Chapter Text
HISTORY OF MAN
The Tale of Gwayne Hightower and Rhaenyra Targaryen
"You did not tell me your brother was so..."
"Annoying?"
"Pleasing."
IN THE LATE YEARS OF THE REIGN OF KING JAEHAERYS TARGARYEN, 'THE CONCILIATOR', SER OTTO HIGHTOWER WAS NAMED HAND OF THE KING. Upon his ascension to the position as Lord Hand, Ser Otto brought his children, Gwayne, then aged two and ten, and Alicent, then aged seven, to court alongside him. His daughter, who had often read to the Old King, had quickly taken to the company of The Conciliator's great-granddaughter, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, and they had become swift friends.
It would be that throughout the years, a fondness would also be born between the princess and the Lord Hand's eldest son.
"I know what it is to lose a mother, princess. You lose the very person who made you, whose face you bear. The woman who is your first love, the first person who has ever looked at you as if you are the sun, the moon, the stars and so much more. You can not ever be prepared for that first morning you awaken and remember that she will not. The worst part of it is that everyone will speak to you in riddles, telling tales of how wonderful your mother was and how great a loss it is for them, but they do not understand her loss like you do. They will never feel how it hollows you and leaves you screaming for a way to fill the hole this loss brings you. They will not tell you that they are sorry for what happened to you. Tomorrow, they will forget. You will not. You will always mourn her. You will see her in everything you do. You will see her in your own face. You will see her in your own children one day. She is gone, but she will not leave you, and it will hurt in ways the Seven Hells could not."
Rhaenyra looked up from her hands to meet his gaze. "I thought you were supposed to tell me that this will get better and that the pain will fade."
He shook his head. "This is the part where I tell you that you are allowed to cry and that I'll be here until you do not feel the need to cry anymore."
"What if I need to cry forever?"
"Then I'll stay forever."
She forced herself to smile at him. "I know you are only comforting me because your father told you to, but thank you. It means a great deal to me."
Gwayne took her hand. "You are most welcome, princess."
"I think I ought to give you leave to speak my name since I've cried before you."
"I did not realise there was an order to such things," He spoke softly.
"There is."
"It is a good thing I care very little for doing things chronologically."
GWAYNE HIGHTOWER FELL IN LOVE WITH RHAENYRA TARGARYEN SOME TIME BETWEEN THE TOURNEY TO CELEBRATE THE BIRTH OF HER BROTHER, PRINCE BAELON, AND THE BIRTH OF HIS NEPHEW, PRINCE AEGON. He wasn't at all sure the precise moment that it had happened, only that it had, and it was perhaps the worst thing to ever happen to him. Why? She did not love him back.
Of course, he never expected her to. Rhaenyra Targaryen was the eldest child of the King, the Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne. She was The Realm's Delight. He was the eldest son of a second son of House Hightower. His father may be the Hand of The King, and his sister may be the Queen, but he was nothing. He had no title or lands nor great wealth to offer. He was just a man. He was just Gwayne Hightower.
She was everything and he was nothing.
When he found out that her father had wanted her to find a husband, every part of him called for him to put himself forward and petition for her hand, but he didn't. He did not embark on the tour. He instead returned to Oldtown to fulfil his duties as his father's eldest son and to train with his cousins.
RHAENYRA TARGARYEN FELL IN LOVE WITH SER GWAYNE HIGHTOWER SOME TIME BETWEEN THE BIRTH OF HER HALF - BROTHER, PRINCE AEGON, AND HER WEDDING TO SER LAENOR VELARYON. She was not at all sure the precise moment that it had happened, only that it had, and it was perhaps the worst thing to ever happen to her. Why? Gwayne Hightower did not love her back.
It had been several years since her father had married her former best friend, Alicent Hightower, and now, as she approached the round age of twenty, her father had no choice but to impress upon her the urgency of a marriage for her so that she could secure her claim and produce heirs for the stability of the realm and House Targaryen. He decided that to offer her the greatest choice, he would organise a tour, and all the lords and sons of the realm would have the opportunity to vie for the hand of the Heir to the Iron Throne.
Rhaenyra had only wanted one man to vie for her hand, and when she arrived at the halls of Storms' End, hosted most graciously by her distant relative, Boremund Baratheon, she had hoped to see the sigil of House Hightower stand before her and hear him petition for her hand. He never came. Rhaenyra chose none of the men that had attended the tour, which only angered her father.
And so he arranged a betrothal between his daughter and her cousin, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future Lord of the Tides and heir to Driftmark. The King had supposed that this marriage would make up for any insult suffered by Lord Corlys when King Viserys chose to wed Alicent Hightower instead of Lord Corlys' daughter, Lady Laena Velaryon.
She wrote to Gwayne several times when he left for Oldtown, but she received no reply.
It was then that the princess ceased all kindness to House Hightower, and returned to wearing the colours of her house: red and black. She took to her role as the princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne, sinking into duty and obligation, and all semblance of the jubilant girl she had been - The Realm's Delight - had been lost to the depths of duty and deference, and soon, all memory of the fondness the princess had for the two children of Otto Hightower was forgotten. The heiress bore three sons to her marriage with Ser Laenor Velaryon, and two in her marriage to Prince Daemon Targaryen, and soon, as she sunk further into the histories and politics and philosophy, and the obligations of marriage and motherhood, the girl Gwayne Hightower had loved was dead.
"But you rip it from my hands
And you swear it's all gone
And you rip out all I had
Just to say that you've won
And you rip it from my hands
And you swear it's all gone
And you rip out all I had
Just to say that you've won
You've won
Well now you've won"
- I Gave You All -
Mumford & Sons
ACT ONE: Torn Open
(105 AC - 113 AC)
ACT TWO: Torn Apart
(129 AC - 131 AC)