Chapter Text
Mirrax silently descends through the night sky towards Harrenhall. The wind stings in my eyes and my hands turned numb a while ago. I hope that my sister won't find out about my disappearance from Dragonstone.
The trees move underneath Mirrax's wings, the sound softly breaking through the night. I land her at the edge of the forest, urging her to be quiet as she waits for me to return. As I turn toward the Hightower camp my throat closes up.
When Gwayne and I had wed, he vowed to dedicate his life, his love and his loyalty to me. But those vows turned to be void the moment my grandfather passed away. He did nothing as his father and cousin locked me away in my chambers in Old town. He did nothing as the greens denied my sister her right to the throne. He wouldn't even let me send a letter to my family to share in the mourning of the death of my father.
So when he told me that he would travel ahead of the Hightower army to support the usurper in the battle against my sister, I lost it. I still remember the look in his eyes as I screamed at him. Never before had I seen genuine fear in his eyes.
My boots barely make a sound on the forest ground as I make my way to the camp. I scan the clusters of tents, but don't even have to force someone to tell me which one is his, because I know my husband. I know that he always wants to be on the edge of the camp, raised above the other tents so he can look over them, and I know that he needs a higher tent because he hates bending down in the lower ones.
The few soldiers outside of their tents all seem to be passed out, flasks of wine dangling from their fingers. I scoff and roll my eyes. The mighty soldiers of house Hightower. My fingers curl around the fabric that covers the entrance to the tent and I carefully pull it aside to peek in.
My eyes lock onto the sleeping figure of my husband as he lays on the bed. I let the tent fall close behind me and carefully approach the bed to study the man I once loved. His eyebrows are pulled into a frown and one of his arms is stretched out beside him, as if it waits for my body to curl up beside him. His bare chest slowly rises and falls with each breath he takes.
My heart clenches in my chest as I watch him. He looks tired and stressed even in his sleep. I softly brush a finger over his forehead, brushing away a stray lock of hair. He stirs and leans into my touch, but doesn’t wake. A heavy sigh leaves my lips and I close my eyes, cursing my heart for drawing me into him once again, but I know what I have to do. I kneel onto the bed, straddling his thighs. A deep sigh leaves him, but he still doesn’t wake. So I lean down, close enough that I can feel his breath on my face.
His eyes fly open as I press a dagger, the one he gifted me on our wedding day, to his throat. His hand flies out to grab his sword, but I pin his wrists to the mattress.
“Wife,” he greets me, voice sounding as smooth as always. “Husband,” I reply, feeling annoyed. “Well this is new, have you come to kill me?” “I will,” I promise him, but the bastard arches an eyebrow. “No,” he muses, “I don’t think you will.”
“I hate you,” I snarl, moving on top of his body, pressing the dagger harder against his skin, drawing blood. He grunts as he feels the dagger pierce his skin, a drop of blood sliding down his neck. “Liar,” he groans. My vision blurs and I clench my jaw. “I do hate you, you would rather have a drunk on the throne who would lead this kingdom into ruin than a woman.”
He moves to shake his head but stills as the dagger cuts further along his skin. “That is not true.” “It is!” I accuse. “You would deny my sister her birthright.” “Then what would you have me do, wife,” Gwayne narrows his eyes, “I swore my sword to my house, to Aegon.” “You also swore your life to me,” I respond quietly, watching as drops of blood slide down his skin, ignoring the way he moves beneath me.
“I know,” he whispers, “I know I did.” “Does that vow mean so little to you that you would betray me without a second thought?” Gwayne doesn’t answer, dropping his head onto the pillow and closing his eyes instead. I grab his jaw and force his head up. “Look at me!” I snarl at him, surprise in his eyes as he does what I command. “Did you truly love me that little?”
He immediately shakes his head, this time not caring about the blade. “No, that is not true, I love you and I know that you love me as well-” “Loved” I interrupt him. His eyes widen and he swallows heavily. “You love me,” he states and I scoff. “How could I ever love someone who would betray me, betray my family that easily?” The protest on his lips dies down, the fire in his eyes with it. “I know I have made mistakes,” he admits and I hesitate.
Then he moves suddenly, swatting the dagger away from his throat and flipping us so that he hovers above me. I move to swipe the dagger at his throat again, but his fingers curl around the hilt and he pulls it from my hand. His other hand grabs both my wrists and he pins them between our chests just as his legs tangle with mine to hold them down.
He looks at me with a triumphant glint in his eyes and twirls the dagger between his fingers. “You would kill me with the dagger I gifted you on our wedding day?” he questions, bringing the dagger down to slide lightly over my own throat. “Ironic, isn’t it?” I scoff, “That the gift you gave me to symbolise the start of our lives together will be the one to end it.” Goosebumps erupt on my throat at the feeling of the steel warmed by his skin and a shiver works down my spine. I struggle against his grip, raising my hips in an attempt to throw him off me, but I halt when a groan escapes his lips. Then I feel the evidence of his arousal against my thigh and I look up at him.
“Seriously,” I raise an eyebrow, rolling my eyes as he simply laughs. “I wake up with the woman I love more than anything on top of me, holding a dagger against my throat, how can I not.” He lowers his head to press light kisses on my neck. “That doesn’t change anything,” I tell him, drawing him back into reality. His kisses pause and he raises his head to look back up to me with a sigh. “I know.”
He looks back at the dagger in his hand and carefully hands it back to me. My eyes fly to his as he curls his hand over mine and presses the blade harshly against his own throat. “What are you doing,” I choke. “Do it,” he just whispers. “Kill me, that way I can’t hurt you anymore with my actions.” “No, I won’t,” I shake my head. “I thought you came here to kill me?” he asks with a soft smile, his hand pressing the dagger deeper into his skin. Blood starts dripping faster. Down the blade, over my hand.
“Not like this,” I hiss at him angrily. “Why not? Either one of us must die at the end of this. Aegon won’t let you live should he be victorious and your mother won’t let me live if she sits the Iron Throne. And while a part of me believes that Aegon should be king, another part of me believes we will not win this war. At least this way I die on my own terms. At the hands of my greatest love.” A drop of his blood splatters on my throat. “I am tired and do not want this war,” he smiles sadly at me. “I want to run away with you and Daeron and build a life far away from this mess.”
I pull my hand away, flinging the dagger across the tent and pull him down onto me, cradling his head against my chest as a tear falls from my eye. “We will find a way,” I mutter into his hair. “I will make sure of it.”