BLACK SHADOWS [HOTD]

9. united by the mother

year 112 ac

One thing Ser Otto Hightower realized quite late was that there was no good in the heart filled with affection.

The traitorous feelings crawling into one's soul never filled it the way they were meant to. Like the dust of an intoxicating plant, it would cause the sweetness to course in one's veins, bringing a person a sense of mild, tempting satisfaction. But it only lasted for that long. When the time came (and oh, it would undoubtedly come, sooner or later), the fulfilling pleasure would turn into poisonous vapor, filling one's lungs, displacing the vital air, and leaving the person suffocating till they finally faced The Stranger.

That belief crept deep into the Hand's soul, guiding all of his decisions from the very moment the realization hit him. Was Ser Otto always that cynic? Indeed, not.

He was once a young man, overflowing with hope and dreams of a better future. He was once drinking up the love he felt for his wife like the sweetest of liquors, allowing the feeling to wield him to its liking. He was once a fair knight, whose reflection he was now forced to observe in his own son.

He knew all of that would be gone someday, but one could never be ready for the time it truly came. And when the beloved mother of his children perished, all he was left with was an emptiness that nothing in this world could ever fill. The pain drenched him without any sympathy, destroying the last bits of humanity in his daunted heart.

The fire in his son's heart was the same as Otto's back in the day. The heat radiating from young Ser Gwayne burnt his father's skin, blackening it, turning it into a coaly mess. Naturally, the elder Hightower wanted to put an end to that fire, to extinguish the ruining force before it harmed his son the way it harmed him.

Affections were not meant to build, to mend the broken. They were meant to destroy everything on their way, leaving nothing but a devastating void behind. What was the point in having them, for that matter?

Otto was determined to make it the first lesson his son would learn. There were things much more important and beneficial than feelings. Advantages and personal gain, for instance.

"Have you spoken to her?" The man asked quietly, the pupils of his eyes following the tongues of the flames in the fireplace.

"Yes, I have," as much of a hushed response followed.

The Hand found Gwayne's tone filled with something unsettling. As if his son was ashamed of his own words. Conscience and sense of justice... Poor things. Like roaches, they had to be hit hard and consistently to make them meet their death.

"You should've been more attentive to her prior to her escapade. This had caused us a lot of unnecessary trouble," Otto uttered, his fingertips stroking the slightly itchy fabrics of his coat. "If you comforted the Princess properly, we would've been stripped of the bother... And gained her trust."

Younger Hightower's cheeks rouged, his fists slowly clenching.

"I am tired of playing the games of yours, Father," he said, somewhat confidently, somewhat fearfully. "I have known Princess Rhaelena for years. I cannot just..."

The corners of the Hand's lips tugged into a tight smile, as he tilted his head to the left, his eyes meeting the ones of his son.

"Tired of playing the games of mine, you say?" He repeated, raising his brow into a slightly mocking expression. "The games haven't even started yet. This is all... Merely a preparation for what is to come."

"And what is to come?" Gwayne whispered, his eyes widening at the sight of the expression painted on his father's face.

The sly grin twisting his features, the narrowed eyes, akin to the ones of a fox... He had it all planned. He had the strategy created, perfected, and waiting for the moment to strike. His father knew exactly what he was doing, young Hightower figured, and with that came the most bitter of realizations: he was a significant part of that plan all along. Before he even knew it.