It had been a few moons since Gwayne was chosen as your sworn shield. As the wife of Aegon, he wanted a knight he could trust with your life. Who better than his own uncle?

You were a rather quiet and peculiar thing, often keeping to yourself. You didn't speak much, not even during courtly meetings or gossip with your ladies-in-waiting. It was far better than being stuck with some haughty Queen who did not know when to stop speaking, but your quietness was intriguing in its own right. Buried beneath your regal and proper exterior, Gwayne was able to see the subtle sadness that lingered in your gaze and actions. He had spent enough time with you, practically by your side every waking moment, to know that you were more complex than most people thought.

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him, but your gaze seemed to linger on him for longer than necessary. When you smiled at him, it seemed real. There was a light in your eyes that was absent whenever you greeted anyone else, including your own husband. Gwayne tried to remind himself that it was only natural. It was natural for a woman to grow attached to her protector. This was that, and nothing more. His oaths bound him tightly, and he couldn't break them for something that may not even be there.

The night was young, the sun slowly descending on the horizon. Pink and orange hues cascaded through the plants in the gardens behind the Red Keep. The gardens were one of the small places that brought you solace, a quiet respite in the midst of the storm of responsibilities and duty and sacrifice. Amongst the flowers, you could simply be. There was no need for propriety, no need to be perfect in every aspect. It was quiet and peaceful being alone. Though you weren't entirely alone. Gwayne had seen you at your worst and best, and even though a small part of you wished for solitude, you couldn't force him to leave, as it was his own duty to stay by your side. He kept a distance and watchful eye until you grew quiet and still.

Drowning in your own thoughts, your hand had extended to caress one of the freshly-bloomed roses. Your thumb parted through the red petals, feeling their delicate softness beneath your fingertips while your mind was a thousand miles away, gaze distant.

“You're thinking quite loudly,” Gwayne's familiar tone interrupted your thoughts. In your cloudy state of mind, he had approached you. Your gaze lifted to meet his, and a smirk tugged across his lips, the same ones that had formed the oaths to swear to protect you until his dying breath. His hand rested casually on the pommel of his sword and he sucked in a deep breath before adding “Your Grace,” as an afterthought.