appeared to be sleeping.”
“Merely basking in your presence, my love.” His eyes fluttered open. “I must say, you look radiant in this light.”
She laughed. “As opposed to?”
“You know that I find you impossibly perfect.” His eyes shut again. “How long has it been since you began this book?”
“Hard to say. Possibly half an hour?” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?”
“No reason.” He smirked, finding comfort in her lap once more.
“Well, there must be.” Her laughter filled his heart, his soul. “You never ask for the time.”
“May I not ask the beautiful woman, whom I love, what the time is? I simply want to know how long I have been lying in the garden.” His eyes peeked open once more, her eyebrows raising in amusement. “If you must know, I have an appointment at half past three.”
“An appointment?” She shut her book, running her hand through his hair. “Whatever for?”
“It is a secret.”
“Really?” She pulled her hand away from his hair, laughing as he sat up, obviously disappointed by the sudden lack of touch.
“Really.” He stood, extending his hand. She smiled, placing hers in his gladly. “It is with the King.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling as they walked. “Has something happened?”
“Yes.”
Her heart dropped. “Is it serious?”
He nodded. “Deadly.”
She groaned. “Now you must tell me.”
He sighed, stopping by the fountain. “Fine, fine. But you must not tell.”
She nodded, interlocking their pinkies. “I swear.”
He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “I am asking the King for your hand.”
Her eyebrows crinkled. “My hand?”
“In marriage, my love.” She stood there speechless. He laughed, kissing the back of her hand gently. “I cannot be late.”
He had been halfway down the trail when she’d been brought back to life.
“Gwayne!”
He turned around, laughing at the sight before him. Y/N was racing toward him, skirts in hand and book discarded, grinning wildly. “Gwayne, you come back here this instant!”
He shook his head, running away. “This is highly unladylike, I must say!” She glared, almost tripping over a tree root, his laughter cascading through the garden. “Almost makes me rethink my question!”
🚬🦐: No one knows how the outbreak began, and at this point, nobody really cares, because the world has already fell apart, and survival took over.
You’re living alone by choice, moving carefully through a ruined city and scraping by on whatever you can find. During a routine scavenging run, things go bad, and you’re forced into a situation where another survivor steps in.
This oneshot was originally published by me on Wattpad. (Yes ik stupid Wattpad. My writing is just not advanced enough for Ao3 or Tumblr.)
——————————————————————————
No one agrees on the exact moment everything fell apart.
Some say it began in a lab somewhere off the map. A contained experiment, tightly sealed behind glass and government funding, meant to treat neurological decay. The idea was simple enough: repair damaged brain tissue. Regrow what was lost. A miracle for diseases people had spent centuries trying to cure.
Others claim it started with a meteor fragment pulled from deep Arctic ice. Ancient microbes. Something that had no business waking up again.
Then there are the ones who swear the first infection came from a hospital patient who died and then sat upright three minutes later.
Truth is, by the time anyone figured out which story was real, the details didn't matter anymore, because the infection was already spreading.
At first it looked like a high fever. Hospitals filled up in days, doctors scrambling while the news stations tried to keep things calm. Governments issued statements about containment zones and temporary quarantines.
Then people started biting, not metaphorically. Like actual biting.
A week later the power grids failed in three major cities. Panic took over and military checkpoints appeared overnight, then vanished just as fast when those checkpoints were overrun. Phone signals died and internet went silent. The dead didn't stay dead.
Now, months later, nobody bothers asking how it started anymore. The only question that matters is how long someone can survive.
———————————
You learned quickly that surviving alone was easier.
People liked to say teamwork kept everyone alive, but you had seen how that really went. Groups meant arguments. Arguments meant hesitation. And hesitation meant that someone was going to get killed or infected.
Then suddenly your supplies weren't yours anymore.
Food split six ways instead of one. Ammo disappearing. Someone deciding they knew better than everyone else.
Yeah no thanks. You were better solo. You moved quiet, slept light, and trusted exactly one person. Which was Yourself.
The city around you was a hollow shell of what it used to be. Cars left on the streets at odd angles, some smashed into buildings where drivers must have panicked. Windows shattered. Storefronts gutted long ago by desperate survivors. The air had smelt like rotting meat and burned plastic.
You adjusted your grip on the bat in your hands, stepping carefully over broken glass. The grocery store ahead had already been picked through weeks ago, but small places sometimes hid things others missed. A forgotten can in the back. A sealed bottle behind a fallen shelf. It's always worth checking.
The moment you pushed the door open, the sound echoed louder than expected, making you freeze.
A low rasp answered from somewhere inside. Then another.
Great.
Three of them stumbled out from behind a toppled aisle, gray skin stretched tight across bone. Their eyes were clouded, mouths hanging open with that awful clicking noise.
You sighed under your breath.
The first one lunged and you swung. The bat cracked against its skull with a dull, wet sound. It dropped, twitching. The second grabbed for your arm and you shoved it back, kicking its knee sideways before bringing the bat down again. Two down.
The third shrieked. Loud enough to attract their little friends. You heard them before you saw them.
Shuffling. Scraping. A lot of it.
You turned toward the broken window in time to see shapes pouring in from the street. More than a dozen. Your grip tightened. You could take a few. Maybe even ten if you moved fast enough or had a better weapon. But not this many.
You backed up slowly, scanning for the nearest exit.
But a gunshot cracked through the store. One of the infected dropped instantly, the back of its skull gone.
Another shot and another body hit the floor. Your head snapped toward the sound. A man stood near the entrance you'd come through, rifle steady in his hands. Dark gear. Mask pulled over the lower half of his face. Looked like someone in the military.
He fired again, clearing a path through the growing swarm before his eyes flicked toward you. His gaze was sharp. Assessing.
You expected shouting. Questions. Maybe something dramatic. Instead he just jerked his head toward the alley outside. "Come on let's go."
You hesitated for half a second. Half a second was enough to notice three infected already climbing through the broken window behind you. Yeah staying here wasn't happening.
So you moved. The stranger covered the doorway while you sprinted past him, boots pounding against the cracked pavement as you bolted into the alley. He followed right behind you, firing one last shot before the door slammed shut.
The noise behind you grew louder. The swarm had noticed. How wonderful.
"Left," he said quickly.
You didn't argue.
You both turned the corner at full speed, dodging trash bins and abandoned crates. The infected spilled into the alley seconds later, screeching when they caught sight of movement.
Your lungs burned but you kept going. Two more turns and a chain-link fence appeared ahead. You slowed down to grab the metal and climb, boots slipping before you hauled yourself over the top. The stranger vaulted it right after you, landing on the other side with ease.
The infected crashed into the fence moments later, clawing and snapping through the wire. Neither of you stopped moving until the noise faded behind a block of buildings.
Finally, you both slowed down. Breathing hard. You turned to look at the man who had just dragged you out of a death trap.
He stood a few feet away, his rifle lowered. Up close, the gear was clearer. Tactical vest. Weathered gloves. The mask hid most of his face, but his eyes were sharp and steady. Studying you the same way you were studying him.
Silence stretched. Neither of you spoke. In the apocalypse, meeting another survivor usually came with one rule. Don't trust them. You and the man stood a few feet apart, both pretending you weren't still ready to bolt if the other moved wrong.
The man tilted his head slightly. "You can call me Keegan."
Your brain immediately filed the name away. You still kept the bat raised slightly. Fair was fair.
Somewhere in the distance, another infected shriek echoed through the empty streets. Neither of you looked away from each other.
The world had ended months ago. And somehow, the first person you'd run with since then was standing right in front of you.
You glanced around the alley, checking for movement, eyes drifting over broken crates, a rusted dumpster, faded graffiti on the wall.
Keegan was still watching you. Waiting for a response.
You shrugged. "Uh..." you said. "Just call me...Bat"
Keegan's eyes flicked down to the weapon in your hands.
Then back up to you. You lifted it slightly. "Creative, I know."
The nickname wasn't exactly a masterpiece. But considering the apocalypse had cut the world's population in half and you were currently holding the thing, it felt fitting enough.
Keegan didn't say anything right away. His gaze lingered for a second, weighing the answer. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head. He didn't believe you. Not even a little and you could tell.
Real names were liabilities now. People guarded them the same way they guarded food or ammo. The less strangers knew about you, the better.
Finally he gave a small nod. "Bat." The way he said it sounded more like he was confirming a fact than accepting it.
You lowered the bat slightly, giving your arms a break.
"Since you already know my extremely legitimate name," you said, "mind if I ask you a couple things?"
Keegan shifted his rifle so it rested easier against his chest. "Depends."
"On?"
"What you're asking."
Fair.
You pointed down the street behind him with the end of the bat. "You been around this area long?"
"Couple weeks." His answer came quick. Short and no extra details.
You tilted your head. "Solo?"
"Yeah."
"Military?"
"Used to be," he said.
You caught the wording immediately. "Used to?"
Keegan gave a small nod. That answer raised more questions than it solved.
Your bat rested against your shoulder as you watched him, waiting a moment before asking the obvious thing."Can I ask what happened?"
For the first time since you met him, Keegan didn't answer immediately. Silence stretched between you. His gaze drifted somewhere past you.
You noticed the way his jaw tightened slightly under the mask. Like he was deciding something.
Telling strangers anything personal in this world was risky. People lied. People used information against you. People disappeared the moment it became inconvenient.
You knew that. He knew that.
A few seconds passed before Keegan finally spoke. "Base got hit."
Your grip on the bat tightened slightly. "Hit how?"
"Infected." He shifted the rifle strap on his shoulder before continuing.
"Started with one guy. Thought he was just sick. You know. Fever, shaking...so they moved him to medical."
Keegan let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Two hours later he bit one of the medics."
"Containment failed after that," he went on. "People panicked. Some tried to hold the perimeter. Some just ran." His eyes dropped briefly to the ground before lifting again. "Squad got separated during the evacuation."
The way he said it was calm, but there was something underneath it. Frustration maybe. Or something heavier.
You leaned slightly against the wall behind you. "So I'm guessing you're looking for them?"
"Yeah."
You tilted your head again. "Then why say you used to be military?"
Keegan was quiet for a moment. Then he shrugged once.
"Chain of command's gone." He tapped two fingers lightly against the side of his rifle. "No orders, a base, or command structure."
Your eyes narrowed a little. "But you're still trying to find your squad."
"Yeah."
"And you're still clearing infected like it's a job."
Keegan didn't deny it.
You gave a small huff of amusement. "I don't know man. Sounds like you're still military to me."
For the first time since you met him, something almost like a smile touched his eyes. "Maybe."
A distant clatter echoed from somewhere down the block. Both of you turned toward the sound instantly. But nothing followed. Just the wind nudging an empty shopping cart across the street.
Your attention shifted back to him. But Keegan was already looking at you again, like he'd noticed the moment your focus returned. The guy had the awareness of someone who'd spent a long time expecting trouble from every direction.
You adjusted the bat on your shoulder. "So uhh," you said, "this squad you're looking for how many people?"
"Five." Short answer. Same as before.
You nodded slowly. "Still think they're alive?"
Keegan didn't respond immediately. His gaze drifted briefly down the street again. Then he looked back at you. "Yeah." The way he said it wasn't hopeful. It was certain. Like the thought of them being gone wasn't even on the table.
You hummed quietly. "Optimistic."
"Realistic."
That earned a small snort from you.
"In this world?"
Keegan didn't react to the comment, but you noticed his eyes flick down to the bat in your hands again. Probably reassessing you.
"So where exactly are you planning to start looking?" you asked.
"Last rally point."
You raised a brow. "And that would be?"
"North side of the city."
You pushed off the wall, boots scraping lightly against the pavement. "That's pretty vague."
"It's a big city."
"Exactly my point."
Keegan didn't seem bothered by that. He adjusted the strap of his rifle again, the motion easy and practiced.
"We had fallback zones."
"Military code stuff?"
"Yeah."
You nodded slowly. That made sense. Groups like that didn't scatter randomly when things went bad. They had plans. Backup plans. Probably backup plans for the backup plans.
Still, cities this big swallowed people whole even before the world ended. You spun the bat once in your hand absentmindedly. "Let me guess," you said. "You've already checked a few of them."
"Two."
"And?"
"No sign yet..."
That wasn't surprising.
Your eyes drifted up the street again. The north side of the city was quieter these days. Most of the infected had flooded the southern districts after the first evacuation waves. North still had them, obviously, but the swarms were smaller. Manageable. Usually.
You tapped the bat lightly against your shoulder.
"So you're planning to just keep walking until you find them?"
"Pretty much."
You pushed off the wall completely and stepped toward the street. "Well," you said, glancing back at him, "north doesn't sound like the worst direction." You gestured loosely with your bat.
"Not saying I'm signing up for the whole squad reunion mission or anything," you added. "Just...walking that way."
Keegan didn't move right away. He watched you for a second like he was deciding if you were serious or just messing with him.
Then he stepped forward, falling into pace beside you. "How convenient," he said.
You glanced sideways at him. "Coincidences still happen, soldier."
"Used to."
"Wow," you muttered. "Apocalypse really sucked the fun out of you, huh?"
Keegan ignored that.
The two of you moved down the street at an easy pace, boots crunching over glass and loose debris. The city felt hollow. Storefronts gutted, doors hanging open, wind pushing old flyers across the pavement.
Your eyes drifted over the buildings automatically. Windows. Alleys. Anything that could move.
"Couple weeks around here, right?" you said after a minute.
"Yeah."
"You clear most of the area?"
"Kind of."
That wasn't exactly comforting. You spun the bat once in your hand out of habit. Giving him a look.
Keegan noticed then pointed slightly ahead with his chin. "See that intersection?"
You looked. A four-way crossing sat about half a block ahead. Several abandoned cars clogged the road, one of them sideways like the driver had tried to swerve before things went bad.
"Yeah?"
"Three days ago that street had about twenty infected wandering through."
Your eyebrows lifted. "And?"
"They're not there now."
You looked at him. "And you handled that alone?"
"Mostly."
"Mostly???"
"Couple wandered off."
You gave a slow nod. "Good to know I accidentally teamed up with the neighborhood exterminator."
Keegan didn't react. He just kept walking like you'd said something completely ordinary.
You watched him for a second. "Tough crowd," you muttered.
Still nothing.
You gave a quiet scoff and adjusted your grip on the bat, stepping over a fallen street sign as you followed a half-step behind him. The road stretched ahead in long empty blocks, buildings casting thin shadows across cracked asphalt.
North. That was the direction now. Keegan moved like he'd already mapped the entire street in his head. His pace steady, eyes flicking from windows to alleys to rooftops without stopping. It wasn't rushed. Just constant. You noticed the pattern pretty quickly.
He checked reflections in car windows when he passed them. Paused half a second longer at corners. Listened when the wind shifted. Military habits didn't disappear just because someone said they "used to" be something.
A plastic bag skidded across the road ahead of you, caught by the wind. Somewhere far off, metal clanged against metal. Probably a loose sign. Or something knocking into it.
You glanced over your shoulder out of instinct. Nothing. When you looked forward again, Keegan had slowed slightly. Your eyes followed his line of sight.
The buildings ahead were taller now. Thicker blocks of apartments and offices packed closer together. More places for infected to hide. More places for survivors too.
You stopped beside him. "What is it?" you asked quietly.
Keegan nodded toward the ground. At first you didn't see anything. Then you noticed the marks. Footprints.
Several of them, pressed into the dust and dirt that had settled across the street. Fresh enough that the wind hadn't erased them yet.
Your grip tightened on the bat. "Those aren't yours," you said.
"No."
You crouched slightly, studying them. Boots. More than one person. Maybe Two? Both moving north. The same direction you were heading.
You straightened slowly. "Could be members from your squad."
"Could be." Keegan's voice stayed calm, but you noticed the slight shift in his posture. More focused now. More alert.
Hope was a dangerous thing in this world. But still...it was something. Keegan started walking again without another word. You followed. The two of you moved through the quiet street, footsteps echoing faintly between empty buildings.
Somewhere behind you, far back the way you came, a distant infected shriek cut through the silence. But neither of you looked back.
Ahead of you the city stretched northward, filled with abandoned streets, wandering dead, and the faint possibility that someone out there was still alive. And that was enough to keep you two moving.
