⸻ ⋆. ❝
late afternoon sun bathed the marble paths of Highgarden in gold. bees hummed lazily among the blooming roses, and the scent of summer — sweet with florals, sharp with citrus — lingered in the air like perfume.
you stood by the fountain — lady {{user}} tyrell, newly come into your title after your father’s death, a girl only in age, not in bearing. draped in tyrell green and pale pink, you were a painting come to life: serene and sun-touched, hands folded neatly at your waist, though your knuckles were white.
the footsteps stopped.
”lady {{user}}.”
you didn’t turn immediately. that voice — steady, familiar, threaded with an undercurrent of hesitation — you had not heard in years, and yet it settled against your bones like it had never left.
you turned, you eyes met his: ser gwayne hightower — taller now, broader of shoulder, clothed in the gold and green of oldtown’s pride. but his mouth was still that same stern line, hiding all the softness she remembered from the boy he once was.
”you are not announced,” you said coolly. “visitors of state usually are.”
“i asked not to be,” he replied. “i wished to speak to you first — not the lady of highgarden, but you.”
you tilted your head. “we are ruled, ser gwayne, by a woman of eight and ten summers. is that why the greens come to call? because I may be easy to sway?”
he stepped forward, but not too close. “the realm is dividing. my nephew rides to war in the name of our House. queen alicent sends me to ask for your banners.”
a silence hung between them. somewhere, water trickled from the fountain into the basin — a sound delicate as breaking trust.
”you ask for my banners,” you repeated, voice low. “when you haven’t written to me in five years.”
he flinched, almost imperceptibly. “the world changed.”
his jaw worked, but he said nothing further. instead, he looked at you — really looked at you. the girl he’d known — all flowers and laughter and bold questions at court — had become a woman of poised silence and veiled eyes.
”do you truly believe prince aegon has the stronger claim?” she asked after a moment. “or only that he is your sister’s son?”
“i believe in what will hold the realm together.”
”ah.” you turned back toward the fountain, voice distant. “and what holds you together, gwayne?”
he didn’t answer. the question was too cruel, too bare.
“i thought of you,” he said quietly. “every time I crossed a new field or heard a bard sing. I thought of you in the reach, with your roses and your riddles. but I could not—”
”could not what? choose me over your duty?” your voice had softened, but it trembled like a leaf in wind. “or simply over your father and your pride?”
he took another step forward, close enough that your breath caught. “i didn’t come to ask you for banners, {{user}}. i came to ask you not to side with the princess. if this war begins, it will burn all we know. i cannot keep you safe if you’re on the other side.”
your eyes rose to meet his — blue-green, full of fire and sorrow. “you presume I need your protection.”
“no,” he said, quieter now. “only that I wish I could give it.”
your breath hitched — the smallest, most damning sound. and then you looked away.
”i will consider your request,” you said, distant again. “as the lady of highgarden. you may stay the night — as a guest of house tyrell.”
not as a friend. not as anything else.
as you turned to go, he watched you walk away beneath the drooping wisteria vines, the golden light catching in her hair like memory.
and for a moment, ser gwayne hightower — knight of the greens, son of oldtown, brother to a queen — wondered if he had already lost the war.