Gwayne Hightower X Reader - Blog Posts

Oath of Devotion

Kingsguard Gwayne Hightower x Queen Reader

Tags: angst, mention of SA, romantic tension, pining, forbidden relationship, hint of religious guilt, oral sex (female receiving), p. in v. sex, hopeful ending, third person narrative

Wordcount: 9,440 (I blame Freddie Fox for this madness)

As King Aegon is slowly dying from his injuries, his pregnant wife finds solace in Ser Gwayne's company. One night as the birth approaches, she confesses a terrible secret to the knight…

Author's Note: thank you so much to the lovely Lana who made a beautiful moodboard for this oneshot, here ♡

The Seven Kingdoms never had a Lannister Queen before the golden-haired lady had been sent to King's Landing to marry young Prince Aegon. The match had been decided quite hurriedly, as it had always been thought the eldest son of Viserys would marry his sister, but when the time came, a simple suggestion of alliance with the Westerlands by the Hand had been enough to sway the king's mind.

Strong allies were crucial for the stability of the realm, perhaps even more so than the purity of the bloodline, Otto Hightower argued, and Viserys agreed. Marriages could happen further down the line of succession to bring back dragon blood.

The dragon bloodline was safe, Viserys judged, but the realm was still weak and divided from his decision to name Rhaenyra as his heir. The Lannisters made their contempt and disagreement known many times, although never crossing the line of insolence or treason, and a match between their house and the royal house would no doubt appease them and secure their loyalty once and for all.

Therefore, on a sweltering summer day that would remain in people's minds for years to come, a carriage and a large party of armored soldiers crossed the gates of the Red Keep, bringing with them hope for peace, prosperity, as the young lady's dowry came in the shape of economic and trade treaties with the capital.

Gwayne had served his sister the dowager queen and her son after her, and when tragedy struck and a war for the succession erupted, it was ordered that he would now be sworn to the queen.

She was a bright and sweet girl, her mother-in-law often said, strong and resilient but kind and obedient, despite the occasional arrogance. The prospect of war had soothed her edges and calmed her fires, and she took the responsibilities that befell her more seriously than the young king did. She made a good queen, one that protected her people, and as the war tore the realm apart, she brought them comfort and strength.

Day after day and night after night, Gwayne shadowed the young queen as any threats against her were taken with the utmost seriousness and concern. On the other side of the Keep, brought back from the battlefield injured and without a dragon, King Aegon spent both his waking hours and resting ones in pain, a sweat taking over his body as the burns suffered at the hands of Rhaenys and her dragon spread across his skin in rashes that would never heal.

His younger brother Aemond was now regent, and as he took over with the guidance of Otto Hightower, Ser Gwayne was left to guard the queen away from matters of the realm. Even though he admitted to having felt cast away at first, hurt in his honor to be protecting a woman instead of defending his king on the battlefield, he soon came to understand that his mission was of the utmost importance.

As the queen's belly started to swell, Gwayne accepted that it was not simply a woman that he was protecting, but the future of the realm, as a male heir would secure Aegon's position further and lift the troops' morale as they fought across the lands.

It was a noble charge, a delicate one, and in Gwayne's mind, a holy one. He would keep the queen safe, insuring she would carry her child in as much safety, peace, and quiet as he could offer her, and in the end the realm might be rewarded with a new king to lead it, one with a golden crown of hair, with the soul of both a lion and a dragon.

As the queen's belly grew and the quickening was felt, the child keeping her awake at night and uncomfortable during the day, her mood soured. It was not a happy pregnancy, nor was it an easy one, and Gwayne felt for the young woman. He could see the shadows growing under her eyes, their shine becoming more dull—he didn't voice his concerns, as it was not his place.

He knew the bearing of a child could weigh heavily on a woman's mind and health. Such was a woman's curse, and a man could only pray that the gods would lift her burden.

Gwayne spent his nights in prayers, his eyes trained on the queen's door but his mind deep in pleas to the gods, reciting the texts he had learned. He prayed for an ease to come to the young woman, for relief of her pains, whether they were physical or of the mind, and for the strength to bear what was still to come. He feared she would not survive if she did not regain some sort of strength, spiritual if not any other.

Which is why his heartbeat quickened one night as the queen's first lady-in-waiting came out of the royal chambers with an unusual request.

The rooms were still lit with many candles despite the late hour, and the hearth was blazing hot and bright. She could not bear to sleep, not even to lie down, and even after two baths over the course of the evening, both with scalding water despite the Maester's recommendations, she still could not settle.

She was not one to beg nor reduce herself to ask service from her guards, and she kept to the schedule that was decided for her, but on this night, the burden was too much for her to bear silently.

"The queen wishes to visit the Sept," she heard her lady instruct the knight, but his answer wasn't the one she expected. Instead of agreeing as he usually did to everything she asked of him and leaving to attend to what he had been given, he stepped into the room and after a customary nod, spoke in a measured tone.

"The hour is too late, my queen," Gwayne tried politely, worried etched over his noble features. "Traveling through the city to the Sept is not safe."

Gwayne carried himself with pride and nobility, a quality that she had admired from the beginning, even more so when the knight had been assigned to shadow her day and night. He made the perfect sworn protector, with a non-threatening demeanor that allowed the young queen to feel at ease in his presence, as well as a galant and reverent disposition that brought warmth in her chest.

He was deferent and respectful to a fault, which is why it made her take a step back as he entered the room without being prompted or invited, and for a moment she feared he was acting on the king's orders, as the young man was his beloved nephew.

"The hour doesn't matter," she insisted, hoping her orders would be the only ones he was following. "Wake as many guards or servants as it will require."

Gwayne shifted where he stood, curling his shoulders inward and narrowing his stance, and for a second she thought he looked much younger than she knew him to be, before fright took over any affection she had for the man. "Surely whatever ails you can wait until the morning, your Grace," the man tried to placate, but a sudden burst of anger rose in her chest until she thought she might suffocate with it. 

"No it cannot!" she roared, so sharply that her delicate voice broke in her throat and her maidservant flinched. Never had she seen her mistress speak as such, and it was with a trembling hand that she brought a warm cloth to the queen's cheek, delicately wiping her tears away.

"It cannot wait," she wailed, then covered her mouth in panic when her chest heaved and her stomach rose.

Her maid was quick to respond as the young queen turned and fell to her knees, surely grateful for the bucket the servant provided. She wept as she coughed and heaved, holding her stomach with one hand and gripping her maid's arm with the other.

"My queen, is it the babe? Shall I call for the Maester?" Gwayne asked worriedly, ready to bolt out of the room in search for help. 

"Call for the Septon, I beg of you," she whined as the maid stroked her hair and back soothingly.

Gwayne swallowed his worried protests and nodded again, retreating from the room quietly as the queen cried and begged in whispers, a despair so sharp that it brought tears to his eyes.

From this night on, Gwayne watched his sworn charge with rapt attention, following the young queen dutifully as she visited the Sept each day, morning and evening, and prayed on her knees with a fervency rarely seen outside of the order of the Sisters. His worries he kept for himself, although they must have shown on his face, and his prayers were silent on his lips as well.

As he watched over the young woman, he prayed without words, asking the gods for wisdom and guidance so that he could protect his queen to the extent that she needed.

She was in danger, at war with a despair so profound it could only come from inside, but no matter how many hours Gwayne spent on the issue, he could not figure out what threatened the queen so much. Her marriage with King Aegon had been young and loveless as the war started, and now that the pregnancy made her position more secure, she was neither saddened by her husband's condition nor joyful at the prospect of an heir.

Something terrible was afoot, Gwayne could sense, but his imagination failed him and he could not decipher it.

Whenever the hour or the weather did not permit traveling across the city to the Sept, she instead spent time under the Weirwood, which she found comforting. Back home in Casterly Rock, the cave where the ancient tree dwelled was a place of peace and harmony for her.

One evening, as her maid and her sword protector waited on the edge of the courtyard, she wondered with sadness if she would ever see it again. She remembered the way her whispered prayers would echo in the deep chamber, as though the rock was murmuring them back to her, repeating them as a parish would repeat a Septon's sermon.

"Ser Gwayne," she suddenly called, smiling as she heard the clinging sound of his armor.

"Yes, my queen," the man answered, and his melodic voice brought a warmth to her chest.

The man was often silent, but never cold, and she enjoyed his presence more than she had initially thought. He was pious and gentle, and he had the utmost trust of the dowager queen—a trust she found herself giving him as well, as each act of loyalty brought her comfort.

Kneeling under the large tree, a book of prayer on her lap even though her thoughts had strayed, she looked up at the man and found his piercing green gaze trained on her eagerly. There sometimes was an earnestness on his features, one that endeared him to her.

"There is a Weirwood tree where you grew up, isn't there, Ser Gwayne?" she asked, and he seemed taken aback by the question.

"Yes, there is, my queen."

"Did you visit often?"

"Not often enough. I wasn't so devout in my youth, I admit." 

She smiled as the ghost of a laugh passed her lips. Gwayne allowed the corner of his lips to stretch to the side, comforted by the fact that this detail of his childhood seemed to amuse the queen, and he wished he had more peaceful or cheerful memories to share with her. He had been sworn in to the Kingsguard not long after his mother's passing, and most of his childhood memories were now tainted with her loss.

"How strange for a man who was raised in the cradle of the Faith of the Seven," the queen pressed as a gust of wind blew across the courtyard.

She picked her shawl from her lap and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her back with the bright red fabric where a golden lion was embroidered. 

"Without a doubt, your grace," he replied, and it seemed she found his answer lacking.

"Do you miss it?"

"No, I don't," he answered honestly, and as her bright green eyes lifted to him once more, he continued. "I am exactly where I'm supposed to be, your grace. My life is here, serving the royal family."

"Which is also your family. You are a loyal man, Ser Gwayne. A man of honor," she praised, and she could swear she saw him blush in the dimmed light of the evening, pink erupting under the starlight spatter of his freckles.

For a moment she feared her secret would tumble out of her lips and her chest swelled with the raw emotion of it. She took a deep breath under his attentive gaze, wondering whether he would accept her confessions and bear her burden as she was forced to.

As she took in his noble features, the breeze making his copper strands dance, shame suddenly rose in her stomach and the words died on her lips before she could even give them shape. How could she even begin to voice the terrible secret that she bore, how could she ask such a devout and honorable man to keep her confidence, one that was rooted in utter disgrace and the most unholiest of acts.

Her hesitation must have shown, as the knight took a step forward and offered his arm to help her rise from the cold ground, but as he spoke she was reassured that he had not the faintest idea of the shame and self-loathing she carried.

"The hour is growing late and the air has quite a chill. Perhaps my queen would like to go back," Gwayne offered as he saw her shiver again, and she took his arm with a whispered thank you.

She rose in silence, wrapping her shawl around herself tighter as they walked back to the castle, still tormented by the moment she had just lived. She had been tempted to take the plunge into complete honesty and bare her shame to her sworn shield. 

She desperately wanted to be seen, just as she viciously wished to protect her secret and her shame. The duality of such a burden weighed heavily on her, and she was afraid she would die, crushed under this unsurmountable trial. 

"Shall I call for a bath to be drawn?" Gwayne asked from where he walked, always a step behind her on her right side.

"This is above your function, ser," the queen remarked casually, almost glad for the distraction. Still, her tone was almost breathless and the knight stopped for a second and dipped his head in silent apology.

"My apologies, I have overstepped," he replied in a demure voice and this time it was the queen's turn to stop. Standing under the archway leading back into the Keep, she turned to face her sword protector, an open expression of gratefulness overshadowed by her sadness.

"You have not, Ser Gwayne. I merely meant that it is unusual for a knight to concern himself with such mundane tasks."

"I concern myself with your comfort, not only your safety," Gwayne explained, keeping his eyes low in what could be interpreted as reverence, but in truth he was unsure if he could bear to look her in the eye at that moment. "You are carrying the future of the realm, after all."

"Of course," she replied, but this time her tone was clipped and cold, and by the time Gwayne raised his eyes to her, she had stepped away again. One of the layers of her shawl was floating behind her as she rushed inside and up the stairs, as though she was eager to take her leave of him. 

Shame curled in his stomach as he realized he had crossed the young queen somehow, and for a moment he wondered whether she had been expecting something of him, something he had failed to deliver. He thought of her words, of her emotions that played so openly in her eyes; if one knew how to look past the regal air she gave herself as armor, and he found himself caught on a delicate edge.

He was unsure where the line between insolence and amicable conversation was, whether or not he was meant to speak of his own volition or wait for her prompting. There were times where he felt she waited for his words, as though they bore some profound meaning that soothed her.

"Did I overstep this time, my queen?" he quickly asked, their footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell.

This part of the castle was deserted at that hour, since most of the lords and ladies had retreated in their quarters for dinner, but Westerners dined at later hours, he had found out.

"No, you didn't," she assured, glancing at him over her shoulder. Curls had come loose from the breeze, bringing layers to her updo.

It wasn't until they were back in the antechambers of her quarters that Gwayne realized there were tears in her eyes, and as she turned toward him to dismiss him, her gaze looked like a forest in the rain, a storm drowning acres of pines.

"I have upset you," he stated with mild panic. "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my good ser. I have upset myself," she replied with a smile that further concerned him. She took a breath that seemed to rattle her chest or heave her stomach, and her hand drifted to her abdomen. 

Gwayne suddenly remembered the night his worries had arisen, and the question that he had kept contained for fear of being insolent suddenly pushed past his lips. "Is there something wrong with the babe?"

The young queen took a step back as though he had struck her, and heaved once more. "Now you are overstepping," she accused, tears rising in her eyes, but Gwayne knew he had found an element, if not the source, of her enduring despair.

Part of him defended that it was his duty as a sworn knight of the realm to protect the future of the crown, but he knew deep inside that his concern for the queen overtook his concern for the realm.  

"I am your sworn shield, my queen, your protector. How can I protect you if I do not know what ails you?" he pushed and her hands curled into fists, holding the brightly-colored shawl in front of her like it was giving her composure. 

For a suspended moment Gwayne thought she would strike him across the face or order for him to be disciplined, but she did neither. Instead, her face smoothed over and all emotions left her, like a steel vault closing. She took measured steps backward into her chambers and beckoned him inside with a quiet word.

"Leave us," she ordered to the girl who was currently preparing her bed, propping pillows and smoothing the covers. "I need a private word with Ser Gwayne."

The girl left without a word, barely a quick curtsy, leaving him alone with the queen. She looked strangely calm, all of her emotions swimming in her eyes behind her blank expression. She walked to the fire, observing it for a moment as though it held the words she was looking for. The orange light illuminated her features and she spoke without looking up at Gwayne.

"Would you keep a secret for me," she whispered, as though the mere question was a treason, something reprehensible. 

"I would never betray your confidence," the knight replied, his heart galloping in his chest as a wild horse. He knew they were on the edge of a confession, that there would be no coming back from it—he would likely never forget her words, and she would likely see them on his face every time she looked at him.

"Swear to me," she said, barely turning her head, and her gaze was fierce and burning.

“I swear to you, my queen, upon my sacred vows, that I would never reveal your secret," he swore, shivering under the intensity of her eyes.

"You once asked if the king hurts me, do you remember what I replied?" she asked bluntly, turning to him and crossing her wrists at the top of her round belly.

"The king doesn't touch me," Gwayne recited coldly. 

The queen took a deep, steadying breath, facing her burden and the gaze of her sworn shield with a courage that inspired him.

"The full truth is, the king doesn't need to touch me in order to hurt me,” she said regretfully. "He makes me... perform acts, for his viewing pleasure," she whispered with the look of a frightened deer, gauging his reaction.

He held onto his composure, relief loosening his shoulders slightly. He could easily imagine how a noble woman could feel debased by this, but what she had just confessed didn't touch the more horrible images his mind had conveyed over the last few weeks when he had wondered about her sorrows.

"There is nothing shameful about an act that was performed under duress. The shame is his," Gwayne replied fervently—he knew well enough of his nephew’s proclivities, and regretted that his temper was so ill-matched with that of his queen.

"You do not understand, Ser Gwayne. It is worse than what you are imagining,” she whispered tearily, rushing to him in desperate steps and for a mad second he thought she would reach out, place her hands on his arms.

He lifted his hands from the pommel of his sword, and her gaze quickly flitted to them as though she was considering his touch, but refrained. They remained in heavy silence for a moment, her eyes peering into his with such an intensity, he despaired words could not be shared in this way. Her lower lip trembled and she looked at him with visible heartbreak, as though she was about to bid him a definitive farewell.

"The baby isn't his,” she whispered, quiet and pleading, as though uttering those words would have the gods strike her down before she could finish her breath. "When he came back from battle, before the sweat took over his body, he already could not perform anymore," she explained, a great flush of shame upon her graceful features.

"Then, who..." Gwayne swallowed, unsure how to reconcile this terrible truth with her earlier admission. "Is it Prince Aemond?"

"Gods, I wish it was," she replied with a mirthless smile, twin tears making their way down her cheeks. "But the prince is too honorable and would have slain his brother at the mere suggestion. He would never betray Princess Helaena."

Gwayne shifted his weight, considering his next words carefully in the face of her frailty, but she spoke again before he could find them.

"Aegon had Ser Arryk scout the streets of King's Landing, rounding up the illegitimate children of Prince Daemon or King Viserys. As you surely know there are many working the docks or the brothels," she explained. "He had them brought back to the Keep for a specific purpose, and brought to his chambers one by one."

"I understand," Gwayne assured, but it seemed that now that her terrible secret was out, all the words she had kept to herself and the gods were pouring out of her sweet lips.

"Every night until my moons stopped coming," she recounted, her gaze staring into a void he could not see, her frame trembling as though the pain was cursing through her body once more. "I thought that now that I was with child, he would stop, and for a while he did. However the Maester confirmed that the child is alive and strong, and that there is no reason for me not to perform my wifely duties."

"The night you begged me to bring you to the Sept in the middle of the night..." Gwayne closed his eyes in shame, dropping his chin. Bitterness coated the roof of his mouth as he recalled the two scalding tubs of water she had had delivered to her rooms, her urgency, the way she wailed in despair when he refused to escort her to the Sept.

"I pray to the gods every night... I do not know what to pray for. I pray that it is not a son and that the future of the realm is not compromised, that a second war is not about to erupt," she sobbed, her hands coming to shield her face from his gaze. "And I pray that it is not a girl, because he will not stop until I have given him a son."

Gwayne's face contorted with her agony, and he wished he could lift the burden from her shoulders, and give it to its perpetrator. He loved his nephew—he had loved him as a prince and had often indulged his proclivities, and he loved him as king, but such depravity was beyond what he was prepared to forgive.

"Now my shame is plain for you to see, good ser," she said, looking somehow more rested than she had in weeks, her shoulders dropping in relief. 

"The shame is not yours. It is his, and mine. His for betraying your honor, and decency itself, and mine for not having seen it," Gwayne replied fervently. 

He took a careful step forward, too close to what was deemed appropriate, and yet she allowed him with wide eyes and parted lips, caught in the pull of his devotion. She took a deep inhale when he picked her hand up, slowly brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. "I will not fail you again," he vowed, and she sighed, her small fingers curving into his hold.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling the closeness of her skin like the sun at the highest point of summer, scorching his cheeks, and he could not help himself. He pressed a second kiss to the back of her hand, feeling himself falter—his head spun as he pictured himself kissing along the delicate bones of her wrist, up her arm until he reached the soft skin at the crook of her neck.

He let go of her hand suddenly, taking a sharp step back, and at that she looked bereft; but he was sworn to protect her, and he would not tempt her into sin, no matter his desires and his conviction that he could please her as she deserved.

He saw the moment her emotions burrowed under the surface again, and her features closed over them, her face smooth as marble once more. "Would you call my maid back in?" she said, her voice firm and flat, and somehow Gwayne felt more wretched from that simple question than his own shame.

The next few weeks passed in much a similar fashion than they had before her confession, except that this time Gwayne was much more attentive to her outward signs of distress. He had hoped that the queen's confession would relieve her of much of her burden, as shame was the most wretched companion, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect, and any warmth she had once shared with him was gone.

His mind seemed to clear from the fog of yearning he had found himself caught in before her revelation, and he clung to the mission he had assigned himself as a lifeline. He stood proud and unyielding as a servant came to fetch the queen night after night, refusing for her to be summoned, even when the young man was replaced by Ser Arryk. 

His devotion to the queen came in the form of his steadfastness, fueled by the ache in his chest now that he knew of her burden. It came in the form of his silent presence at the door when the time of labors came, and midwives rushed in and out of the rooms to fetch linens and water. 

The girl that was born to her was pale as the moon, and yet made her mother smile as bright as the sun. Gwayne looked down at the babe with delight and fondness as he was introduced to her, his second charge, and he instantly took it on with pride.

"She looks like you, your grace," he said quietly, and the slow nod the queen gave him in return was charged. They both knew this time was only a reprieve and that her nightmare would soon start again.

"How marvelous it is, that such a pure and perfect being shall be born of such darkness," she murmured, only for him to hear, pressing her bundle closer to him. 

Gwayne dipped his head until the line of propriety was crossed and he could smell the milk on both his charges. "As long as I am sworn to you, I vow that her purity will not be touched by this corrupted world."

The smile she bestowed on him at those words was as soft as a kiss, and he felt it on his face as though she had pressed it into his skin. 

With the beauty of that new life shining a light on the queen, came the shadow of what would follow. As she took to her chambers to rest and bond with her baby daughter, and he guarded the door more often than he effectively guarded her. Gwayne felt a tension mount in him, scalding and bitter. It colored his tongue in a way he usually controlled, but this time he could hardly contain himself. 

Words came bolting out like a wild horse one morning and he lost his grip on them and on his impulses, until he found himself waiting in the antechambers of the queen, his sheath in hand but his armor nowhere to be found. He felt unworthy of wearing it, his head down like a scolded child after the heated words the hand had spoken to him.

The heavy doors opened and he was summoned, stepping inside with his gaze tilted downward in the foolish hope of concealing his bruised cheekbone and split lip.

The rooms were bathed in the soft morning light and in the smoke from the night's candles. In the middle of those ribbons of white, the young woman sat. Upon seeing her, all shame vanished from Gwayne's chest and instead came a great conquering feeling, and he knew he would not be able to summon an honest apology for his actions.

"It was reported to me that you disrespected your lord commander," the queen said slowly, and Gwayne could only nod. There would be no use denying the truth of his deeds and his words, and he found he had no wish to conceal them from her.

"I confronted him. I asked him how he could allow the king to treat you in this way and never intervene," Gwayne said solemnly, a hint of defiance in his voice, and to his delight the queen huffed a sad laugh.

"You needn't defend my honor, ser," she said, lowering her eyes.

"Yes I do," he replied, widening his stance and looking up at her with the impertinence she knew he sometimes had. 

It was the righteous insolence of nobility, of not being a simple knight of the kingsguard, come from squiring for a noble lord, but the son of the Hand to three kings. She found beauty in the way he dared step over the line, and in the impudent way he was looking at her in that instant, showing pride in what he had done.

"You have hardly been able to look at me these last few days," she murmured, licking her lips.

"You misunderstood, I am ashamed, yes, but of myself!" he cried out, taking a step towards her once more, and heat bloomed in her stomach as she remembered the last time he had allowed himself to get close to her. "I was sworn to protect you and I failed to do so."

"Ser Gwayne, you forget yourself!" she admonished, but in truth she wished to reprimand herself for the way her thoughts strayed. 

Her hands came to rest on her belly and she closed her eyes, looking for composure. "I did not mean to offend you, or bring you shame," he said, quieter, his temper settling. He knew aches and pains came to her more often now that her term was near, and for all his pride at having struck his commander, he did not wish to distress her.

"You did not. My disdain for Cole is known, if anything I am grateful you spoke your truth to him," she conceded, then licked her lips over a smile that threatened to appear on her face. "I heard you bruised his face."

"I did," he replied, lifting his chin and unfurling his shoulders.

"A shame that he bruised yours," she said, rising from where she was sitting. She fumbled for a moment, troubled, but found steadiness as she dipped a handkerchief into the small basin of fresh water her maid had left on a table. 

Without another thought, she came to him in quick steps and reached up, pressing the wet cotton to the split side of his lip. "Your father and nephew won't have you dismissed. We need good soldiers at this delicate time," she soothed although it was unnecessary.

She watched as Gwayne's lashes fluttered, casting shadows on his freckled face, and her chest swelled in yearning. He looked so young in that instant, without the bulky armor that kept his lean frame hidden, and she flushed as she realized she had never seen him so uncovered. Her treacherous gaze flitted downward, along the planes of his chest and stomach under the simple cotton shirt he wore, to the cream-colored trousers where a tantalizing line of buttons rested over a slight bulge.

She averted her eyes but the silent sin had been committed, and when she met Gwayne's face again, he was watching her raptly. He reached up to hold her hand against his face, leaning into her until his nose and lips were nestled in the crook of it.

"Gwayne," she murmured, forgoing his title and all propriety along with it. 

His piercing eyes remained on her as his lips followed the line of her veins from her palm to the inside of her wrist and arm, uncovered from her large sleeve pooling at her elbow. They both sighed as she gently threaded her fingers through his copper mane, and a lick of heat went through her as his parted lips revealed his tongue.

She retracted her hand as though his fiery hair had burned her, tears coming to her eyes. “I was soiled, ser. Do not debase yourself," she murmured regretfully as his hand caught her elbow, keeping her close.

"You were not. You are made holier and purer to me because of the suffering you have been put through," he pressed, fervent as ever, and she desperately wanted to believe him, to cling to the reverent way with which he looked at her and hold on to whatever scraps of honor she still had.

"Please," she said, taking a few steps back and he let her go, her arm slipping out of his grasp until her fingers were falling from his, their fingertips grazing. 

The cut on his lip was stinging more fiercely now, and he nodded a few times as he pressed his tongue against it subtly—he bent down and picked up the kerchief she had dropped, white tainted with a few spots of his blood, and slipped it into his pocket.

He watched feebly as she closed her eyes against hot tears, taking deep, steadying breaths until he saw her surrender spread across her face. 

"The maester has informed me that my afterbirth confinement is to end, and that I may return to the King's bed," she said before she opened her eyes again, and Gwayne swallowed heavily under the implication.

“It may be over soon, my nephew won’t live to be an old king", the words fell from his lips before he could think them through.

“Hush, you must never be caught uttering those words!" she cried out, rushing to him again and pressing her hand to his mouth. "Mind your tongue, even here with me.”

Fear coursed through him and it must have shown on his face—for a second he wondered if he had willfully ignored affection she bore to the king despite his transgressions. However she shook her head, the pressure of her hand lessening until her fingertips were barely grazing his lips.

“I simply meant…" she softened. "You are safe with me and I shall keep your confidence, but I could not stand you being disgraced, or worse, if you were heard.”

The pads of her fingers lingered on his lips, and he could not help but lean into them, seeking her warmth. She gasped as the tip of his tongue came to taste the salt of her skin but did not retract her hand.

They were both breathing heavily, caught in that suspended moment, and he wondered if she would suddenly push him away as she had in the past.

"I will endeavor to remain by your side, always, my queen," he said reverently, dipping his face until his mouth was hovering over hers; such sweet lips deserved to be kissed, to be worshiped. Her fingers dropped from his face but his mouth grazed her cheek as she turned.

"Ser Gwayne, you forget your vows," she whispered.

"What are the meaning of those vows if I cannot protect you and serve you as you deserve? I am sworn to you," he pressed, his breath hot on her face, his eyes full of adoration. "I am yours. In every way you might require."

He tilted his head, seeking her mouth again, and this time she allowed him. Her fingers curled in his shirt as his mouth pressed to her gently, firm but chaste, his lips molding perfectly against hers. He waited with batted breath as she pressed back, letting her guide him, sighing quietly as she pulled back only to push herself up on her toes and kiss him again.

Ever mindful of how delicate she was, he wrapped an arm around her waist softly, enjoying the delighted sigh that came from her parted lips, and the way she melted against him as his tongue prodded hers. Her hand was back in his hair, carding through the thin strands and making the back of his neck prickle, while she tasted his passion and explored his lips with hers.

He was gentle and slow, yielding to her instead of taking, but she could feel the tremble of his body as he restrained his desires.

The healing touch of her sworn protector turned firmer as her hands pressed into the muscle of his chest, and she felt him quiver as she followed the plane of his flat stomach until she reached his waist. His belt was somewhere else with the rest of his armor and she delighted in the softness of his clothes, the ease with which she could reach his skin. 

He pressed his moan into her mouth, his tongue curling against hers as her fingers fell to the buttons of his breeches. He buried his face in her neck as she boldly curled her hand over him; he encouraged her, his own hand coming to rest at her bottom.

She rubbed him through the linen, feeling the weight of his stones and the length of his shaft; she relished in how it hardened in her palm. For once she had a choice, and in her arms was leaning a man that desired her, adored her beyond the shadow of a doubt. In his arms, she felt free, cherished—she soared as he moaned aloud when the heel of her hand pressed harder against his tip.

He widened his stance and heat washed over her as he did so.

"Your grace," he murmured in her neck, his voice edging on a whine, pleading and reverent.

"Not here," she whispered in his ear, breathing in the scent of his hair, sweat and soap. "I'm not your queen here. Please."

"You're always my queen..." he replied, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along the column of her throat, down into the collar of the gown she was wearing. "My lady of light."

His eyes were clear and piercing as he looked up, his fingers following the path of the tight laces until they found the knot at the base of her neck and pulled. She held his head to her chest, then to her abdomen as he removed the laces expertly, taking her dress and shift down as he went. She shivered as his hair grazed her breasts, his mouth following an invisible line from her collarbones to her navel.

Finally, as his knees hit the floorboards and two rings of fabric laid at her feet, did he look up again. His eyes were dark, blown wide, his cheeks flushed a dark pink and his lips parted on a sigh that could have been her name.

"Gwayne," she called, and he went swiftly, rising gracefully and picking her up, her legs around his waist. Her silk slippers fell to the floor as he brought her to the bed, his breath in her mouth and her core flush with his abdomen.

He laid her down on the edge of the bed with a care that brought tears to her eyes and kneeled in front of her once more. He picked up her feet one by one, and after removing her stockings, kissed one of her ankles, his lashes fluttering.

"Look at me," he said, his gentle tone bordering on commanding and it made her shiver. 

She was so used to having him at her call, obeying her every whim, and it felt good to lay back and allow him to take the reins. This control she was giving him didn't make her feel afraid, in fact she relished in it, and in the trust she had in him.

He kissed her ankle, then her knee, pushing her leg up until it came to rest over his shoulder, and finally, he reached the place she so desperately wanted him to kiss. 

She braced despite herself, but gasped when the press of his lips was merely a graze, the gentlest of kisses. It made her shudder, a blazing path running from her core up her spine, and she found herself rocking up against him, seeking more friction.

"Oh gods, Gwayne," she sighed as he kissed her pearl firmly, the very place she touched when the night was thick and she was alone, closing her eyes to visions of piercing green eyes and fiery hair.

She watched him as he savored her, his tongue coming to lick a careful strip up her folds, then prodded past the soft flesh to find her most sensitive spots. Soon she couldn't hold herself upright and fell to the sheets, her hands tangling in his luscious hair as her legs curled over his shoulders.

The cut on his lip stung but he ignored it, if anything the low burn incensed him, as though it was a mark of his devotion. She arched her back as he flattened his tongue on her core, and he felt her legs shake over his shoulders, her heels digging into his upper back.

"Gwayne," she whined, her grip tightening on his hair.

"Let go," he pleaded, desperate to feel her peak under his mouth. 

Curling his hands around her thighs, caged between her knees, he savored the ache in his jaw as she rocked back against him, gently then more pressing. He felt a tension mount in him as she grew stiffer under his grip, frantic, her body tight like the rope of a bow until it snapped.

She cried out as Gwayne's tongue pulled shudder after shudder of pure ecstasy from her pearl, irradiating her entire body. Heat spread in her core, her most intimate place pulsing with molten waves, curling her toes and arching her back. 

As she regained her breath, Gwayne was kissing the inside of her thigh, one of his hands stroking her soothingly while his other was busy between his legs, no doubt working the buttons of his breeches.

"Allow me," she panted, and he obeyed without hesitation; he climbed after her on the bed, his hips on either side of her and she reached up. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the tight buttons for a moment, and by the sight of her knight holding himself over her, his head hanging between his shaking shoulders.

He climbed off the bed as soon as the buttons were undone, pulling his shirt over his head and messing his copper strands even more. She found herself mesmerized by them, wanting to card her fingers through them again as he took his pleasure this time. She traced the curves and planes of his upper body with her eyes—from his defined shoulders to the swell of his pectoral and the carved lines of his abdomen.

Time slowed as they both looked at one another, her gaze caught by the open lapels of his breeches, showing the tented line of his small clothes, while his own gaze was running appreciatively over her curves. Pleasure had left a sheen over her skin, her breasts were peaked, and the long lines of her legs led him to the apex of her thighs where he now dreamed to bury more than his mouth.

Gwayne hesitated—serving and pleasuring her on his knees was one thing, but laying atop her, breaching her and seeking his own peak was another. "Are you certain?" he asked, and he saw hesitation spread over her face in turn, her cheeks flushing in shame.

He licked his lips. "I've broken my vows before, I am not proud of it, but..."

"I've thought of you," she confessed. "To make my nightmares endurable, to make my solitude bearable..." she trailed, then lowered herself to her elbows once more, bringing her knees up to part them. 

Without a second thought he pulled his boots off, and soon a pile of rough cloth and linen was joining it, and he stood fully bare in front of his queen.

"Wait," she said timidly as he stepped forward, ready to join her again, and he shivered as he realized she meant to look upon him a moment more.

He flattened one of his hands on his stomach, hoping to soothe the throbbing of his cock. It stood hard and leaking, pink at the tip, his stones heavy under the shaft. He bit his lip as she watched, her eyes blown wide in obvious pleasure as he succumbed to temptation and gave himself a slow pull, but instead of soothing the ache, it made his skin stretch tighter over his hardness.

"Do you ever think of me?" she asked, more brazen than she was a second ago, and her newfound confidence excited him.

He shook his head. "I faltered a few times but I never allowed myself. Not fully," he confessed.

"Would you do it now?" she asked, and he knew there was more to it than simply a woman asking to watch a man—it was a wounded girl taking back her power, taking her place as the one in charge for once, and he felt more honored than when he had taken his vows that she felt safe enough to ask it of him.

"You can refuse," she added, and her care broke his heart. He shook his head again. 

"I wouldn't refuse you that," he said, starting a slow rhythm, his skin prickling with excitement as she watched him take pleasure by his own hand. He felt his face and chest flush and he widened his stance slightly, only for the satisfaction of seeing her press her knees together at the gesture.

"Gwayne," she called again, and he knew he would never tire of her saying his name in this way, breathless and adoring.

"One time in the Sept, you caught me watching you, praying on your knees," he reminded her.

"You blushed, I had never seen you so flustered," she chuckled, then bit her lip as his hand sped up.

"I thought of it that night, and I could hardly help myself," he recounted. "I asked a brother to take his place at the watch, else I'd have sinned against you."

"It's not a sin to desire me," she said, then pushed herself further back onto the bed, and he followed her silent call. 

He crawled after her, coming to kneel on the sheets, his hand still lazily stroking his length. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he bent forward, and he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. 

She let him press her into the sheets, and they shared a moan when her knees came up to his hips, her thighs resting against his. He let go of his cock to steady himself, his arms caging her in. Soon her hands were roaming his back, his flanks, mapping the shape of his buttocks, pressing him forward until he was flush against her core.

He gasped then, rocking down against her, quivering in her grasp when one of her hands slid between their bodies and guided him to her entrance. His face tucked against hers, breathing into each other's cheek, savoring the first slow press of his cock into her.

He let her guide him, first as the tip breached past the dip that led into her body, then as the stretch made her gasp. He bit his lip as her walls molded perfectly around his length and she clenched, taking him in slowly. He audibly gasped as he bottomed out and she kissed it from his lips with a smile.

They both looked down between their bodies as they rocked cautiously together, but soon her gaze was caught on his face, alive with pleasure. His eyes were closed, his brow smoothed over in delight, his pink lips parted over sweet sighs that he could barely restrain.

Soon she couldn't keep her own eyes open, so taken with his warmth as she was—she fell against the sheets, arching her back against the delicious weight of him. The gentle way with which he was thrusting into her was easing her into it, a slow build of heat at her core.

He dipped his head into her neck, and his lovely moans in her ear only spurred her on. He pressed soft kisses into her skin, seeking the soft spot behind her jaw that made her mewl and grip his back harder.

"My love," the confession slipped from his lips and she gasped, tightening her hold on him, her legs coming to wrap around his waist.

Incensed by her reaction, he murmured it again in her ear and one of her hands slithered back into his hair, pulling him in for another wet kiss that left him breathless. They swallowed each other's names, their tongues curling in time with the rocking of their hips, and their rhythm gradually sped up.

Gwayne could feel a tension building at the base of his spine and he bit his lip, trying to keep it at bay until she was herself in the throes of it, or perhaps even on the edge. He reached down to one of her thighs, propping her leg up until it was almost curled at his shoulder, the back of her knee kept in the crook of his elbow.

The new angle made her nub catch against his abdomen, and he held steady as she ground up against him, chasing the dual sensation. Between the stretch of his cock inside of her, sending sparks up her spine, and the pressure at her pearl, setting her whole core ablaze, she could only surrender and allow the current to take her.

"Gwayne," she whined as she felt herself fall, the edge ever so close.

"I love you," he replied, his own peak approaching and loosening his tongue. 

She sobbed and he licked it from her mouth, the grinding of her hips turning frantic as she grew wetter around him. He wanted to laugh, victorious that she would accept his love and have such a deep, carnal reaction to it. Her mouth fell open on a silent cry, her back arching as she threw her head back onto the sheets, her core pulsing around his cock.

He held on, groaning through gritted teeth as his peak threatened to crash over him but he held on until the frantic rocking of her hips slowed to a stop and she grew loose and pliant. He pulled away and she clenched around the sudden loss, whining as the last waves of her pleasure still made her shudder.

She watched as he spent across her belly with a few moans and whimpers, his hair falling into his eyes as his hips stuttered into his own hand. 

She mewled as he fell forward, pressing grateful kisses into her chest as her own hands mapped his shoulders, eager to share a few more moments of bliss. She pulled him in by the back of the neck and he kissed her again, sweet and slow. 

"Allow me," he said as he pulled away again, this time climbing off the bed in search of a cloth and water to clean her skin.

She sat up, taking stock of the cooling seed on her stomach, and risking a glance to his lean back and buttocks as he turned. He was littered with freckles as stars on the night sky, and she wanted to tell him, but suddenly her words were caught in her throat.

"Are you sore?" he asked almost timidly as he returned with a wet cloth and wiped her skin clean, then folded it and gave her a gentle pat between her legs.

"No," she replied, looking up at him with something akin to adoration.

She sighed pleasantly as he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, his thumb coming to stroke the side of her face, the edge of her smile—she reached up to do the same, grazing the cut that had brought him to her in the first place.

"Do not ever let anyone touch you in this way," she murmured, and he huffed an endeared laugh.

"I swore to ward you and give my blood for you," he replied.

"Cole doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you," she pressed, her brow furrowing in earnestness.

Gwayne grew serious again, but didn't pull away until he had kissed her temple and murmured his love once more. She watched as he dressed again, their silence rather contemplative, until a knock at the door interrupted it.

He turned to her, a slight panic to his gaze and she slid from the bed quickly, picking up a robe from the back of a chair. "Hold!" she shouted. "Merely a moment!"

Yet the knock started again, more frantic this time, and she threw a look to Gwayne, gesturing from him to remain behind the screen that shielded her bed from the entrance of her chambers.

"Who is it?" she called. "I am in no condition to receive visitors."

At that the door opened and a sliver of a pale face and dark head of hair appeared—the young queen ushered the maid in quickly, and from his hiding spot behind the screen, Gwayne could only hear hushed voices. 

A heavy silence settled before the door opened again and quiet footsteps hurried out. The wood creaked loudly as it was closed, the silence broken by a wavering sigh from the queen.

Gwayne took a few tentative steps further into the room, squaring his shoulders and bracing for a terrible announcement, but when she turned to him, her face was one of utter relief.

She breathed a wet laugh, holding her hands to her chest as her eyes brimmed with tears. Gwayne felt breathless, hope and joy bursting in his chest as she spoke.

"You shall need your armor again, Ser Gwayne. The Prince Regent is calling an assembly in the Throne Room," she announced, and he couldn't have been less surprised. "It is all but a coup, my good ser."

"Long live King Aemond," he murmured as she picked up his sheathed sword and handed it to him, their fingers tangling over the engraved pommel.

Dividers by @/saradika

Beta read by the wonderful @arcielee, thank you so much ♡♡

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I FUCKING NEED TO GAIN MY COMPOSURE BACK!!!

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

— BEDROOM HYMNS

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Queen Alicent Hightower x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — Your sister-in-law wishes for you to become one of her ladies-in-waiting but you become so much more. Things complicate when your husband comes to visit.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The title is from Florence + The Machine song. Alicent is a lesbian in this fic but she's also very conflicted about it. Reader is 100% bisexual. I wanted to write this fic for some time now because I have a crush on Alicent ever since Season One so yeah... Here we go... 😩😈

WARNINGS — cheating, homosexuality seen as something *wrong* (by Alicent), mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut – tiiiiny bit in the beginning)

WORD COUNT — 6,240

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

BEDROOM HYMNS

You moved away from between her trembling legs after a cry of pleasure muffled by her own hand that she had covered her mouth with. Alicent’s juices were dripping down your chin when you smirked at her and looked up to meet her big brown eyes. Those soft big brown eyes that you adored more than anything. You had always adored them. So full of sadness and softness and you had never wanted anything but to make her feel better.

“Have I pleased you?” You asked while peppering her soft inner thighs with your kisses although you knew the answer already. Her husband had no idea how to please her.

The Queen only nodded and looked away. Poor Alicent – she always felt bad and guilty after the peak had already been reached. The sudden realisation of her sin was soul-crushing but the tension and desire had been too great to ignore them. She deserved the relief and you did not see anything bad about it.

“How many times do we have to do this?” You sighed and lied next to her in her bed. Your fingertips caressed her sides and your lips attached themselves to the crook of her neck, smelling all the scented oils in her hair. She was The Queen of the Realm and she was pampered like no other Lady. “There is no shame in this.”

“There is a sin,” Alicent turned her head around to finally meet your gaze. She raised her hand to nervously play with the seven-pointed star pendant on her sweaty chest.

“Why?” You bit on your lip and caressed her auburn locks out of her face.

“It is betrayal,” she frowned as if she was getting frustrated with your lack of understanding.

“It would have been if you lied with a man,” you explained and kissed her cheek before laying on your back and staring at the ceiling.

“I should find your vague idea of morality perplexing,” Alicent pointed out and you couldn’t help but chuckle at her confession.

“But you do not and thank Gods for that,” you rolled your eyes with a smirk.

A silence occurred as Alicent kept playing nervously with the pendant between her fingers and you were staring at the ceiling and counting all the cracks.

“What kind of husband is my brother?” She asked suddenly and you turned your head around to look at her again.

“A good one,” you admitted, feeling nearly guilty for that because you knew why she was asking – her husband was not good. Not to her and not to her children.

“Why are you doing this then?” Alicent asked.

It was obvious why her brother was on her mind now. He would arrive at King's Landing any day now. You couldn’t wait to see Gwayne again after a few months of being apart and you only wished he had taken your son with him but he could not. Robyn was the eldest son and he was supposed to stay in Oldtown. He had just become a squire and leaving his knight for a few long weeks would not be advised, therefore you had to go on missing your boy. Day after day as if he was a burning hole in your chest. Mothers would always miss their sons, you assumed.

“To kill the time,” you shrugged your arms, not wanting to reveal how much Alicent meant to you and for how long. “And to help you. You are my friend and I love you,” you confessed.

Alicent always loved Princess Rhaenyra more. Your father was a Master of Coin in King Viserys’ Small Council and you were growing up together – three girls running around happily. Or rather – two girls following the Princess like two overjoyed puppies. Rhaenyra was the centre of everything for you and not only because she was the Princess but also because she meant everything to Alicent. No matter how much effort you were putting into making Alicent like you more, you were destined to fail for she always was choosing Rhaenyra over you.

It made you grow bitter towards The Princess but never towards Alicent. You were blaming yourself – you had to become more and try harder perhaps and maybe then you’d earn more than just leftover crumbs of her love and friendship.

You couldn’t understand your feelings back then – why was the attraction so strong, what was making you feel so attached to the young Hightower Lady. You were the same age and yet everything she said was like a command to you. Wherever she went, you followed. Even when you felt like a burden because she so clearly would rather be left alone with Rhaenyra. But Rhaenyra never minded your presence because to her you were only a pawn on the board, an ornament, an addition of no importance. So, you often witnessed the two girls laughing together, whispering, exchanging small gestures of affection. You were only watching. Observing as your heart ached.

During The Heir's Tournament you met Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s older brother. He was young then, eager to show off his abilities and make his family proud. Perhaps he did not have his sister’s big brown eyes but he had the auburn hair you loved so much about her and he had her softness about him. You were enamoured with him in no time and when he approached the royal box to greet his sister – he caught your eye and you caught his and for that moment when your eyes met, you felt butterflies all over your body.

Ser Gwayne Hightower received your favour on that day and the sparkles of joy in your eyes while you were throwing the wreath at him were very obvious to your father and to his as well. You could not know that then but they exchanged meaningful looks for a short moment.

Even though Gwayne lost the duel with Prince Daemon Targaryen, he did not lose your affection. In fact, witnessing him nearly winning and losing only because Prince Daemon chose to play dirty – it only solidified your feelings. Ser Gwayne was a righteous man, a chivalrous knight and a brave one, too. It took lots of courage to face Prince Daemon Targaryen himself.

Gwayne was carried away with his face covered in blood and dirt while his mind was filled with thoughts of you – of losing your favour and your interest. However, you hurried to his side right after the tournament ended to make sure he was fine. And at the sight of you – he truly was fine again.

You were only ten and five but you knew already that Ser Gwayne was the only man you could see yourself being married off to. Thankfully, your father saw that, too. Two years later you were sent to Oldtown and for the whole time in between you were exchanging letters. When Alicent was married off to King Viserys shortly after his wife’s death, you still felt bitter but not as much as you could because you mostly felt excited about your own upcoming wedding.

However, the sadness and anxiety on Alicent’s face on her wedding day were a sight you would never forget.

Years and years of the happy marriage had passed and you were still in touch with your sister-in-law because of the letters you were exchanging and her son that you and Gwayne were raising in Oldtown – Prince Daeron Targaryen. But other than that, you had your own life now to live, your own duties, your own offspring and Alicent was simply not occupying your mind as much as in your adolescent years. 

You were aware of King Viserys’ health getting worse and worse as Alicent was ruling the Kingdom in his name. The burden of responsibility was heavy and her marriage was getting more and more difficult. You couldn’t say the same of your own union – you loved Gwayne and he loved you. Just like every married couple you had your misunderstandings and disagreements but you were grateful for him every day of your life and you knew well that he felt the same towards you.

It was after breakfast on one of those days that seemed to be pretty typical in the morning and then they turned out to be life-changing for a person. Without a warning and without an ominous feeling deep in one’s gut, they just happened and changed lives.

A letter came to you from Queen Alicent and you expected nothing of great importance in it so you put it below the pile of letters you had to respond to this morning. You sat by your desk and dipped the feather in the black ink as you started to perform one of your duties as Lady Hightower, helping your husband to run Oldtown in his father’s name.

Letter after letter, until finally you were left with the last one. You opened it with a small yawn, which turned into a frown after reading Alicent’s plea and request.

“What is it?” Gwayne entered your chambers this very moment but his smile dropped at the sight of your face.

You folded the letter suddenly as if it was a secret or something dirty but it only increased your husband’s curiosity as he approached the table and raised an eyebrow at you.

“What is it?” He repeated the question and you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to find the right words.

“It is from your sister,” you replied and looked up to meet his confused gaze. He knew about your friendship and for you to react this way at one of Alicent’s letters was simply unusual.

“Is he dead?” Was all Gwayne asked.

“No, Gods, no,” you shook your head and took a deep breath in. “Not yet,” you added.

“What is it then?” Gwayne lifted your chin up gently to make sure your eyes would still be on his. You swallowed a lump in your throat and finally decided to tell him what his sister had requested.

“Queen Alicent wishes for me to become one of her ladies-in-waiting,” you revealed and Gwayne’s confusion only grew. “She feels lonely in King’s Landing, she needs a friend by her side. Somebody she can trust.”

“It is out of the question,” Gwayne took the folded paper from your hands and read the letter himself, still standing above you as you nervously fidgeted with your fingers.

Your own feelings were chaotic at that moment. Something in your heart wanted to run to King’s Landing at this very moment because Alicent needed you and because you wanted to make her life easier and make her happy. You had always wanted nothing but her happiness.

But you had your own duties in Oldtown and you had your husband here and your children. You could not just leave like that, could you? Especially when Oldtown was so far away from King’s Landing.

“It is out of the question,” Gwayne said again and threw the letter on your desk. “Reply to her that your Lord Husband does not agree.”

“She is your sister,” you looked up at him, pleadingly.

“Yes and I have nothing but love for her in my heart but her request is selfish,” he clenched his jaw as he looked you up and down, visibly surprised that you were not agreeing with him on this. “Why does she want to take you away from me? You are my wife.”

“Your wife – not your property,” you reminded him.

“That is debatable,” Gwayne huffed and looked away but before you could scold him, he continued with more. “Living in a different city, different castle, so far away from me… Will you still be my wife?” He turned his head around in an attempt to try to read your emotions.

“I will forever be your wife,” you stood up and took his hand into yours before placing it on your chest where your heart was. “But she needs me, Gwayne. She’s all alone there with no one by her side.”

“Father is with her,” Gwayne interrupted you. “He always favoured Alicent.”

“You do know that being favoured by him is a burden, not a prize,” you reminded. “Please, let me go. For some time at least. Until The King dies. It should not be for long and I’ll take the girls with me,” you tried to convince him as your fingers caressed his hand on your chest. “Please,” you whispered, looking up deep into his eyes.

After a long moment of silence and hesitation, your husband nodded his head reluctantly.

A few months later, you found yourself standing in the courtyard of The Red Keep, awaiting your husband’s arrival. He had a business to deal with in The Crownlands and he wanted to spend a few days with his family, too. You were caressing the creases on your dress with your hands and your teenage daughter Margaery was fixing her younger sister’s hairdo. Little Wyllow had been missing her father the most and she couldn’t wait for his arrival. In fact, she had made you and Margaery wait there since early morning and at this point you were exhausted already but you didn’t complain since you couldn’t wait to see Gwayne again either.

Even though it also felt a little weird and awkward since your mind was being flooded with memories of his sister’s body tangled with yours underneath her royal silk sheets. Her plump lips parted and soft moans escaping them, her beautiful big brown eyes hazy and filled with tears of shame and pleasure…

You were trying to shake those thoughts and images off of your head when you were interrupted by the sound of the horses approaching the gate.

“Father!” Wyllow nearly ran straight under the horse if she was not stopped by Margaery.

Your older daughter gave you a scolding look and she was right to do so because it was your duty to watch over your children, meanwhile you were distracted by the memories of dirty acts instead.

When you watched Gwayne jumping off of the horse, your heart clenched in your chest at the sight of him and you suddenly realised why Alicent was so filled with shame and guilt because now you felt them, too.

His handsome face, his eyes sparkling at the sight of you, his auburn hair reflecting in the sun… He truly was the man you loved. You just couldn’t help the fact you loved his sister, too.

“Father!” Wyllow finally was free to run into his arms and he crouched down to hug her and kiss her forehead.

“I am so happy to see you, little bird,” Gwayne cupped his daughter’s cheeks and she giggled.

He straightened himself but Wyllow clinged to his left hand so he used his right one to caress Margaery’s face lovingly.

“You’re growing fast, my love,” he pointed out.

“I am trying my best, Lord Father,” Margaery nodded her head with a smile and then she took a step back to get out of the way and let him greet you.

“Lord Husband,” you gave him a nervous and soft smile. Gwayne tilted his head a little and your heart skipped a beat. He was a very observant man but there was nothing that would give you away, right? What could it be?

“Lady Wife,” he smiled at you and took two steps ahead to be able to kiss the palm of your hand. Whatever he had noticed, he pretended it was nothing. At least for now.

“You must be exhausted,” you pointed out. “The chambers have been already prepared for you and I’m going to tell the maids to fix you a bath.”

“Does it mean we are not sharing the same chambers during my stay here?” Gwayne raised an eyebrow at you.

Margaery cleared her throat and she took Wyllow by her free hand.

“Shall we go inside now? Let our Lady Mother greet Lord Father properly,” she dragged her protesting sister behind her.

“She is becoming a fine Lady,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I can’t help feeling that the air and water in King’s Landing are making her grow up faster. Perhaps she is spending too much time with women older than her,” you explained, clasping your hands in front of yourself as if you had no idea what to do with them. “Come with me, I am sure you want to greet your father and sister, too.”

“I do,” Gwayne followed you inside while some of the men he had taken with him were taking care of his luggage with the help of The Red Keep’s servants. “You still haven’t answered my question about the chambers,” he pointed out when you were in the staircase together.

“My darling,” you turned around abruptly, making him stop his walk. “Your chambers are close to mine, please do not get cross with me. Those past few months I have learnt to love my solitude,” you explained and Gwayne tilted his head again but he only nodded.

“Let it be then,” he only said.

With each one of your husband’s kisses and each one of his touches, each one of your reached peaks and cries of pleasure, you felt more and more purified of sin as if his body was washing away Alicent’s smell off of you. After months of not laying together, you were lost in each other for hours with caring very little about getting any sleep. You were watching the sun rise behind the window when you were too exhausted to go on as you were laying on Gwayne’s chest, drawing circles there with your fingers and his hand was playing with your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

“Have you been faithful to me?” You asked casually and you could feel his muscles tensing under you.

You had no right to ask that – but he did not know of it.

“I have,” he answered. “Of course I have.”

“And if I say that the whores count, too?” You looked up playfully.

“I have been faithful to my Lady Wife,” Gwayne shook his head and you spotted a slight irritation on his face. He did not like it when his honour was being questioned – he was a knight, after all. “Why do you ask? Have you not been faithful to me?”

A shiver went down your spine at his chilling accusation.

“How can you ask me that?” You gasped.

“You have accused me first.”

“Because you are a man,” you reminded him.

“I am. And I know what men are like,” Gwayne nodded his head. “They must all be following you around – a beautiful Lady far away from her husband is like an invitation,” he finally cracked a smile, revealing that he was only jesting.

“I do not want any man but you,” you assured him as the tension left your body because you did not have to lie about it.

“That is good to know, my love,” Gwayne kissed the top of your head. “You had me worried with your cold greeting and not letting me into your chambers.”

“Are you not in my chambers now, Lord Husband?” You teased him and placed a kiss on his chest where his heart was. “And if my greeting was cold, then I owe you an apology. I spend too much time around your sister and her husband and I keep forgetting that some marriages are happy. That mine is…” You wanted to look up to meet his gaze but you couldn’t as something inside of you was stopping you.

“That is a shame,” Gwayne only said.

“It is, darling, but you are here now to remind me.”

You were sitting in the same chambers as Alicent, embroidering side by side and even though you were using no words, you found each other’s company comforting. Your arms were brushing as you both were focused on creating beautiful patterns on the same piece of fabric to make the work faster. It was supposed to be a beautiful green blanket with embroidered little dragons. 

Princess Helaena was sitting nearby and embroidering spiders on her own piece of fabric. Her cousin, Lady Margaery Hightower was sitting next to her and teaching her younger sister the craft. It was peaceful, cosy and quiet – you loved those moments the most because it was nearly as if Alicent was your own Lady Wife and you were just enjoying the time spent together with your family, far away from all those loud and obnoxious men surrounding you everywhere. These chambers were your escape and your own queendom.

When the doors opened, everyone except for Helaena looked up with a slight irritation since the man entering this sanctuary was nothing but an intruder. Even if the man was Ser Gwayne Hightower, who was loved by every person inside the chambers.

He cleared his throat when you gave him a soft smile, your arm still brushing Alicent’s and you were sitting in a way that made sure you were facing each other. You had never thought about it before but it was quite intimate indeed. Your husband’s tilted head made you realise that he had just observed something and after a short while you understood what it was as you moved away slightly.

“Brother,” Alicent greeted him. 

“Lord Husband,” you nodded at him.

“Forgive me for interrupting. I would like to take Margaery for a walk around the gardens,” he extended his hand towards his older daughter as Wyllow looked up at him with pleading eyes. “It must be Margaery alone this time but I promise you, little bird, I am going to take you for a walk later, too. Perhaps we’ll walk to the bay and watch the ships,” he assured her and she sighed with relief.

“You can finish without my help now, I believe,” Margaery handed the fabric to her younger sister. “Do try, at least. If you face any challenges, Lady Mother or Helaena shall help you.”

Helaena looked up when her name was mentioned and she gave Wyllow a soft smile that encouraged her little cousin to keep going. When Margaery stood up and left the sofa, Wyllow moved closer to Helaena and The Princess did not seem to mind.

“Can you help me with the ladybug?” She asked and Helaena’s face lit up at that.

“Lord Father,” Margaery took Gwayne by his arm and bowed her head at you and Alicent before walking out of the chambers with her father.

“I am wondering what is the matter my Lord Husband wishes to discuss with Margaery,” you hummed to yourself.

“She is ten and five now,” Queen Alicent pointed out. “What is the only possible matter that fathers wish to discuss with their daughters at that age?”

You furrowed your brows at her words because she was right and you did not like the sound of that. It was a shame that she was right, too, and not only for your own daughter but for every woman in this Realm. 

You saw Gwayne again before dinner, on your way to the dining hall. He was walking down the stairs and you rushed to him to walk by his side. He offered you his arm and you took it.

“I have a question for you, Lord Husband,” you started, nearly aggressively and he raised his eyebrows at that fierceness.

“What is it, my love?”

“Are you planning to marry our sweet Margaery off so quickly? I do not wish for her to get wed too soon,” you told him, hoping he would understand your point of view because sadly, in the end, the decision was his to make for women had always been properties of men – once her father’s, then her husband’s.

Sometimes you wished you had become a septa.

“Not soon, no. But she is ten and five. That was the age you were in when we met,” Gwayne reminded you with a smile.

“Yes, indeed, my darling, but it was us both meeting and falling in love. That is different, you must admit,” you pursed your lips.

“I must, indeed. Do not worry, I am not willing to force anything upon our sweet daughter. I have only told her to start looking around for suitable matches… soon,” your husband explained. “I am sure King’s Landing is full of important young men.”

“I do not wish for her to get married here. This place is rotten and so are its people,” you sighed. “My greatest wish is for Margaery to marry a man from The Reach.”

“We all have wishes, my darling wife,” Gwayne’s answer was nearly mocking but he spotted your annoyance so he looked around to make sure you were not being seen before pulling you by your waist and pushing you against the wall to steal a kiss from your lips. “Gods, I missed this,” he whispered and you felt your cheeks heating up.

“Gwayne!” You scolded him playfully. “I missed this, too,” you added and caressed his cheek with your fingers.

But his smile dropped and eyes became serious all of the sudden. You stayed like that in a short moment of silence before he dropped the question that turned your guts inside out:

“What is the nature of your relationship with my sister?”

You were taken aback by his question and you moved your hand away from his face before taking a deep breath in, trying to steady your heartbeat.

“Alicent is my best friend,” you looked deep into his eyes, surprised by your own courage to lie like this…

But was it a lie? She was your friend, after all.

“There is intimacy between you two that I can only wish for between us these days,” Gwayne whispered and you bit on your lower lip.

“She is my main companion for weeks now,” you tried to explain.

“Are you still planning to come back home after The King dies?” Gwayne lowered his voice even more since talking about the monarch’s death could be seen as treason.

“Y-yes, of course,” you nodded nervously.

“Why the tremble of your voice?” Gwayne raised an eyebrow.

“What are you accusing me of?” You suddenly clenched your fists, trying to take another route of getting out of this awkward situation. “Your implications are indecent. You have been accusing me of obscenities ever since you arrived here. You wound me deeply, Lord Husband,” you straightened yourself.

“You have accused me first,” Gwayne reminded you.

“Without any reproach thrown at you. I have asked out of simple curiosity,” you informed him.

“You are right, do forgive me,” he reached for your hand to place a delicate kiss upon the palm of it. You sighed, feeling extremely guilty.

“You are forgiven,” you whispered, nearly inaudibly, because it felt wrong to be the one saying those words.

In fact, at that very moment, you promised yourself to fix everything. You promised yourself to invite Gwayne to your chambers again for the night and let his touch to purify you like on the previous night. And you would go to The Sept and you would pray the sin away, you would beg for forgiveness, you would be a better wife, perhaps you would beg Alicent to let you go back to Oldtown with your husband.

Yes, that was the plan.

In the early morning you couldn’t tell that you were well-rested. Your muscles were sore after the previous two nights and your head was hazy but you still got dressed up quickly when the sun was rising and creeping inside your chambers to shine upon Gwayne’s auburn hair. You leaned in to kiss his forehead and you left him sleeping to visit The Sept and be able to go back to The Red Keep before breakfast.

You had never been a devout but you were not a savage either. You believed in Gods and now more than ever you needed redemption.

You expected to be alone there at such an early hour but no – of course not. Queen Alicent was already there, kneeling by the stone table and lighting the candles. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in. She was your greatest temptation and it was a cruel joke that the Gods had played on you to put her there at this time when you visited The Sept to pray her very own self away from your life.

Alicent looked up, surprised to see you. Her soft features were as sad as usual but at the sight of you she seemed to be a bit happier – relieved, in a way. Your heart clenched inside your chest. How could you ever want to leave her? You couldn’t. She was too dependent on you. Her happiness was and so was her sanity. Leaving her would be equal to killing her.

“I have not expected you in The Sept at such an early hour,” she commented as you kneeled next to her.

“I have not expected myself here either,” you smirked. “I came here to ask for forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness? Aren’t you always the one telling me that what we do is no sin?” Alicent furrowed her brows.

“I have lied to my husband. That is a sin,” you confessed and Alicent did not say anything to this. “I… I will have to go back to Oldtown, I think… I can’t… I can’t go on like this,” you looked down and Alicent remained silent but you didn’t have to look at her to know her big brown eyes were filled with tears. “I miss my son and I miss Oldtown… King’s Landing is corrupt and I do not wish for my daughters to grow up here. I… I miss Gwayne, too. I love him, I love him, I love him…”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Sudden, harsh question made you look up to meet her teary gaze.

“I’ve been loving him ever since I saw him during the tournament. You were there, sitting by my side,” you reminded her.

“You love him because he is my brother but your life has always revolved around me,” Alicent pointed out and you felt your cheeks heating up.

“You… You knew?” You only asked.

“I was blind to choose Rhaenyra because she was never for me to reach. She was The Princess and you were equal to me, so devoted. Blindly, very often. I took you for a fool and only after losing you, I realised. When you were sent to Oldtown, I suddenly understood that my only friend had left my side,” Alicent explained. “My only friend and the only person who has ever… Who has ever loved me – except for my mother.”

“Gwayne loves you, too,” you pointed out.

“Does he? He took you away from me,” Alicent’s jaw clenched and your eyes widened. She was not being rational but you knew why – she was scared of losing you again. In fact, she was determined to make you stay by her side.

“You will not let me leave, will you?” You whispered.

Alicent opened her mouth to say something but then her face softened and she stood up rapidly to walk away.

“I am sorry… I do not wish to… Act like this… I do not recognise myself,” she admitted with her voice full of shame. She raised her hands up to her mouth as she nervously bit on the soft skin around her fingernails.

You didn’t answer because you were too lost in your own thoughts. Was she right again? About you loving Gwayne only because he was her brother? You had never thought about it before. It would mean your whole marriage was a lie, an illusion – or rather a delusion.

“When I’m with him, I don’t imagine you,” you stood up as well when the realisation hit you. “But when I’m with you, he doesn’t exist to me. It’s as if there were two of me.”

“I do not understand,” Alicent shook her head. “To me, there is only you,” she confessed and laid her eyes on you.

You didn’t know what to answer. You swallowed a lump in your throat instead.

“I am flawed, poisoned…” Alicent continued. “I can only feel this way towards other women. I felt this way towards Rhaenyra until a certain moment and then… Then my whole life was about you. I have spent hours inside this Sept, trying to pray this away,” Alicent’s silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I do not have such a conflict. I can love both men and women,” you told her. “I can love you and I can love Gwayne…”

“I do not wish to share you!” Alicent interrupted you and then she hid her face in her hand as she sobbed.

“Women are not their own property. I am not the one to decide if I can be shared,” you answered diplomatically.

You felt sorry for her but you also felt sorry for Gwayne that he was being betrayed behind his back by his own wife and sister – two women he loved the most except for his daughters. He would die for you both, he would kill to protect you or to defend your honours – even though none of you had an honour anymore. He was the real victim here.

But one more look at Alicent’s sad eyes was enough to break you again. You approached her to cup her face and kiss her softly. She protested in the beginning since you were inside The Sept but you didn’t give a fuck about it anymore – you would go to Seven Hells anyway.

“I shall not leave you,” you promised her.

When you came back to your chambers, Gwayne was dressing up in front of the mirror. He raised an eyebrow at you entering the room.

“Where have you been?” He asked.

“In The Sept to pray,” you answered truthfully.

“Has my sister turned you into a devout like her already?” He chuckled.

“She has a great influence on me,” you nodded and walked up to him to kiss his cheek.

“You even smell like her,” he said and your heart skipped a beat.

“I am fond of her scented oils and she allows me to use them,” you answered.

“It feels weird when I’m fucking you, I have to admit,” Gwayne chuckled awkwardly and so did you.

“You shall fuck me more then,” you pointed out quietly.

“Even more, Lady Wife?” He shook his head with another chuckle.

“Until her scent is gone,” you explained and looked out of the window.

Gwayne did not say anything to this but his smile disappeared. From the corner of your eye you saw his reflection in the mirror and you realised that he had finally understood what was going on behind his back.

After a while, which felt like forever, he cleared his throat:

“It is a putrid place indeed.”

“You must take me far away from here,” you turned around to grab his arm and your heart broke when you felt him flinch a little. “You must save my soul and take me home,” you pleaded despite the promise you had given to Alicent earlier but that promise had not been given sober. You had been intoxicated with her.

“You must come back home yourself, my love,” Gwayne smiled sadly at you and caressed your hair gently, “for I do not wish to force anything upon you. You are always kind enough to remind me that you are not my property, aren't you? And I agree,” he nodded, “this decision is for you to make.”

And you didn’t know what to say or do because there was no decision that felt right and no decision that didn’t feel wrong either. Gwayne was your duty and your sacrifice and Alicent was a self-indulgent sin but you loved them both so much that you cursed the whole Hightower bloodline for existing because your life would be so much easier without them.

You knew what Gwayne was expecting of you – he expected you to choose your duty because – just like his sister – he was all about honour and decency. But you didn’t want your husband to feel as if you were choosing him only because of your marriage vows – you wanted him to know that you cared for him, too, even though he wouldn’t believe you now.

But there was only one choice for you anyway, wasn’t it? You couldn’t just stay with Alicent and pretend that it was the right thing to do. You couldn’t abandon your family and your duties for her and she had to understand it.

You looked deep into Gwayne’s eyes and your own filled with tears at the sight of all the pain and sadness in his. You dropped your hand down from his arm to intertwine your fingers with his.

“I do not think of myself as flawed or poisoned for feeling the way I feel,” you explained to him. “But I do not wish for my nature to spoil our union. If anybody can save me, it would be you,” you whispered. A plea. A desperate cry for help. “I am a mother, I am a wife, I am Lady Hightower and my home is in Oldtown.”

Your heart, however, would forever be divided; torn and bleeding. The deep, burning hole was forever to stay there for one reason or another.

MASTERLIST