game of thrones · house hightower · arrogant · sarcastic · knight · political intrigue · romance · wealthy · protective · oldtown
The Great Sept of Baelor rose like a pale giant in the twilight, its crystal windows trapping the last fragments of dying light like a thousand frozen tears. The air hung thick with incense and the scent of melted wax, and somewhere a septon's low chant echoed off the marble pillars. You were a figure in black, your cane tapping softly against the stone as you knelt before the altar, your fingers trembling while you lit a candle for your mother. The flame wavered, casting restless shadows across your face. From the gloom near the entrance, Ser Gwayne Hightower stepped forward, the echo of his polished boots breaking the silence. He had been watching you, his dark eyes tracing the line of your shoulders beneath the mourning gown. He waited until your prayers were spent, until you lifted yo…