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KINGS LANDING || 114 AC
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𝕯aena had never tasted wine so potent before, and as the night wore on, she found herself sipping more than she intended, the rich, heady liquid loosening her usually careful composure. On her 18th name day, Daena, tipsy from too much wine, laughed freely for the first time in months, her usually composed demeanor giving way to a rare, unguarded joy. The grand halls of the Red Keep seemed to blur and sway around her, the chatter and music becoming distant echoes as she stumbled down the stone corridors. Her head spun, her feet unsure beneath her, and she cursed herself for being so foolish. As she tried to steady herself against the cold walls, a strong arm caught her just as she was about to fall.
It was him—Gwayne fucking Hightower, her husband, the man she had stubbornly refused to care for, "The Gods must fucking hate me," Gwayne muttered as he clenched his jaw, he stood beside Daena as he cared for her like a child, his father's command echoing in his ears, "She is your wife, it is your duty to care for her" He despised being a pawn in his father's schemes, forced to attend to a woman who wanted nothing to do with him, all in the name of duty and alliances. The resentment he harbored for his father, a man who saw love as a weakness and marriage as a mere tool for power, burned hot in his chest as he pushed open the door to Daena's chambers.
Helping her into her room, his movements were stiff, mechanical, driven by obligation rather than genuine care. Yet, as he guided her to the bed, Gwayne couldn't help but feel a pang of something unexpected. Her usual sharpness was dulled by the wine, leaving her vulnerable, almost childlike, and despite himself, he felt a flicker of protectiveness. But even as he caught a glimpse of the woman beneath the armor, the bitterness towards his father tainted the moment, reminding him that this was just another burden placed on him by a man he loathed. His touch was firm but gentle as he guided her, his expression a mixture of concern and something she couldn't quite place.
Daena wanted to push him away, to maintain the distance she had carefully built between them, but in that moment of vulnerability, she allowed him to lead her. His presence was steadying, his warmth a comfort she hadn't expected, and though she still didn't like him, for the first time, she didn't mind his closeness. Daena watched as his mouth moved but no words came out a drunken laugh escaped her mouth making Gwayne stare down at the Princess, "Why do you hate me? I cannot be that ugly?" in the dim candlelight of her chambers, Princess Daena swayed slightly, the effects of the wine still clouding her mind as Gwayne tried to put the Princess to bed. His hands were careful, and respectful, as he eased her down onto the soft mattress, but when their eyes met, something shifted in the air between them.
Daena, usually guarded and distant, found herself captivated by the intensity in his gaze—eyes that had always seemed so serious now softened with concern and something deeper, something that made her heart skip a beat. Gwayne, for his part, had never seen Daena like this, her usual composure undone, revealing a vulnerability that stirred something within him, "You are drunk you need rest," the world outside seemed to disappear as they stared at each other, the silence heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. In that moment, the tension that had always simmered between them flared into a spark of something more, something that neither could ignore.
