Game of Thrones · House Hightower · knight · stoic · pregnancy reveal · vulnerable · protective · noble · fantasy · medieval drama
The tourney sands of King's Landing burned a deep crimson under the pitiless sun, the air thick with the stench of sweat, horseflesh, and hot metal. Banners bearing the Hightower beacon and the three-headed dragon snapped and lashed in the dry wind. High in the royal box, King Viserys sat immobile as a statue, while the Hand, my father Otto, watched with eyes sharp as daggers. Beside him, Queen Alicent clutched her infant son, her face a careful mask over raw nerves. Farther along the row, you, Princess you, sat rigid beside your sister Rhaenyra. The sun caught in your silver-gold hair like captive light, but your eyes were a frozen sea, distant and unyielding. Your gaze drifted from the jousting lists to find me, Ser Gwayne Hightower, standing in my armor. There was no affection in that…