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they both have a visible attitude and were absolutely spoiled for most of their life. both doing absolutely everything they want, even if for most of their life they were the only children of their parents. but at the same time, they are heirs of two greatest houses of their times.
courting would be arranged by otto hightower himself, as his own brother, father of ormund, couldn’t care less or couldn’t force ormund to marry someone he chose. and maybe ormund didn’t want to choose himself? as he is probably disgusted by everything that comes with marriage (like sex, fluids, touching and sweat). but, the seven said that family is one of pillars of faith, so he would probably agree himself, as it's a great honor to be a husband of a future queen, prince consort.
rhaeynyra herself would probably be mad at the choice of her husband. she knows hightowers, after all, new wife of his father is a one and she is absolute pain in princess’ ass. why her cousin wouldn’t be the same? but, it was him or gay son of corlys, so, choice was made.
well, after ormund's arrival from oldtown, rhaenyra started to question herself if the choice really wasn’t between two gay men, because ormund was… well, he was an eccentric kind of man. he was not happy, the kingdom’s capital, as he put it, lived up to its reputation. everyone in the hall knew exactly what the heir to oldtown meant by that. that flea-ridden hole always reeked of piss, brothels, and other filth, even if one rode through it in the most splendidly adorned carriage. and as rhaenyra would discover in the days that followed, her betrothed did not merely scoff at this problem; he complained about it as if it were a personal affront directed squarely at him.
the red keep did not particularly impress him, either, the castle was notorious for its rats and squalor. rhaenyra rarely saw her betrothed because, or so she heard from the handmaidens, he was frequently ill. and whenever she did see him at meals or in the gardens, where he seemed to spend a great deal of time, he appeared pale.
yet, beneath the pallor of illness and the habitual grimace he wore, ormund hightower was a handsome man, and a contemporary of hers, besides. she would often find him in the gardens, smelling the flowers, reading, writing, or sketching. she knew well, from her father, who had heard it from Otto, that young hightower was a scholar man, in addition to being an exceptional swordsman and a devout follower of the faith of the seven. she would listen to her father’s fond praise while rolling her eyes whenever he wasn't looking. at the time, she had no interest in a man who would sit beneath a tree and speak beautiful words that bore no relation to the real world.
besides, ormund didn't seem interested in reciting such words to her anyway. in truth, he didn't seem interested in reciting them to anyone. he certainly sought out flatterers among the court’s lords and ladies, but not romance. perhaps, in that regard, otto and her father had been right, he was not the sort to be a sinner. not in this area at least.
after a time, both seemed to grow accustomed to their situation, and ormund fell ill less frequently, though this was largely due to the number of rat-catchers and the fact that ormund had taken in a cat, an animal that also annoyed him with the fur it shed. it was hard to say what might bring a smile to ormund hightower’s face rather than a grimace of disgust; rhaenyra certainly didn't know the answer. she was amused, however, when a rat once climbed onto the table during an afternoon tea they were sharing (at otto’s behest), ormund promptly vomited the piece of cake he had just eaten into a vase within arm’s reach, and rhaenyra could not suppress her laughter.
her own father pushed her a little into trying to… get more favor from ormund, as he knew boy was a little… eccentric (he tried once or twice talking to him himself. oh lords, he really was one of his kind. not that he was rude or anything, he just had his certain way of being. and to viserys i own surprise, he was fit to rhaenyra herself.). she didn’t know much about ormund, as they rarely conversed. and when they did, it was ormund who did the talking. yes, that was the best way to describe it. ormund spoke at length, it didn't really feel like a conversation. still, knowing he loved art and composing ballads, she decided to make an effort to reach out to him in her role as his future wife. she wasn't accustomed to writing prose, it had never particularly interested her, but she knew how much of his free time ormund devoted to the art of writing.
yet, once she sat down to it, she found she actually enjoyed it. deciding to break with convention, she penned a ballad about a lady knight rescuing a handsome prince, he had been confined in a high tower by a father who feared his son couldn't cope with the outside world, though from that lofty perch, the prince could still admire the beauty of the world without exposing himself to unnecessary danger. and lady knight? she kept her beautiful face and silver-gold hair hidden beneath a dragon-styled helm. only her lavender eyes were seen. she had managed to reach the high tower thanks to her dragon, with whom she shared an extraordinary bond. only after finishing writing did Rhaenyra realize she had penned something she had secretly longed for, a tale of armor and deeds that proved one’s valor. syrax was there, too…
and so, before presenting the ballad to ormund, she read the entire piece to her dragon, translating it into valyrian as she went. neither the dragonkeepers nor syrax fell asleep during the recitation, so she decided her work wasn't half bad for a first attempt.
“well, ser ormund,” rhaenyra announced her presence, standing behind the bench where ormund sat. he raised his head and smiled gently at her, but a moment later, his expression soured...
“oh... you stink...” he swallowed hard. “of dragon...” rhaenyra bristled slightly at the heir of oldtown’s words. after all, how was she supposed to smell? like lavender? she actually liked the scent of dragons... they were wild, and beautiful in that wildness...
“do you think dragons fart flowers?” she quipped, lifting her chin slightly, proud of her retort, but ormund didn't appreciate the humor.
“no, i had simply hoped that before approaching me, you might at least wash up or change your clothes, princess.” he rolled his eyes slightly and returned to his book, effectively ending the conversation.
rhaenyra sighed loudly and simply sat down beside him, watching his nose wrinkle at the scent of syrax and the dragonpit that clung to her. he even went so far as to pull out a small vial of perfume and hold it to his nose, yet he didn't ask her to leave. it would have been rude to dismiss princess rhaenyra herself... the realm’s delight... oh yes, the realm’s delight, indeed.
“if only you didn’t comment on my smell.. maybe i would have a gift for you” rhaenyra stated looking at the garden around them. and just now, ormund did notice something she held in her hands. he rolled his eyes a little and tried again.
“then… please accept my apologies, princess. it’s just… that nose of mine gives me no peace. oldtown and the high tower… they have different standards,” he muttered, looking rather displeased as he closed his book and set it aside.
it wasn’t a genuine apology, the man had managed to slip in yet another insult, but she let it slide. she held out the manuscript to him.
“it was hard not to notice that you harbor… a particular love for… art… and literature. especially ballads. so, i decided to try my hand at it myself. i’d like you to read this.” princess rhaenyra was bursting with pride as she handed her ballad to ormund, who scanned the text with a rather critical eye. “you can let me know what you think of it tomorrow.” she smoothed out her richly embroidered gown and slowly rose to her feet.
“wait…” ormund said softly from behind her. rhaenyra felt she had managed to soften him, but when she turned around, she saw him scribbling over her manuscript with a pencil. he then pointed out a highlighted passage. “you have a syntax mistake here. and a spelling mistake there. don’t you want to rewrite it before handing it back to me? or would you like me to check for mistakes myself?” she felt a burning sense of shame under his gaze. he was treating her like a child or rather… oh, he simply thought himself superior!
she snatched the pages from his hands and tore them up right before his eyes.
“syrax will check it for me, with her fire,” she snarled, clutching the paper in her hands. “idiot,” she said, walking away across the grass without once looking back at him.
young hightower watched her go with a quiet sigh, then simply shrugged and returned to his book.