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witchthewriter · 2 years ago

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𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛.

Personalised story for @leniabranch Pairing: Otto Hightower x Reader (Lenia) Word Count: 2.46k Warnings: Vague thoughts of war threats?

The tavern was rife with violence. The Martell soldiers had come in cordially, but the tenants had no patience for them. At the slightest change in tone, one of the common men had thrown a jug at the sitting soldier, soaking him.

There wasn’t a clean man in sight. All had either blood, food or drink somewhere on their persons. It was a glorious sight. Well, to Ormund it was. His own standards of fun were very different to the average man. Besides a woman and a good ale, violence was a topic that Ormund loved deeply. There didn’t need to be a reason for violence, especially when his blood ran hot.

Just when the usual customers of the tavern thought they had the upper hand, a group of Martell men barged through the door. They finished the fight. And King’s Landing citizens lay wounded, some dead, on the dirty stone floor.

-✶-

Orlaith placed a gentle hand on Elrie’s head as she clung to her mother’s skirts. The Throne room was packed, every habitant of the castle currently resided in the room. Many still in their night clothes, shivering or horrified that they were in such a state. Men in bronze armour with long swears and sharp swords stood to attention. It was a great and horrible sight. Like a scene from book, or a fairytale. One that she would read to her new babe once they were born. If they were born. The thought was so sudden that she felt sick. Surely the Dornish wouldn’t kill all those in King’s Landing? House Branch had not quaralled with many Houses. The alliances made were created, but no one felt scorned. Because the Branches weren’t a powerful house, not in the way that mattered. Entertainers, performers, creators. Not many Houses prided themselves of such things.

The thoughts gave her a spark of hope. Maybe being yourself would end up saving your life one day.

-✶-

You had thrown yourself into action, knowing that someone else was in trouble made your apprehension disappear. The furniture was flung sideways, you winced at first but decided that it did not matter. Not when Alicent, the young Queen was missing. And you had to get back to your family, and ultimately deal with this mess. The overarching doom of ‘what if’ seemed to weigh on your shoulders. Did this mean war? Were you now in a fight for your life? The answer to those questions pointed to yes, but that didn’t stop your blood from boiling. This castle was supposed to be a fortress, surrounded by the common people, anyone trying to invade had a hard time getting to the castle gates. But the Dornish had somehow been able to do so without alerting the King’s Guard. Surely someone would have had to be involved. Someone close to the King had switched sides. But who? What could the Martells have that would outweigh the generosity of Viserys?

While you worked, the colour drained from Otto’s face. At those words his heart fell to the floor. The Queen. The Queen is missing. The words echoed in his head like a clap of thunder. His mind ran through every possibility. Had she been captured? About to be used as a bargaining chip against the King?

And the King, where was he?

Guilt flooded his veins. He’d let this happen. But as quickly as the thought came, he’d fought it back. No. No he hadn’t. He was not solely responsible for the kingdom. That was the King’s duty. All Otto had done was guide the sliced hand. For what was a Hand without a King and what was a King without his Hand? But all of King’s Landing would blame Viserys, and that would be a problem.

Otto pulled himself from his thoughts and watched as Lenia free the doorway. Near-marching across the room, Otto carried the last few remaining obstacles and opened the door.

Ser Criston Cole looked a sorry sight. His eyes barely met Otto’s, he knew he hadn’t done his duty. That he had let down the Queen and the King. But now wasn’t the time for a scolding.

-✶-

Rhaenyra had been in the dragon pit when a white cloak had ran straight toward her, bowed and updated her. She was to fly to Dragonstone where her uncle, Daemon, was currently residing. The order was a shock. Her father had never asked her to do such a thing. On some occasions, he even seemed too frightened of her flying. But knowing that the order came straight from her father struck a fear inside the young heir. But she would do it. She would never refuse.

Syrax was in a grumpy mood ever since Rhaenyra had awoken her. The day was cloudy, and though no rain had begun to fall, the dragon refused to fly.

“This one time, Syrax,” the young Targaryen pleaded.

Syrax sniffed and threw her head in the opposite direction.

“You’ll get to see Caraxes,” the name of the Blood Wyrm changed her attitude, and within minutes they were on their way to Dragonstone.

-✶-

The commotion from the tavern was heightened compared to outside. It was a deadly calm, which could be said was worse than screams. It meant the fight was over, that someone had the upper hand. Looking around, Ormund saw people cowering against walls, or simply kneeling on their scabby knees. He didn’t take more than a few steps before one of the soldiers noticed him. Suddenly Ormund’s back hit a wall.

“Easy now, fellas, there’s no need for that,” the black-haired man put his hands up in the air.

“You are Ormund Hightower, yes?” One of the men asked.

Ormund cocked an eyebrow. He’d have to give the soldier that. It wasn’t easy finding someone in Flea Bottom.

“Come, you have been summoned.”

Now Ormund would have gladly gone with them, without fuss. But as soon as he was told he had been summoned…

A fist collided with a jaw, a spear was snapped over a knee, one of the common people yelled, “get the Dornish scum!” Well at least, that’s what they meant to say. They had lost too many teeth over the years, so the pronunciation wasn’t the best.

Ormund had been called the Hightower Knave for a few reasons. The majority of them were negative, considering he had a lack of honour and dabbled in unseemly acts for a highborn. Yet, he got away with it because he could do a few very special things. And the majority of those things, well, they were violent.

The three Dornish men slumped on the ground, wounded with cuts and more serious injuries like stab wounds. None of them was too injured though, that’s one thing that the gossipers had forgotten. The Hightower Knave avoided murder wherever he could.

-✶-

Ser Cole marched with his sword free from its scabbard and led Otto and you down the hall. It was best to see where everyone was gathered, and if anyone had escaped. You had come up with the idea, and Cole backed it. Otto was apprehensive, one wrong move and it could mean the end of Alicent, and the rule of Viserys I.

Cole had split from the group and motioned for you to stop. He stepped on light feet towards the Throne room door. Even though it was shut, there was a crack in the heavy doors. Their oak make weary from its own weight. Oddly, there were no soldiers defending the doors.

“I cannot see her,” Criston muttered, his voice low.

Otto’s hand flexed at his side.

-✶-

The silence of the room unnerved Alicent. Her trembling hands were folded over her stomach. The King had been found. And he was on his way to the Throne Room. But Alicent couldn’t think of a reason as to why she wasn’t going as well.

The Martell general stood next to the window. His eyes flicked between each face. Who was he looking for? If Alicent was any younger, she would have thought this to be a nightmare and would pinch herself. But such childish acts are always surrendered, no matter how hard you tried to hold onto them.

But the King had childish customs, did he not? He spends hours on his re-creation of King’s Landing and the surrounding islands. Is this what other Kings had done? Found a useless hobby and let others make the tough decisions for them?

Alicent thought of her father. Where is he now? A dangerous thought popped into her head. What if he had orchestrated this coup? Secretly betrayed Viserys to the Dornish, sacrificing everyone to have a new alliance. No. No, he would never. Her father was never disloyal. Cunning, certainly, stubborn, incredibly. But disloyalty was an evil to Otto Hightower.

-✶-

Everything seemed to happen in a blur, the decisions were made so quickly that you didn’t have time to process them. Sneaking around the castle was difficult without the threat of Dornish men. So now you watched behind a pillar, waiting for a pair of soldiers to keep walking. You had overheard a group of them before, talking about the little Queen and her swollen belly.

It felt like a hunt. Each predator treated with caution. It felt as if the world would collapse if you three did not find the Queen. Who knows what the Martell’s had planned. Throughout history it was shown that when the enemy invaded the city walls, death was the next step. But you couldn’t hear any screams, anyone pleading for their lives. There was only silence, and the chatter of Dornish men.

There was no noise coming from the city below. And when you looked outside, there were no dragons in the sky. No winged creatures coming to save you. A horrible thought wormed its way into your head. What if they had slaughtered the dragons? Would that even be possible? It was known that the dragons were mostly held in the dragonpits. Somewhat chained, they were still allowed to move within their confined space.

If the dragons weren’t defending King’s Landing, then who would? Had the Targaryen soldiers been rounded up as well? That was the likely case. The thoughts came at you one after the other, and you had to take a deep breath to calm them.

Otto looked at with you concern, and heat tinged your cheeks pink. “I’m fine,” you whispered.

You all moved, one after the other, as to not expose yourselves all at once. The enemy had said something about keeping the Queen in the King’s chambers. This was a grave insult. And although Viserys was a benevolent King, he must be seething.

-✶-

Alicent felt a pain in her stomach. It was similar to a cramp but more intense, like someone was twisting her insides. The stress mustn’t be good for the babe, she thought worriedly. The general at stalked to the door and opened it. He shouted something but Alicent couldn’t understand, the pain wasn’t easing.

As the general swiftly shut the door, he turned to the young Queen and saw her face. Twisted in pain and with a hand on her stomach, he thought the worst.

The baby was coming.

Alicent whimpered and was about to ask for help when she doubled over. The pain was unbearable. Is this what childbirth was like? Why did so many people do it?

“Are you okay?” The general asked, concern in his voice.

Just as she was about to respond, the doors flung open and in marched a group of five men. One in gold and yellow clothes stood in the middle, flanked by two men at his sides and his back. Qoren Nymeros Martell. The ruling Prince of Dorne stood in King Viserys Targaryen’s chambers.

He was handsome. That was the very first thought that popped into Alicent’s head. A treasonous thought.

“Ah, Queen Alicent,” his voice was steady, and almost … soothing. “What an honour this is-“

Whatever speech the Prince of Dorne was about to give was cut short by Alicent’s scream. She felt a pool of moistening her undergarments, and she shuddered.

“The babe,” she panted, trying to get up from her chair. “It’s coming. Now.”

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