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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐹𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lenia Branch Word Count: 2k Authors Note: If anyone wants a personalised story, here’s my PayPal, send me a message and we can get started!

The ship swayed as Otto watched the sailors carry on with their duties. Men in loose white shirts hung from ropes and rushed around the deck, securing lines and lowering the sails as they dropped anchor. The Hand’s nose was filled with an array of various smells and not ones he was used to. At first, the salt from the sea was the only thing he could smell, but as he moved around the boat he could smell the urine, sweat and faeces’ from the crew. It didn’t help his churning stomach.

No one but he, was feeling sickened by the ocean. The constant swaying and spraying of sea water made his stomach stir. The Hand closed his eyes and let himself get lost in thought.

Lenia. Lenia. Lenia.

His mind brought thoughts of you, your skin, your hair, and eyes. It was worth it. Enduring this would be worth it. He just needed to get to Oldtown.

-✶-

Your hands flourished in the air, demonstrating to the students how important it was to use the whole body in dance.

“Lady Branch, I don’t think my arms can be that delicate.” The second youngest daughter of Lord Lyonel Tyrell pouted and dropped her arms by her side.

You chuckled and glided over to her, lifting her arms gently you motioned to her to mimic you.

“Everyone is able to do what they wish, one way or another,” you said while repeating the motions.

The King had asked you to teach a few dance lessons for the noble children at court. They were mostly made up of girls, but every now and then you taught a class of fifty which included many young, hormonal noble boys. During those big classes, you showed them how to dance at feasts.

With your days so busy, you usually fell asleep as soon as you put your head to the pillow. But the absence of Otto made sleep difficult. You were worried, not just because of the distance but for his safety. Many would risk a chance to take revenge on the Hand of the King.

So, you often visited Sanah and Ormund for dinner, and drank a few chalices of wine before feeling drowsy and making your way to your chambers.

But tonight, you decided to miss your shared meal and stay in your room. The melancholy was too great, and you knew you couldn’t keep a smile on your face.

Stepping out of the now lukewarm bath, you pattered over to your calendar and marked off another day.

Only a week until Otto would be home.

-✶-

Oldtown, one of the most prestigious and well-known cities in Westeros. In its possession is the Citadel, home to the Order of the Maesters.

The Hightower is the tallest building in all of Westeros and serves as not only a lighthouse but represents the city’s power and wealth. If that wasn’t a big enough achievement for the House, the Faith of the Seven also presided in the city too. The Starry Sept, a huge temple dedicated to the Seven, is one of the most remarkable religious buildings in Westeros.

But travelling to Oldtown wasn’t a journey for the King, nor was it for a family visit. Otto had ventured to his home because he needed one single possession. A family heirloom ring that had been passed down through generations of Hightowers.

Otto’s mother was still alive, but his brother, Hobert, was now the Lord of the Hightowers. And Otto wasn’t sure if he would permit him the heirloom.

-✶-

You hadn’t seen a lot of Darrick recently, he was too busy creating a name for himself in the art world. His commissioned pieces were becoming more and more popular. Ever since creating a family portrait for the King, all the other nobles thirsted for his talents.

Lords and Ladies sat idly as he sketched and captured. There weren’t many other artists in the city with social standing. And you liked to remind Darrick of that. So that he understood gratitude, and what wealth brought.

Your family had decided to permanently stay in King’s Landing, and you were overjoyed by it. However, all the Branches except for your father, mother and siblings had left to return home. It was a big decision, one that relied on the information you did not yet know.

Elrie wasn’t settling in with the other girls as much as your parents wanted. There was a wildness in her that the other little noble girls rarely had. It was only the other day when a servant had come rushing to your mother with the news that Elrie had bitten another child.

Sanah had laughed when she heard the news.

“Elrie, why would you do such a thing?” Your mother chastised her hands on her hips. Your mother had marched Elrie back to her chambers and did all she could not to slam the door.

“I was hungry…” she trailed off, slowly looking from the ground into her mother’s eyes. She flinched when she saw the fury in them.

“We’re guests here. The King has asked us to stay, and you go and do something like this.” Onatah slumped into a chair and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling an oncoming headache.

“But I don’t like it here!” Elrie whined and copied her mother’s actions.

“Well, neither do I! But I don’t go around biting people!”

“Maybe you should,” Elrie mumbled and crossed her arms. “It feels too heavy here,” she whispered. And your mother, knowing exactly how your sister felt, silently agreed.

-✶-

Otto Hightower stood before his brother, who was a foot shorter than he.

“I’m sorry brother, but our mother will not give it up. Not until she dies,” Hobert motioned for Otto to follow. They slowly made their way through the magnificent tower. The lower levels were open to the public, but those with social or religious standing were able to climb higher.

“I thought you might say that.” Otto looked at his brother was a sort of grim expression, one that was mixed with suspicion.

“You did, did you? Well you can talk to her yourself. See if you can sway the old woman’s mind.” Otto’s eldest brother wasn’t too hard to figure out. Although he had his moments of manipulation, he was usually caught out sooner or later.

“Hobert, I already know that you’re in possession of the ring. I have not asked you for anything, but I am now,” the stoicism which Otto always exuded seemed to faltered. Only for a few seconds, before Hobert sighed.

“You gave it to me after your Lady Wife passed, I did not think you would be asking for it back.”

“I understand. It must be frustrating. But arrangements have changed, as I had not thought another wife was in my future.”

A few moments passed between the brothers. Silence from both of them. The noises of Oldtown filled the gap; idle chatter, the sound of horse hooves, someone praying.

“Do you really love her?”

The question was simple but one that stirred so much emotion that Otto blushed.

“Yes.”

-✶-

You stood on the docks, waiting for a specific ship to arrive. Every few seconds you craned your neck to see if there was something on the horizon. But to your dismay, nothing was there. Not a blag flag with a red dragon in sight.

Again, you missed dinner with Sanah and Ormund. Your stomach churning too much for you to be able to eat. Food no longer looked appealing. Not when you didn’t know the status of your Otto. Dead, captured, kidnapped for ransom, you nearly went to the King the next day to ask if he knew anything.

Instead, you went to Rhaenyra, who was happy to be needed.

“Of course, I can. Do you want me to go straight to my father or to the head maester?”

Rhaenyra ended up going to both men, and neither of them knew. You were nearly in tears by then, and Rhaenyra took you to your sister.

“Lenia, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“He was due back days ago!” You spluttered, trying to wipe the unending tears.

“Come here,” Sanah wrapped her arms around you and did her best to soothe you.

The days seemed to blur together. One after the other, your dance lessons were forgotten and you rarely left your bed. Everyone knew this was serious. It wasn’t like you to be this way. Not at all. Usually, there was a smile on your face. Usually, you were the one cheering others up.

-✶-

It had only taken longer than anticipated for Otto to start his journey back home. Hobert had given him the ring that day after dinner, but the state of his mother made him uneasy.

He thought his mother was faring well. On some days she forgot little things like the servants names, but on the others, well, it was mayhem.

Oldtown had the very best healers, as the Maester’s headquarters were no more than 20 kilometres from the Hightowers. Salves, medicines and herbs were given to Otto’s mother, but nothing seemed to aid her. Nothing except milk of the poppy, which only put her to sleep.

And so, the dinner was an uneventful one. Their mother had been given a small amount of the drowsy liquid so that she was awake but not alert. Able to lift her spoon but not enough to yell or question where she was.

Otto was ready to leave by the next morning. But he felt guilty about leaving his mother. Even though he knew exactly where he wanted to be, he couldn’t leave without saying a proper goodbye. He knew this would be the last time he ever saw his mother.

-✶-

“Lenia, Lenia get up!” Sanah said, closing the door behind her and opening your wardrobe.

Your chambers had changed in the years since you first arrived at court. The Branches were given their own wing, where the chambers were larger and looked over the courtyard grounds. It was a beautiful spot, one that was the envy of many nobles. But the King thought so highly of your family that he didn’t care.

You didn’t answer your sister. You merely rolled over and clutched onto the only piece of clothing you had of Otto’s.

“You have to get up.” She pulled the blanket from atop of you and let it drop to the floor.

“No I don’t,” you replied back. Your eyes were hard to open, they were red, swollen and dry.

“You do if you want to see the man you’ve been longing for all these years.”

Your head shot up instantly, “what? Now? He’s here?”

“Get dressed first!” That was all you heard before you jumped out of bed.

-✶-

The sunshine glinted off the ocean, making it look like a mass of twinkling white. You stood eagerly, watching with so much built-up anticipation that you thought you would burst. Alicent stood right beside you, her hand clasped in yours.

“I’ve missed him,” Alicent muttered, squeezing your moist hand.

“Oh gods, me too.”

It seemed like forever, watching his ship drop anchor and the walkway being hauled on top of the docks. Alicent and yourself watched as items from Oldtown were carried down the boardwalk, and then you saw him.

Slightly dishevelled yet eager.

“There he is!” Alicent pointed in his direction and you nearly burst. You squeezed Alicent’s hand and watched as the love of your life walked down and onto the timber dock.

Alicent let go of your hand and almost nudged you toward him. A small sign that she understood your feelings, and that you should be the one to greet him first.

“Otto!” You muttered and flung yourself onto him. The Hand of the King buried his face into the crook of your neck and squeezed you tight.

“My Lenia,” he whispered into your hair, taking in a big breath.

It was a long hug, but for you, it felt too short.

And then suddenly he let go and stepped back.

He took something out of his pocket and got down on one knee.

“Lenia Branch, will you do the honour of marrying me?”

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐹𝑖𝑣𝑒.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word Count: 2.7k

The clash of swords rung throughout the battlefield. Screams of pain morphed together, the men forming a choir of death. The sun was harsh in the sky, heating the soldiers in their armour, singeing any bare flesh that came into contact. Crows cawed from the trees, like spectators at a tourney.

A man with blood matted in his hair looked across the battlefield. A Targaryen breastplate laid at his feet. He kicked it, spat, and ran. He did not care that he was a deserter. The Targaryen’s didn’t stand a chance. Not with their armies, not with their dragons.

-✶-

It felt as if the heat had never left your cheeks. Life had never felt more full. Your heart was a steady thump in your chest, reminding you of what truly mattered. Another sibling. Someone else to join the family. The thought brought a smile to your face, as you sat in silence at your vanity. This moment was the first in three days that you had a chance to yourself. House Branch had been celebrating nonstop; continuous music without pause and a bright smile on everyone’s faces.

You promised Papa that you and Sanah would only be an hour. You both wanted to freshen up, but more importantly, to sit down. The basin of water had gone cold, but neither you, nor Sanah cared. The cold water felt wonderous against your warm skin. Even for a Summer’s day it was hot. Like the sun had decided that he too needed warming up.

You sat down on your vanity’s chair. Even the brass backing was warm. But you didn’t care about that either, all you could think about was your aching feet. You had danced more than you thought.

Sanah slumped on your bed, laying in a starfish formation. Her light brown, nearly blonde hair, flung out in all directions. Her face was as red as a tomato, and yours wasn’t much better. Celebrating was a well-known, and cherished tradition in House Branch. And it was one that you were glad for.

“Boy or girl?” You asked, turning around in your chair to face your sweaty sister.

“Huh? Oh, umm… boy. I think Darrick would appreciate not being the only boy. And not feel so responsible for the House’s legacy.”

Although Darrick was a quiet young man, he and Sanah were always in some sort of tiff. If Sanah had been born a boy, she would have made a great heir. She kept her jealousy well hidden, but not enough that you couldn’t pick up on it.

“Hmmm, good point,” you replied, turning around to face yourself in the mirror. Your brown hair hung in thick ringlets, and the braid was barely keeping it off of your face. You quickly pinned it back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the castle grounds. Down below, you saw a familiar mess of dark-hair. Darrick hadn’t been at the celebration, but you realised that you hadn’t noticed until now.

“Tell Papa I’ll be back soon, I’m –“

“Going to see Otto?” Sanah teased, wiggling her eyebrows and smirking. A bright red blush crept from your neck to your cheeks. So you weren’t so great at keeping secrets either?

You rolled your eyes and threw your shoe at her lying form.

-✶-

Your footsteps were light and unheard. Barefoot and uncaring, you made your way over to your brother. Darrick’s head was in his hands, his back against the foot of the apple tree. The same apple tree that Otto had saved you under. A common place for destinies?

A thought popped into your head, was Darrick upset because of the news?

“Darrick, what’s the matter?” Your voice drifted across the courtyard. The distant sound of drums could be heard from your position.

He looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. His notebook of drawings was crumpled in his lap. Pages were torn and balled up around him.

“Oh, Darrick-“

“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply. Darrick sniffed and tried to get rid of his running nose. All he did was smear boogers over his shirt’s arm. Seeing Darrick cry was uncommon. His emotions were usually in check, his head always levelled, and he never once cared about the opinions of others. So, it was completely out of character for him to be crying, and in public.

“Please, tell me what’s the matter?” You cooed, the nurturing instinct showing itself.

“I’m the worst heir the world has ever seen. So bad that they had to make another son because they knew I’d fail!” He brought his legs up and wrapped his arms around them.

“No, no! That’s not it at all,” you crouched down next to him, placing a gentle arm around his shoulders. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t lean in either.

A moment went by. Then two. When Darrick didn’t answer, you continued on. “And you’re not the worst heir. There are a lot more horrible boys than you.” You tried to weasel in a joke but regretted it. Seeing his brown eyes so upset made your heart crack.

“But to fulfil my duties, I need a …wife. And how am I ever going to do that?” The reason behind his mood suddenly seemed so obvious. A girl. You thought. His first crush, and first heartbreak.

You smiled kindly at him, and an idea popped into your head.

-✶-

Sanah followed behind you and Darrick, who was helpless in your grasp.

“No, Lenia, what are you doing? Let go-” your brother struggled against you. His smooth artist hands were no match for your own strength.

You stopped suddenly, and let your brother go. He stumbled for a moment, not expecting you to obey his command.

“As you say, Milord,” you bowed slightly and hinted at Sanah to do the same. “But you need to trust me,” you whispered to your brother, a mischievous smile on your face.

You had stopped in the hallway before the large oak doors. The music from inside drifted throughout the castle, and now it seemed to make the stones vibrate.

Redness started to blotch its way onto your brother’s neck and face. But he nodded his answer.

You smiled. Your usual toothy grin that promised goodwill and fun.

As if those inside were awaiting you and your siblings, the doors threw themselves open as soon as your hand started to push against them.

“My children!” Your father boomed, his voice drowned by the flutes, drums, and guitars. The tune was different than earlier but no less lively. The energy in the room felt warm like something was quivering in the air, making everyone feel alive.

“Papa,” you all responded and waited for him to kiss each of your heads’. His face was bright red, and a sheen of sweat made his face glisten.

You looked at Darrick, anticipating some sort of reaction. But all he said was, “congratulations.” The sadness in his eyes were still there, and a silent droop in his frame told you that it took a lot for him to say that.

“Come,” you motioned to both of your siblings and when they hesitated, you grabbed onto their hands and pulled them onto the dance floor.

The three of you glided across the dancefloor, getting into position. You looked over at the musicians, your cousins, who could play nearly any song in the six kingdoms. With a quick nod, the band stopped and played a song the three of you knew all too well.

It didn’t take long for you to beckon Rhaenyra onto the dancefloor, her need for fun outweighed any nerves. She kept in time and hardly missed a beat. Her shoes were soon thrown off and kicked underneath a table.

“I like your family,” Rhaenyra shouted in your ear. Her arms in high arcs above her head. Her cheeks were warming, and you smiled back at her.

Soon, the gloom in your brother’s eyes had long disappeared. Darrick was laughing, as Rhaenyra spun him around the dancefloor. The heirs were barefoot, and you realised you had no idea where your own shoes had gone. Such matters would be rectified later, now it was time to celebrate.

-✶-

Alicent’s tears seemed to be an unending sea. She felt alone. Undesired. Rotten. The babe in her belly wouldn’t stop moving, it’s tiny feet kicking at her stomach; rolling, and fidgeting. She laid on her side in the bedchambers. It was too difficult to walk anywhere, her bump so large it felt like she would tip over.

How do other women do this? She thought solemnly. Even though pregnancy was the most natural thing in the world, Alicent couldn’t stop thinking of how wrong it felt, for another thing to be moving inside her. Those that came before her had been able to do this without much trouble. But some women didn’t make it through the birth. She wouldn’t even be in this position if a woman hadn’t died in childbirth. Aemma. Viserys’ first wife, and the woman he truly loved, ripped from this world by an act of love.

Alicent knew Viserys would never love her as much as he did Aemma and Rhaenyra. And yet, she couldn’t help the yearning from deep in her chest. The pull, like a hook that had been stuck between two rocks. Alicent couldn’t free herself from the desire to be loved. To be adored and cherished.

But did Alicent want a love like Viserys’? Who sacrificed his wife for an heir. Alicent could see the regret in his eyes, every single day. There were a few moments where the cloud of grief seemed to lift, but it didn’t go far.

Is that what love is? Like a mind-altering fever with which even the most level-headed men could be changed?

Tears welled in her eyes once again, and she let them flow down her cheeks.

-✶-

The music was infectious, so much so that a faint smile made its way to Otto’s lips. The Hand of the King was sitting beside the fire, the only light emitting in the chamber. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, and there were books scattered on Otto’s bed. His beard had not been trimmed since hearing the news about Lenia and Ormund.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Otto’s thoughts were pulled from their spiral and he only just registered the second knock before the doors opened. He knew immediately who it was.

“Alicent, how’s the babe?” Without looking up, he brushed the creases from his tunic and stared into the fire. A moment went by until a voice spoke.

“Not Alicent, my lord,” a young squire did his best not to quiver in the Hand’s presence.

The open-door filtered in more light. The brightness seemed to expose Otto and the mess in his chambers. Embarrassment crawled up his skin.

But the embarrassment soon faded as Otto near-flung himself from the chair, his appearance and state of his room of little concern to him now. He knew this squire, and what it meant.

“I thought the war was nearly won?” Otto’s voice sounded deeper than usual.

“It nearly was sire. But the Martell’s chose a side and we were outnumbered.” The young man clutched a letter in his pale blotched hand.

Otto grunted, the only sign of panic. He took the letter and tore it open.

𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑉𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑠,

𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑒 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝘩𝑎𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝘩𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑜𝑚.

𝑄𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑛 𝑁𝑦𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙

Otto clenched his fists. His mind siphoned through hundreds of different possibilities, but he came to one conclusion.

“I know I speak out of turn, but I cannot help myself,” the young lad looked to the Hand of the King with hopeful eyes. “What does this mean?” He whispered the rest of the sentence with bated breath.

Otto took a second to register the squire’s question. This was the only moment that he would allow such an insult.

“The Dornish, they’re coming.”

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐹𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lenia Branch Word Count: 2k Warnings: Things get a lil heated towards the end (sexually speaking)

You stood there shocked, well for a better word, dumbfounded.

The Hand of the King, arguably the most important man in Westeros, was down on one knee for you.

You could see the tinge of his skin; sailing did not become him. But he still looked handsome with his windswept hair and unkept beard (he had tried to make himself look as presentable as possible, but he could barely stand in front of the mirror on the rocking boat).

A crowd was already gathering, murmurs that the Hand of the King was proposing on the docks ran quickly throughout the dockyards. It wasn't until Alicent coughed that you were pulled back into reality. Tears sprung to your eyes you didn't know how they got there but you knew they came from a place of joy. Throwing yourself down at him your hands found their way to his cheeks, and you planted a firm kiss on Otto’s lips.

“You have yet to answer, Lady Lenia,” Otto murmured with a small smile.

Your answer came out in a jumbled mess of yesses.

He kissed you back with just as much fervour, pulling away from your lips for only a second to say, “I wished to propose underneath the apple tree, but I couldn’t wait any longer.” And then his lips found yours once again.

The next few days went by in a blur. You first went to your parent’s to tell them the good news. However, your father had already known as Otto asked for his permission. During the Hand’s journey, he was waiting just as anxiously as you. Your mother on the other hand, did not know, and was over the moon with joy. Though she did slap your father’s arm for not telling her.

“It was a surprise!” was his response.

Otto had never been this proud, not since the birth of his children. So, he gladly welcomed the congratulatory remarks and compliments. Although as he recounted the story, he did like to leave out the part where he was still sea-sick during the proposal.

Alicent too was happy. Not just happy for her father and future stepmother but also because the attention was no longer on her. King Viserys was more than jovial. Keeping this secret was difficult for him. Happy secrets were his downfall. He was so happy in fact, that he said, “there shall be no expense spared for this wedding,” and then the Master of Coin nearly choked on his wine.

Elrie was over the moon to be involved in another wedding. Darrick too, was ecstatic for you, the only person who was not was little Lucieth, who was sick of weddings.

And when you asked why, he blurted “because I HATE dressing up!”

Weeks had passed and the wedding plans were in full motion. Your mother was busy fussing over your dress with Sanah, who wanted to make it by hand. While your mother wanted you to wear her own wedding gown. And then you had family traditions to consider; every Branch woman wore some sort of homage to the House. May it be a leaf, a stem, a … branch, stitched in the gown, a piece of jewellery or make up. It was your choice to make.

The invitations soon went out as well.

Otto was quite particular with how he wanted them written, but you had the creative control. Both your House sigils were drawn, appearing on the corners of the parchment. A representation of your Houses bond.

Soon Branches from all over Westeros would soon be swarming the Capitol, giving a new feeling to King’s Landing. Your mother's side of the family were invited as well and although not as openly as creative as House Branch, they were well known for their musical abilities.

It had only been a month since your proposal and Sanah was becoming insufferable. In the best way. Once she heard the news, she apologised for her future actions, “I am going to be intolerable at times, but I just want this to be perfect for you.”

This was one of the most stressful times in your life, but … in such a positive way. Used to the spotlight, you didn’t mind the attention, especially the talk of the future with Otto.

“And you’ll give him even more children, hopefully more sons!” Said a lady at court, whose name you didn’t care to remember. The last part stung, and you frowned (for the first time in a month).

“Any child is a blessing,” you replied, trying to keep the bite out of your voice. “Girls have just as much to offer as boys do.”

It was a curt response, and it made you up and leave the room.

You could feel your teeth grinding and you had to remind yourself to stop. Now being the Hand’s future wife, you worried that every word you spoke could hurt his position somehow. But a topic such as this; you knew where you stood on the matter.

The castle’s hallways had become well-known to you. The smoothed edges of the stone walls, cold to the touch, with it’s sudden openings of light and sunshine. On days like this, it filtered through the open gaps, some paned, some completely open. One had to be careful with the latter, there were rumours that many had … fallen from those openings.

Resting your back against the cool of the wall, you sighed and massaged your temple. It was safe to say that in this period of your life, you felt frazzled. It didn’t help that you were on your periods and the cramps were quite terrible. Hopefully, you wouldn’t have them during your wedding. Maybe that was another question for Sanah…

Lost in thought, you didn’t register the form that had stopped to stand next to you.

“Having second thoughts?” Ormund’s deep voice made you jump, and in turn brought on a wave of embarrassment with a tinge of anger.

“Don’t sneak up on people like that! It’s … it’s rude.” You said breathlessly.

Ormund chuckled and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Well, I give my deepest apologies,” he said mockingly, bowing low. “I mustn’t upset the Hand’s wife.”

“Future, wife,” you corrected.

“Yes,” he said with faint sincerity, “future wife.”

-✶-

The interaction with Ormund left you somewhat confused, what was he trying to say? And why was there an establishment between wife and future wife? These words danced in your head until you came to your chamber doors and gleefully opened them.

Rising from the bed, Otto gave you a slight bow as you entered the room.

“Please excuse my boldness, but I needed to talk to you. Alone.”

His tone caused an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. A reddening of your cheeks as well.

“It’s, fine. I think we’re past the rules of formality.” And your mind instantly went to the nights spent with each other, naked, with body parts wrapped around one another. The thought made your blush deepen.

“Well, you’re right about that,” Otto’s tall frame seemed to tower over your own. You noted his neatly trimmed beard and brushed hair. But some part of you missed the adventure-met Otto.

He guided you over to your sitting area, hot tea waiting for you. The sun had begun to set, emitting rays of orange, pink and purple across the sky. A beautiful sight, but one that you gladly ignored. Your focus was utterly on Otto.

“I just wanted to have some time by ourselves,” he started, moving to take his hand in yours. “And to give you an opportunity to refuse the proposal.” His voice hardened at the end of the sentence, but when you looked into his eyes, all you saw was love.

“Why would I refuse?” You said aghast. “Have I shown any reason I wouldn’t want to marry?”

There was a long pause.

And questions flooded your head, swarming your stomach, making your body tingle with anxiety.

“No, you have not.”

His words gave you such relief that you let out a sigh. The breath that you had unknowingly held in was released and Otto actually saw the worries escape you.

“Then why? Why ask this?”

How could Otto explain this deep-rooted insecurity of not being enough. Being too old, too unliked, having a job that requires questionable morals. Having to lie to those he loves in favour of the King, or to keep important information from coming to light. To push for things that other people do not want nor agree with.

For Otto, it just goes deeper and deeper. More intricate that one could ever explain perfectly.

So, the only thing that he could come out with was, “I-I’m not enough. For you. You deserve better. Someone younger, at least.”

Your grip on his hand tightened, and you stared straight into his eyes, “I want to marry you Otto Hightower. I see the good, I see the bad; I see all of you. And I still want to marry you.”

The intensity in which you spoke felt foreign, as was the power that seemed to radiate from you. But in this moment it felt right. Unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t as if Otto didn’t see your devotion. He did. And he admired it greatly. It’s one of the reasons why he loves you so dearly. His late wife had the same devout nature.

Any doubts he had for this marriage were based on himself; his own self-reservations. Truly, they had nothing to do with you. Not even your status, which had been brought up by the small council, didn’t make him think any less of you. He had stopped the slanderous talk immediately. Everyone knew not to talk ill of Lenia Branch in the presence of Otto Hightower. And it helped greatly that the King thought your family was brilliant. Your position at court was favoured, as were you. Your future, no matter what, was bright.

“I truly cannot explain how I feel inside. Only know this: there is nothing that can make me stop loving you.”

You seemed to move without realising it, because in an instant you were in his lap, one hand tangled in his hair and the other moving down his chest. Your lips were connected in such deep passion that you knew they would be bruised in a few hours.

Otto’s hands wrapped around your body, pulling you closer to him. His mouth reciprocated the movements, biting your bottom lip, nipping at your tongue. Then he moved you, so your legs were either side of him. The position making it easier to rub your most sensitive parts against one another. Otto moaned, pushing you harder against himself, kissing down the nape of your neck and moving to your chest. He was about to unlace your bodice when a knock sounded at the door.

“J-just a moment!” You breathed out, doing your best to get off of Otto and fix yourself up. Standing there awkward for a moment, Otto motioned for you to sit down on your chair and take a sip of your now cold, tea.

“Enter,” you said after gulping. You realised Otto had brought over your favourite herbal blend.

“Oh, apologies,” said Darrick, whose eyes darted between you and Otto. You could see your brother conclude that you were alone with another man, but only having tea.

“How are you, Darrick?” Otto asked, in a completely neutral tone.

“Fine, thank you for asking,” Darrick bowed politely and then handed you a piece of rolled up parchment.

Departing quickly, you could see the tinge of red on his cheeks and you frowned. Although you realised that it wasn’t because of any indecency, but because of what he had brought you.

It was the finished wedding invitations, with your design and Otto’s words. Together in black ink with gold and silver accents made it look absolutely beautiful. You slid the paper over to Otto and he nodded his head in approval.

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witchthewriter · 2 years

Photo

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘸𝘰.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word count: 1198

The palms of your hands had started to sweat as soon as you awoke that morning. One of the Seven had blessed the people of King’s Landing with clear skies, not an inkling of a storm in sight. But some small part of you was hoping for rain. For something to happen so the performance was cancelled, or merely delayed. You had never been this nervous about a routine. Even though you weren’t afraid of people’s attention, you had never performed in front of people so influential.

It was so large in fact, that the stage had been erected outside, underneath the night sky. The layout was created so as soon as one walked outside, pyres of fire were burning bright, guiding guests to the stage.

You sat at your vanity table, your eyes watching those from below. From your room, you had a birds’ eye view and could see figures scurrying around. In front of you, an array of small pots and vials sat waiting for your fingers. There were brushes near the mirror, all wiped clean after every use. Your tools were important to your craft, they were apart of it. The act of putting them on put you in a different mentality. And yet, even after putting on your makeup, there was still a buzz inside you.

You got up from your seat, went over to the window, and watched the men hoist, pull and guide timber to create your stage. Your stage. Because no matter how hard your other family members’ tried, you would still be the highlight of the performance.

In an instant, your father, Lord Kormiel, burst through your door.

“Lenia!” He boomed, his thick arms widening.

Your father was of average height, but wide and stocky. With broad shoulders and a thick beard, he was somewhat of an enigma. His voice was deep and emanated the accent of your homeland. It comforted you every time you heard it.

“Hello, papa,” you replied as you ran over to him. He swept you up in his arms and lifted you off your feet, twirling you around.

“How’s my star performer?”

Your smile faltered, the anxiety showing on your face. There was no way that you could pretend to be fine in front of your papa. He knew you too well.

“Lenia, my love,” he sighed, cupping your cheek and frowning.

“No, I’m fine! Truly-“ you cut yourself off and looked into his brown eyes.

“I will be there, your mother is playing the violin, and Sanah will be in the crowd too. You’re not alone.” Some days it was difficult to remember that. That you weren’t alone, that all your problems could be shared, that you didn’t have to feel them weigh heavily on your shoulders.

You bowed your head.

“I love you papa,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him, and nuzzling your head into his chest.

✶✶✶

You felt the crowd’s energy from your position on the stage. It was electric, their excitement seemed to swirl around you, like moths to light. Taking in a deep breath, you relaxed your shoulders and waited.

Offstage, your father nodded to the musicians, who were also Branches, and the slow uprise of violins sounded.

It was instinctual. The movements, the counts, the way your arms moved with graceful ease. Even now you could pick your mother out from the group of instruments. You had heard her play ever since you were born, even before then. Her melody was ingrained in your very being.

Your leg swept across the stage floor and your arms followed suit. You twirled and twirled until you reached the edge of the stage. The audience gasped, thinking you were going to fall, but your father gave the builders direct instructions. The audience couldn’t see from their seats, but there was red paint outlined across the edge.

And you saw the line, and the rose that laid atop it. Within moments you picked it up and brandished it in the air. You twirled around and stopped. With both hands clasped around its stem, your breathed in the scent. The melody started to change. It wasn’t obvious, and only the performers could notice since each of you had perfected the routine.

The slow transformation of the music reflected your movements. They became quicker, sharper. The dance was all symbolism. And only those who truly paid attention would see it. The maiden, yourself, is innocent and cautious in the beginning of the dance. She is unsure of her body, of her desires, but she is graceful, nonetheless. And the turning point, is the smell of the rose. It signifies a woman coming into her own self; she’s blooming. Sanah liked to think that that moment was a woman’s first period, and the after was womanhood thrust upon her.

Even so, every time you performed, the crowd was amazed. Some would say astonished, as your dance was not known in many lands.

The crescendo was building, like a pounding in your blood, you began twirling on the spot. Over and over again you spun, and the crowd began to gasp as flower petals rained down onto the stage.

✶✶✶

The Hand of the King watched in wonder as Lenia Branch danced. She was a sight. Like a star from the night sky personified, she was dazzling, not only him but the whole crowd. Otto had never seen anything like it, the movements of the dance were otherworldly. They were a mix of discipline and quick motions, accompanied by elegance and grace.

It had been difficult enough to focus on his duties since the interaction underneath the apple tree. His feelings about love had changed. But was it love? Or merely an attraction of the flesh. One that would only be for a short while?

Whatever it was, Otto Hightower had decided.

He wanted you.

You had gotten so lost in the music that you did not remember getting into your finishing position. But now you knelt with your hands cupping the rose, arms outstretched. In the silence, you tried to hide your panting. Because you knew what you wanted to do next. Going against the plan, you looked into the crowd to find the face that you had not been able to stop thinking about.

There he was, eyes wide and an obvious smile on his lips.

Mischief glinted in your eyes as you took a few steps toward. Everyone was quiet, not knowing if the performance had finished. There were a few random claps throughout the crowd, but as you stood at the edge of the stage, people did not continue.

You hoped for good aim, but as the Hand of the King, Otto was in the front row. With a meticulous look on your face, and a beating heart that quickened with each second, you tossed the rose to Otto and bowed your head slightly.

It was well that he had a beard because Otto Hightower blushed.

You curtsied to the King and then to the rest of the crowd.

There was an uproar of applause, and the cheering was defeaning. You had won the heart’s of all those in King’s Landing.

#otto hightower #otto hightower x reader #house of the dragon #otto hightower x lenia #witchthewriter #house of the dragon imagine #otto hightower imagine #underneath the apple tree

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lenia Branch Word Count: 2k Warning: SMUT. 18+ ONLY! Authors Note: If anyone wants a personalised story, here’s my PayPal and send me a message and we can get started!

This wasn’t the plan. Otto wasn’t supposed to be here yet. Sanah told you that this dinner was for the three of you, and after hearing Ormund’s advice, then Otto would arrive. You needed to hear another perspective, other than your sister’s but you also felt like time was of the essence.

But here the Hand of the King stood.

You could tell he was trying not to look bewildered. But something in his eyes was giving it away.

“Good evening brother!” Ormund stood from his seat, gave you a quick glance and stalked forward.

“Evening,” Otto muttered, holding out his hand, “the invitation told me a later time, but your Lady wife knocked on my door.

There was a few heartbeats of silence.

The way they looked at each other was curious. So many words unsaid, layers upon layers of feelings, memories and hurt. Did they want to tear at the masks and shout their true feelings for all the castle to hear? You knew Ormund would. He’d done it many times before. But Otto wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Sanah looked at you with mischief in her eyes. You tried not to roll your own.

The decanter of wine looked much more appealing now. And you filled your cup to the brim and drank.

-✶-

I looked at Lenia and tried not to blush. The thought of her naked breasts filled my mind and I had to look away. She looked stunning in her green dress. Had she known I was coming and put on the colours of my House? Or maybe I was being self-centred.

It was difficult to separate Lenia from my mind, particularly so these past few nights. My hand was seldom incomparable to the feel of Lenia. I wanted to smell her again, to have her beneath me. She left so suddenly the next day that I thought I had done something wrong. Well, I knew I had done something wrong. Maybe I was too rough in my lovemaking, but I’m sure I would be punished by the gods for loving Lenia, completely, before marriage. And yet, I’m sure they knew how much I loved her. That our love couldn’t be wrong, or a sin.

The dinner table had been set for three, and the servants were creating an extra space for me. Seemingly, no one but Sanah knew I was coming. Disappointment trickled through me.

-✶-

The glow of the candles blurred together as your eyes flicked across the room. Light music was playing, and a violinist sat in the far corner of the room, their eyes closed, getting lost in the music. You were getting lost in something as well. You could feel the thrum of your blood. The heat from the drink was warming every part of your body. You felt lightheaded but in a good way. Like all the problems in the world meant nothing.

“Otto, why haven’t you spoken to me since the other night?”

The room went silent.

And you weren’t even shocked at your outburst of a question. Common sense, anxieties and morals had been drowned out by the red liquid in your cup. You hadn’t looked at Sanah, but she was smiling slightly, trying not to giggle. See, she had let the drink overcome her as well. She was catching up to you.

Otto looked like he might combust. Even though he tried his best to keep a cool demeanour, you could sense his unease.

Ormund was the one to speak, “You can speak openly brother, Lenia has told us everything. Well, nearly everything.”

Now Otto completely blushed. The mask he was fighting to wear had completely slipped and he was beet red.

-✶-

Was this really happening? Otto thought. Never in his life would he thought his youngest, and wildest brother, would be having dinner with the woman he loved, her sister, talking about sex.

“It’s normal,” Sanah was in the middle of her sentence, and I tried to zone her out. The musicians had been sent away as the hour grew late.

Lenia looked at me. A fierce look that was a mixture of hot and cold. Desire and sadness.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed Otto. Sanah says breast-biting is very common.” You weren’t exactly slurring, but your words were coming out without any annunciation or pause.

You knew Otto would be embarrassed but you were tired of him being so uptight. Sex was normal, and you wanted him to know that.

“Otto, please don’t feel uncomfortable. Ormund does a lot worse to me-“

At that very moment, Ormund spluttered, choking on his wine. But then he laughed. A deep, heavy belly laugh. Not a mocking one, or one that deflected the attention of the words.

“It’s true brother, much worse.”

-✶-

Dinner had been eaten. A grand display of meats, honey-covered vegetables and spiced fruits. The fresh bread had made your stomach rumble. The kitchens had been good to you tonight.

You felt carefree. There wasn’t a worry or anxiety anywhere in your body, or in your mind. Even though the musician had left, you could feel the music within you. The goblet you were holding had been topped up by Sanah, who had discarded her own and was drinking straight from the bottle.

You both swayed together, clutching onto each other’s free hand. You twirled and mimicked one of the popular dances in King’s Landing. Elrie had been showing you only yesterday.

“I don’t think we’re doing this right,” you said, giggling.

“No, not at all. But god it’s fun.” Both of your shoes had been discarded and Sanah continued talking. “I think I want to get a pet. Do you think Viserys would care if I got a cat? Are cats allowed in the castle?”

“Ask Lucie, he probably has a whole litter underneath his bed.”

You both laughed heartily at that. Because the next day, you heard a meow coming from his rooms.

-✶-

“Are they always like this when they get together?” I asked my brother. Both of us were still seated at the table, our own goblets in hand. The food had been cleared and a plate of desserts was left on the oak table.

“…yes,” Ormund said after taking another gulp.

“I don’t mind it,” I looked out the window at the moon high in the sky. A star winked at me, and an owl hooted.

“Yes. I guess it is nice to see people have fun.” Ormund gave me a darkened look, then got up and walked towards his wife and her sister.

I watched as Ormund smoothly slid into the dance. He took both of the women’s free hands in his and whirled them around. The wine sloshed around in their cups and threatened to spill at any moment. And yet no one cared.

It bothered me that I did. I cared so much about the spilling that my instinct was to grab the goblets and place them far out of their reach.

A voice sounded in my head then. One that I hadn’t heard in many, many years. It can always be cleaned up.

I hadn’t heard my wife’s voice since Alicent was married. Echoes of her words found me in difficult moments. When I begged the gods for advice, for guidance or a hint of what to do.

And so, I felt it in me then. The urge to rid myself of caution. But before I could do so, I was whisked from my chair and led to the floor.

-✶-

You and Sanah had pushed the furniture out of the way to make the floor fit for dancing. Even the rug was pulled into a corner, crumpled against the wall. It was something you used to do back in your childhood, especially when you were travelling to different cities, where your parents were performing. Nights in your shared chambers, dancing with your two sisters and younger brother. The memory overtook your mind and you stopped dancing to look at Sanah.

“I love you,” sniffing, you engulfed your sister in a bone crunching hug.

“Ow, I love you too, gods when did you get so strong!” Sanah laughed and kissed your cheek.

As quick as the memory came, it was chased away by the presence of your love sitting in his chair. Alone and looking peculiar, your heart reached out to him. Your hands followed suit and you fluttered towards him and pulled him from his seat.

He was shocked, but something in his expression told you that that was exactly what he was waiting for.

You hadn’t had all that much to drink, but you weren’t used to the effects. You trusted the people in this room so much that your tongue let loose.

The words left your throat before you could think. You didn’t care if they were too forward, or wrong, or ill-thought.

“Do you still want me?”

Those very words made Otto’s eyebrows furrow and pull together.

“Why would you ask such a thing?”

“You haven’t sought me out.” Your words felt so vulnerable. You never thought of yourself as someone who guarded their feelings. Who hid behind a wall. And yet, these words felt too exposed. The fear of being rejected was like ice down your spine.

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” The room was quiet.

“No, I wanted you to come to me. I always want you to come to me.” Your fears were put out like a candle.

“I’m sorry I didn’t. Truly. I-I wanted to,” his hand found your own. Hesitantly, he took it in his own. “When you left that morning, I thought that meant you didn’t want me, to see me, to be near me.”

You let his words stay in the air for a few moments, as you stood in front of each other. Face to face, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. His large hand engulfed your own and it reminded you of that night.

You thought about the way he caressed you, gripped you, held and clutched onto your skin. You knew he had the same desire because he inched closer to you. Closer and closer until he was mere centimetres away from your lips.

He waited, and you knew what he wanted to hear.

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

Like a ship crashing onto shore, his lips were upon yours with a fierce passion. One hand held your head in place, and the other was on your waist, pulling you towards him. The kiss lasted both seconds and years.

When you pulled apart, Otto looked around for Sanah and Ormund, but they were no longer in the room.

“We’re alone,” he whispered.

You shuddered and smiled.

“Thank the gods,” you said, and you were upon him once again.

-✶-

Clothes were discarded and your naked bodies were on the lounge. The fire dwindled as Otto pushed himself inside your wet core. Your nipples were hard as Otto bit and sucked. You had already given your full, whole-hearted consent. He wouldn’t do this unless he heard those words. Otto always respected you, and your body. Enough to constantly ask for your approval. His heart would truly break if he ever hurt you.

The night’s hour was truly late, and you knew tomorrow would come soon. But you didn’t care.

You had been thinking about this moment for days. The length of him, the way he filled you, made you whole. You felt very empty without him. Both emotionally and physically. You looked at Otto, wish his broad shoulders above you, almost shielding you from the world. His chest had spirals of black, and his nipples were small yet also perked.

Before he started to pump in and out of you, he said three words. Ones that you knew solidified your relationship.

“I love you.”

You blushed, and your body bloomed red.

“I love you too,” your words felt like a promise.

#otto hightower #otto hightower smut #otto hightower x reader #otto hightower x lenia #lenia branch #otto hightower x lenia branch #lenia branch oc #house branch #sanah branch #sanah hightower #underneath the apple tree #underneath the apple tree oc #underneath the apple tree characters #ormund #ormund hightower #house hightower #witchthewriter

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑁𝑖𝑛𝑒.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Um, so this chapter got kinda dark. I really went into the themes of House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones. So there’s some death, destruction and chaos. So basically death and descriptions of it. Also people living up to their name as war criminals...Oh and mentions of (physical) family abuse.

Authors Note: If anyone wants a personalised story, here’s my PayPal and send me a message and we can get started!

The sky had turned desolate in the hours of the invasion. Even though the sun shone, it was a mocking warmth that left the citizens of King’s Landing in a frenzied state. The harsh reality was settling in, and people were beginning to panic. Qoren had brought unrest with him, and fed it to the townsfolk without even glancing at his destruction.

Homes had been raided; the tenants pushed out into the streets. Everyone except those who lived miles away from the capital city. The farmers had no clue about the Dornish Prince’s plans. But they soon would.

The plan was to capture King’s Landing first, get the King to surrender and work their way down into the valleys and neighbouring kingdoms. The informant gave away hidden passageways, generational secrets and knowledge that only the King and his Hand knew. The lack of force and decisions from Viserys put himself and the kingdom in this position. His throne was there for the taking. And who didn’t want to be on the Iron Throne?

Babies cried in their mother’s arms, sons and daughters huddled behind their protectors, and the men tried to fight back. The women without families were the most fierce. Especially coming from the pleasure houses, they bit and screamed, kicked and punched.

-✶-

The tower was always slightly colder than the rest of the castle. Although the windows let in plenty of light, darkness seemed to creep with every step one took. The young ones never wanted to travel up those steps alone. They made up stories about ghosts, and the spirits of the dead who haunted the staircases.

But since seeing the Dornish men, the maesters had sought shelter and protection in the lonely tower.

The robed men had trembled as the doors pounded. Not one of them knew what to do. The thought and thought about a solution, but none came. With all their reading, studying and knowledge, none of them knew what to do. Even the older men, with their white beards and years of training, were stunned.

So, they prayed.

And when they prayed, they didn’t stop.

Not until the doors stopped pounding. And one voice was all they could hear. The men held their breath, doing their best not to clutch to one another. Inching forward, with makeshift weapons in hand, they listened to their door.

A voice sounded.

“It is Ser Criston Cole, you need to come with me, the Queen needs you.”

-✶-

The ground shook as Syrax and Caraxes landed. Both of the white-haired Targaryen’s dismounted and saw the damage in the sea. Burning sails and charred black, the ships would be nothing but ash on the wind.

Caraxes had burnt three-quarters of the Dornish ships. Enough so that they wouldn’t be able to attack but some remained so they could take their leave. Daemon did not know if people resided in the ships. He did not care if they did.

Rhaenyra said nothing but nodded when Daemon glanced at her, and that was all the approval he needed.

But underneath her mask she felt an ocean of emotions. Fright, anger, despair, anxiety. Questions swirled in her head like a vicious tornado. Her father, her home, the Queen, all of it was muddling her thoughts. It was like the world was around her but she wasn’t on this plane. Her body felt like it was leaving this earth, and she could see above herself. The white hair on the top of her head. The braids that were coming undone.

This was war. What was supposed to never reach King’s Landing, had come without warning. But a word swarmed Rhaenyra’s mind like the fly that wouldn’t cease: How.

Both Targaryen’s mulled over the issue of the other dragons. That was going their vantage point. The Targaryen soldiers would have been caught off guard and captured. So their only option to gain control was the dragons.

“Do you think they’ve already killed them, Daemon?” The question came out steadier than Rhaenyra felt. Even though Rhaenyra hadn’t been in the other dragons’ presence all that often, like many Targaryens, she felt a strong connection to their livelihood. What was a Targaryen without their dragons?

“With that many dragons, I don’t think they were able to get too close. Not yet anyway.” His response quietened the rolling ocean in Rhaenyra’s stomach.

It was obvious what they had to do next. Free and defend the dragons, as they too had been invaded by the enemy. Like the rest of King’s Landing, the dragons had been caught off guard, in their home, where they felt the safest.

-✶-

It all happened at once. The room was a blur of light, dark figures, and darkened colours. There wasn’t a lot of space, and the Dornish general was positioned at the door. Qoren was near the window, looking at the city below. His hands firmly planted on either side of the opening. For one moment you stopped to look at him. His hands were strained, knuckles white and veins stood out.

You hadn’t noticed the sun beating on your back. Or the fact that your bare feet were cold on the stone flooring. All your focus was completely on the Queen, and on delivering her babe.

Otto scrambled behind you, ripping up sheets, clothes and yelling at Qoren to find hot water. His stern voice was outdone by Alicent’s cries. She hadn’t stopped since her waters had broken. But he stopped his actions and looked at Qoren. The man hadn’t moved from the window.

“Stop standing there and do something!” Otto grabbed the Dornish Prince by the shoulders and turned him around. But the look he was expecting was the complete opposite of what he found. Horror. Awestruck. Terror. The look of a man who had been outdone.

Otto looked out the window and stared in horror.

Something in you clicked. It was instinct. Ingrained in you somehow. It pulled upwards and outwards, from your core. Feminine instinct? Or maybe you worked well under pressure. Whatever the reason, Alicent was glad to have you by her side.

But her relief was soon flooded once again with pain. Her body was ready to push the baby from her belly.

The young Queen knew this day would come. She had time to prepare. A whole nine months. But no one spoke to her about the physical side of childbirth. The excruciating pain. The way her body didn’t feel like her own. She cried out. In pain, but also in anguish. Why wasn’t she told about this? And why did Qoren have to invade on this day? The agony was soon overcome by fury. Someone was going to pay. Whether it was Qoren, her own father, or the King for doing this to her. She wanted to tear them apart. Bit by bit, and watch them struggle to keep their body together. Men go to war, but women faced more horrors than they ever could.

You were expecting Otto to give you slips of cloth, but he wasn’t near you. The man was still over at the window, his arms slack at his sides.

No time. No time to tell him to pull it together.

“You can do it Alicent, I’m right here.” Your voice was hoarse, and you cursed yourself for sounding so nervous.

But looking at Alicent, with her eyes watered, face flushed red and sweat dripping down her face, you knew she didn’t register anything you had said.

The neat braid her hair had been in was coming undone. Somehow seeing her hair out seemed more wrong than staring at her opening. Her pale legs were far apart, and the top of a head could be seen.

“Alicent you’re ready, I can see the babe!” Your voice was loud, trying to be heard over the screaming.

-✶-

The men lay motionless on the ground. Not dead but not conscious.

He had evaded capture. Once again.

Ormund’s face couldn’t help but smirk. Like many with a natural frown, his was plagued by arrogance. Moving his aching fingers, he touched his lips, fuck they were sore, probably turning an odd colour, and he was sure his left eye was swelling by the second. Well earned trophies of a proper fight. He hadn’t had one of those for ages.

The youngest Hightower had been taught to fight by men he’d met on his travels as a youth. His father would have forbidden it, if he ever cared to speak to his youngest son. But the hope of obedience had been thoroughly, and indefinitely, lost. Ever since Ormund’s first tiff with his father, he knew he couldn’t count on him. The old man was set in his ways. And anyone who stepped out of line was shown his wrath. Always behind closed doors. He made sure to stuff a sock in your mouth before he brought out the whip.

“Fine! Leave! But don’t expect any aid from me when the world turns on you.”

His father’s words had never left Ormund. Even when he had drunk himself into blindness. Even when swords had been up against his throat. Ormund knew that only he could save himself. Even though deep down, he still wished his father would welcome him home.

Suddenly, a sound that Ormund was never expecting to hear, had sounded.

The bells started to ring.

And that brought an emotion that Ormund was not used to. Panic.

-✶-

Heat started to make the fabric of her dress cling to her. The amount of people in the hall was unnatural, and Sanah was becoming irritated. But not as much as the young man on the other end of the hall.

“What is going on? Why are we still here?” His voice carried through the large room, and whispers began.

The soldiers were silent, their backs straight and spears in hand. No response.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Sanah had seen the young man in the training grounds only a few days ago. The usual conceit followed him, like it did with all nobles. Better blood. Better standing. She had seen it all her life, like a repetitive play, men would act the same wherever they went. With nobility came ego.

His shouts become louder, more aggressive. Sanah was impressed by how the guards conducted themselves. Until a second ago, when the closest one thrust his spear in the man’s chest. Luckily it was the blunt end.

Some gasped, and Sanah rolled her eyes. What did they expect? If you go up to the people holding you hostage and you berate them, what do you think they’re going to do? Tell you to sit down and give you a cuddle? These nobles have no clue how to survive. Even though Sanah’s own House is rapidly increasing in rank, they have always remembered their roots.

Coming from the slums, the pleasure-houses, the makeshift tents and troubled backgrounds. The Branches came together and created a home. Now generations later, here they stood, in the Throne room with hundreds of other nobles.

The young man lay on the floor, clutching his stomach and Sanah did everything she could not to scoff. It wasn’t even a hard hit, more like a light jab. And now he was on the floor moaning as if his insides were shrivelling up.

Sanah scanned the room. Everyone looked terrified, and she could see the patriarchs of the family doing their best to shield their families. Nobility is trying to be noble, for once. Sanah thought, knowing that it was all for show. If there weren’t that many people in the room, most of these men would be cowering behind their wives. Sanah mused at the thought.

“What are you smiling about?” Darick whispered, looking at his older sister with disgust.

“I’m not smiling,” Sanah replied, doing her best to look neutral. Had she been smiling? Her face was always her tell. Even though she was great at card games, she always gave herself away somehow. It was something she needed to work on.

“Were to.” Darick looked at his father, who was holding Elrie in his arms. Onatah was leaning against him, looking tired.

-✶-

The dragonpit was not easy to get to. It was in the centre of the city, and with so many people expelled from their homes, a clear landing wasn’t going to be simple. Even though the pit was big enough, with its large dirt oval, the Dornishmen had led the citizens into the area.

Rhaenyra trusted her uncle enough to let him take the lead. Whatever his decision, she would go along with it. There weren’t many options now, much like in war. Well, this was war. A fight for her home. And possibly her freedom. Which was what she had only hours ago. How funny to think, a person has to fight for what they should be freely given. The absurdity of it all.

Caraxes landed flew as close as he could to the pit. Roaring and screeching as he landed. Those in the area had scattered, knowing the Blood Wyrm and the Rogue Prince would sacrifice anyone in their way.

Rhaenyra and Syrax circled up above, trying to find vantage points. Dorne’s men had left the dragons unharmed. This was the agreement Qoren had with the informant. A person close to the King, but also to the people, who knew secrets but cared enough not to let anyone get hurt. Not many people cared for the dragons, that was mostly those who could ride them, and those who were loyal to the Targaryen dynasty.

Caraxes was lighting the path with fire. Daemon’s lips were set in a harsh line, his eyes focused forward. Onwards, he demanded, and Caraxes obeyed.

The ground was met with fire, and the people fled out of the way. Daemon didn’t give them a thought; all he could think of was the other dragons. Probably chained, like most days. They wouldn’t have the trainers to release them. So, the only option… was to defend them. The same dragons who disliked Caraxes. Who wouldn’t go near him, or let him near them. They would roar and hiss, threatening him. Daemon had seen it with his own eyes. There was something about Caraxes they didn’t like.

And how ironic, Daemon thought, Caraxes was going to be the one to save them.

-✶-

Dragons.

That’s what Ormund had seen. Up close and in the flesh, Daemon Targaryen had landed mere metres away from him. The red dragon was dread incarnate. His scales seemed to be made of fire itself. His serpentine body was like nothing Ormund had seen before. And he had travelled through all of Westeros.

“What are you doing man? Get out of the way!” Looking to his left, Ormund saw an elderly man in shock. Who must have been his son, was crowded against a building wall with his family.

Ormund never had a problem with fight or flight. He could handle his emotions and think clearly in stress-filled situations. But now he stood still. His legs were planted on the ground and his mind was racing. Go. Help him. His inner voice urged, but his body did not follow. The son yelled out again, pleading with his father. He was doing all he could to get closer to the old fellow. But the crowd wouldn’t let him pass, he was stuck.

It was a second. One second before Ormund regained his body.

But it was too late.

The Blood Wyrm’s tail had swiped the old man and he crumpled to the ground. His frail body unmoving on the ground. Someone screamed. And then another, and Ormund couldn’t get his mind straight. Death. Everywhere he looked, the dragon was causing so much death. And the heat from his fire was beginning to spread. Buildings were alight, the ground was thundering beneath him. People ran and ran, screamed and cried.

“Papa!” A wail. One full of grief and despair. He was a grown man with a family, but his voice was childlike in sadness. The man had finally gotten to his elderly father. He turned him over and Ormund moved to stop him.

His head was caved in, an unnatural sight. And one that a son was never supposed to see.

“Look away,” Ormund ground out. His arms hoisted the grieving man to his feet but he fought.

“No! No! He’s my papa! His birthday is tomorrow! Papa please-“ the man’s wife was trembling, with three children clinging to her.

Ormund held the man with every bit of strength he had. He hoisted him upwards and back to safety.

“He’s gone. Protect your wife. Protect your family.”

Ormund knew the words came out harsh. He almost sounded like his father. But he could see the thoughts behind the man’s eyes, he wanted to go back to his father’s body. He wanted to lean over him and cry and cry. Ormund knew, because he had seen it be done a thousand times before. Maybe not by a dragon, but by other means. Death was death.

The man left, lifting a child into his arms and grabbing ahold of his wife. She was young too. With honey-coloured hair and kind eyes. She shouldn’t have seen such horror.

Ormund shook it off. Or at least, he tried to. There was nothing harder than ridding yourself of trauma.

He turned towards the castle and took off.

-✶-

“Push my Queen! Push!” Your voice carried throughout the room, encouraging Alicent. She had moved from being on her back to on all fours. She was taken aback by your direction, but this was how your family did it.

You had been present when Sanah had been born, then Darick as well as Elrie. The first time it had been an alarming thing to watch. Your mother pushing a live thing out of her. But by the time Darick came around, you had gotten used to the idea.

Alicent had found being on all fours much more comfortable. If that was a word that could be associated with childbirth.

Otto had turned to you after you demanded his attention. Mumbling something about fire and dragons, you gave him instructions and he obeyed.

“Water, get water Otto.”

In one more large push, the babe slithered out from Alicent. The umbilical chord was attached and you didn't know if you should be the one to cut it. But you held the little boy in your arms, wrapped in torn cloth. The firstborn son of the King, delivered by a dancer.

“Is it alive?” Alicent whispered, her voice hoarse.

“Yes, yes! He’s healthy! Ten fingers, ten toes!” You heard a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, the doors were flung open and five maesters came running into the room. Out of breath and thoroughly wet from sweat, the men took over the situation quickly.

-✶-

It wasn’t difficult to keep the soldiers back. Both Syrax and Caraxes were side by side, covering the entrance to the dragonpit. Whoever had been in the vicinity was either evacuated or dead. Their flames kept the soldiers at bay. At times a few got brave and ran forward. They no longer breathed.

Many soldiers had thrown their spears, aiming for an eye, a head, a heart. But none rang true. Only one spear had come into contact with Rhaenyra’s arm, and there was a large slice. It bled openly and freely, but she didn’t register it. Not when her adrenaline was at its peak. It felt like lightning was pumping through her veins, a static that she had never felt before. There was no wonder why Daemon left to fight wars for so many years. If this was how he felt … she wanted to feel this too.

Daemon didn’t like being on the ground with Caraxes, but there was no better idea. The trainers were nowhere to be found, and if the soldiers killed the dragons, then the Targaryen dynasty was over, and the House was done.

The dragons could be heard behind the two Targaryens. They roared for a fight, wanting to be involved. The commotion had frightened and intrigued them. But the chains were strong, and they could not move any further.

-✶-

Viserys could hear it all. Somehow, he felt it too. It was agony hearing the outside, and not being able to do anything about it. He felt so much shame, such guilt, that he was King and this had happened. What would the history books say now? How would they depict him? The Coward King. Locked away, by his own doing. His own inaction. Otto told him of the threats, and the discontent in Dorne. But he brushed it off. Told him that it wasn’t anything to worry about. Sometimes doing nothing was the best course of action.

Oh, how he was wrong. His ancestors would be ashamed.

#otto hightower #otto hightower x reader #otto hightower x lenia #lenia branch #otto hightower x lenia branch #otto x lenia #house branch

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐸𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word Count: 2.28k Warnings: Blood, stabbing Authors Note: This is the rising action, getting to the peak. Also if anyone wants a personalised story, here’s my PayPal and we can get started!

Qoren Nymeros Martell was a level-headed man. Or that’s what he believes himself to be. Compared to his father, he’s a calm ruler. However, the unrest across the sea, all the way in King’s Landing had started to affect him. The Targaryens had always been unpredictable. Not just as dragonriders, but as people.

“Get her on the bed, quickly, and fetch a maester!” shouted Qoren. He would take over a castle, a kingdom, a whole country, but he would never, put a pregnant woman in danger.

The guards had been sent outside, but he could still hear them in the hallway. Maybe he was a calm ruler, but as a man, he was not. In that moment he grew angry, and shouted to his men, “hurry up!” But anger did not faze the general.

“Locked themselves in the tower, my prince,” the older man stated.

“Perfect,” his hand found its way to his temple.

Sieges were never easy. But this was supposed to be easier than most. With the information coming from the inside, Dorne knew when and where to strike. He had promised his informant no casualties, no person would be hurt if they did not attack the Dornish soldiers. It was a simple agreement, and from what he saw, the people of King’s Landing weren’t a fighting group.

But having his conquest based on good faith was weak, and he couldn’t rely on it from the informant. That information was going to be worth a lot, but would it be worth the seven kingdoms?

Qoren wanted the surrounding kingdoms to follow suit in bending the knee. The pursuit of power was never comfortable. Yet this, this could destroy Dorne before he even had a chance to talk to the King.

-✶-

The yelling could be heard down the hall as you and Otto raced towards his daughter. Her screams were primal, you knew she was in labour just by the octaves. The Queen was going to birth a son or a daughter. And everything seemed to hang in the balance. If it was a daughter, then the throne was surely Rhaenyra’s. All the bickering and arguing would be put to rest. Maybe Rhaenyra would be welcomed by everyone and joy could enter the Seven Kingdoms once again.

Across the banister, a group of soldiers were oddly stationed, their attention seemingly in another world. A word was uttered amongst the men, one word, “maester”, as they grumbled between one another.

You spared a glance at Otto and you knew any thoughts of capture had evaded his mind. Otto’s daughter became the sole importance, and the babe that was coming into this life. Within moments, sudden awful thoughts flooded his mind as he raced towards the guarded door. Death. His daughter sacrificed like Aemma. Dead like his own lady wife.

Alicent. Alicent. Alicent.

His heart was thumping like a hummingbird.

Ser Cole struck his sword into the leg of a soldier and you let out an involuntary yelp. Violence was not on your mind, but it certainly was on Criston’s. His sword swung again and it clashed with a spear, but Otto grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the closed door.

“I’m the Hand of the King and you will stop fighting this instant!” His voice bellowed across the room. Otto’s chest puffed up and down as one hand clung to your own and the other on the door’s handle.

-✶-

Being seized was a common theme in Ormund’s life. Even during his childhood, Ormund’s father would have him detained by his guards and thrown in his room. No food for days, except a few slices of bread and cheese.

Comparatively, his brothers Otto and Hobert were the light of his father’s life. Traditional and old-fashioned. Their lives had already been planned out for them, ever since they were born. Even before that. Grow up, marry, have children. Expand, enlarge, extend the House. The House. House Hightower. We Light The Way. Ormund had always snorted at the thought.

That destiny had never suited the youngest brother. He’d always thought he was born into the wrong House, hell, even the wrong life. Like he was supposed to be born years into the future, or in the past. Ormund had tried to live up to his family’s expectations. When he was younger, he did. But it never stuck. He couldn’t comprehend why he couldn’t explore the world. Throughout his teenage years, he had wanted to become a pirate. And he did, of sorts.

But now he was being carted off to the castle, probably to his brother.

“What’s say you lads and I go off to the pub for a few ales’, aye?” The two soldiers didn’t even consider it. Their steps never faltering. Worth a try, he thought.

They had ushered him through the city gates and up the dusty stone stairs. It was deserted, a part from the Dornish soldiers. They stood to attention, but with each landing he noticed that they became more and more unorganised. Reaching the level of the Throne Room, he saw the chaos. And heard it too.

It was perfect.

As the three of them turned a corner, Ormund barged into one and onto the floor. He kicked out and tripped the other, throwing himself on top of the guard. The other had gotten up and flung himself onto Ormund, but he was ready and from the spear of the other soldier, he impaled one. A wet squelching sound rung in the Hightower Knave’s ears, and he did falter.

-✶-

Rhaenyra had reached Daemon, her breath not catching up with her until he was on Caraxes. Daemon knew something was wrong when the Blood Wyrm had returned to Dragonstone wailing until Daemon gave him attention. But acting for his brother seemed like overstepping, and apparently, he wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. He had been banished after all.

However, he didn’t need to be told twice because the fear in Rhaenyra’s eyes was enough for him. Orders had been spoken, and off Daemon flew with Syrax and Rhaenyra on his heels. With the urgency that Rhaenyra had come to him, he didn’t tell her his plans. The Rogue Prince had gotten his name for a reason, and war had begun.

-✶-

Pain. That’s all the young Queen could think about, pain and the thought of her mother. All she wanted was the soft embrace of her, to be held and told it would all be okay. Her mother had always brought her comfort. Her side of the family was Alicent’s favourite; everyone was much more cheerful and … loving.

Alicent’s mother had talked to her about marrying and having babies. But she left out how excruciating it was. Something felt completely wrong like her insides were being pulled apart.

“My father, where’s my father?” her words came out in a pant as she laid back against the pillows. He was the next best thing. The person she relied on now. With the death of her mother and Rhaenyra’s distance, she felt so alone.

Qoren looked to the general, who had told all the soldiers to leave. The man was short, and stout, with tanned arms and legs. If one were to see him without his leathers, he would look ridiculous. All parts that had not been exposed to the sun were stark white, even for a Dornish man. His beard was greying and hid a long scar across his chin. Vantos, was the general’s name, and he had served two generations before Qoren.

Vantos looked into Qoren’s brown eyes, “He wasn’t located.”

“Then locate him!” The Prince’s nostrils flared and then the boiling temper started to simmer.

It was quiet for a brief moment before Alicent started to groan.

-✶-

Something had changed in the atmosphere. A shift in energy. The guards had become more alert, their backs straightened and their eyes sifting through the crowd. What was their aim? What was the point of the invasion, if not to kill them all? The young Branch couldn’t wrap her head around it. And usually, she could understand. Sanah understood the hatred between Rhaenyra and Alicent, that it wasn’t hatred but betrayal. She understood the royal dynamics, why people do the things they do.

But she couldn’t understand this. In the bigger sense, yes of course. Qoren wanted the capital so he could control the outer kingdoms and soon rule as the Targaryen’s have. But why now? And why keep all these people alive? Was it because of his morality? A code that he lived by. The questions whirled around in Sanah’s head while she stared blank-faced at the throne.

Such an ugly piece of furniture. One that people killed thousands for. And it wasn’t even comfortable, nor safe. She had seen the sores on the King’s body. The cuts from the throne. It was said that a true king would be accepted by the Iron Throne, and one that wasn’t – well he would be injured by it.

So, if Viserys was not the right man to sit on the throne, who was?

-✶-

You and Otto had barged through the door, Ser Cole had cleared a path and fought the soldiers off. They hadn’t put up much of a fight, especially once they knew it was Otto Hightower.

“Alicent,” Otto took a brief moment to compose himself and walked to the bed. Alicent was on her back, legs spread and tears in her eyes. Her face was flushed red, but embarrassment was far from the cause.

“Where’s a maester?” Otto’s usual deep voice came out in a forced calm.

You looked around the room, the high walls and large bed made you think this was the king’s quarters. The large re-creation of King’s Landing had been altered, you could tell because the dragons were all lined up against the window sill.

“Unfortunately, they have boarded themselves up in the tower…” Qoren’s accent was smooth, like honey or oil. The way his voice sounded made even that terrible information seem like everything was okay.

“No maesters?” Cole responded, his face flushed from the fighting. You looked at Otto whose eyes were firmly upon Alicent’s.

“Ser Cole, please go and find a maester. You are a friendly face.” Alicent let out a whimper, sweat forming on her forehead.

“I don’t think she can wait that long,” your voice came out more confident than you felt. You were in the same room as the enemy, as the Prince of Dorne, whose family had never bent the knee to the Targaryen dynasty.

“I don’t think so either,” Otto replied, mainly to you.

To your surprise Qoren agreed. He didn’t seem like a monster. Like someone who could cause so much chaos.

“Then all action will halt until the baby is born,” Qoren stated, turning to his general. The shorter, older man started to protest, but Qoren shushed him.

“So we’ll deliver the babe then,” you replied. Alicent started yelling then and shook her head.

“Please, daughter, trust me, trust us.” Otto knelt next to Alicent and brushed away her hair.

And so you started.

-✶-

Blame. Guilt. Shame. Anger. The feelings chased each other around in a circle, always ending and beginning. The room was silent, Qoren nor his men had come to check up on Viserys in quite some time.

He wasn’t bound, nor chained to any furniture, the window was open and yet he could not escape this goddamned room.

It wasn’t without trying, but he was kept in the highest part of the tower. Away from the eyes of both sides. It was torture, having to watch from afar, as his city was overrun by tyrants.

“How could this have happened,” the silver haired man uttered. He rubbed his head and sat on the old chair. It creaked under his weight.

The room was small, and only one window faced city, rather than the sea or castle grounds. Viserys couldn’t tell who was Dornish and who wasn’t. But he could see the mass of people being rounded up.

Viserys heard a distant scream and he hoped it wasn’t someone he cared about.

Tagged: @freshmoneyalmondathlete

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word Count: 2.46k Warnings: Vague thoughts of war threats?

The tavern was rife with violence. The Martell soldiers had come in cordially, but the tenants had no patience for them. At the slightest change in tone, one of the common men had thrown a jug at the sitting soldier, soaking him.

There wasn’t a clean man in sight. All had either blood, food or drink somewhere on their persons. It was a glorious sight. Well, to Ormund it was. His own standards of fun were very different to the average man. Besides a woman and a good ale, violence was a topic that Ormund loved deeply. There didn’t need to be a reason for violence, especially when his blood ran hot.

Just when the usual customers of the tavern thought they had the upper hand, a group of Martell men barged through the door. They finished the fight. And King’s Landing citizens lay wounded, some dead, on the dirty stone floor.

-✶-

Orlaith placed a gentle hand on Elrie’s head as she clung to her mother’s skirts. The Throne room was packed, every habitant of the castle currently resided in the room. Many still in their night clothes, shivering or horrified that they were in such a state. Men in bronze armour with long swears and sharp swords stood to attention. It was a great and horrible sight. Like a scene from book, or a fairytale. One that she would read to her new babe once they were born. If they were born. The thought was so sudden that she felt sick. Surely the Dornish wouldn’t kill all those in King’s Landing? House Branch had not quaralled with many Houses. The alliances made were created, but no one felt scorned. Because the Branches weren’t a powerful house, not in the way that mattered. Entertainers, performers, creators. Not many Houses prided themselves of such things.

The thoughts gave her a spark of hope. Maybe being yourself would end up saving your life one day.

-✶-

You had thrown yourself into action, knowing that someone else was in trouble made your apprehension disappear. The furniture was flung sideways, you winced at first but decided that it did not matter. Not when Alicent, the young Queen was missing. And you had to get back to your family, and ultimately deal with this mess. The overarching doom of ‘what if’ seemed to weigh on your shoulders. Did this mean war? Were you now in a fight for your life? The answer to those questions pointed to yes, but that didn’t stop your blood from boiling. This castle was supposed to be a fortress, surrounded by the common people, anyone trying to invade had a hard time getting to the castle gates. But the Dornish had somehow been able to do so without alerting the King’s Guard. Surely someone would have had to be involved. Someone close to the King had switched sides. But who? What could the Martells have that would outweigh the generosity of Viserys?

While you worked, the colour drained from Otto’s face. At those words his heart fell to the floor. The Queen. The Queen is missing. The words echoed in his head like a clap of thunder. His mind ran through every possibility. Had she been captured? About to be used as a bargaining chip against the King?

And the King, where was he?

Guilt flooded his veins. He’d let this happen. But as quickly as the thought came, he’d fought it back. No. No he hadn’t. He was not solely responsible for the kingdom. That was the King’s duty. All Otto had done was guide the sliced hand. For what was a Hand without a King and what was a King without his Hand? But all of King’s Landing would blame Viserys, and that would be a problem.

Otto pulled himself from his thoughts and watched as Lenia free the doorway. Near-marching across the room, Otto carried the last few remaining obstacles and opened the door.

Ser Criston Cole looked a sorry sight. His eyes barely met Otto’s, he knew he hadn’t done his duty. That he had let down the Queen and the King. But now wasn’t the time for a scolding.

-✶-

Rhaenyra had been in the dragon pit when a white cloak had ran straight toward her, bowed and updated her. She was to fly to Dragonstone where her uncle, Daemon, was currently residing. The order was a shock. Her father had never asked her to do such a thing. On some occasions, he even seemed too frightened of her flying. But knowing that the order came straight from her father struck a fear inside the young heir. But she would do it. She would never refuse.

Syrax was in a grumpy mood ever since Rhaenyra had awoken her. The day was cloudy, and though no rain had begun to fall, the dragon refused to fly.

“This one time, Syrax,” the young Targaryen pleaded.

Syrax sniffed and threw her head in the opposite direction.

“You’ll get to see Caraxes,” the name of the Blood Wyrm changed her attitude, and within minutes they were on their way to Dragonstone.

-✶-

The commotion from the tavern was heightened compared to outside. It was a deadly calm, which could be said was worse than screams. It meant the fight was over, that someone had the upper hand. Looking around, Ormund saw people cowering against walls, or simply kneeling on their scabby knees. He didn’t take more than a few steps before one of the soldiers noticed him. Suddenly Ormund’s back hit a wall.

“Easy now, fellas, there’s no need for that,” the black-haired man put his hands up in the air.

“You are Ormund Hightower, yes?” One of the men asked.

Ormund cocked an eyebrow. He’d have to give the soldier that. It wasn’t easy finding someone in Flea Bottom.

“Come, you have been summoned.”

Now Ormund would have gladly gone with them, without fuss. But as soon as he was told he had been summoned…

A fist collided with a jaw, a spear was snapped over a knee, one of the common people yelled, “get the Dornish scum!” Well at least, that’s what they meant to say. They had lost too many teeth over the years, so the pronunciation wasn’t the best.

Ormund had been called the Hightower Knave for a few reasons. The majority of them were negative, considering he had a lack of honour and dabbled in unseemly acts for a highborn. Yet, he got away with it because he could do a few very special things. And the majority of those things, well, they were violent.

The three Dornish men slumped on the ground, wounded with cuts and more serious injuries like stab wounds. None of them was too injured though, that’s one thing that the gossipers had forgotten. The Hightower Knave avoided murder wherever he could.

-✶-

Ser Cole marched with his sword free from its scabbard and led Otto and you down the hall. It was best to see where everyone was gathered, and if anyone had escaped. You had come up with the idea, and Cole backed it. Otto was apprehensive, one wrong move and it could mean the end of Alicent, and the rule of Viserys I.

Cole had split from the group and motioned for you to stop. He stepped on light feet towards the Throne room door. Even though it was shut, there was a crack in the heavy doors. Their oak make weary from its own weight. Oddly, there were no soldiers defending the doors.

“I cannot see her,” Criston muttered, his voice low.

Otto’s hand flexed at his side.

-✶-

The silence of the room unnerved Alicent. Her trembling hands were folded over her stomach. The King had been found. And he was on his way to the Throne Room. But Alicent couldn’t think of a reason as to why she wasn’t going as well.

The Martell general stood next to the window. His eyes flicked between each face. Who was he looking for? If Alicent was any younger, she would have thought this to be a nightmare and would pinch herself. But such childish acts are always surrendered, no matter how hard you tried to hold onto them.

But the King had childish customs, did he not? He spends hours on his re-creation of King’s Landing and the surrounding islands. Is this what other Kings had done? Found a useless hobby and let others make the tough decisions for them?

Alicent thought of her father. Where is he now? A dangerous thought popped into her head. What if he had orchestrated this coup? Secretly betrayed Viserys to the Dornish, sacrificing everyone to have a new alliance. No. No, he would never. Her father was never disloyal. Cunning, certainly, stubborn, incredibly. But disloyalty was an evil to Otto Hightower.

-✶-

Everything seemed to happen in a blur, the decisions were made so quickly that you didn’t have time to process them. Sneaking around the castle was difficult without the threat of Dornish men. So now you watched behind a pillar, waiting for a pair of soldiers to keep walking. You had overheard a group of them before, talking about the little Queen and her swollen belly.

It felt like a hunt. Each predator treated with caution. It felt as if the world would collapse if you three did not find the Queen. Who knows what the Martell’s had planned. Throughout history it was shown that when the enemy invaded the city walls, death was the next step. But you couldn’t hear any screams, anyone pleading for their lives. There was only silence, and the chatter of Dornish men.

There was no noise coming from the city below. And when you looked outside, there were no dragons in the sky. No winged creatures coming to save you. A horrible thought wormed its way into your head. What if they had slaughtered the dragons? Would that even be possible? It was known that the dragons were mostly held in the dragonpits. Somewhat chained, they were still allowed to move within their confined space.

If the dragons weren’t defending King’s Landing, then who would? Had the Targaryen soldiers been rounded up as well? That was the likely case. The thoughts came at you one after the other, and you had to take a deep breath to calm them.

Otto looked at with you concern, and heat tinged your cheeks pink. “I’m fine,” you whispered.

You all moved, one after the other, as to not expose yourselves all at once. The enemy had said something about keeping the Queen in the King’s chambers. This was a grave insult. And although Viserys was a benevolent King, he must be seething.

-✶-

Alicent felt a pain in her stomach. It was similar to a cramp but more intense, like someone was twisting her insides. The stress mustn’t be good for the babe, she thought worriedly. The general at stalked to the door and opened it. He shouted something but Alicent couldn’t understand, the pain wasn’t easing.

As the general swiftly shut the door, he turned to the young Queen and saw her face. Twisted in pain and with a hand on her stomach, he thought the worst.

The baby was coming.

Alicent whimpered and was about to ask for help when she doubled over. The pain was unbearable. Is this what childbirth was like? Why did so many people do it?

“Are you okay?” The general asked, concern in his voice.

Just as she was about to respond, the doors flung open and in marched a group of five men. One in gold and yellow clothes stood in the middle, flanked by two men at his sides and his back. Qoren Nymeros Martell. The ruling Prince of Dorne stood in King Viserys Targaryen’s chambers.

He was handsome. That was the very first thought that popped into Alicent’s head. A treasonous thought.

“Ah, Queen Alicent,” his voice was steady, and almost … soothing. “What an honour this is-“

Whatever speech the Prince of Dorne was about to give was cut short by Alicent’s scream. She felt a pool of moistening her undergarments, and she shuddered.

“The babe,” she panted, trying to get up from her chair. “It’s coming. Now.”

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witchthewriter · 2 years

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝟹

You could feel another set of eyes upon you. Heavy. Weighted. It sent a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps on your skin. You turned to look at him; a stranger. Well, only to you, he was well-known throughout the realm as “The Hightower Knave”

#lenia branch #witchthewriter #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfiction #otto hightower #otto hightower imagine #otto hightower x reader #otto hightower x lenia #lenia #house branch #fanfiction #OC

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witchthewriter · 10 months

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐸𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛

Personalised story for @leniabranch. Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lenia Branch Word Count: 3k Warnings: Pure smut, don't read if you're under 18!

The room was filled with warm candlelight, making the glow seep into your skin, through your flesh and into your bones. It heated you, along with the wine you had been sipping on throughout the night.

You were hot-blooded, you could say and anticipating the oncoming events. You had daydreamed about this for years, and it was finally coming true.

Your senses were high. As if you could feel every shift in temperature, feel every movement, hear the shuffle of feet and deep intake of breath. So, when the chamber door shut, it felt like something deep inside you had as well. And yet, at the same time … something in you opened wide and waiting.

The Hand’s chambers had been deep cleaned by the servants, making sure there wasn’t anything that would make it unseemly.

Books had been put back on shelves, and the fireplace was crackling merrily. Inviting, that was the perfect word for the room. The bed was immaculately made, with crisp bed sheets. Without thinking, you ran and jumped onto the bed. It wasn’t just Otto’s anymore.

It now belonged to you too.

-✶-

She was a sight to behold, my wife. Her long dark hair and twinkling eyes made it hard for me not to drop to my knees in front of her. To hold her hand to my cheek and thank her. To thank her for choosing me, for loving me.

I was never a brilliant knight, but I earned my place nonetheless. It was all about strategizing, about anticipating; about putting yourself in your opponents shoes. And I rose to my station, it wasn’t given easily. My father made that plain to see.

And yet, something happened that I hadn’t foreseen.

A love.

And then a new love.

I had no intention of marrying again, my first wife was the love of my life. The one who knew me better than anyone else. She did her duty and bore me children. That was her; dutiful, pleasant, dignified and … obedient.

Lenia reminds me of her some days, but on others; she’s the complete opposite of my first wife.

And I will be forever grateful to the gods who granted me this happiness. For now I had a second chance, a love that would be my last.

If Lenia is to be my last love, I will die a happy man.

Lenia Bran-Hightower, standing before me in her wedding gown and I … I haven’t seen anything as beautiful as this woman.

But there’s one issue. I want her gown off. Now.

-✶-

The way he walked toward you was invigorating.

You could feel…this heavy tension. Like you had never touched one another and this was the last time you would. Even though it wasn’t true, there was a frenzied look in Otto’s eyes that made your blood run hot.

“May I?” His voice was husky and heavy.

It took you a moment to realise what he meant.

Your dress.

Nodding, you held out a hand and he took it.

Both hands clasped your outstretched one, one gliding up your arm making goosebumps in their wake. The other held you so softly. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your palm. Then your wrist, then your forearm, and up until he was face to face with you.

“Wife,” he whispered, and clasped one hand behind your head, the other around your neck and kissed you deeply.

Warm.

He was so warm and wanting.

His hands didn’t stay in the same place. They started to roam, and he became more and more curious.

Otto’s hands were tender at first, undressing you slowly and carefully. The dress took some time to get off, but … it was purposeful. Otto wanted to prolong this as much as possible. The first time with his wife. The first time on your wedding night. He wanted to make you remember it.

With the undoing of each strap, button, and string, he kissed the exposed flesh. The white-coloured silk night dress that Sanah had gotten for you, was completely forgotten.

Moving your hair away from your neck, he kissed the pale skin there. His lips were warm and sent a flush throughout your whole body. Like lightning striking a tree. Tingles spread throughout your heated body. This felt borderline torturous. Your core was wet and waiting, and every attempt you made at touching yourself was stopped.

“Hmmm,” you let out a sigh, and felt Otto’s lips turn into a smile.

Then he let the dress lower, and kissed your shoulder, when your white gown dropped to the floor, his body pressed firmly against your back and could feel the growing hardness pressing against your behind.

-✶-

Otto had left your underpants on. The only piece of clothing on you. And you knew it was soaked through.

But once he saw your near-naked form, it was like an animal to food.

Otto turned you around, so you were firmly against his front and his mouth was on yours. One hand was tangled in your hair, and the other was groping your ass, pushing you toward him. You halted the deep kiss because you didn’t want to feel his clothes any longer.

Taking a step back from him, you started undoing the many clasps and buttons on his attire. Nearly as much as yours, if not more, you sighed in frustration, and he let out a chuckle.

“Here,” he said gruffly. Knowing exactly how to undo his clothes.

Once his own body was stark of any clothes, there was an instinctual pull from your body to his. Your eyes took in every part of his naked body.

The hair on his chest, the broad shoulders, the slight muscle that he still retained, the v shape that pointed down to his … cock.

A large, girthy and hard cock.

The wetness between your thighs seemed to seep down your leg at the sight.

Your nipples were so hard you started to touch them. To ease the pain. Just like with your core, it was starting to hurt. The desire was overwhelming.

“Ah, stop that,” he growled, and stalked over to you. His eyes growing darker and darker as he got closer to you. A shiver ran down your back and your knees nearly gave out.

You knew he was going to fuck you all night.

-✶-

His mouth kissed every part of your body. Soft lips matched with a rough beard, kissing behind your ear, your neck and finally, god, finally, your chest. You sighed in relief as his mouth suckled you. The sensation was otherworldly, and one that you decided you would never get used to.

Laying you on your back, Otto knelt at the edge of the bed and let your naked body get comfortable. The now wrinkled sheets were so soft against your bare back. This is what a cloud feels like, you decided in a split second. But your attention wasn’t gone for long.

With peaked nipples, you watched as Otto nudged your legs apart, his face moving closer and closer to the core of you. His lips, tongue, and hands, moved from the bottom of your feet, trailing your legs, knees, and thighs.

Without breaking eye contact, he moved your thighs far apart and then licked the wet silk fabric that covered your sex.

Propped up on your forearms, you watched as he slowly, god, ever so fucking slowly swiped a finger over your wet underwear and admired it. You were so wet that your fluid was dripping down his fingers, and he hadn’t even touched your bare cunt yet.

“Otto-“ you groaned and moved your hips forward.

“Wait, my pet,” he was so close to your core that you could feel his breath there.

You let out a whine and it was like a siren’s call.

Otto stroked his nose up and down your silk covered cunt, smelling you, letting you know that he was ready to do the most filthy things to you.

-✶-

Fingers, he started with his fingers first. Dipping each in, making you sob with anticipation.

“Just fuck me!” You cried out, but he didn’t move from his spot on the floor.

His tongue was next, swiping the folds, lapping up every part of that between your legs. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his hair and grip tight. Otto didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it made him even more eager to keep you waiting.

At times you pushed his tongue in further by driving his face forward. Whenever you did this, Otto laughed. He knew the tension he was building. It was purposeful.

And then he slipped two fingers inside you and started sucking at that one sweet spot every woman has. Your clit throbbed with the action, and tears streaked your face.

Otto pumped his fingers in and out. You moaned, and cried, “harder!”

He obeyed and got up. His cock, precum already covering the tip, rubbed against your folds. Teasing, teasing, continuously teasing. But you knew you would get your revenge.

When he slowly entered you, a gasp emitted from your throat. Instinctually, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he was completely inside of you.

You felt so full. For a moment he let you feel the whole size of him, to let you get used to him. Bending over you, his face buried itself in the crook of your neck and rested there as his hips pumped in and out.

It was slow at first, then before you knew it, he was fucking you so hard and fast that you couldn’t help the noises that came from your mouth.

“Louder,” he groaned, and moved the hair from your face.

“Fuck!” You yelled as he went particularly deep. The moans were unending, but you could feel your orgasm building.

It was like an orchestra, suspense, anticipation, tension, it was all building inside of you. And then you said it, “I’m – I’m going to-“ and nodded.

Squeezing around his waist and pushing yourself down onto him, you came.

-✶-

You breathed in and out, quickly. It was one of the best orgasms you had ever had. Better than when you were by yourself. Better than the first time with Otto. He was holding back before.

When Otto came, the noises he made were heavenly. You didn’t think he could make those type of sounds; deep and needy. A noise specifically emitting the feelings he had felt for years. A yearning that was finally reached.

When he finished inside you, then slid himself out, you smiled at him. He mirrored it. Both of you were flushed. Exhausted from the lead up to the wedding, the ceremony, the reception and this. You were shattered.

The world was still dark. The stars still shone and you looked at your husband for what would happen next.

You could go again and again but you saw a slight weariness to Otto and you didn’t want to push him. With a little rest, you knew exactly what you wanted to do next.

-✶-

You feel asleep in his arms. Both of you naked and covered in each other. It was only a few hours of sleep before you awoke. At first you didn’t know where you were, but the fire and the arms helped you figure it out.

For a few moments, you watched Otto sleep. His face was much younger in slumber, the worries of the world were far away in his dreamworld.

You smiled, contented.

And then figured out what your husband was dreaming about.

His cock had hardened in sleep, and you gasped.

“Touch it,” he mumbled, slowly opening his eyes. Butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“Well, I certainly do want to return the favour,” you said with an innocent tone to your voice.

Shifting on the bed, Otto sat against the headboard, while you laid on your stomach, in front of his crotch.

His swollen cock was heavy in your hands. You had no idea how to do this, but you had overheard many things throughout your life. And … sucking cock was supposedly one of men’s favourite things.

Your hands gripped the long cock of your husband and gently moved upwards and down, and he groaned with the movement. Otto’s eyes closed and, his hands gripped the soiled sheets.

Then you licked the tip, which had a clear liquid almost like your own wetness. An idea popped into your head, and you moved your fingers to swipe some of your own and smoothed it over his dick.

He watched as you did so, and tears nearly ran down his cheeks.

“Gods,” was all he could say, and then his hips moved so his cock was closer to your face.

Running your tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, you felt your husband shudder. You smirked, knowing this was going to be the perfect reprisal.

You kept licking him, ever so lightly. Knowing it was driving him insane. Serves him right.

You didn’t need your hands to keep his cock upright, it was hard enough on its own. So one hand cupped his balls, while the other traced the tip of his cock and smoothed the liquid over your lips.

“Be reasonable,” he uttered, a gleam in his eye as you looked at him.

“Absolutely not,” you replied and then opened your mouth wide.

You gagged on his cock, spit sticking to the girthy phallus. The grip he had on the sheets had moved to your head, and he was doing his best not to move your head further downward and fuck your mouth.

But he let you lead.

Let you make the decisions, no matter how irritating it was becoming.

You made sure to hold eye contact with him while his dick was in your mouth. Your other hand still massaging his balls, and like a warning, he growled at you.

“Fuck,” he said it like a threat and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Okay, I will.”

Getting up, you sat right ontop of his cock and let it slide inside of you.

“Like this?” You said and cocked your head to the side, letting your body move in a fluid motion. Your nipples were hard, and Otto moved to attend to them, but you denied him.

“No,” you said and clasped his hands together and moved down hard on his cock.

He smirked, and you wanted to fuck that smirk right off his fucking face.

Your blood was hot, so hot that you moved with a fierce ferocity. Bucking forwards and backwards, your tits bouncing with the movement, inches from your husbands face. He grumbled a string of swear words, and you smiled.

“Don’t make me wait," he pleaded.

“Please,” you commanded.

“Don’t make me wait, please-“ He cried out, his hands nearly breaking free of your grip. He could have easily done so, but he wanted to play along. Now, now he was ready to take over. But you didn’t want him to. So, he wouldn’t.

You grinned at the submission, it was all you needed and let him release. Both his hands grabbed at your tits, his fingers pinching and pulling. Making you groan very, loudly.

Surely the whole castle would hear the both of you. In fact, some had. And they shared knowing smiles to one another. A man and his bride.

-✶-

I couldn’t have asked for more than this. She was, is, perfect.

I wanted to memorise every curve of her body, every part of her flesh. Lenia was a gift that I would cherish until my dying breath.

Now asleep, I cradled her in my arms. I hadn’t held a woman like this since my wife.

I had slept alone for those years. Not interested in the flesh of a random woman. Not like so many other men in King’s Landing.

Man and woman need to be wed before lying together. And I had broken that oath. At least I am now wed to her.

Shifting in her sleep, she moved closer to my chest. Reaching out, I stroked her hair and smiled down at her.

I made another oath right then. That nothing bad would ever happen to her. That I would protect her always, no matter what happened between us. Lenia was a star amongst these people, and I had to make sure she would thrive.

Stroking her hair, her shoulder, her arm, I couldn’t help but admire her skin. The freckles and moles that littered here and there.

I would know this body. Know it better than my own.

-✶-

You watched as your husband left the warmth of the bed and stoked the fire, making sure the flames were burning well and surely. His bare body made you blush. Made you remember everything you had done together. The way you had both moaned in delight. It made you a tad embarrassed. But why should you be? He was your husband. It was … exactly what everyone else did. Everywhere in the world.

“Are you hungry?” Early light was seeping through the windows, and you couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed. You had napped in between fucking, touching and making each other moan.

You were going to say no, but your gurgling stomach betrayed you. All this movement had taken it out of you.

“I’ll see to it,” Otto replied with a chuckle. He put on a fresh pair of pants and a white shirt, then a long robe. Even now, with his hair mussed, he looked so handsome. So…regal.

“Husband?” You called out and sat up in bed, loving that you were able to say the word to the man you loved.

“Yes, wife?” Otto said with a hand on the doorhandle. He smiled at you, a ghost of the same smirk he wore all night.

“Don’t take too long,” you said sweetly, and then let the sheets which covered your body, drop.

#underneath the appletree #underneath the apple tree characters #underneath the apple tree oc #underneath the apple tree #lenia branch #lenia branch x otto hightower #otto hightower #otto x reader #otto hightower smut #otto hightower fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #commissioned stories #commissions #writing commissions #witch the writer's stories

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑖𝑥𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛

Personalised story for @leniabranch. Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lenia Branch Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: none, just fluff

It was tradition amongst your mother’s family, House Manfri, to have a women-only gathering a day before the wedding. Memories of the bride’s life would be shared; gifts would be exchanged, and laughter would never cease.

The morning was perfect as you awoke. Warm sunlight heating your skin to wake; you hadn’t been alone for many nights. Sanah, Elrie, even at times your mother, would accompany you to and from places. Part of it was customary, but mostly it was so the groom couldn’t have a moment alone with you.

“Morning Bride,” Sanah’s voice was always croaky in the mornings. If one could describe the perfect night owl, she would be it.

You let out a small chuckle, “morning sister,” you rolled over to face her. Neither of you caring about morning breath, you moved the mess that was Sanah’s hair out of her face.

“What does it feel like?” She said sleepily, her eyes still half closed.

“What? To be a bride? You already know –“

“No, Lenia, to be the future wife of a man with such standing.” She moved her hand to rub her blue-green eyes, yawning in the process.

Not being able to stop your own, you yawned as well. Underneath the sheets, your feet were tangled together, a small physical connection. Someone born without a sister would never know the closeness that came with that bond. Physically, emotionally, mentally – sisterhood was a connection that not many could articulate.

“Hmm… I hadn’t thought of it like that. I’ve never seen him as someone with influence. Only as Otto Hightower, a man with ambition and … a love for his country.”

“Oh, very diplomatic. You’ll be a great politicians wife.”

The two of you giggled then, still feeling like children. Your wedding day was tomorrow and whenever you thought about it, nerves rattled your stomach and sweat formed on your hands.

“It’ll be okay though, right?” You whispered this, feeling so vulnerable.

Sanah gave you an empathetic sigh, and slowly smiled. “Of course, it will be.”

-✶-

The castle hadn’t seen so many unconventional people in … well, ever. Only those with high standing or something valuable to the Kingdoms were invited to court. Your mother’s House had shocked even the cityfolk as they made their way into the Red Keep.

As soon as House Manfri was spotted, the gates to the Red Keep were opened and there stood the King with Otto Hightower. The leader, who was your mother’s oldest sibling, bowed to Viserys and his Hand.

“It is a privilege and an honour, to be here, my King. We thank you.”

Viserys was doing all he could not to balk at the colourful aspect of House Manfri; even the horses were adorned in some type of dresswear. And these decorated horses were pulling carts that look like miniature homes.

“I am glad you’re here!” The King replied, his voice bellowing over the silence. “The pleasure is mine,” he finished and held out a hand for Vai to clasp it.

Your uncle did, and from the Manfri’s came shouts and yells of joy.

-✶-

You ran to them as soon as you saw them; even though they all had the same dark curly hair, you knew exactly who was who.

Even though you spent a lot of time with your father’s side of the family, it was your mother’s side that truly helped raise you. Especially in your youth.

“Bibi Leonora!” You cried, running, and wrapping your arms around your mother’s younger sister.

“Ah! Nini!” Her nickname for you went back to the day you could talk. You wanted so much to be like your Aunt, she always wore long skirts, with a veil loosely wrapped around her waist. Rings on her fingers; her toes as well, she was in love with jewellery. Even wearing anklets, and many bracelets on her wrists. One could hear her before they saw her.

“My beautiful niece, how much you have grown!” she said in her native tongue.

“Well, it has been many, many years,” you replied, looking into her dark brown eyes.

They were a peculiar shade of brown, with green rings around her pupil. Some could call them hazel, but outlining colour was one of the deepest shades of brown you had ever seen in someone’s eyes. Near black in certain lights.

You felt a presence come up behind you and your mother shouted her sister’s name.

Their hug nearly brought tears to your eyes as Elrie hung on nervously to her mother’s hand. Luci was clutching to your mother’s skirts, peeking every now and again at all the people in front of him.

You crouched down and opened your arms, gladly, he clutched onto you. Picking him up, and shifting him to one hip, you looked around the hall where nearly a hundred of your relatives resided.

Overhearing your mother’s conversation, you heard her explain why Sanah wasn’t here to greet the other family members.

“Finishing touches on the dress, she wants it perfect for Lenia.”

“She’s a good girl, both of them are.” Your Aunt remarked, her mass of curls bounding down her back.

Suddenly, there was a tug on your own skirt, and you peered down to see a child that looked like the epitome of your Aunt, except in child form.

“Oh! This is Analetta, my youngest. But she goes by Letti,” your Aunt’s curved form held out her hand and the little girl took it. However, it wasn’t in shyness.

“Hey, that sounds like my name,” whispered Luci in your ear. He was still clutching desperately to you.

“You’re right!” You murmured, “Letti and Luci-“

“Luci, why don’t you introduce yourself to your cousin?” Your mother said, taking him out of your arms. You let her but crouched down to his height.

His cheeks went red, and he shook his head.

“Ha, stubborn, just like his mother,” Leonora said. Then she ushered Letti forward and told her to teach him one of the Manfri games. Luci’s eyes lit up at the word ‘games.’ In an instant he was chasing after her, toward a group of young ones in the corner of the hall.

Helping your mother to her feet, Onatah shook her head and smiled. “I won’t lie, sometimes I think there are too many etiquettes at court. Look at how easy it is with our ways.”

“Mother!” You said, utterly and completely shocked. You hadn’t seen this side of her since the last time she was with her family.

Your Aunt laughed and nodded her head in agreement. As she did so, her curls bounced around her, like they had minds of their own.

Moving so that she was in between the two of you, your aunt looped her arms between your mother’s and your own and led you off to the rest of your female family.

“Oh, I cannot wait for you to see Vano, Lenia. He’s thinking of becoming a maester…”

-✶-

It was midday by the time Sanah entered the hall with the servants behind her. Their arms full of an assortment of different foods and drinks. Pomegranates, berries, freshly baked bread, suckling pig, honey cakes, salted pork, candied almonds, mulled wine, pomegranate juice, and a specific wine made only by the Manfri’s. However, in your chalice was added herbs for fortune, protection, and fertility.

You were all sitting on the floor, cushions underneath you, blankets askew across the floor and around shoulders. The food was set on an array of small side tables that had been pushed together; there was no formality, no pressure to say or do the right thing.

You were mid conversation with another ‘Bibi,’ who you had never met (but was a relative nonetheless) when Sanah stealthily slid down next to you and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“Sanah, this is Bibi Malina, she’s –“ but you were interrupted mid-sentence by a booming voice announcing Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra. Oddly enough, they entered together, albeit distantly.

Everyone stood as they entered, with Alicent sitting between Sanah and yourself, and Rhaenyra on your other side. Sister between stepmother and stepdaughter. Or rather…your stepdaughter sitting beside you.

Even though you had invited them, you didn’t think either would attend. It was a shock, to many (even to the young women themselves) but there was no time for awkward silences as your Aunt started speaking as soon as the royals sat down.

“Lenia…our Lenia,” your Bibi looked at you with so much love, even after all these years. “Your wedding tomorrow is blessed, not just by family, but by the Gods and Goddesses.” Every woman raised their cup, Onatah and Sanah making sure the Queen and Princess knew what to do.

Your Aunt continued, “we call upon the blessings of our Goddess Despoina, her story now becoming yours, as is tradition. You looked at Onatah and she had tears in her eyes. You knew how much it meant to her; this tradition, which went back centuries. On and on it had passed, from one woman to the next. A gathering of those who had been overlooked and underappreciated.

That was one thing Onatah missed about her family. The fact that it was led by a matriarch. It wasn’t the firstborn son who the titles passed to, but the firstborn child. And it was by luck that Vai had inherited the leadership of House Manfri.

After the speech came the gifts. Each woman seemed to flock you, their seats in the circle long forgotten about.

Stacked around you were clothes, scarves, jewellery, tonics, powder, tinctures and remedies. Everything a woman – everything a newly wedded woman, might need. And that included a knife given to you by your great aunt. Your long-passed grandmother’s sister. She could not speak, but wrapped the knife within a scarf, letting Bibi Leonora do the explaining.

You took it as not to cause a fuss, especially when the Queen was sitting close by. Your mother had gone red in the face when you told her.

“Keep it underneath the bed, or your pillow – somewhere easy to grab,” your aunt had said. Shaking your head in disbelief, you swallowed deeply as you recognised your family for who they truly were. Warriors, female warriors – even if they had not fought in any wars.

-✶-

Sanah nearly choked when you showed her the dagger, the wine she had been drinking nearly hitting you in the face.

“I thought you were joking-“ she said, sitting the cup down and walking over to examine the fine weapon.

“It’s actually quite beautiful…”

“Then you keep it under your pillow!” You whisper-shouted, exasperated.

The pair of you had retreated to your chambers when the skies had darkened. You loved your family but spending hours with them…it would cause anyone to erupt.

Luckily enough, it was also tradition for the bride to leave the gathering early, to prepare for the day ahead.

As you took your leave, as did Alicent and Rhaenyra. And you swore when you looked out the window, you could see a shadow moving in the sky.

When you turned back around, Sanah was across the room, talking to someone at the door.

“Thank you, yes, this is perfect,” she said and closed the oak door shut. When the lock clicked, she turned to you with a wicked grin.

“What did you do?” It was a question you had said a lot during your childhood…and teenage years…and now young adulthood too.

“I couldn’t give you my present in front of the family…” She sauntered over to where you stood and motioned for you to sit. In her hands was a giant box, and when you opened it your eyes grew wide.

“Sanah!” You said laughing, picking up the shift that looked tiny in your hands. “And what exactly is this meant to fit?”

“It’s not meant to fit much!” And she threw her head back in laughter.

The turned it this way and that, seeing the light purple underclothe near transparent in the candlelight.

-✶-

You had woken up alone the next morning – just as you had asked. You wanted your last night as an unmarried woman to be by yourself.

It was an effort to get out of bed, to face the day ahead. Your body was a whirlwind of excitement, nerves, and ‘what ifs.’But you had to check the weather. Flinging back the blankets, you scrambled across the floor to open the window.

Whatever prayer you had said last night, worked because the sky was clear and bright. You wanted today to be perfect, you truly did. Even if that was a far-fetched desire. Because a cloudless sky was more than important for today.

Your stomach was churning as you heard the doors open and close.

“Oh! You’re awake-“ Your mother was the first one to enter your chamber, followed by Elrie, who was just as eager for today as you.

“Truthfully, I’ve barely slept,” you replied, walking over to let her kiss your cheeks.

When you were done, Elrie turned to you and curtsied, causing you to raise your eyebrows. Your eyes flicked to your mother and she explained:

“She overhead yesterday ‘how important you were now, marrying the Hand of the King’ and wants to show you her loyalty-“

“-and gratitude for all your future husband does for the realm,” Elrie finished off. For a girl of one and ten, she could be a tad too easily influenced.

“Elrie, I’m your sister, you don’t need to do that.”

“Yes I do!” Her hands balled at her sides and she stamped her foot.

“Okay, okay. How about you only do it in public?” You said, trying to soothe the oncoming storm.

Onatah was too used to this to intercede.

You could see the thoughts flicking through Elrie’s head. “Fine,” she said in conclusion. And that was that.

You were waiting for Sanah to come into the room but moments passed and still, she did not arrive. Sitting in your vanity’s chair, your mother brushed your long dark hair and soon footsteps could be heard in the hallway.

“Good morning, bride,” it was not Sanah, but it was someone’s sister. Bibi Leonora strolled through your chambers, holding many, many pots and brushes on a tray.

“Bibi did my make up and hair on my wedding day too,” said your mother and she squeezed your shoulders in excitement. A moment shared. A memory to be looked back on. But it wasn’t that you did not trust your Aunt to do a good job, no…it was that you didn’t trust her to make you look like a Westerosi bride.

“Where’s Sanah?” You called to your mother in a light tone, trying to hide the fear you felt.

“Coming!” A familiar voice called, and you nearly slumped with relief.

Holding your dress up in her arms, with Darick and your cousin, Vano, keeping it off the floor.

The white, near blue dress was light and flowing, with a tight corset that showed some bust. Your sleeves were loose, as they draped beneath your shoulders flowing down your sides. In some light it looked as if Sanah had worked some type of magic as the white-pale blue turned white-pale lavender as you moved.

The skirt was just as light and free as the sleeves, and it had a long train in the back with small beadwork that travelled from the back of the skirt into the train, cascading down into the earthy colours of House Branch and House Hightower.

Everyone in the room nearly gasped at its beauty. Elrie looked at the lone dress and nearly started crying for her own, when servants came rushing in, holding a dress for your sister’s and mother.

Soon the attention turned to Vano, who you hadn’t seen since your childhood. With open arms, you two embraced, gushing over how much the other had changed.

“Now isn’t the time!” Your Aunt ordered and ushered the men out of the room. And when she picked up a brush, your eyes flung to Sanah in a silent plea.

“I’ll start on her hair,” she said taking the brush from your mother’s hands.

“Ah, and I’ll do the finishing touches on that too.”

There was no stopping Bibi Leonora.

-✶-

“She did do a fantastic job though,” Sanah said as you walked with her and your mother down the hallway.

Your father was waiting for you at the doors, Sanah behind you, fixing your dress and veil before slipping through the large doors to signal you were ready. Elrie and Luci were with Darick, waiting for your entrance.

“You look beautiful,” your father said and kissed your forehead. You could see the tinges of red in his eyes, definitely still hungover from the night before. House Branch and House Manfri must have reunited at last.

The band started playing and your stomach started churning once more.

“You can do this, my love,” your mother kissed your cheek, and you realised you were about to cry. But she took your other hand and kissed the back of it. “We’ve got you. No matter what.”

As on queue, the doors opened, and the sun appeared - nearly blinding you. Silently wishing for some clouds, you walked down the stone steps with your parents’ arms linked in yours.

There were rows upon rows of wooden seats, each with a standing guest. You realised that the courtyard had never been so populated, and probably would never be so again. Because who else would want to get married underneath an apple tree?

Your hair billowed in the slight breeze, your veil along with it. The white and pink roses, baby’s breath and ranunculus’ were clutched tightly in your hands, as if they would keep you steady.

At the end of the altar, Otto nearly sobbed at the sight of you.

Standing in his most formal attire, a white rose pinned to his cloak, he watched as you walked toward him. Regal, the word flashed in his mind. His eyes found your own and you blushed deeply, your eyes lined with the same black kohl as your family.

You willed yourself to look back, not to shy away from his gaze, to not look anywhere else but him.

And then suddenly the priest asked if your parents give you to Otto and they said yes.

The ceremony seemed to go by in a flash. Someone had collected your flowers from your hands, and Otto’s cloak was around your shoulders and you both swore your love to one another for eternity.

And you were married.

-✶-

It wasn’t exactly tradition, but you wanted to put a piece of yourself into your one and only wedding. Not caring what the other courtiers may think, Sanah helped you into your second outfit. A green dress in the colour of House Hightower, bare feet (aside from the traditional Manfri anklets) and matching bracelets.

The guests were sitting expectantly, excitedly, as the music stopped. Like doors to the throne room opened, and there you stood, with your arms across in the air, hands at a graceful halt.

As the strings were plucked and drums banged, it all came together. You waited for the flute to start before you moved.

One.

Two.

Three.

You twirled into the room, letting your long hair fling around you as you did so. The guests sighed in awe as they watched a fair maiden transform into a married woman.

You moved to pluck a rose from one of the table centrepieces, gracefully extending your leg as you did so, then turning to graze the face of your Uncle who was sitting at the that table. The crowd gasped and laughed at your mischievous action.

From the bridal party’s table atop the dais, Otto stared at you with love-filled eyes. (Well…lust-filled as well.) He couldn’t look anywhere else, his body was almost compelled.

The violin’s turned harsh as you made your way closer to your husband. As if the players were other men vying for your attention, and you had to fight against them to find your true love.

You flung yourself toward Otto, but caught yourself mid air and whirled to the side. Elegantly holding the rose in one hand and holding the back of your hand against your forehead in pretend distress.

The crowd reacted exactly as they were supposed to, feigning the emotions along with the performance.

And just as the song built and built, you looked this way and that, trying to find your love. You knew your facial expressions were over-the-top, but that was a part of performing. That was a part of it that you loved; becoming something else, morphing into a character and playing pretend…even for just a little while.

The climax of the song was building, and you whirled past family members, members of House Hightower, and tapped their shoulders or grazed their faces (the HighTower’s’ were very unsure of how to react to that one. Compared to your Uncle Vai, who loved it).

And then suddenly, like your eyes were opened for the first time, you spotted him! Your love! The music halted as you saw him from across the room. And then the music picked up at once, as you leaped and bounded toward your love. The rose was still in your hand, now in your mouth, as you twirled and twirled and twirled in the middle of the open space. Your anklets and bracelets tinkling as you did so.

You halted, and taking the rose from your mouth, gently walking up the steps and held out the rose to Otto. The music stopped once again, almost as if this silence was one of deliberation.

Shocking everyone, he played along. Furrowing his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side, you moved your hands to your heart and bowed your head.

Completely unscripted, he got up from his chair, lifted your head and kissed you.

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witchthewriter · 2 years

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑇𝘩𝑟𝑒𝑒

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word count: 2092

Honour.

It was an honour to be invited to sit at the King’s table. And you were, completely and utterly. But it wasn’t the King that your attention attended to.

It was his Hand.

He sat across from you, his back straight and gaze firmly on the King. Viserys was in the middle of his speech, but you couldn’t hear a word he was saying.

“And a toast to our special entertainment,” Viserys lifted his chalice and everyone else copied, “To the Branches!”

Your last name echoed around the hall, it was like a rejoice. You looked to you at your father, who beamed.

Dinner was served; roasted pigs, honey carrots, fresh baked bread, figs, pomegranates, every assortment of vegetables seeped in herbs. The smell was overwhelming, and usually you would be salivating at the mere word of food. But tonight, was different. Your appetite wasn’t for food.

The hall was warm, with hundreds of candles burning on every flat surface. Metal clinked on metal as people started on their food, and general hum filled your ears.

Music was playing softly in the background, alleviating any gap in conversation. Your father was chatting to the King, his most charming smile plastered on his features.

“Go daddy,” Sanah snickered, filling up your cup and then her own. Your sister’s hair had been braided, plated, and curled. It sat wrapped around her head, the golden hues of her hair gleaming in the candlelight.

Your hair was arranged similarly, except for the little diamond stars that were clipped in. You had changed from your costume and into something more conservative. The dark blue dress covered your arms and flowed at your wrists. The trimmings lined with silver thread and the same little diamonds from your hair, had been sewn into the bottom of the gown.

You were the personification of a star.

“You look dashing, Lady Branch,” commented Corlys Velaryon, his white hair easy to spot amongst the attendants.

The Lord of the Tides sat next to Otto Hightower, with Rhaenys on his other side. His wife nodded, giving you a kind smile. You had always held Rhaenys in a high regard, you thought she would have made a brilliant ruler.

The lull in conversation felt heavy and obvious. You had already thanked Corlys, but didn’t know if it was proper to hold onto the conversation. Corlys’ eyes weren’t on your own though, and without looking behind you, you knew where they would land. His son, Laenor, was grinning sheepishly at one of the guards.

“You dance beautifully,” a deep gravelly voice remarked.

Your eyes flicked upwards, towards the man who had spoken. Your heartbeat quickened.

“Thank you, sir.” You replied. That one comment made your blood hot.

Alicent, round with a babe in her belly, and sitting next to her father, smiled at you. Genuine. You thought, as the smile reached her eyes. It didn’t with many others.

Otto nodded and moved slightly so the servant could take away his empty plate. The food was being cleared which meant the dancing would begin.

“Rhaenyra looks very comfortable around her uncle,” Sanah whispered, her shoulder bumping your own.

“I mean, they are family?” Did families not show their love for one another?

“Well, I wouldn’t do that with my uncle!” Sanah exclaimed incredulously, but added, “however, none of our uncles look like that…” her sentence trailed off as she lifted the goblet to her lips and drank deeply.

You shook your head and laughed, trust Sanah to say what everyone was thinking. There were minimal secrets between the two of you, as you are close sisters, but nothing could be kept from Sanah. She’d find out eventually.

You felt the empty seat on your right fill, your father always noticeable when he came and went.

“Why don’t you go dance?” Your father cooed, his eyes on the bare dancefloor.

“Do you think it wise?” You replied, eyebrows furrowed. You didn’t want to leave your sit, which was close to Otto’s. What if this was the only moment to get to know him better?

Before your father could reply, the King chimed in.

“Oh Otto! Why don’t you accompany the girl?”

Had the gods really heard your thoughts and answered your prayers?

“I don’t think it would be the best –“

“This is a celebration! Go, have fun, your King orders it!” Viserys smile was warm, and it was in those moments you understood why he was crowned.

Otto sighed and moved from his seat. Your cheeks blushed. Did he not want to? Was it that he did not find you attractive?

You thought you looked like a tomato with how red you felt. Sanah nudged you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Otto stood behind you, his hand outstretched, waiting.

“My lady,” he uttered. Oh gods his voice, you thought. How can one man be so alluring? So fascinating and desirable at the same time?

-✶-

All you could do was remember to breath, oh and dance. You must take the lead, you thought. You turned to him as the music began to play. There were a few odd couples joining in the dance, but it felt like all eyes were on the two of you.

You saw Sanah from the corner of your eye, a mischievous grin on her lips, the goblet resting at her chin. All self-consciousness fled your body as you looked at your sister. No matter how irritating she could be at times, she always had your back.

And then Otto’s hands encased yours as the music flowed. The merry tune meant a light, relatively fast-paced dance.

Even though it wasn’t in your nature, you couldn’t help but be somewhat timid. You’d had crushes throughout your life. Boys with dimples and wooden swords. But none compared to Otto. Whose grace never seemed to cease. Even now, when he spun you in the air, surprising you with his strength, you could see the rigidness of his shoulders, and his straight back.

“Is it true?” You asked over the music, red tinting your cheeks, “that you aren’t much of a dancer? Because you’re doing a fine job at keeping up.” No matter how nervous you may be, mischief and banter would always find their way into a conversation.

“I may be old, Lady Branch, but I can keep up,” mischief mirrored; you didn’t expect that.

“Who said anything about age?” You near-shouted back, the music seemed to be getting louder.

“Age is always on a person’s mind.”

“Not me. With age comes wisdom, and who doesn’t love an elderly know-it-all?”

He laughed then. A hearty belly laugh, and the sound was wonderful.

You made Otto Hightower, Hand to the King, father to the Queen, laugh.

A warmness had spread throughout your chest, and you didn’t think it was because of the dancing. It was accompanied by butterflies, and it made your body hum with delight.

-✶-

The music slowed, the deep sound of the cello finding its way into the heart of the crowd.

This was going well. So goddamn well. You began to feel suspicious.

And rightfully so, because even though all your attention was on Otto, you could feel someone’s stare. It was a heavy stare, not like the ones you encountered on stage. It felt unyielding, like it was trying to see through to your very soul.

You tore your eyes away from Otto, his gaze soft and kind, to find that other onlooker. And there he was, with dark brown, nearly black hair and a deep gaze to match. He was handsome, you couldn’t deny, and somewhat familiar in his features.

Otto tracked your attention and saw where it was focused.

A man who he despised.

One who never honoured tradition or acted to better his house.

A Hightower, and a knave. His brother. Ormund.

The younger Hightower sought through the crowd, until he stood next to Otto, the height difference was slight but you could see the family resemblance through the eyes.

“Hello, brother,” Ormund interjected, bowing slightly.

You looked between Otto and Ormund and could see the distain.

“Excuse my manners, but might I have this dance?” Ormund lowered himself slightly and extended an open hand. It was terrible manners to decline a dance, and so you felt like you couldn’t. However, you looked at Otto and he gave you a slight nod.

“It would be a pleasure,” you replied, doing your best not to frown.

Ormund grasped your hand in his. It felt rough, more so than Otto’s, whose hands were smooth and nimble.

“Your performance was illuminating, Lady Branch,” Ormund’s voice was gruff, an octave deeper than Otto’s. He held you differently than Otto had; closer, tighter.

Was it uncomfortable? Not physically, but you had already started to form a grudge against Ormund. He ruined your moment.

“Hmmm? Oh, I didn’t see you in the crowd.” You smiled faintly, not bothering to meet his eye. You would dance with him, but you never promised to be pleasant.

He smirked, and chuckled lowly.

“I apologise if I interrupted anything. I didn’t want my brother to bore you to death,” he spun you quickly, turning you outward and pulling you in.

The music quickened. The violins became swifter; more sudden.

“Who said I was bored?”

“I admit, I assumed.”

“You assumed wrong.”

“It would be the first.”

“You assume, and lie, huh, impressive.”

Your leg stuck in between his, and he held you as you arched your back. In the next moment, he hoisted you upward and to your feet. This dance was Dornish, and not many knew the whole moves. You silently thanked your old dance instructor, and that he made you memorise every type of dance that was known to Westeros. And now your specialities knew no bounds.

The music was glorious. Like a mix of spices that filled your tongue with flavour; pepper, rosemary, lemon and oregano. They blended brilliantly, and your blood felt hot.

Ormund had let go of you, but his eyes never left yours. They captured you, holding you to the spot as he stepped around you, keeping with the beat of the drums.

Your head whipped around, following him, watching his every move. Just like he did with you.

What was it that you were feeling? Certainly not enjoyment… how could that possibly be? You were dancing, which you loved. But only minutes ago you were annoyed, verging on irritated at the outlandish Hightower.

And Otto. Guilt filled your gut. Maybe he was used to his brother cutting him off. Taking what was his. Well, you aren’t his, you corrected yourself. Not yet.

Your attention had waned, but Ormund snatched you up and rolled you inwards. You were so close to him. That close that you could smell him. Overindulging. That was his scent; forbidden. He grinned. Like he had read your thoughts.

And then you saw Otto. Sitting at his seat, pretending to engage in conversation with another Westerosi lord. But his eyes gave him away. They were staring straight at you. And your heart dropped at the look on his face.

-✶-

“Father, you can’t be serious?” You paced your room, bare feet hitting the cold stone floor.

“I am. I am most serious,” your father sighed. He patted the seat next to him and you shook your head.

“I don’t understand. Why, why have you decided this now?”

“It was always in the cards, Lenia.”

You threw you hands up in the air, “Whose cards? Certainly not mine!”

“Please, see reason. Although I do not like to see it much myself, we must think of our house, our family.”

You glared at him. “It’s not our way to force people to do what they do not wish”

Your papa’s voice deepened, only a little, but it was noticeable. “We will not have ‘our way’ if we don’t think about our future.”

“I-“ you stammered, faltering. Surely this couldn’t be happening. You thought you had more time. You thought your father was, well, different.

Marriage, you thought bitterly.

“I don’t know how you could do this to me.” You finally sat, your breathing quickening. It felt like something was clamping around your throat, squeezing.

“You will make a brilliant wife,” your papa replied kindly. He moved closer to you. Squatting in front of you. He took your hands in his. Tears started to well in your eyes. It was only seconds before they would escape.

“Ormund Hightower will make a fine husband.”

#otto hightower #otto hightower x reader #otto hightower imagine #otto x lenia #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfiction #fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #witchthewriter

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witchthewriter · 8 months

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What reqs/fics/wips r u working on rn? :o

Hello, how are you?

I'm continuously working on the fics for: @alohomorasomnium (𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑮𝒚𝒗𝒆𝒓 & 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒚) @yourwinchesterbros (𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆) @leniabranch. (𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆) They always hold main priority as they're commissions.

I'm really excited to keep on writing for Rhea Ripley from WWE.

And my recent post here, shows something new I will be writing for.

I've still got a lot of zodiac moodboards to do (WHICH ARE CLOSED BY THE WAY. I DON'T TAKE ANYMORE) - btw not yelling at you, just getting my point across to some people.

I love doing my Astrology Lessons, which I've done Sun, Moon, Rising/Ascendant & Venus aspects.

I'm doing profiles for book characters, but also writing headcanons for them, in my drafts I have Rowan Whitethorn and Lorcan Salvaterre.

When I can, I write Targaryen profiles. They're in order, from the 3 Conqerors, and I'm down to Aegon the Uncrowned.

Also, I've pretty much finished the Dragon Dictionary!

And if you're wondering if you should request something - go for it! It just might take a while, but I'll get there xx

Oh and I'm adding Call the Midwife to what people can request! I'm writing headcanons for Trixie xx

#anon #witchthewriter #headcanons #moodboard #sons of anarchy stories #soa #sons of anarchy fanfic #otto hightower fanfic #lenia x otto #astrology lessons #targaryen profiles #targaryen #house targaryen #game of thrones #witch the writer #witch the writer's stories

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐹𝑜𝑢𝑟

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word count: 2015

Marriage. Union. A forever partnership that changes the course of a person’s life until death. And you had no choice in it.

Ormund was by no means ugly. In fact, one could call him immensely attractive. But many things were beautiful … flowers for instance and sunsets. But you had no wish to marry a flower.

The sun had started to rise, which meant you had been pacing in your room all night. Your eyes felt swollen and sore. You rubbed them vigorously, but that did the opposite of help.

Sanah had done her best to console you, to get you to lay down and rest. But nothing she said would help. Nothing she whispered had fought off the dizzying thoughts of Ormund, and seeing Otto’s face.

It hurt. Just the thought of him hearing the news. Surely Ormund would rub it in, he seemed like the type to do so. Or maybe he was graceful like his brother?

Either way, you were worried that Otto would think you betrayed him somehow. You truly felt like your feelings were reciprocated, somehow you felt it in your bones. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you knew it would feel like a betrayal.

With that thought, you exited your room and stalked down the hall.

-✶-

Marriage.

Not my first time being betrothed. Would it be my last? I sat in the Fleabottom bar, contemplating the pros and cons of this marriage. She was beautiful, there was no doubt. The lovely Lenia, how she danced like a beauty. Dazzling. That was the word that came to mind whenever I remember last night.

Surely she’d know the news by now.

I doubt she will want to dance with me again.

The way she looked at my brother. I can’t deny the signs. A flushed face, doe-like eyes, fluttering eyelashes. Was she even trying to hide her feelings?

“Another? Either I fill your cup or you get the fuck out of my bar-“ the bald barkeep stared down at me. My gaze slowly drifting to meet his.

“And how would you do that, exactly?” I couldn’t help but prod at the older man. I love pushing people.

The dirt-covered man pulled a knife from his boot and held it firmly toward me. I noted the coating of rust around the blade. Was his hand shaking slightly? A chuckle rose from my throat.

“I guess that’s how.”

I threw my legs off the table and strode out the door, slamming it shut.

- ✶-

Otto Hightower had been dressed since dawn. Even though the feast ran late into the night, Otto never liked to be the last to wake. He brought this expectation into his family, especially Alicent, who mirrored himself in many ways. He had raised her well, had he not?

The Hand’s chambers were nearly always dark, any semblance of light came from lit candles or the roaring fire that never went out. That was his one request, to always have a fire going. It reminded him of his wife, who he did all he could to push her memory away. But it wasn’t easy. Nor was it practical. Alicent reminded him every day of his late wife. The way her auburn hair shone in the sunlight, whisps of ginger and brown. Her eyes were his, but her mouth and cheeks were all Lady Hightower’s.

Although he would never admit it, Otto found his room suffocating and decided to visit the library. The council’s meeting did not start for another few hours, and he needed to take his mind off of … well everything.

Thoughts had not bothered him like this in years. Usually he could push them away, push that down

down

down,

until they muddled together at the base of his being.

He walked the cold corridors, his mind twirling and twisting in ways that he wasn’t used to. Everything usually founds its spot. Ideas in shelves and thoughts in cabinets. Normally there was nothing out of place, nothing that needed to be sorted out. And if they did need to be sorted out, well, he did so quickly and without fuss. But this.

This was a true problem.

How could his brother, who was a wretched thing, be allowed to marry such a jewel? A part of Otto felt like it was just his luck. Everything was going too smoothly. His daughter marrying the King, her being pregnant and along came this beautiful young woman.

Was his happiness at its peak? Was his joy not allowed to go past a certain point?

- ✶-

As the young Queen shuffled down the narrow stairwell, her mind was full of worry. Her heart felt heavy in her chest. Her body doing its best to carry her round belly. Her day had started off awfully. As was common since becoming Queen. Rhaenyra had completely shut her out, her closest friend, her only friend. She was only doing her duty, why did the Princess have to be so difficult? If only she had someone to talk to. Her father was completely inattentive, and he couldn’t care less about the affairs of two young girls. She couldn’t talk to her husband about the matter, because well, it was his daughter. And no other ladies at court were reliable. Well, was anyone really reliable?

As she walked, Alicent’s mind did its best to recall her lady mother. Because a mother would be the best person to talk to about such matters. Mothers were supposed to care. It was their duty.

Her recollection was scarce. There were hints of memories; a smile with dimples, soft skin, warm red hair. But the sound of her mother’s voice was lost. What had she told her when she was young? Did she give Alicent advice that was supposed to change the course of her life? If she did, Alicent could not remember.

How she wished for her mother now. Her babe swollen in her belly, her back aching, and her breasts sore. Her mother would know the right things to say; how to soothe her and make everything better.

A mother’s love is a privilege, Alicent thought, and she could already feel her eyes brimming with tears. Mothers. That was something that she and Rhaenyra shared. A loss so burdensome that those with mothers would never understand.

The hallway was always wintry. Even on warm days, the servants would stop for a few moments to cool down in the corridor.

Alicent walked on, each step fighting off the cold. But those blasted stairs had appeared in front of her. Narrow and short, the steps gave barely a foothold. She was wise to worry though, because as she descended the stairs, her balance was lost.

-✶-

It was luck.

Pure luck that you had seen Alicent wobbling down the stairs.

Your body had reacted quicker than your mind, and you sped to catch her. Your hands grabbed onto her delicate and thin arms, her legs crumbling beneath her.

It wasn’t the perfect catch, but it was better than the pregnant Queen rolling down the remainder of the staircase.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” you muttered, gently holding most of her weight.

“I-I don’t know what happened-“ her voice came out in a squeak. The poor girl, you thought. Her face had gone pale and her body shook.

“It was a close call but you’re okay now,” you tried to get her attention, her eyes were looking at you but weren’t … seeing.

“M-my baby,” she croaked out. Her eyes started to fill with tears, the shock had started to wear off and the gravity of what could have happened started to fill the young Queen’s mind.

Without warning, she sunk to the ground and started rocking back and forth. Her body shaking with emotion, the tears an unending sea. Alicent looked so small then, like the little girl she truly is. Young and alone.

“Come with me,” you cooed, ushering her down the hall and to your room.

-✶-

Alicent didn’t want to admit it, but her back was aching. Even though you had rescued her, she had bent at an odd angle and the weight had been solely on her back. Alicent regarded your quarters, much smaller than her own but it felt so … cosy. With the windows open, the light filled the room, and Alicent couldn’t help her prying eyes. Scarves and long pieces of material hung from every surface, hook, and beam.

You started a fire and hung a pot over the flames. It was heavy, full of water and you did your best not to slosh it on the floor. Turning around, you wiped your hands on your dress and smiled at the young Queen. It was probably worth noting that you constantly used the adjective before Queen, even though she was only some years younger than you.

A noise broke the silence, a harsh knock at the door, followed by a gruff sound.

“Who is it?”

“Me, it’s me Lenia.” Your father’s voice was nearly unrecognisable. There was a twinge to it, like he was keeping himself from revealing too much.

“Oh, come in papa.” You gave Alicent a gentle smile, hoping she understood that your father wouldn’t stir up trouble.

The oak door creaked as it opened, and your father’s face came into view. You noted the marks on his face; freckles, old pock marks and a twinge of redness. He was a handsome man, but his allure came from his words.

“Lenia, it’s your mot- oh! My Queen,” your father bent low and wanted to pull him up. How could he stop there?

“Papa, what is it?” You asked urgently, your eyes widening slightly.

“Is there something wrong, my Queen?” Your father’s attention did not waver from Alicent a spark of irritation lit in your chest. Fuck the Queen, you thought savagely, I want to know what’s wrong with mama!

“I am quite alright,” Alicent placated, “just a near-fall. But don’t worry, Lenia caught me just in time.” Alicent knew she would be saying those words repeatedly in the next few days.

“I’m glad,” he stated, and turned to you. Like a flash, his eyes seemed to change. From doting to dazed.

“Papa, you were saying?” you urged him, placing a hand on his arm.

“Yes, yes. It’s your mother. She’s unwell.”

“How so? Is it her time of the month? Or did she eat something that didn’t agree with her?” How was he being so vague in this moment? ‘Unwell,’ that meant so many things! You could be unwell from being in a hot room too long, or from not having enough water, or eating too much.

“The physician is with her now,” in that moment, it was the first time that your father looked his age.

“Please excuse me, your grace,” you curtsied to Alicent and near-flung yourself out the door. You had never ran so fast in your life, your steps echoing off the stone-floors. You ran and ran until you were inside your mother’s chambers.

Not so different from your own yet much larger in space, the room felt like it was humming. Maybe your heart was beating too fast but everything felt electric, like you could touch something and it would zap you.

“Mama?” You called out, your voice weaker than you intended.

“I’m here,” your mother’s voice sounded … normal. The anxiety eased, only a tad.

You walked towards the sound and saw her sitting on a chair with a short stout man packing away utensils.

“Nothing to worry about dear,” the old man said. His face was kind, and with certainty you knew he was someone’s grandfather.

“Papa said you were ill,” you almost panted.

“Well, that’s not entirely false,” the old man replied for your mother. Her hand was resting on her lower abdomen.

“She has been unwell,” with all his things packed away, he turned to face you. He was only a few inches taller than you.

“Your mother is with child.”

#otto hightower #otto hightower x reader #otto x lenia #otto x reader #lenia branch #house branch #otto hightower x lenia branch #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆��𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑇𝑒𝑛.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lenia Branch Word Count: 2k Warning: Fluff, pure and insufferable fluff! Authors Note: If anyone wants a personalised story, here’s my PayPal and send me a message and we can get started!

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔

Walking On Water by George Fenton

Valerie by the Midnite Quartet

“That’s not the way I heard it,” Sanah closed her mouth over the goblet and sipped. The mulled wine was sub-par, but she drank it anyway. Hells knew she needed the liquid courage. Her eyelids had been brushed with the slightest of colour, and red rouge on her high cheekbones. She looked stunning. Sanah stared out the window and sighed. The day turned spectacularly. For the harsh wind and pelting rain, had turned contentedly warm. But your younger sister barely noticed. Sanah was much too nervous. Her leg hadn’t stopped bouncing, even when you pointed it out, multiple times.

“And how exactly did you hear it?” You mused as the servant manoeuvred so she could stand behind Sanah. You too were holding a goblet of the same wine. It was a full-bodied red that had notes of black fruit and pepper spice.

You watched with flushed cheeks, as this had been your second cup and you were nearly finished, as the servant placed the pins in your sister’s hair. House Branch had many traditions, and one of them was twenty priceless pearls, each embedded onto a pin. They had been handed down to each woman, on her wedding day.

Sitting at the vanity table, Sanah’s reflection stared at you through the mirror, and she gave you a wink.

“I cannot give up my sources of information,” she said with red lips.

You playfully rolled your eyes in response.

A creak sounded from the other side of the room. The doors opened and two sets of feet were scampering towards you.

“No running!” Your mother called over her shoulder while closing the doors. You looked up and saw her in the most beautiful gown. Well, second to Sanah’s – Onatah looked radiant. Her gown swept the floor with graceful ease, and yet her face gave her true feelings away. Although nearly in her fifties, your mother looked as if she was part star. Her long brown hair had been braided over her shoulder, and the sleeves of the gown lingered just above the floor. You could see the golden thread of leaf detailing that Sanah had spent hours getting right. It was tedious, and with the wedding planning, she had been nearly intolerable.

“Sah-sah, Leni! Look!” your youngest sibling and second brother ran towards the two of you. His brown hair a curly mess, and his shirt was missing a button, the little Branch held something in his tiny hands.

“What have you got there, Lu?” Opening his hands, he showed the little creature with a proud smile.

“A mouse! He has a mouse!” Elrie started screaming. She was nearing the age of ten and had become accustomed to dramatics. Your mother sighed, lifted her skirts, and drifted over to Lucieth, who was still holding the brow mouse. Elrie, shoes on and all, had jumped on the bed, her howls never ceasing.

Sanah only laughed as she sat, so much so that she had to put her cup down. Her belly laughs made Lucieth confused, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Is only little?” he whispered, starting to pout. He had been forbidden to bring anything bigger than his hand size into the castle. Lucieth looked up at you with those big brown eyes and you melted. The youngest Branch was always finding animal friends. It was rare that his pockets were empty, or that he wasn’t being followed. On Lu’s third trip to the town markets, he befriended three stray cats and they followed him to the castle gates.

“Oh, Elrie stop it,” your mother huffed, sweat gathering at her brow. Onatah thought she was used to children, seeing as though she raised three almost perfectly good adults. But there seemed to be a rift, or jealousy from Elrie towards Lucieth, that appeared the day he was born. In the three, nearly four years, Elrie hadn’t gotten used to being a middle child. You could often find her with her arms crossed over her chest and face scrunched. Usually, because Lucieth was picked up first or tended to before she. It must be tough, you often thought.

-✶-

It had been years since the invasion of Dorne, and much had happened since then. Investigations and enquiries were made throughout King’s Landing. Many answers were found, and the most valuable of those had come to light. Grand Maester Runciter. The man who sat on King Viserys council had gotten too close with his student, Gelford Spyre. An ambitious young man who thought he could outwit the great Houses of Westeros. And he did. For three years he had been planning the infiltration of King’s Landing.

If it wasn’t for Daemon and Rhaenyra, the city would have been lost.

-✶-

In the corridor before the closed doors, you looked at your sister. The sunlight filtered through the open windows, creating slices of warmth. Sanah turned to you with her bright eyes and gave you a slight smile. You knew exactly what she was thinking. Who would have thought? You did. You knew she would be married one day, to a man who deserved her. Who would do anything for her. And you knew Ormund would.

You could hear the band take up the bridal tune, and your mother fluttered about your sister, preening and smoothing.

“Mama, please,” Sanah groaned, trying to bat away your mother’s insistent hands.

Lucieth and Elrie were standing at the front doors, their hands clasping tight to the petal basket. Neither were nervous, as they knew only family were on the other side of the door. Both Sanah and Ormund didn’t want a grand affair, even though King Viserys was adamant that he would pay for everything, and anything they desired. Ormund was the hero of King’s Landing, the one who freed both the King and the guards.

But in the fashion that was both your sister and her fiancé, they denied any glamour or attention. And yet, the Houses of Hightower and Branch filled the hall. As did King Viserys, Daemon, Rhaenyra and Alicent. Along with Aegon, who was now nearing his fourth year.

Sanah’s, and your own bouquets were the same. Flowers of peony, baby’s breath, and light pink carnations were wrapped together in a munch with silver ribbon. The same ribbon had been braided into your own hair and carefully twisted so it hung down your back.

Suddenly, Kormiel appeared with a large grin on his bearded face.

“Daughter!” He bellowed, loudly too, as he didn’t care in the slightest if the guests heard. Kormiel was a proud father. The first of his children to be married. He looked upon his third-born child with so much joy that tears brimmed his eyes. There was a change in Sanah then, and only someone as close as a sister could see it. Her back was straighter and her hands had stopped fiddling.

“Papa,” she replied, with a dimpled grin. Her blonde hair looked so golden, compared to Kormiel’s white hair. He had aged in the past years, but his personality hadn’t.

Darick stood behind his father, a carnation pinned to his jacket. He had been pulled to one knee as Lu showed him the brown mouse. No one had taken it off of the little Branch, as Sanah insisted the creature be a part of the wedding party.

“Lu!” Your mother groaned, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Elrie let out a little giggle as Darick poked her in the stomach. She had grown to adore her older brother these past years.

You laughed, unable to stop yourself. Your heart felt warm and full. This was a day you never wanted to forget, you wished you could take a part of this moment and carry it with you forever. Oh, how you loved your family, and the way your father’s shoulders bounced up and down when he laughed. How your mother shook her head with a slight smile, how Sanah gave you knowing looks, always able to read your mind. And Darick’s good heart, Elrie’s hopefulness and Lu’s love for creatures, big and small. How lucky am I, to have been born into this House, you thought. A contented smile growing on your lips.

-✶-

“Ready?”

Sanah looped her arm between both her father’s and mother’s. Your sister was a woman who broke tradition, and now she did so without hesitation. You and Darick looked at each other, he stood in front of you, holding the rings. Behind you, you could hear your parent’s soft bickering. Looking behind, you shushed them, just as the doors opened.

Like a wave, the guests stood to attention. The music sounded and the two youngest Branches took their cue. The petals littered the floor with white and cream, as the wedding party walked. The guests cooed and awed, as the children flung fistfuls of the petals into the air. They were without strategy, and got most of it on Darick, tried to step out of the firing line.

You were used to people’s eyes upon you, but it never got easier. You were glad the dress was long, as you thought your knees were shaking. But your nerves seemed to get better and then a whole lot worse, as you spotted him in the crowd. The ghost of a smile was upon his lips, as he watched you intently. Gone were the days of meek, stolen glances. Otto Hightower looked at you with an unmet need.

The guests tried to hide their shock as Sanah walked down the aisle with both her parents to give her away. Some had their thoughts written plainly on their faces; aghast. You did all you could not to roll your eyes. Both parents were important in their child’s life. Equal caregivers, so why should one do the honour of helping their child step into a new era of their life?

You took your place opposite Ormund. He was standing there with his hands behind his back and the most un-Ormund-like expression on his face. The groom wore Hightower colours, with hints of black and pale green, as were the colours of House Branch. Ormund was doing his best to stay still, you could see that. But he couldn’t see anyone but Sanah.

Ormund’s eldest brother, Hobert, stood next to Otto with pursed lips and flared nostrils. Well, you’re in it now Hobey, you thought, nearly giggling. God, that wine had gotten to you. Your attention turned to your sister as they reached the dais, where the Grand Maester stood. Neither Ormund nor your sister wanted a religious figure to wed them, as neither believed in religion. You couldn’t blame them.

No one stood next to Ormund, and soon, neither did Sanah. You kissed your sister, took her flowers, and sat beside your mother and brother.

You took in the details of the Great Hall. Viserys had paid for all the flowers, as hundreds of them had been twisted around the pillars. All windows were opened to let in the natural light, creating a warm haze. The musicians had stopped their playing as the Grand Maester began.

-✶-

The ceremony was over, and the reception was in full swing. The Branch musicians, and your mother, began a hearty tune. People got up from their seats and began to dance. Most of the dancefloor occupants were Branches, as the Hightowers hadn’t drunk enough to let loose. Ormund was swinging Sanah about, laughing without caution.

You felt someone stand next to you and you looked up. Otto stared at you with a humble grin, as he often did. Your relationship was complicated. The feelings were still there, and since delivering his grandson all those years ago, he had been upfront with how he felt.

Now it felt like a dance. A game. Cat and mouse.

“You look beautiful,” he uttered, handing you a full goblet of wine.

You took it and thanked him. You brought the cup to your lips and drank deeply. The contents not helping the growing heat at your core.

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