Bewitched - Ser Gwayne Hightower
Gwayne Hightower x Witch!reader
warnings: sub!gwayne can i get an applause, corruption of pious knight, no smut in this part cause i've been getting carried away
She appears to him in a dream..
From the first moment he set foot in Harrenhal, he felt something inside him was about to change forever. The castle was foreboding and bleak, igniting a sense of dread he had never felt before and yet, something within told him not to fear.
Gwayne lay in one of the damp, dark rooms of the fortress, unable to let his guard down even at this late hour. Something was terribly wrong with this place, he felt. He was utterly exhausted, drained by the ongoing war, and questioning whether there was any hope left for his brothers-in-arms or if they had completely succumbed to the darkness and violence of the world around them. Nightly, he prayed to the Seven to guide him and give him the strength to carry on this cause, one he had embarked on entirely out of loyalty to his family and their values. Duty.
Tonight, Gwayne chose to pray specifically to the Mother, begging for peace and mercy. He begged her to spare his nephew Daeron above all, a most innocent child caught in a conflict he did not choose, or even understand, for that matter.
Feeling relieved after his prayers, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
In his dream, the figure of a woman with full hips and auburn hair appeared. She seemed to be performing some kind of ritual below an old tree in the glow of the full moon, chanting words he did not understand. He felt as though he were intruding on something sacred, and that he should look away yet he remained transfixed by the figure, unable to take his eyes from her.
Suddenly, the woman in his dream stopped chanting. In the silence of the moonlight, she slowly began to lift her eyes from the ground. Before her gaze could land on him, Gwayne gasped himself awake, drenched in a cold sweat. The fire in his chambers had died down, leaving the room in cold darkness. His heart beat fast against his ribcage, the comfort he had felt after his prayers had vanished into thin air.
Sleep did not come easily the following night again, but when it did, Gwayne found himself once more in the presence of the mysterious woman. Tonight, however, something had changed.
As she chanted, her eyes were no longer on the earth below. Her gaze was cast upward, her eyes locked directly onto Gwayne. He froze, a cold dread rising in his chest. She knew he was there. She was no longer just performing a ritual, she was performing it for him.
A strange, heavy warmth began to seep through the dream’s chill. The rhythmic sway of her hips grew more pronounced as she began to untie her garments, letting the fabric slide down her curves to reveal the full, soft lines of her body. Gwayne tried to peel his eyes away, his mind screaming that this was a temptation, a trick of some dark entity. Yet he remained paralyzed, his gaze locked onto her bare form in the moonlight. She was beautiful, entirely unbothered by his watching eyes. The image of her bare silhouette against the ancient bark burned into his mind and then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.
Gwayne woke in absolute silence. He lay perfectly still in the dim light of early morning, staring up at the dragonfire-burned ruins of Harrenhal. His room was freezing, yet his skin felt strangely warm.
In the late morning, while patrolling, he found small footprints, unlike those of the soldiers surrounding him, leading down a small path away from the castle grounds.
Was it perhaps a trick from the Blacks? he thought, gripping the hilt of his sword tight.
She was sitting on the root of a massive, ancient tree whose branches blocked out the midday sun. She wore a simple dark cloak, her hair catching stray rays of sunshine filtering through the leaves. Gwayne stopped in his tracks, his breath hitching in his throat as a cold sweat broke out over his skin. He knew the exact shape of her body. Her dark, familiar eyes stared back at him.
"Who are you?" he demanded, not letting go of his sword. "Or... what are you?" he asked in a lower tone.
Slowly, she closed the leather-bound notebook in her lap and looked at him, her expression calm and understanding.
"You look tired, Ser Gwayne," she said, her voice smooth and sweet like honey. Hearing her speak in real life, rather than in some anxious fever dream, sent shivers down his spine.
"You're real," he breathed, his knees nearly giving out as the horrifying truth settled in his mind. "It wasn't a fever, or a demon testing my vows and my faith. It was you. You've been inside my head."
He took a hesitant step forward, his heavy armor clanking softly in the silent morning.
"Why?" he uttered, his eyes wide with frantic desperation. "What have you done to me?"
The woman looked him up and down, taking in his trembling figure and his shattered composure. Slowly, she stood up from the root, stepped directly into his space, and reached out to touch the hot, flushed skin of his jaw. Her ice cold fingers felt like a welcome relief to Gwayne.
A slow, knowing smile appeared at the corner of her lips. Gwayne flinched but did not pull away, paralyzed by a terrifying urge to drop to his knees right there in the dirt for her.
"I didn't do anything you didn't want, little dove," she whispered, her voice hauntingly hypnotizing. She tilted her head, her eyes holding his captive. "And you have been a very good boy for me in the dark. Now... tell me why you're still standing."
The contrast between his heavy, steel clad reality and her ethereal presence shattered the last of his knightly defenses. Gwayne let out a broken sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan. The sword he had carried for months slipped from his grip, clattering onto the moss-covered ground.
His knees buckled and he fell hard. He didn't try to catch himself or maintain an ounce of pride he simply collapsed to his knees right at her feet.
She looked down at him, her expression one of deep, dark satisfaction. She stepped closer, her dark cloak brushing against his trembling shoulders. The internal war that had tortured Gwayne for months was finally over. The relief of losing was almost intoxicating.
"Look at me," she commanded softly.
He obeyed instantly, as if it were the easiest thing he had ever done, his eyes wide and shining with desperate vulnerability. He was entirely hers now, stripped of his vows.
"Please" he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his surrender. "Please, just tell me what to do."
She smiled, resting her hand heavily on top of his head. She threaded her fingers through his long blonde hair and tugged gently.
"You have fought so hard, little dove," she whispered, "But the war is over. Your mind and body belong to me now."
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almost named this what a night for a knight lol
part 2 is gonna be out in a couple days i was just getting carried away and it's probably a million words// any feedback is appreciated since i've only just started writing and don't know what the f i'm doing// also english isn't my first language so beware of errors// is it perhaps too much dialogue???
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