A Knight Always Returns
Gwayne Hightower x female reader
Sinopsis: Born without a title or noble name, you never expected to become Gwayne Hightower’s wife—or to raise Prince Daeron as your own son. But when war threatens the family you built together, promises, bloodlines, and loyalties are put to the ultimate test.
Warnings: Violence, forced participation in war, emotional abuse, physical intimidation, classism, misogyny
WC: 2,610 words approx.
Your hands smooth down your dress again and again, as though doing so could calm the trembling you feel inside. Your eyes remain lost upon the stone wall before you, cold and grey, just like this room that is not your home. You no longer clench your fists as you once did, but your fingers still tremble faintly as you run the fabric of the dress between them. You have been waiting for a long time, far too long. Gwayne should have arrived by now. Every night, when the sun disappears and everything falls silent, you whisper his name into the darkness, as though speaking it could make him appear, as though the words themselves possessed the power to bring him back to your side. But he does not return, and the fear grows within your chest like a weed you cannot tear out.
You remember when it all began, when Otto Hightower learned that Gwayne wished to marry you. It was a scandal that spread through every corner of the stronghold. Of course, you were nothing more than the daughter of an ordinary peasant woman, with no lands, no important family name, and no wealth to offer. And carrying the Hightower name after marrying him was almost an insult to them, something shameful they whispered about behind your back. But in the end, it was not quite so important, because Gwayne was the youngest of the family, the second son, the one who, according to the laws of the realm, had practically lost his importance from the moment he was born. He would inherit neither lands nor great titles, so if he married whomever he wished while continuing his training as a knight of the realm, there would not truly be a problem. And so Gwayne did it. He took you as his wife and, at the same time, became a knight, fulfilling both his dream and yours.
You remember that day clearly, as though it had been yesterday. Queen Alicent had left her youngest son, Daeron, with the Hightower family. Gwayne took him into his arms and looked at you, and in that instant, you understood everything without him having to say a single word.
“He is so small,” Gwayne said, holding him carefully and bringing him closer to you with a tenderness that made you smile.
You looked at him curiously, watching the baby who could barely open his eyes, and an unavoidable smile escaped you before you could stop it. “He has the Hightower name written all over him,” you whispered, pointing toward the small emblem on the blanket wrapped around him.
“Well, he was left with the greatest recognition a Targaryen can receive,” Gwayne admitted, before pointing toward the dragon egg that had been left beside the child, unhatched, cold and grey like a stone. “Father wants to send him far away so that he may be raised as a warrior.” His voice grew quieter as he spoke, as though he were sharing a secret. You lifted your gaze to meet his green eyes. “The same fate he chose for me,” he whispered.
“I can care for him,” you said, looking directly at him as you felt your hands longing to reach for the little one. “Having a child now is… well, your father believes it is not the right time. He has warned us many times, but with Daeron, we can… be that for him.” Your words emerged in a whisper, filled with hope and fear alike. “We can be his parents and give him the love he might not receive elsewhere.”
Your husband’s green eyes looked at you with a light you had never seen before, and he slowly nodded. “Although Alicent might someday… claim him,” he whispered, watching you with concern as he held the child with only one arm, while his other hand moved aside the brown hair that had fallen rebelliously across your face. When he tucked that strand behind your ear, his hand caressed your cheek with such gentleness that you closed your eyes for a moment, and then he tenderly lifted your chin so that you would look at him. “If we become attached…” He left the sentence unfinished, but you knew what he meant.
“You will have to do whatever the queen commands,” you said as you looked at him, feeling the weight of those words settle within your heart. But he shook his head.
“I would never take something away from my wife,” he said firmly, although his voice trembled slightly. “Least of all if doing so would make her suffer. I would stand against the Seven Kingdoms if they tried to take Daeron from us.” His hand tightened around yours, as though he wanted to make certain that you understood what he was saying.
“She has three children, Gwayne,” you said, remembering the other Targaryen children. “Making him grow up as though he had been forgotten would be… a miserable life, and he does not deserve a miserable life.” You moved closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body near yours. “We must give him a real family.”
And so he remained with you. Throughout all those years, you were always honest with the little boy who grew up as your son. You reminded him that his true parents were Alicent and King Viserys, because you believed it was only fair for him to know the truth, but you also told him that, to both of you, he was your only son, the most important one, the child who had entered your lives and filled them with joy.
But one night, when Daeron was eight years old, he asked you a question that broke your heart. He was preparing to sleep, his small head resting against the pillow and his large eyes looking at you solemnly.
“And when you have children,” Daeron asked in a calm voice, though there was a faint tremor beneath it, “will you remove me from your lives as well?” His fingers played with the edge of the blanket as he waited for your answer.
“No, never,” you told him, settling him into bed and carefully tucking him beneath the covers. “When we have children, they will be your siblings, because you are my son, my first, and your father loves you just as much as I do.” You gently stroked his hair. “It does not matter if they claim you. I will be there no matter what happens, always, because you are mine, and nothing will ever change that.”
And you kept that promise, even when war began in King’s Landing and everything changed. That night, Gwayne told you in a low, trembling voice, while your hands began to shake uncontrollably.
“Why now?” you whispered fearfully, feeling as though the ground were shifting beneath your feet. “Why does it have to be now?”
Gwayne knew it was the worst possible moment. Daeron was already a sixteen-year-old adolescent, a young man who loved the peaceful life you had given him, who spent his days caring for his younger brother Tyland, the child who had been born with the same red hair as a Hightower, just like Gwayne’s. That was enough for Daeron to truly love his family, because neither you nor Gwayne had ever drawn a distinction between your sons. Despite everything, Daeron carried Targaryen blood, and in that war, both of you knew what would come if someone claimed him.
“It is… I need to fight so that I may return to you,” Gwayne said, cradling your cheek between his large, warm hands. His fingers caressed your skin as though they wished to memorise every part of your face. “My sons and my wife are in danger. If Daeron is claimed in this war, I cannot imagine it. I cannot bear the thought of losing him or of someone using him.” His voice broke slightly, but he continued speaking. “But I will return. I always return. A knight never lies, and no matter where I may be, I will never dishonour my wife or my family.”
“Will you go with Ser Cole?” you asked, feeling the knot tighten in your throat. “The same man who never tires of insulting any woman who crosses his path.” You remembered the times you had heard his cruel words, the way he spoke of women as though they were lesser than men.
Gwayne shook his head, and his green eyes looked upon you with love. “Your husband is different, is he not? Have I not shown you, time and time again, that I am yours?” His fingers intertwined with your own. “Give me your trust once more, and I will return to you. I swear it by the Seven Gods.”
But the war caught up with Daeron, with you, and with little Tyland. One night, when you thought Gwayne had returned, Lord Ormund arrived at your home with his men and walked inside as though the lands belonged to him. You watched him from the doorway, feeling your heart begin to race with fear.
“The boy is coming with me,” Ormund said without any further preamble, looking you up and down as though you were nothing more than an ordinary servant. His voice was harsh and left no room for argument. Your body shuddered at those words, and your hands clung to the doorframe to keep yourself from falling.
“Daeron will not take part in that war,” you said in a voice firmer than you had believed yourself capable of, but Ormund laughed in your face, a cold laugh that froze your blood.
“This is what happens when too much power is given to a simple peasant woman,” he said, gripping your chin forcefully and pulling you closer until you could feel his breath against your face. “You are nothing before me. Now tell Daeron that he will fight for his family. I am going to begin cleansing him of that foolishness about you being his mother, because you are not. You never have been.”
“We never lied to him about where he came from,” you said with difficulty, feeling his fingers pressing into your skin. “If he sees me as his mother, it is because I did what Alicent could not. I gave him love and care. I raised him as though he were my own blood.”
Ormund smiled, but it was not a kind smile. That was when you heard Daeron’s voice behind you.
“Mother?” he asked, and then his tone changed when he saw Ormund. “Lord Ormund,” he said at once, his body going rigid.
Ormund released your chin and turned toward him with a triumphant smile. “I see that they have at least taught you some manners,” he said sarcastically. “We are going to war. Everything has already been prepared, and you will even bring that beast from outside.” He spoke of the dragon with disgust, as though it were an irritating animal rather than a powerful creature.
You looked at him, and you knew that Daeron would always protect you, no matter what. It was what Gwayne had taught him: to care for his family, to remain loyal, and never to abandon those he loved. But he was also your son, and fear ran through your entire body at the thought of what might happen to him.
Then your gaze returned to the present. You were in a room that was not yours, in Bitterbridge, which was nothing compared to your home. The walls were made of cold stone, the room itself was cold, and Tyland slept in the bed, the younger of your two sons, his dishevelled red hair spread across the pillow. Ormund had taken you with them. He had dragged you into the small encampment houses they had prepared for the war. Because, of course, he had to make certain that he would meet Gwayne despite everything, and if he kept you with him, then it was more than obvious that Gwayne would come. He always did. He always came looking for you, no matter how far away you were.
Your hands tightened over your dress as the memory of those days returned to your mind like a cold wave. You had been unable to protect Daeron, and that weighed on you more heavily than anything else. You had argued with Ormund so many times that you had already lost count. The first time was when he forbade Daeron from flying with his dragon, claiming it was a waste of time and that the boy needed to remain close to the ground like any ordinary soldier. The second was when he ordered the men in his army to shout at a group of defenceless civilians merely to frighten them, and you tried to intervene. But the worst of all was when he forced your boy, your Daeron, to kill an innocent man with his own hands. That day, you had tried to reach him, to run toward him and stop it, but Ormund seized your wrist with such force that you cried out.
“You cannot make him do that. He is only a child,” you said desperately, feeling tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you watched Daeron holding the sword, his hands trembling, looking at you with fear and confusion. His pale face broke your heart.
“It is none of your concern,” Ormund whispered with a cold smile, because of course he would not speak poorly of you while Daeron and his dragon were both in the same place. He knew the boy defended you, and that irritated him more than he wished to admit. “Servants do not interfere where they have not been summoned. You are not his mother. He was born for a greater role.” His voice became poisonous as he continued. “Besides, I need to make certain that your husband is still alive. Otherwise, I will decide what is to be done with you and your child.” His fingers tightened around your wrist, and you felt the pain all the way to the bone. “Now leave,” he ordered, and his men dragged you out of the hall while you could do nothing but look back and see Daeron with fear filling his eyes.
The mere memory of those days made several tears slip down your face now as you sat in that cold room. But then the door opened with a quiet creak, and you heard a voice you knew better than your own.
“Mother,” Daeron’s voice whispered, and you quickly wiped away your tears with the back of your hand, not wanting him to see you like this. You rose from the chair and looked at him, trying to appear strong.
“Yes?” you asked, straightening your dress and smoothing it down with your still-trembling hands. “We agreed that you cannot call me that here. I am your aunt,” you reminded him, looking directly at him and hoping no one else had heard. He slowly nodded, understanding the danger.
“Father has returned,” he whispered excitedly, and his eyes lit up in a way that reminded you of when he had been only a small child.
“Thank the gods,” you said with emotion, feeling the weight in your chest ease slightly. You looked toward the bed where Tyland slept and thought about how you would wake him to tell him that his father had returned.
But before you could leave to search for him, footsteps echoed through the corridor. Daeron immediately straightened, his body tense like a drawn bow, but when he saw Gwayne enter through the doorway, he relaxed completely. Your eyes fixed upon your husband, and your heart lurched.
“You look dreadful,” you whispered, taking in his filthy clothes, his dishevelled hair, and the dark circles beneath his eyes. But he approached you without caring about any of it, as though he had gone years without seeing you.
Gwayne cradled your cheeks between his large, warm hands and looked at you as though he were committing every part of your face to memory. He tilted your neck slightly so that he could see you better, and then took your hands in his. Daeron, who had been watching, did not understand his father’s actions until his eyes followed Gwayne’s gaze and landed upon the dark bruise around your wrist, the one Ormund had left days earlier when he had gripped you with such force.
“Did he do something to you?” Gwayne asked, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. But you shook your head, trying to make it seem unimportant. “Daeron, did Ormund do anything to your mother?” he asked his son without taking his eyes off you.
“No, Father,” Daeron replied quickly, but then corrected himself as you had taught him. “Uncle,” he whispered, lowering his gaze.
Gwayne clenched his jaw, and fire burned within his green eyes. “If he did anything to you—if he did anything to any of you—I will not hesitate to slit his throat,” he said with a calmness far more frightening than any shouting could have been.
“He did nothing to me,” you said, and he nodded, though he did not appear convinced.
Then he embraced you, and you felt his body against yours, the scent of sweat and earth clinging to him, and the beating of his heart against your own. “I know I smell awful,” he said with a tired laugh, “but I spent so many nights dreaming of holding my wife again.” His arms wrapped tightly around you, and you clung to him as though he were your only lifeline in the midst of a raging sea.
Daeron smiled nervously as he watched his parents embrace, but his smile faded when he spoke. “You are not going to leave us, are you, Father?” he whispered in such a small voice that both of you turned to look at him. His large, frightened eyes reminded you of when he had been an eight-year-old boy asking whether you would abandon him.
Gwayne slowly released you and looked first at you, then at Daeron. “I need to think about what we should do,” he said seriously. “He is their most valuable piece. You know that, do you not?” he asked you, referring to the way Ormund used Daeron as his most valuable weapon.
“He made that perfectly clear,” you said, feeling a knot tighten in your throat. “Perhaps he can escape from here with Tessarion,” you added, looking at Daeron. “And we can flee by land. Rhaenyra is queen now, and I know it will not be long before they come here.” Your voice trembled slightly as you said it, because you knew danger lurked around every corner.
“Then let us ask for forgiveness,” Daeron said, hope rising in his voice, but you shook your head, feeling the weight of reality pressing down upon you.
“Darling,” you said, taking his face between your hands, “they killed two of her children in the span of only a few months. They deceived her with a boy who was not you.” You remembered how they had used a false Daeron to deceive the queen, and a shiver ran down your spine. “Had they surrendered you alongside Daemon, Queen Rhaenyra would surely have forgiven us. But now she may believe that we are traitors.” Your fingers caressed his cheek as you watched him come to understand your words.
“We will get out of here,” Gwayne said with determination, looking at both of you. “I will do whatever it takes, but for now, we must be cautious around Ormund.” He looked directly at you, and his hand found yours. “Be prepared. We may have to leave at any moment. Daeron, study every possible escape route you could take with the dragon, and I will take care of your mother and your brother.”
Daeron nodded and then stepped closer to embrace you tightly. You could feel his body trembling slightly, and you wrapped your arms around him in return, pressing a kiss to his hair. Gwayne smiled, taking your hand and kissing it gently. He had spent weeks believing that he would never see you again, that you had been lost to him forever. The fact that you were here against your will was a grave mistake on Ormund’s part. He believed that manipulating Daeron would allow him to control Gwayne, that holding you hostage would make him meek and obedient. But all he had truly accomplished was enraging a husband devoted in body and soul to his family—a man who would do anything to protect those he loved, regardless of the consequences.