#otto hightower fan fic

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Fire on the Mountain - Chapter One: Prologue

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Canon typical death and mild angst. Word count: ~8.4k

Chapter summary: Lia suffers bitter disappointment at the king's tourney, and finds herself uncertain of her future in the wake of an unexpected shift in dynamic.

Author's note: Header by @vampire-exgirlfriend who also beta read this for me - this story would be nothing without you. Thank you for the care and attention you have put in both myself and my writing. I love you.

The wheels of the carriage squeaked and rattled over the bumpy roads of King’s Landing, accompanied by the thumping of the horses’ hooves that pulled them towards their destination. Lia shifted uncomfortably, repositioning against the plush cushions that she sat upon. It was not the instability of their short journey towards the Dragonpit that irked her, however.

Click. Click. Click.

She cast her gaze down towards Alicent’s fingers, the sound of her nails moving against her skin was audible even over the din of the wheelhouse. The flesh was red, raw and bloodied, and Lia had to force herself to suppress the way her lips attempted to curl in disgust, instead leaning forward to place her own hand over top of Alicent’s, squeezing gently, a comforting gesture that halted her friend’s nervous habit.

Alicent smiled softly at her, but Lia could tell from the way she lowered her eyes that she was embarrassed at having been caught outwardly expressing her anxiety. Lia could not help but pity her, she had plenty to feel worried about herself, but had never allowed it to manifest itself in such an unseemly manner.  House Costayne was sworn to the Hightowers, and so it was no question that Lia, youngest daughter of Lord Owen Costyane, would serve as a companion to Lady Alicent, the young daughter of the Hand of the King. Whisked away from the Whispering Sound at the age of six, the two years in Oldtown had been extraordinary—the largest port in the Reach, full of bustling excitement and things to see, all temptations to a precocious and formerly sheltered little girl. When King Viserys took the throne, Lord Otto called his daughter to the capital to be a companion to the young princess and of course, Lia joined as part of Alicent's household.

At the age of fourteen, she had spent more of her life away from her family than with them. They were leagues away, and the memory of the castle in which she was born was but a distant memory. The silver chalice and black rose that adorned the Costayne House sigil felt more tangible to her than the faces of either her mother or father.

She could not pretend that she had suffered in their absence though; she had had every luxury she could ever desire at her disposal, and though her family were far away, at least they still lived. Alicent had suffered through the loss of her mother, and had to keep her composure through all of it. The royal court was no place for the weeping and wailing of a young girl. Lia supposed that if she had been forced to endure that, then she would likely have taken to picking her nails bloody too.

The death of Alyrie Florent had brought Lia and Alicent closer together, and with it their shared bond with Princess Rhaenyra had blossomed too. Lia helped to bring Alicent out of her shell, allowing her an outlet for behaviours that were otherwise considered unseemly for a young lady at court; they gossiped, laughed loudly, and did so with the unspoken bond of secrecy that runs like an invisible thread through the fabric of friendship. Alicent had a calming influence on both Lia and Rhaenyra, serving as the voice of reason that helped to keep them out of trouble–most of the time. Oftentimes, it would take but a look from Alicent for both girls to know they had gone too far, a trait she had doubtless inherited from her father. It had taken just a simple widening of those big brown eyes to halt Lia and Rhaenyra’s ascent up through the branches of the Heart Tree in the Godswood; a foolish attempt to gain a vantage point in order to spy through the higher windows of the Red Keep, that would likely have resulted in broken limbs. Rhaenyra shared Alicent’s knowledge of propriety, though not her love of it, and the wild, adventurous side of her played well with Lia’s, her status as The Realm’s Delight allowing them a margin more leniency than most would be afforded. 

The three girls were inseparable, yet in the unwavering foundations of their bond, Lia had never felt more uncertain about her own future. Otto clearly had plans for Alicent, and Rhaenyra’s comfort was secured in her position as the King’s daughter, however, no such fate awaited Lia. She was every bit the spare part, aware of the fact that her destiny is one she will have to build on her own. As such, she delights in being Otto’s confidant, sharing news of the movements of Rhaenyra and Alicent in exchange for his favour. It had begun innocently enough, a fatherly figure taking an interest where the patriarch of her own family was unable to. She had taken pride in recounting her lessons to him, beaming up at him with girlish exuberance as he had listened carefully, amusement glittering in his eyes. It had never occurred to her that he had any ulterior motive, and so the unspoken vow of secrecy she afforded Alicent slipped in front of her father, allowing him to be privy to the gossip they indulged in and the adventures that they embarked upon with Rhaenyra within the walls of the Red Keep. As Lia had grown older, she had started to suspect that Otto’s questions served a deeper purpose than simple interest, however, it did not deter her; acting as a confidant to the King’s Hand would not be without its advantages. She hoped that when the time was right, the loyalty of both her and her family would not be forgotten.

The wheelhouse pulled to a shuddering stop just outside of the Dragonpit, and Lia moved to push the door open, stopping as they were plunged into sudden darkness. A forceful gust of air shook the carriage. They had arrived just in time for Rhaenyra’s return on Syrax. Lia and Alicent hovered apprehensively by the door, waiting until they heard their friend’s dragon thump heavily against the earth, before tentatively peeking out. Lia was brave enough to descend the small set of wooden steps to the ground below, while Alicent opted to remain in the safety of the wheelhouse, standing in its doorway.

She could not help but feel envious of Rhaenyra, watching as she slid gracefully from the back of her golden dragon, pulling her riding gloves off with her teeth, staring up at the great beast in admiration as it was coaxed back to the pit by the dragon keepers. Lia longed for the sense of adventure and freedom that the princess experienced high above the clouds of King’s Landing, the walls of the Red Keep felt as much a cage as they were an extravagance at times.

Though as Rhaenyra drew closer, the sulfurous stench of dragon radiating from her leathers, Lia wrinkled her nose in repulsion, deciding that if she were to experience freedom then she certainly had no desire for it to be atop the back of a dragon.

“Syrax is growing quickly,” Alicent commented, nodding towards the dragon’s retreating form. “She will soon be as large as Caraxes.”

“That’s almost large enough to saddle two,” Rhaenyra replied with a grin.

“I believe I am quite content as a spectator, thank you,” Alicent quipped, the gentle smile reserved only for Rhaenyra spreading across her mouth.

“And you?” Rhaenyra regarded Lia with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I prefer to keep both my feet firmly on the ground, I am afraid.”

Rhaenyra tutted. “Cowards, both of you,” she jested, stomping up the carriage steps.

The three of them huddled together on the same seat on the way back to the castle, talking excitedly about which knights they expected to be in attendance for the tourney being hosted by King Viserys in honour of the impending birth of Queen Aemma’s second child.

Their laughter carried through the Keep’s corridors as the three of them walked back towards Rhaenyra’s chambers, linked arm in arm, Rhaenyra sandwiched between Alicent and Lia.

While Alicent and Lia reclined comfortably on couches, nibbling on candied lemon slices, Rhaenyra went to change out of her riding gear. The two exchanged a surprised glance as she reappeared in a yellow gown, much too quickly to have bathed. Lia could not imagine being allowed to conduct herself at court smelling quite so pungent; it was a privilege only afforded to royalty. Her and Alicent had to always present themselves as clean and well groomed, a necessity that Lia did not mind at all. She was well aware of her own beauty, and took a level of care with her appearance that bordered upon outright vanity. She would never dream of being seen outside of her chambers without her long, dark curls having been meticulously brushed and styled. Whereas Rhaenyra, Lia often thought, could have been mistaken for one of the scullery maids were it not for the finery she dressed it. She was lucky she was pretty.

Rhaenyra swept into the Queen’s apartments, leaving her friends to stand awkwardly in the doorway, looking in on the queen and her ladies. They both greeted Aemma courteously, and she responded with a polite hello and a strained smile. 

A sense of unease crept over Lia’s flesh at the sight of Aemma, fanning herself as she lay on the settee by the open balcony windows. She looked more uncomfortable every time she saw her. It was not a state she wished for herself, though it was an inevitability. Such was the role of a woman, though Lia hoped her fate would be one more fortunate; she was all too aware of the fruitless pregnancies that Aemma had endured prior to this one.

“Take a bath, you stink of dragon,” Aemma gently scolded her daughter.

Lia bowed her head, concealing the way her lips curved upwards in amusement, suddenly pretending that the golden stitching of her ivory coloured gown was the most interesting thing in the world. She kept her blue eyes fixed upon the cuff of her sleeve, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the delicate golden rings upon the fingers of her left hand. At last, someone was saying it aloud. A statement only a queen could get away with saying to a princess.

Rhaenyra ignored her mother, settling beside her. “Did you sleep?”

“I slept.”

The princess huffed. “How long?”

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.”

“You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.” The queen’s voice was tired, though of the pregnancy or of this oft repeated conversation, Lia could not tell.

“I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

“We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”

Lia lost herself in her thoughts as Rhaenyra conversed with her mother, continuing to twist the rings upon her fingers and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, as her mind conjured scenarios she would prefer not to dwell upon. She wished for a secure position in life, but did not want to be confined to the birthing bed. She longed for power, to have authority, over herself, surely, and perhaps over others, yet did not share the princess’ desire to fight in battle. Her days of climbing trees and skinned knees were well behind her.

She was roused from her thoughts as Rhaenyra hurried past her.

“Where are you going?” Alicent called after her.

“I am late!” She replied over her shoulder, running in the direction of the Small Council chamber.

Lia propped herself up on her elbow, lying on her side as she watched Alicent carefully stitch delicate powder blue flowers into the fabric suspended within her embroidery hoop. Her own lay discarded beside her, she had given up when the thread had become knotted, in no mood to attempt to fix it.

“Alicent…” she began slowly, “do you ever think about why your father wanted to bring you to King’s Landing?”

Alicent kept her eyes upon her needlepoint, her tone matter of fact as she continued her work. “To instruct me in what is expected of a highborn lady.”

Lia huffed, leaning across and tugging Alicent’s sleeve to get her full attention. “Yes, but why?”

The other girl sighed, lowering her embroidery hoop into her lap and fixing Lia with an exasperated stare. “To give me the best possible opportunities in life, so that an appropriate match may be made for me.”

“And that is enough for you, is it? To simply be married off to a man who is not of your choosing?”

She lowered her gaze, her voice soft. “My mother did not choose my father, and yet they were very happy.”

“But is that what you want?”

“What is it that you are trying to get at?”

Lia hummed, flopping down onto her back against the plush rug that they sat upon in the solar, clasping her hands across her front as she stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “I am unsure of my own purpose, what it is that I want.”

Alicent nodded in understanding. “Well, there will be plenty of eligible knights at the upcoming tourney. Gwayne is going to be there,; he is competing in the jousting.”

She scoffed, recalling the gangly boy of ten, a mop of hair the colour of rust, that they had left behind in Oldtown all those years ago. “Ah, yes, how fares your older brother?” she asked, turning her head to the side to look at her friend.

“He is a knight now,” Alicent said proudly, “and quite handsome too.”

“Handsome?! How would you know?”

“He tells me so in his letters.”

The pair burst into peals of laughter, stopping abruptly as Otto stalked into the room, casting a disapproving glance at both of them. “Do the pair of you not have lessons to attend this afternoon?”

“We were waiting for Rhaenyra, so that we might all go together,” Alicent said apologetically, scrambling to her feet and smoothing the skirts of her dress down.

Lia rolled her eyes, knowing their fun was over, and rose to her feet too, running her fingers through her dark curls, rumpled from having laid upon the floor.

“Well, the Small Council has concluded its business for the day, and with it Rhaenyra’s duties as cupbearer, so run along. Do not keep your septa waiting.”

“Yes, Father,” Alicent said quietly, making her way out of the solar. The skirts of her pale blue gown swished behind her, the cascade of her auburn hair down back appearing as Autumnal leaves against a cloudless sky.

Lia readied to follow suit when Otto reached out, gently grasping her forearm and halting her movements. “I trust you are behaving yourselves?”

“Always,” she said with a saccharine smile, moving to pull away from him.

He tightened his grasp, and Lia lifted her eyes to meet The Hand’s, his gaze steely and unblinking, apparently unaffected by the mischief that glittered within her own. “The Princess is…spirited. Do not allow her to lead you or Alicent astray.”

She slipped away from him, pausing once in the corridor to look back over her shoulder at him. “You have raised a well mannered young woman, Ser Otto. She will heed your wishes, though I cannot say the same for myself.”

Lia did not know why, but she had always enjoyed testing how far she could push Otto Hightower. He seemed to have more patience for her misdeeds than that of Alicent’s, and there was a certain thrill to watching his features pinch into annoyance. Perhaps it was because she allowed him to be privy to the secrets of her and her two friends, and he did not wish to sever that connection with too harsh a scolding for misbehaviour. She still remembered when he had taken it upon himself to instruct her in the art of handwriting, claiming that hers looked as though “a spider had fallen into the inkwell and then scurried across the page.” She had taken her quill and flicked the end at him, watching as spots of black had splattered across his doublet. He had scowled, snatching up her wrist, but then she giggled. His grip on her had loosened and his expression had softened. If she did not know him better, she would have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Rhaenyra did not turn up for lessons, leaving Lia and Alicent to endure the presence of the stern Septa Marlow without her. Lia would not have minded, except for the fact that that day’s lesson was history, her least favourite subject. She endured a scolding for not remembering that Princess Nymeria departed Rhoyne for Dorne, and by the time the hour was over she felt tired and irritable.

Alicent had always been more studious than she was, her ability to focus surpassing Lia’s, who was far too easily distracted by the world around her. The comings and goings of the Red Keep’s staff was far more interesting to her than what was contained within any book. She preferred to focus on the whisperings found within darkened alcoves of the castle, than the monotonous drone of Septa Marlow.

“Come,” Alicent said, pulling a thick historical tome from the library shelf. “We shall study in the Godswood, the fresh air will help you to remember.” There was no heat in the subtly pointed look she directed at Lia, so she followed without complaint, merely returning a glare of her own.

They had been seated beneath the heart tree in the Godswood not five minutes when Rhaenyra arrived, quickly settling herself between them, as was her customary place within the confines of their group. She placed her head in Alicent’s lap, and her legs across Lia’s, letting out a sigh as she gazed up at the clear blue sky through the branches of the tree.

“You did not attend lessons today,” Alicent said to her, hefting the book onto the grass beside her.

“I did not,” Rhaenyra replied simply.

Lia spied the Valyrian steel and ruby necklace that now rested around Rhaenyra’s neck. It had not been there earlier. She leant over, lifting the pendant delicately between two fingers.

“A gift from your father?”

Rhaenyra furrowed her brow, as though she found the idea ridiculous. “A gift from Daemon.”

“He’s back then?” Lia’s interest is piqued. Daemon had never paid her much attention. As a ward of House Hightower, she was of no consequence to him. However, he was endlessly fascinating to her; his volatility and reckless behaviour served an endless supply of gossip.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, “to take up his position as Lord Commander of the City Watch, and compete in the tourney.”

“And give you gifts,” Lia teased with a smirk, letting the pendant drop softly back against Rhaenyra’s clavicle before settling back against her palms upon the grass.

A look of worry flickered across Rhaenyra’s face, her mouth turning downwards as her gaze grew distant. She studied her fingers for a moment, then asked “So what did I miss today?”

“History,” Lia said bitterly, “Princess Nymeria’s escape from Rhoyne.”

“Have you read it?” Alicent asked her.

“Of course I have read it,” Rhaenyra said, “there was no need for me to be there.”

“Then when Princess Nymeria arrived in Dorne, who did she take to husband?” Alicent silenced Lia as she opened her mouth to answer. “Not you, you actually turned up today,” 

Rhaenyra groused, shrugging her shoulders as she continued to lay across their laps. “A man.”

Alicent scowled, her tone clipped with annoyance. “And what was his name?”

“Lord something,” Rhaenyra replied petulantly.

“Gods, if only you had been there today,” Lia giggled, “you would have made me look good. Septa Marlow was furious.”

Rhaenyra smirked, playing with the rings upon her fingers. “She is funny when she is furious.”

“You are always like this when you are worried,” Alicent commented softly.

“Like what?” snapped Rhaenyra.

Alicent did not hedge her words, the only one to speak to their princess in this way. “Disagreeable. You are worried your father is about to overshadow you with a son.”

“I only worry for my mother. I hope for my father that he gets a son. As long as I can recall, it is all he has wanted.”

“You want him to have a son?” Lia asked.

“I want to fly with you both on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake.”

Lia snorted as Alicent clicked her tongue. Lia did not mind the idea of seeing the great wonders, or existing solely on cake, however, the notion of taking flight on Syrax made the prospect seem far less exciting.

“We are trying to be serious,” Alicent protested, glancing warily at Lia, “well, at least I am.”

“I never jest about cake,” Rhaenyra said with a smirk.

“You are not worried about your position?” Lia asked, her curiosity piqued, masking the envy she felt that Rhaenyra possessed a position that could be threatened in the first place.

“I like this position,” she told Lia, wiggling her feet in her lap, making her laugh aloud, “it is quite comfortable.”

“Rhaenyra! Lia! It is impossible to have a serious conversation with either of you!”

The princess groaned, moving out of their laps and sitting cross legged in front of them. “Princess Nymeria led her Rhoynar across the Narrow Sea on ten thousand ships to flee their Valyrian pursuers. She took Lord Mors Martell of Dorne to husband and burned her own fleet off Sunspear to show her people that they were finished running.”

Lia raised her eyebrows, impressed by her knowledge, glancing over at Alicent to gauge her reaction. Before Alicent could respond, Rhaenyra leaned across and tore the page free from the book, letting it flutter into Alicent’s lap.

“So you remember.”

Alicent chewed her lip nervously. “If Septa Marlow sees this book–”

“Fuck the septa!” Rhaenyra interrupted.

Not for the first time, Lia felt envy burn acrid in her chest. Only a princess could get away with defacing a book from the Crown library and not have to suffer the consequences. She wondered if Rhaenyra had any awareness of the power she yielded over both her and Alicent. And if she was aware, would she even care?

Lia meandered through the halls, slippered feet quiet on the stone floor as she made her way to the library the next da She looked up, her attention stolen by Otto walking in the direction of the Small Council chambers. Changing course, she fell into step beside him, taking in the way his features were furrowed into annoyance. There could be only one explanation for it.

“So, you have heard that Prince Daemon has returned to the Capital?” she asked with a wry smile.

Otto paused, eyeing her carefully before ushering her into a nearby alcove. “What do you know?”

Lia shrugged. “Little and less. He gifted Rhaenyra a necklace, Valyrian steel.”

“An empty gesture,” he remarked bitterly, an exasperated sigh escaping him as he adjusted the collar of his forest green doublet. He cast a cursory glance over his shoulder to ensure they were not being watched, before fixing her with a heated stare.

“Oh, I am not so sure, you would be surprised at what people are willing to share if one is generous.” She reached up, tapping the bronzed hand that was pinned to his breast, as if to punctuate her point.

Otto’s much larger hand clutched hers, enveloping it, though it did not pull hers away. Her eyes shifted to where their hands now rested upon his chest, the gesture stirring something within her that she could not quite identify, filling her with both warmth and unease.

“I know a girl as clever as you cannot be swayed by trinkets,” he said softly, the low timbre of his voice vibrating through their connected hands.

Lia swallowed thickly, slowly pulling her hand back and letting it drop to her side, though still able to feel the place where his palm had rested. She felt an overwhelming need to push back against whatever had transpired, and so doubled her efforts to be cheeky. “If you are not feeling generous, perhaps Prince Daemon may have additional trinkets to spare.”

Otto straightened, his expression turning stony.

There it was, the annoyance that she felt much more at home with.

“You should not covet the actions of that brute of a man. Keep away from him.” He glared down at her, a silent warning before leaving her alone in the alcove, as he continued on his way.

Lia smiled to herself. Provoking Otto suddenly seemed much more appealing to her. If she could capture the interest of Daemon, then perhaps the Hand of the King would be more forthcoming in furthering her position at court, and making clear his plans for her.

“My dearest Lia, 

It is with deep regret that I must inform you that your mother and I will be unable to attend the King’s tourney. Your mother is suffering a fever and we did not wish to risk the journey to King’s Landing when our efforts must be spent upon ensuring her recovery. Your mother has requested that your brothers stay here at the Whispering Sound, as she fears her worry over them both competing will worsen her condition.

We have passed along our apologies to the Lord Hand, however, please send him my regards. I hope that life in the capital is treating you well and that you are behaving as befits the royal company that you keep.

Warmest wishes,

Your loving father, Lord Owen Costayne”

Lia gripped the parchment tightly between her fingers, having lost count of the number of times she had read it since it was brought to her by the maester two days prior. She lost herself in the words, the din of hoofbeats and roar of spectators fading to nothing as her eyes flitted between the letter and the lists, as though if she concentrated hard enough she could will her brothers into attendance.

Rhaenyra sat beside her, equally morose, her brow pinched in worry. Shortly after the tourney began, King Viserys had announced to all in attendance that Queen Aemma had begun her labours. It was obvious that Rhaenyra would rather be at her mother’s side than watching this display. However, it had not been allowed.

Sitting on the other side of Rhaenyra, Alicent had picked her nails bloody once more. A combination of worry for both the Queen and her older brother, Gwayne, who would be competing in the tourney.

Lia crumpled the parchment between her fingers, stowing it up her sleeve as she leaned forward, looking out across their elevated position on the stands, eager for a distraction.

“Who is that?” she asked, nodding towards a young man she did not recognise.

“The Tarly squire?” Rhaenyra responded, clearly as keen to focus on something else as she was.

“Mmhmm,” Lia affirmed, glancing back at her.

“Lord Massey’s son, I think. He is promised to Elinor Stokeworth, they are to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.”

“Best get on with it,” Alicent chimed in, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.”

Lia and Rhaenyra gasped, the three of them quickly falling into fits of giggles, though she was pulled out of her mirth when she felt a firm hand upon her shoulder. Looking back, she saw Otto seated directly behind her. He leaned in close enough that both his breath and his beard tickled softly at the shell of her ear as he spoke quietly, isolating her from the huddle of her two friends.

“I thought you might offer your favour to Gwayne.”

She pulled back, regarding him impassively, before speaking much louder than he had to her. “Actually, I intend to offer my favour to Prince Daemon,” she said with an amused smirk, “I have not yet had the pleasure to welcome him back to the capital.”

Otto’s nostrils flared in obvious annoyance, his gaze unblinking as he exhaled heavily, sitting back against his seat beside the King, though his focus remained upon her. His eyes raked carefully over the delicate manner in which she had pinned up her ringlets, revealing the slender slope of her neck. Lia suppressed a laugh as she turned back towards Rhaenyra and Alicent, pleased with her efforts, and the three of them continued to share gossip about those participating in the lists.

She eyed the knights carefully, wondering to herself if any of them would be a suitable match for her. There was no denying that Daemon cut every bit the imposing and extravagant figure, the plume of his dragon shaped helmet blood red and striking against the grey of the stone walls. It was a pity he was already wed, albeit unhappily, to Lady Rhea Royce. Daemon’s presence within King’s Landing had always been so sporadic, coupled with Lia’s being too young to appreciate what a handsome man he was, that she supposed he was never destined to be a suitor for her anyway. A pity, but it would not stop her from expressing interest, if only to incite the look of irritation on Otto’s face that she had grown to enjoy so much.

So engrossed in what was going on, she did not notice when King Viserys slipped away from his seat. Daemon rode towards the stands, a cocky grin upon his face as her, Rhaenyra and Alicent rushed to the railing to greet him.

“Lady Lia,” he drawled with a courteous nod, “a fine young woman you are growing into.”

She felt her skin flush at the compliment, glad of the fact she had opted to wear her house colours for the occasion; she knew that the gold and black of the gown complimented her complexion. It was an effort to resist the urge to both giggle and look behind her for Otto’s reaction.

“You flatter me, my prince,” she responded sweetly, “I wish you luck, though I am not sure you will need it.”

“I am confident that I can best my opponent, but I would ask for the favour of the Lady Alicent Hightower to ensure my victory.”

Lia’s face fell, her heart sinking in disappointment. She watched Alicent move sheepishly back towards their seats, meeting her father’s eye as she took the intricately woven band of flowers and ribbon. She knew from Otto’s sour expression that it was merely a ploy from Daemon to further upset the King’s Hand, having already beaten his son spectacularly in the lists. However, the rejection stung all the same. She wanted it to be her favour that Daemon had asked for.

As she took her seat again, she grasped her own hoop of feathers and twine, half turning to toss it haphazardly into Otto’s lap. “Here, you might as well have it,” she muttered sullenly, “I have no one else to give it to.”

Misery clung to Lia like a black shroud as she leaned back in her seat, visibly sulking and crossing her arms, as she watched the tourney, but did not really see it. She had hoped that the day would prosper a potential match for her, though, with Alicent’s favour already given away, Rhaenyra was her only rival. There was no way she could compete with a princess.

Her lips twitched with smug satisfaction when the mystery knight with the red and black spotted shield bested Daemon; a small retribution in Lia’s eyes for having snubbed her favour for Alicent’s. She did not bother to join her friends when they rushed back to the railing, both eager to greet the man who managed to unhorse The Rogue Prince, not even swayed by Alicent’s gasp of “he’s Dornish.” What was the point? She saw the way his dark eyes glittered with interest, but it was not interest directed at her; no, they glittered only for Rhaenyra. 

Lia knew that she could be the most comely of maidens in all of the Seven Kingdoms and it would do little to sway a suitor when presented with a Targaryen Princess. She could not help the jealousy that swirled like a maelstrom inside of her as she watched Rhaenyra throw her favour down towards him.

The smile that graced the princess’ fair features as she returned to her seat only faltered as Otto touched her delicately on the shoulder, the colour draining from her face as he whispered to her. As the news spread throughout the royal box, Lia’s eyes remained fixated upon the floor of the stands where her favour now lay, trampled under foot as people rushed back towards the Red Keep. It was crushed, and with it her hopes for the day.

Queen Aemma was dead.

The wind whipped Lia’s dark curls around her face as she stood upon the clifftop, the bite of the icy sea breeze nipping at her cheeks. The wrapped bodies of both Aemma and her short lived son, Baelon, laid prone upon the pyre that stood before the modest crowd gathered for the funeral. Syrax looked over them from her perch, awaiting Rhaenyra’s command, her neck undulating with discomfort under the feeling of her rider’s grief.

She could not imagine a more brutal death; cut open like livestock in the birthing bed, and for naught. The babe that had been tugged from the Queen’s womb had lived but for a few hours after her passing. Her heart ached for Rhaenyra, who choked on the command of “drakarys!”, the word faltering with unshed tears as she ordered her dragon to engulf her deceased mother and brother in flames.

Lia knew she felt pity for Rhaenyra, but was she truly sad that Aemma was dead? She did not know. She knew it was proper to express condolences, but she did not think she was experiencing grief. Would she feel sadness at her own mother’s passing? She was as much an acquaintance to her as the Queen had been, considering how many years had passed since she had last seen home. It was a disquieting thought, and one she was eager to push from her mind.

She desperately wished she had a hand to hold, to squeeze for comfort, and could not help but notice the way that Alicent gripped her father’s with such intensity that her knuckles were white. Stood to the other side of him, Otto had ensured that Lia’s arm linked through his, a gesture which she found oddly mature in comparison to the childlike manner in which Alicent’s fingers entwined with his. Perhaps it is just because she is not family, she pondered, though memories of the intimacy with which he had held her hand to his chest just a few days prior linger at the back of her mind. She was being treated as though she was a lady, when she had never craved more to be comforted as though she was a little girl.

A cavernous void opened between Lia, Alicent, and Rhaenyra in the weeks that followed, filled only by loss. Lia spent much of her time alone, not knowing how to comfort Rhaenyra in her grief, for it had made her angry. Her tone was curt whenever Lia attempted to engage her in conversation and she had withdrawn so far into herself that she did not know how to coax her back out. Deep down she knew that her friend was justified in her bitterness towards her father, for he had killed her mother in his desperate attempt for an heir, an heir that barely lived long enough to draw his first breath.

Lia wondered what her own expression of such grief would look like, had the circumstances befallen her.

Otto had become more protective of Alicent. He sought Lia’s company less often, instead looming over his only daughter like a shadow, summoning her to his quarters to speak to her of things that Alicent would not allow Lia to be privy to. In all of her years in King’s Landing, despite missing her family, she had never felt lonely. Now it was a feeling that overwhelmed her with such potency that she had picked up a quill more than a dozen times, hurriedly scrawling a plea to her father to allow her to return home. Each time she had thought better of it and tossed the balled up parchment into the fireplace. She had yet to find her purpose within King’s Landing, but she knew in her heart that her fate was not to run away like a mewling child, simply because her friends were preoccupied.

Deciding she could bear her own company no longer, Lia emerged from her quarters, seeking the comfort of a familiar face. She found it in Alicent, but as she was about to call out to her, she faltered, thinking better of it. There was something strange about the way her friend carried herself, her gaze downcast, trepidation in her step. Lia slipped into an alcove, peering out discreetly from behind the wall. Alicent was not dressed as she usually was, the royal blue gown she now wore was much too grown up. She narrowed her eyes as she studied the fabric. It was a dress that had belonged to Alyrie.

Curious to see why Alicent had suddenly taken to wearing her late mother’s clothes, Lia quietly followed behind her, mindful to keep her steps light and maintain her distance, so as not to get caught. She froze as she saw Alicent slip through the door of the king’s apartments, a feeling of dread forming a pit in her stomach. Rhaenyra had not spoken to her father properly since the passing of the queen, so what possible reason could Alicent have for keeping such close company with him?

It was with this question in mind that she stormed into Otto’s quarters the next day, a seething and lingering anger bolstering her. She did not knock, though her intrusion was met with only the slightest raise of an eyebrow by the king’s Hand as he looked up from his writing desk.

“Lia, to what do I owe the interruption?” he asked, his tone friendlier than she had been anticipating, causing her courage to waiver as her outrage quelled slightly.

She opened her mouth to speak, stammering over her words as she struggled to get them out. Why on earth was he not annoyed by her just bursting in? She had been prepared to be met with resistance, and it completely unraveled what she had planned to say. Closing her eyes and exhaling heavily, she shook her head as if to clear her mind and tried again.

“Alicent has been visiting the king.”

Otto pursed his lips, carefully placing his quill back into the ink pot, before he leaned back against his chair. “She has,” he said matter of factly, “the king is alone in his grief. Alicent has been of great comfort to him.”

Lia blinked rapidly, a wave of nausea churning her stomach, as she realised that this was not only information that the king’s Hand was already privy to, and he did not have an issue with it, but he was also the one that has arranged these visits in the first place. She narrowed her eyes as her shock and disgust turned to sudden anger, simmering hot beneath the surface of her skin.

“So it would not be an issue were I to offer him comfort also?” Lia asked, her jaw jutting out defiantly.

Finally, a flicker of annoyance passed across Otto’s face, his brow furrowing as he clasped his hands upon the desk. “You shall do no such thing. And you will speak of Alicent’s visits to no one.”

“Or what?”

“Or,” he began, rising from his seat, suddenly towering over her, “the pleas to return to the Whispering Sound that you crumple into the fireplace may just find their way to your father.”

Her blood ran icy cold as, simultaneously, her cheeks blazed with heat. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her. Tears of humiliation pricked her eyes. He knew. Of course he knew; the Hand had spies everywhere, she had acted as one herself on many occasions.

Otto’s expression softened as he took in her look of upset, and he sat heavily back in his seat with a sigh. “There is no need for tears, you—”

“Why am I even here? You may as well return me home,” she interrupted, her voice thick with emotion.

His features remained gentle and impassive as he regarded her silently for a moment. He then reached into a drawer of his writing desk, pulling out her favour and holding it out for her to take. Each feather and intricate loop of twine was undamaged, in seemingly pristine condition. She examined it in wide eyed wonder as she accepted it from him. It was as good as the day she had made it, no longer crushed as it had been when she had last laid her eyes upon it.

“How? Why?” She whispered, disbelief and confusion causing her brow to furrow.

“You may have need of it yet. Your time here is far from over. Now run along, I have important matters to attend to.”

She wanted to protest, to press him for further answers, but instead the authority in his tone had her obediently turning and leaving with more questions than she had initially arrived with.

The late afternoon sunshine beat down upon Lia as she sat on a stone bench in the gardens, the soft rays warming her skin, casting the last of its amber brilliance in the hours before dusk. She held her favour delicately, fearful that too tight a touch might cause it to break apart again, as she studied it for imperfections, wondering how it could have been so expertly mended, and why.

“I would have thought you would have given that away at the tourney.”

Lia startled slightly, lifting her head at the sudden sound of Rhaenyra’s voice. A playful smile graced the princess’ lips as Lia watched as she came to sit beside her. Rhaenyra reached out a delicate finger to stroke across one of the favour’s feathers.

Lia returned her smile, though it did not meet her eyes. “I found no one I liked enough to give it to.” It was a half truth, but admitting that Otto had it repaired and returned to her would have raised questions that she is unable to answer.

Rhaenyra hummed in acknowledgement, before facing forwards, her eyes fixed upon the row of rose bushes planted into the flower beds in front of them. The two girls sat in uncomfortable silence, until Lia could bear it no longer.

“I am sorry I have not been there for you, it is not an easy thing to lose your mother,” she said softly, glancing sideways at Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra shook her head, turning to face Lia, gripping her hand in one of hers. “It is me that should be sorry. I have not made it easy for you, for anyone, to comfort me. I was just so, so…”

“...angry?” Lia offered, intertwining their fingers. The warmth was soothing, and she had not realised until this moment just how dearly she had missed her.

“Hmmm. Did you know that Father sent Daemon away?”

Lia’s eyes widened, though it was no surprise that Daemon, prone to coming and going as he pleased, was no longer in the capital. Tt was a shock to her, however, that this time his absence was at the command of his own brother. “What for?”

Rhaenyra swallowed thickly, averting her gaze. “My father would not say, but I have heard whispers. He made a jest about my brother to a crowd in a pleasure house, apparently.”

“And your father banished him?”

“I am sure there is more to it than that, especially considering that Daemon has been removed as my father’s heir.”

Lia raised her eyebrows, her lips parting slightly as she struggled to take in the information. It appeared she had missed an awful lot in the weeks that she and Rhaenyra had not spoken. “So, who will be his heir now?”

“He has asked me to be.” Rhaenyra appeared less sure of herself than usual as she said this, her voice quiet and uncertain, as though she felt simultaneously crushed by the weight of the responsibility, but also terrified it would be taken away from her again.

Lia smiled at that, a gesture of both gentle comfort and genuine happiness, though she could not help the pang of envy she felt at both her friends having secured their futures. Alicent’s own advancement under the watchful eye of Otto, and now Rhaenyra’s succession to the Iron Throne.

“You will make a fine queen.”

Rhaenyra gave Lia’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “So, where is Alicent?”

‘With your father, most likely.��

Lia knew she should not say; it would have devastating consequences for their friendship, and Otto would be furious. Yet she could not help the pang of guilt she felt at withholding such information from Rhaenyra.

“I am unsure. Does she not know yet?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I had hoped to find the two of you together. I will need you both to help ready me for my proclamation. I feel too nervous to allow my lady’s maids to do it.” She paused, her fingers tightening once more, twisting their hands together further. “Lia, I need you, I need my friends.”

Lia’s heart ached for her, and she leaned in, resting her forehead softly against Rhaenyra’s in silent assent. The two girls remained like that, the void between them bridged by a desperate need to cling to the other for support.

Lia stood on a wooden step stool to the side of Rhaenyra, the tips of her fingers sore from the sheer number of pins she had had to press into the princess’ intricately braided hair, simply to keep her headdress in place. She pulled back to admire her work, a small smile pulling at her mouth. The intricate gold and black halo was positioned perfectly upon Rhaenyra’s head. Satisfied, she stepped down to move towards the bureau to fetch the jewelry.

Alicent stood behind her, helping to drape the heavy black cloak around Rhaenyra’s shoulders, beaded gold and red dragons adorning the lapels. It was not until Lia moved back towards them that she noticed Rhaenyra’s sombre expression in the looking glass.

She stood rooted in place, running her fingers over the smooth gold of the earrings, not quite knowing what to do.

‘We could run away from all of this.’

‘Let us cross the narrow sea on dragonback and eat only cake.’

It appeared that Alicent had also noticed Rhaenyra’s sadness, as her hands had stilled upon her shoulders, her gaze soft and sympathetic as it met the rincess’ in the reflective surface.

Wordlessly, Rhaenyra tugged Lia towards her and the three girls embraced, as much a gesture of comfort for them as it was for her. A silent reassurance of ‘I am okay. I must do this.’

Lia clung tighter, part of her wanting to reassure her friend, another simply wanting to smother the voice in her mind that raged in jealousy over the fact that Rhaenyra would one day rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet somehow had the audacity to feel sad about it.

As Lia entered her own chambers to ready herself for the ceremony, her eye was immediately drawn to the emerald green fabric that lay across her bedspread. As she drew nearer, she saw that it was a gown, long sleeved with a plunging neckline, and intricate golden thread in the seams. She ran her fingers over the material. The brocade felt expensive to the touch, far grander than anything she had worn before. There was a note sealed with wax resting atop it.

“A trinket, and a gesture of generosity - O.H”

Lia did not need to peer into a looking glass to know her cheeks had turned scarlet. A gift from Otto, and with the timing of when it was delivered to her, she knew he would be expecting her to wear it to the proclamation. 

She felt far too grown up, the dress accentuating dips and curves upon her body she was unaware she even had until she had put it on. Yet another step away from girlhood, but towards what she had no idea.

Lia had never felt self conscious before, but she was certain that, as she walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, she shone like a beacon, a lurid invitation for all that she passed to stare at her. She longed to run back to her quarters, to tear off the dress and change into something more unassuming, but knew that a refusal of such an extravagant gift from Otto was a line that even she dared not cross.

As the lords of the Seven Kingdoms gathered in the Great Hall of the Red Keep to swear fealty to Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne, she looked every bit the future queen in her Targaryen finery, and it was not until Lia saw this that she understood the significance of Otto’s gift.

Her friends were ascending towards womanhood, and she must too.

Lia watched on, with Otto stood between her and Alicent. She wanted to feel pride for her friend.However, it was hopelessness and uncertainty over her own future that held her firmly in their grasp. She stood in the presence of two future monarchs, but what was to become of her? 

“You look lovely,” Otto leaned down to murmur in her ear, his breath ghosting across her neck.

And as she felt the warmth and weight of his hand come to rest upon the small of her back, it seemed as though the walls of the castle closed in around her as tightly as the bodice of her gown.

Series masterlist | Next chapter >>

[just-some-random-blogger]

Of course, I missed the post when it first appeared, but...

In reference to the "tormented spirit" and the survey:

I think it’s too early for the heroine to become pregnant. For now, Daemon is using her as a tool to spite Otto and only occasionally recognizes her humanity. There have already been so many stories where "the child" awakened good feelings in the character and made them appreciate their spouse. Here, we have a rather unique heroine—frail in health but strong in spirit. It would be quite fitting for Daemon to first appreciate her as a person.

Appreciate her perseverance, wisdom, and strength. A child always shifts the dynamic in a relationship, as the focus moves toward the family as a whole, as a team. But in truth, the characters haven’t yet had the chance to truly get to know each other or intrigue one another as individuals.

For me personally, that is far more intriguing . And just to add a touch of tragedy, the theme of a miscarriage due to the heroine’s frail health seems to fit later on, along with Daemon’s "save my wife first" moment. This approach looks compelling to me.

But that’s just an idea. Wishing you all the best with your writing and in life :-) And heartfelt thanks for your work so far. I am a huge fan of bodyguard!Gwayne Hightower x Lannister!Reader

omg youre just in time. im literally just gonna reply to u before posting p6. honestly, your ask made me realize yall most probably have absolutely no idea where im taking this fic 😬 the angst i have planned is far too unfathomable. dont mind me as i go off, i absolutely love having discourse about my writing

I think it’s too early for the heroine to become pregnant.

💯 ngl i was a bit ??? surprised ppl want her pregnant ?? HELLO? HAHHAH

For now, Daemon is using her as a tool to spite Otto and only occasionally recognizes her humanity.

youre so me. you get me 🤝

There have already been so many stories where "the child" awakened good feelings in the character and made them appreciate their spouse.

😶 spoiler? thats not at all where i intend to take this fic at all. having a child does not magically fix a marriage if it was already doomed to begin with

Here, we have a rather unique heroine—frail in health but strong in spirit. It would be quite fitting for Daemon to first appreciate her as a person. Appreciate her perseverance, wisdom, and strength. A child always shifts the dynamic in a relationship, as the focus moves toward the family as a whole, as a team. But in truth, the characters haven’t yet had the chance to truly get to know each other or intrigue one another as individuals.

‼ this is it. all roads lead to rome. their road will not be a child though. you get me. you get me with wanting them to actually have a relationship first before having babies 😫 dont worry, a lot of character building happens in p6 <3 you'll either love it or hate it

For me personally, that is far more intriguing . And just to add a touch of tragedy, the theme of a miscarriage due to the heroine’s frail health seems to fit later on, along with Daemon’s "save my wife first" moment. This approach looks compelling to me.

HAHAH you like me fr. i know i just said yall have absolutely no idea where this is going, but youre pretty spot on with this. i dont want to give too much away though by saying what i think daemon would do if such a tragedy ever occured but yah the angst is compelllinngggg

But that’s just an idea.

i love your ideas <3

Wishing you all the best with your writing and in life :-)

thank you. i wish you the best everyday<3

And heartfelt thanks for your work so far.

🥺 im honored to know you like my writing

I am a huge fan of bodyguard!Gwayne Hightower x Lannister!Reader

GWAYNISM! we love to see it. thank you my love <3 i hope you enjoy my update once it drops.

[nrilliree]

The desire to read a fic in which Otto crispin and Alicent all get what they deserve early on. Like if I were Rhaenyra I would have shoved Alicent down a flight of stairs just for visiting my vulnerable grieving father ( king v was no angle and what he did to aemma was horrible and he is totally to blame for it don't get me wrong, but he was still vulnerable after her death)

Since team green love to laugh about the line in which Alicent says that she hopes Rhaenyra dies in childbirth I would love if Alicent also died in childbirth and Aegon is raised by literally anyone else but the hightowers. Oh and Otto should have ben fed to daemon's dragon

There's a fanfic I read somewhere on Ao3. During Driftmark, Aegon decides to answer honestly that it is Alicent who is questioning the birth of Rhaenyra's children. From word to word it turns out that she and Otto are planning to usurp the throne. Otto is convicted of high treason. Alicent is punished, but Viserys, for the sake of their marriage, does not sentence her to death, but to penance and imprisonment. Criston goes berserk when he hears this and is convicted of trying to murder the king. Aegon is sent to Dragonstone, where he serves as Rhaenyra's cupbearer, to show that their family can act as a united unit (and to spite Alicent). This was actually a fic where Aegon was enjoying his life.

Unfortunately, I don't remember whether it was in English or German. (Definitely not in Polish, because we have almost no fan fiction, lol)

[dietcoffee]

(I’m asking bc I’m writing an Alicent x OC fic where OC is Daemon and Rhea Royce’s son and Otto ends up backing him up and does so by persuading Viserys to wed the OC to Alicent, but I got a few comments on Wattpad that says this premise doesn’t make sense. I’m not going to change my story but now I’m just curious to see everyone’s opinion on the concept.)

[deny-the-issue]

It makes me so happy seeing new notes for my Otto Hightower fic

We’re getting such fan service this season with angry Otto, I’m happy I’m not the only one falling back down the rabbit hole 😂❤️

[daylander1000]

What's your take on Helaemond? I don't ship. I much prefer your fic with Rhaena and Aemond.

Honest opinion, I don't see it but I'm not anti? Like, I get how other people can come up with it because this is the "incest and dragons" show. I see a lot of people calling the shippers insane, but in terms of plausibility, it's not Lucemond level crack so 🤷🏾‍♀️ and the shippers are mostly quiet ime.

I personally like the idea that Alicent, Otto, the Hightower fam, and Criston are normal anti-incest people who raised the children to be mostly normal. I don't see any of the High kids being seriously into their Targ heritage/ incest culture and I don't see Helaena being "in love" with either of her brothers, much less in a triangle with both. I tried a few fics tho, and some of them were genuinely super smutty. Like, there are some people on team helaegon and helaemond who really sat down and cooked in a way I could never. 😅 Some people are like, "Incest is only the beginning," and I admire their shamelessness tbh.

There's not much story for Helaena fans to work with. They gotta do what they gotta do, I guess.

I see people complaining about them a lot, especially on reddit, but I don't get the hate. Like, 'ship and let ship' is my motto, generally speaking.

[candylungs]

Okay, I have dwindled my personal projects down to nothing lately and keep coming back to this blog wanting to write more here now that I’ve got more time. So! I’m completely open to taking requests!!!

I would prefer dark fics, whether they include romance or are pure horror. I’m also a fan of straight up smut or dark smut. Yandere is completely acceptable. Bittersweet or complete angst is great as well.

You can try for fluff but I’m not a huge fan unless it’s kind of fucked up, sorry!

I’d like to keep the fandoms small but right now I’d love to write for you if it includes:

Killers from Dead By Daylight (Setting can be within the game/out of the game)

Anyone from House of the Dragon especially if they’re a horrible fuck (Not just the main dragon family, even Otto Hightower is someone I would love to dig into--when I say any horrible fuck, I truly mean it!)

Batman or Riddler from the new Batman movie.

Any other fandom you’re wondering about, feel free to ask, but I make no guarantees outside of this list.

Before you request just keep in mind:

1.  I will not do modern/real world AUs for HotD. I like the current setting!

2. You can be as specific or vague as you want. Please just make sure you’re including Fandom, Character, and if you have any specifications for reader.

3. Piggy-backing off the previous, please make sure you specify if you want romance, angst, or smut. If you don’t give any indication, I’ll choose!

4. That’s it! Thank you <3

[crazyfoxfur16]

House of the Dragon Mood Boards #47

Ser Otto Hightower

“The Lord Hand” & “The Hand of the King”

Wielder of the sword “Green Flame” and dagger “Order”

Is the Hand of the King of Aegon II & Viserys I

Author’s Note: This is Otto in. my Fan-fic. Please enjoy and feel free to ask any questions. Love y’all ;)

[fromtheboundlesssea]

Have you noticed you're a lot more critical of female than male characters? What we've seen of W&B so far shows how things will go for Rhaenyra, while you make Tywin relatable and lovable in some of your fics and you're giving Joffrey a redemption arc.

FDH:

Petyr Baelish is going to die screaming. Jon Connigton is not a good person. Tyrion Lannister is not a good guy. Jorah Mormont is not a good person. I killed Sandor. Euron is absolute trash and you need to keep an eye out for him.

D is going to have a very nuanced POV but it naturally goes up against the other main characters of the fic because Jaime murdered her father.

Cersei is going through a character arc as well. You’re starting to see it even if it isn’t obvious.

NKAA:

Tywin is not the best character and his fate is for him to basically be forgotten by history because his oldest children hate him for the pain he put their mother through. No one will remember him to be anything other than the footnote for the history of his children.

Aerys is going to not come out looking great and Rhaegar sure as heck won’t either. He’s going to look like absolute sexist trash. Jaehaerys is also trash for forcing a betrothal that his daughter is practically begging him to end.

There are plenty of male characters who are not treated well and are treated with a very critical gaze. And I have plenty of female characters that get nuance. In ITS Rhaegar abducts a 13 year old girl and forces her to marry him with threat of marital rape in the near future after traumatizing her to the point that she can’t write anymore and won’t even speak.

W&B:

Rhaenyra is a child right now who hasn’t figured out she needs to play the game. The snippets I have shown so far are from the perspective of a character who is predisposed to dislike her because her brother was mutilated and partially disabled and her father very obviously favors above his wife/the character’s mother.

Rhaenyra is going to be a major player. She is going to go through arcs upon arcs of character growth. Laena is not going to come out of W&B smelling like roses.

Corlys definitely won’t. Otto Hightower is the actual worst and Viserys is a weak man who murdered his wife. Daemon is getting nowhere near the amount of character growth that Tywin will get. These four men are basically the main villains of the fic. They are not good people.

A fifteen year old reacting badly to her best friend marrying her uncle/crush while still feeling with the devastating loss of her mother is not her entire personality. She’s going to grow.

I write plenty of men who are absolute trash who don’t even get within a league of finding any redemption. Just because I am critical of a fan favorite in a fic doesn’t mean she won’t have nuance.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

To Walk the Old Path

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Lia Costayne (OFC) Warnings: Slightly smutty. Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: Otto is displeased with Lia's choice of attire for Helaena and Aegon's wedding, but she always gets her own way. Part of the Fire on the Mountain universe, but could be read as a standalone (this is a significant jump into the future from chapter one and likely won't feature in the series itself)

Author's note: Day ten of Smuffmas - dressing up and dry humping. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Lia sat at her vanity table, the rings on her fingers catching the light as she moved them across the soft fabric of the bell sleeve of her gown. She had had it specially made in the colours of House Costayne; the golden satin had been meticulously embroidered with black roses, and its neckline plunged just enough to emphasise the subtle curve of her breast without the risk of being considered unseemly. It made her feel beautiful, the way it clung tight to her waist and then widened again at her hips, giving volume to her skirts. It was an unashamed display of her femininity, an affirmation that she was now a woman – a powerful woman.

“The First to Rise,” she uttered her house words quietly to herself, as she adjusted the silver chalice brooch that fastened her bodice at the front.

“Are you certain you wish to wear it down, my lady?” Marybel asked. The handmaiden fussed behind Lia, teasing her long, raven curls with a boar bristle brush. “It is not customary for ladies to wear their hair loose on such occasions.”

“Fuck what is customary,” Lia replied with a playful smirk, lightly swatting Marybel’s hands away as she turned to look at her over shoulder. “It is bad enough I should have to attend something so farcical, I will not have one of your awful braids tugging mercilessly at my scalp the entire day too.”

Lia’s sharp words were often enough to send most servants scurrying from her chambers, red faced with humiliation. Marybel was not most servants though, and that was precisely why Lia chose to keep her so close.

The handmaiden huffed through her nose in quiet amusement. She leaned over Lia’s shoulder as she turned around again, and placed the brush back on top of the vanity table. “As you wish, my lady.”

Lia’s eyes watched in the looking glass as the door to her chambers swung open behind them both, and she felt Marybel stiffen in silent discomfort as the tall, imposing figure of Otto Hightower stepped through.

“Leave us,” Lia uttered quietly, giving Marybel’s hand a gentle squeeze.

The handmaiden nodded, turning and leaving the room with hurried steps that took her in a wide semi circle in order to avoid the Hand of the King. Otto did not say a word, even as the door thudded closed.

She did not move, did not acknowledge his presence, simply observed as he slowly stalked about the room in his forest green, crushed velvet finery with his freshly polished hand pin gleaming brightly upon his chest. She knew precisely why he was here – he had come to hurry her along, though he would never dare say the words aloud, knowing they would have the opposite effect of what he desired.

She could see it in the way his fingers brushed against the backs of the chairs beside the fireplace. Hurry up.

His brow was slightly furrowed, and his shoulders tense, a sign that he was annoyed. You are making us late.

Finally, once he had walked a full circuit of the room, he settled into a high backed chair by the hearth, leaning forward to grasp the pewter wine jug and pour himself a goblet of Arbor gold. Still, she ignored him, making a show of pretending she was readying herself, as she toyed with her hair, stealing a glance at her husband every so often in the reflective surface.

“Is that what you intend to wear?” Otto eventually asked, to Lia’s delight – he had given in first. He always did.

“Of course it is,” she insisted, rising from the vanity and stepping slowly towards the seating area around the fireplace, where Otto reclined. Despite his attempt to appear relaxed, she could see how tense he was in how tightly he gripped his wine cup. “Do you not think I look nice?”

She made a show of spreading out the skirts, swaying slightly to allow the drape of the fabric to move with her, all the while looking at him with a pleased grin, as she saw him shift in his seat, his gaze raking over her appreciatively.

“You look beautiful,” Otto admitted grudgingly, taking a sip of his wine and swallowing thickly, “you know you do. But that is not the gown that we agreed you would wear today.”

“I agreed nothing,” she corrected him with a roll of her eyes, “I do not like what you picked out for me. It is unflattering.”

“Then choose something else,” he said matter of factly, setting his wine down upon the table in front of him and fixing her with a piercing stare.

“Something green you mean?” Her flesh prickled with irritation as she narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms defensively across her middle.

“Hightower house colours,” Otto said darkly. His fingers grasped the wooden arms of the chair tightly, a subtle indication that he was losing his patience. Lia did not care.

“I am not a Hightower,” she answered with a soft shake of her head and a shrug.

“Today is about unity,” Otto rose from his chair suddenly, his nostrils flared in annoyance as he pointed an accusatory finger at her, “not about you clinging to your principles like a stubborn child!”

“Unity?!” Lia spat back, her own voice rising as her anger flared. She uncrossed her arms, her hands balling into fists as she strode towards him defiantly. “If today were about unity then you would have allowed Rhaenyra to wed Jacaerys to Helaena. Instead, you are making this disgusting display of marrying brother to sister, and there has never been more divide between us all.”

A flash of anger appeared in Otto’s hazel eyes as quickly as it disappeared again. He drew in a steadying breath, schooling his features before replying, his voice calmer than it had been previously. “It is at the request of the King that his children shall be married, to strengthen the bloodline of House Targaryen.”

“House Targaryen?” Lia scoffed, tilting her head as her blue eyes glittered with amusement. “Did Viserys tell you that between doses of milk of the poppy? Spare me, Otto, for if that were the case, surely you would insist I dress in red and black?”

“You test my patience, Lia,” Otto glowered, inhaling deeply.

“And you test mine,” Lia stepped forward, placing the flat of her hand against his velvet covered chest and pushed him – not hard enough to unsteady him, but enough for him to know she wanted him to sit.

Otto did just that, resuming his sitting position in the high backed chair beside the hearth. Swiftly, Lia climbed into his lap, positioning herself to straddle his lap, lifting her skirts just enough so that the bare flesh of her womanhood pressed flush against his thigh. A sense of satisfaction settled over Lia as she felt his breath hitch, his large hands coming to rest upon the swell of her hips.

She leaned in close, the scent of pine oil and leather filling her nostrils as the tip of her nose brushed against the coarse hair of his beard, making her throb with desire. Reaching up, she stroked her fingers through it, caressing his jaw as she spoke softly to him.

“Now listen to me, I am your wife, not a pawn to be used for your political gain. Is that understood?”

She punctuated her point with a subtle roll of her hips, exhaling a shaky breath at the friction against her sensitive pearl. She laid her free hand upon his shoulder, keeping the other cupped within his beard, tilting his face to look at her.

Otto’s expression had softened considerably, his eyes hooded and filled with affection as he looked upon her. His hands aided her movements against him, gently squeezing the plushness of her flesh through her gown. “You are incorrigible.”

“Mmmm,” she hummed in agreement, her breaths growing heavy as she continued her lazy rocking against him, “and I shall wear what I please.”

Her hand dropped from his shoulder to snake between them, her fingers immediately seeking out and finding the hardness that strained against the laces of his breeches. She palmed the rigid length gently, continuing to fuck herself against his thigh as she watched with delight as his lips parted, a soft groan escaping them.

“I do not answer to you,” she whispered breathlessly, her movements becoming more erratic as she felt the coil of tension in her belly grow taut. The insistent rubbing of his trousers upon her delicate bundle of nerves built a steadily growing ache within her, that she was eager to chase to its end. “I do not answer to anyone.”

“As you wish,” Otto breathed, his head falling back against the chair with a soft thud as his eyes fluttered closed.

Lia grinned, squeezing his hardness more firmly, eliciting a hiss from him. He moved her more roughly against him, and the ache became more prevalent until the coil within her snapped. She stilled her movements, her body shuddering against Otto’s. White hot waves of ecstasy rippled through her, making her heat convulse uncontrollably as she cried out in pleasure.

She rested her forehead against Otto’s, panting softly, moving her hand away from his erection and placing it back upon his shoulder to steady herself. Despite her boneless state, she felt triumphant. Marriage was all too often a battlefield, but Lia prided herself upon being an excellent strategist. She had won this, and not for the first time.

Otto’s eyes fluttered open, a soft smile playing upon his lips as he regarded her with fondness. “You shall be the death of me.”

“But not today,” Lia quipped, shifting off of his lap and adjusting her skirts as she stood. It was then that she spotted the damp patch of arousal that she had left upon his trouser leg. “And it appears to be you who needs to get changed.”

[simply-ellas-stuff]

I have a very specific request of House of the Dragon fanfic writers

I want a fix it fan fic where no one goes to war and everyone gets along and Rhaenyra sits the throne and everyone gets a happily ever after, but Otto Hightower is punished for his crimes as is Criston Cole.

BECAUSE I want a scene where Daemon tells Criston that Jace is actually Criston's son right before Daemon kills him.

I DO NOT CARE IF IT IS A LIIIIIIIIE

I know it's just a theory that has little to support it therefore I don't not care if Daemon is lying to Criston or not - up to the writer

But I need someone to write this man's reaction to finding out that the boy he hated, the boy he mistreated, the boy he detested, the boy he named a Strong bastard was actually his all along. To have the knowledge that he had a shot of raising this boy as his, in what way he could. To know he watched this boy grow up. Yet, never got to be a father the way Laenor, Harwin and Daemon were able to.

And then to know he's never going to get the chance because Daemon would never let him live.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Fire on the Mountain - Chapter Two: Gods and Monsters

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage, canon typical sexism. Word count: ~10.2k

Chapter summary: A terrible secret threatens to bring an abrupt end to Lia's friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent, and Otto finally shows his hand with regards to his intentions for her.

Author's note: Header by @foxinthegodswood who also beta read this for me - this story would be nothing without you. Thank you for the care and attention you have put in both myself and my writing. I love you.

“My darling Lia, 

I hope you are faring well. By the time you read this, it shall be your name day. I can hardly believe that you are now fifteen. It seems as though it was just yesterday that you were placed into my arms, red faced and squawking – Ser Otto tells us you are growing into quite the young beauty, I hope that we may lay our eyes upon you ourselves soon. Alas, we cannot make the journey to the capital to deliver our warm wishes in person. I have recovered from my fever, but my health remains delicate – I must remain abed until I have regained my strength. Short walks in the sea air are helping to keep my spirits lifted, but I fear a journey across the continent would be too much for me. I hope you understand. Please do not be disheartened, and try not to worry.

Enclosed is a gift for you – a token of our love, but also a reminder of your house, so that in your absence you do not forget it. “The First to Rise”. I hope you shall wear it with pride. Your father and your brothers, Robert and Leon, send their love and their well wishes. I hope you are conducting yourself in a manner that would make us all proud.

Happy name day, my only daughter.

Your loving mother, 

Lady Dyana Costayne.”

Lia allowed the parchment to flutter down upon the table top;she had read it so many times now that she was certain she could recite it by heart. Once more, she snatched the brooch from the now torn paper it had been wrapped in, turning it around in her fingers, watching as the silver of it caught the light. It was a chalice, one of the symbols that adorned the sigil of House Costayne. It was pretty, but pretty was not enough to placate the hopeless sense of abandonment that plagued her. She allowed the brooch to drop heavily on top of the letter it had accompanied, just as its shape began to blur from the tears that obscured her vision.

It had been six months since the King’s tourney for his now deceased son, six months since Lia had first received news of her mother’s ill health and learned that her family would not be attending. Each month since had delivered news that was much the same;sudden bouts of fever that left her mother confused and bedridden. She knew she should not be surprised that they would not come to see her for an occasion as trivial as her name day, the last time she had seen any of them had been when she had first arrived in King’s Landing. They had come to enjoy the hospitality of Viserys, and to offer Otto their congratulations on his recent elevation to the position of Hand of the King – it had not even been a visit to see her.

She remembered the smell of almond oil that had clung to her mother’s hair and skin as she had pulled her into a tight embrace. It was cloying and sweet, and overwhelmed her senses. She had not seen her mother for two years and, at the age of eight, such familiarity following a long separation was jarring. It had left her feeling sick. A similar nausea settled within her stomach as she cast her eyes away from her writing desk, breathing deep in a desperate bid to will away her melancholy. She would not cry upon her name day, even if she felt she had every reason to. Not a single person, save for her immediate family, appeared to have remembered, and their gift seemed so impersonal; a simple brooch did little to ease the weight of loneliness that fell upon her delicate shoulders. Though, how could they have given her anything else? As her gaze fell upon her bed, taking the crisp, white linens that were pulled taut at every corner, it occurred to her that she was more familiar with every thread that had been woven together to make up the sheets upon where she slept than she was the face of the woman who gave her life. She was as much a stranger to House Costayne as they were to her, and what could you possibly gift someone unknown to you that would hold any meaningful sentiment?

Lia rose from her seat, leaving both letter and brooch discarded upon her writing desk, and walked towards the floor length looking glass that was propped against the wall nearest the privacy screen where she dressed each morning. She leaned towards the reflective surface, dabbing beneath her eyes with the pads of her fingers, ensuring no trace of her sorrow remained before she faced the world. She turned her head, ensuring her raven curls remained fastened into a tight bun at the nape of her neck; satisfied that they had not shifted, she smoothed her hands over the bodice of her powder blue gown, and headed for the door.

Rhaenyra almost fell against her as she opened it, her own hand in the motion of pushing it inwards. Lia rolled her eyes as she caught the other girl by the shoulders, steadying her in the doorway.

“Gods, ‘Nyra, do you ever knock?” she asked exasperatedly. It was a rhetorical question; Lia already knew the answer was a resounding no. Rhaenyra was a princess, and now the heir to the Iron Throne. She never had to ask permission, she just took what she wanted, including her own friend’s sense of privacy.

“You are so ugly when you scowl,” Rhaenyra teased, a soft smile upon her lips as she raised her hand to stroke her fingers across the peachy softness of Lia’s face. “Come with me.”

Her gaze was soft, yet imploring, her blue eyes sparkling with mischievous intent and, as she withdrew her hand, Lia could not help but notice the state of her fingernails – they were clean. It was not unusual for Rhaenyra to stroll about the castle clad in her riding leathers, stinking of dragon, with her hands caked in grime from the pits in which her mount, Syrax, resided. Today, however, she smelled of bergamot. The faint scent clung to her skin, her long silver hair falling about her shoulders but not quite obscuring the loose peplum that adorned the cream coloured gown she wore. She had either just come from a meeting of the small council or was on her way to one. It seemed she was taking her duties as heir seriously. It was an odd sensation to see Rhaenyra lend any sort of care to what others thought of her, like telling the tide not to turn or the moon not to wax and wane. 

“Where are we going?” Lia asked, stepping out into the corridor and pulling the door closed behind her.

“To choose the newest addition of the Kingsguard,” Rhaenyra replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Lia wanted to protest, to tell her that it was not her place to decide such things, her involvement was needless. The words died upon her tongue as Rhaenyra interlocked the fingers of her left hand with those of Lia’s right. Her grip was loose yet intimate, allowing for their arms to swing gently between them as they walked. In that moment, as they held hands, all of Lia’s sorrow surrounding her name day seemed to vanish, her entire world narrowed to the sensation of Rhaenyra’s hand in hers. A sense of calm settled over her as she stole glances at her friend as they walked purposefully through the winding labyrinth of Maegor’s Holdfast.

‘I hope you will hold my hand forever.’

“Will Alicent not be joining us?” Lia asked as they stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the inner courtyard of the Red Keep.

“No,” Rhaenyra replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, stepping onto the set of wooden steps that had been placed in front of the stone balustrade to allow her to see over it better.

Lia wanted to press the issue, however, off to their right was Ser Harrold Westerling, his gaze steely, and posture rigid as he stood tall in his armour and white cloak. His presence did not broker a welcoming atmosphere for idle gossip, so she fell silent, allowing her gaze to sweep across the men gathered below, awaiting their audience with the princess.

It struck her as she looked upon them that they were spread out in a similar fashion to how cyvasse pieces are placed upon a board. She wondered if she called out for a dragon to remove an elephant from the board if they would assemble themselves to mirror the move as it is played in the game. She smiled to herself at the thought, blue eyes sparkling with amusement, until she felt the familiar weight and heat of a hand upon her shoulder, causing her to startle slightly. The smile disappeared from her face, her gaze remaining fixed ahead as she willed her heart to cease its sudden thumping against her ribs.

“Is there something that amuses you, Lady Lia?” Otto asked quietly, the subtle disapproval in his tone unmissed by her. His breath was warm against her ear and the gentle brush of his beard against the exposed juncture of her neck sent a shiver up her spine.

She had not been anticipating the Hand’s presence, and silently cursed herself for not having a witty response as she meekly shook her head, a timid sounding “no” leaving her lips.

Otto hummed in acknowledgement, stepping away from her to stand beside Rhaenyra’s elevated platform. She could still feel his hand upon her shoulder like a brand – it happened every time he touched her of late; a gentle hand upon the small of her back to guide her as they walked together, the soft brush of his fingers upon her temple as he tucked away an errant curl, they all left a blaze of heat in their wake, an uncomfortable coiling in Lia’s belly that made her cheeks flush and her mouth run dry. She hated it. She craved more of his touch while simultaneously never wanting for him to ever lay a hand upon her again.

As Ser Harrold called out each of the Knight’s names, listing off their attributes and history of service and battle, Lia’s attention was not focused on the men below, but instead how Otto loomed over Rhaenyra, whispering to her.

“You might thank him for his leal service,” she heard him advise.

She knew that as Hand of the King it was Otto’s duty to help with the recruitment of the Kingsguard, to ensure the best possible knight was placed in service of protection of the ruling monarch, and yet she could not shake her jealousy, nor could she understand it. As Otto leaned conspiratorially towards the princess and she in turn lifted her face to his, Lia was grateful for the long bell sleeves of her gown, for they hid the way her hands balled into angry fists. He used to whisper like that to her. Ever since he had begun orchestrating visits between Alicent and the King, it seemed she was of no use to him; she could not tell him anything he did not already know. A bitter, acrid taste rose up in her throat, enveloping her tongue. She was certain that if she were to speak now then every word would hang in the air, dripping with poison.

Forcing herself to look ahead, she bites back a scoff as Ser Criston Cole steps forward. The very same knight that had looked up at Rhaenyra during the tourney, and requested her favour with moon-eyed adoration. Lia’s head snapped to the side, wide eyed in disbelief and annoyance as she heard Rhaenyra state him as her choice.

“He is the only one to have known true battle, the rest are tourney knights,” she reasoned to Otto.

It was so like Rhaenyra to pick someone who fawned over her, and it was becoming more than apparent to Lia that her presence here was not really needed at all. She pushed away from the balcony edge, stepping quietly back through the doors of the Keep. There were enough reminders of her own unimportance, what with Rhaenyra being named heir and Alicent secretly courting the widowed king, without Lia being given another reason to feel like a spare part.

She walked the winding halls until she found her way to the Godswood, seating herself against the peeling white bark of the trunk of the Heart Tree, and turned her face up towards the vivid red and orange canopy of its leaves. The ground was hard beneath her, the roots lumpy against her backside, doubtless dirtying her skirts, yet she could not find it within herself to care. The sun shone warm and dappled through the branches, drawing Lia into a doze she was powerless to resist, yielding to the heaviness of her eyelids as they drifted closed.

“There you are.”

She awoke to the sound of Alicent’s voice and the gentle touch of her hand upon her shoulder, giving her a careful shake. Her eyes blinked open, vivid blue meeting those of warm brown and, for a moment, she wondered where she was. 

‘Such a pretty view, have I died and the Maiden has come to guide me?’

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she took in her surroundings, green grass and gnarled roots in place of soft sheets and pillows. Realisation settled upon her as she looked back up at her friend who wore the slightest smile of amusement upon her lips as she gently plucked a stray crimson leaf from Lia’s dark curls, allowing it to flutter delicately to the ground.

“What are you doing sleeping out here? Rhaenyra and I have been looking for you,” she scolded gently, offering out a hand to help Lia to her feet.

Lia gratefully accepted her outstretched hand, moving to dust off the back of her dress as she stood. Her voice was still sleepy, nonchalant as she answered Alicent’s question while craning her neck behind her to see if her skirts were muddy. “‘Nyra wanted me to help choose a knight for the Kingsguard.It was boring so I left.”

Alicent’s loud, disapproving sigh drew Lia’s attention back to her. She turned, eyes raking over her friend from head to foot. She was wearing another of her mother’s dresses – this one a deep, royal blue with cutouts spanning the length of each sleeve. To Lia, she looked ridiculous, a little girl playing at dress up to appear more grown up than she actually was. She held her tongue, deciding it was not worth the quarrel for her to tell her so.

“Come,” Alicent said, her tone leaving no room for argument as she looped her arm through Lia’s, “your presence is needed elsewhere.”

Lia groaned, yet allowed herself to be led away. “I have had just about enough of my presence being needed today.”

“You will enjoy this, I promise,” Alicent smiled, tightening her arm in Lia’s reassuringly as they walked.

The solar had been filled with wildflowers, delicate hues of pink, yellow and white adorning every available surface. Lia took in the beautiful sight, eyes wide and lips parted in quiet admiration. Rhaenyra stood before the rounded table at the room’s centre, a wide smile upon her face and her hands clasped in front of her as Lia entered.

“You thought we had forgotten, did you not?” Rhaenyra teased, stooping to grab a silver platter laden with lemon cakes and Tyroshi honey fingers and carrying it towards her and Alicent.

“You did all of this for me?” Lia asked in quiet wonder as she turned in a full circle to admire the flowers, before looking upon the assortment of sweet treats held out before her.

“Happy name day, Lia,” Alicent said fondly, finally releasing her arm and reaching up to place a flower crown upon her head of raven curls.

The three girls reclined upon couches set in a semi circle around the table, the cakes and pastries now placed back upon it. Lia watched in quiet amusement as Rhaenyra leaned forward, plucking the candied lemon slices from each square of cake, placing them whole into her mouth. She had always had a larger appetite for everything than her and Alicent, and Lia supposed it was an inevitability of being royalty – when you were worth more, you needed more, an unbreakable cycle, an inherent hunger.

“So, how shall we spend the rest of our afternoon?” Lia asked, plucking idly at the tassel fringe of a cushion she held against her torso, as she sprawled out on her side against the plushness of the couch.

“I thought we might go to the sept,” Alicent offered, her attention focused upon a daisy that she twirled between her fingers. Her head rested against the cushions of the settee she laid upon, her legs bent at the knee.

Lia bristled at the suggestion, unable to stop her disgust from making itself apparent on her face as her features twisted, lips drawing downwards and nose wrinkling as she turned to look for any hint within Alicent’s serene expression that would suggest she was making a rare jest. Lia found none, but was mercifully spared the need to object by Rhaenyra.

“Why ever would we want to do that?” she asked haughtily, licking honey from her fingers as she lounged upon her front, silver hair falling forward around her like a silken curtain.

“I would like to pray for my mother,” Alicent said matter of factly, moving to sit up and swinging her legs over the edge of the couch, “and I thought we might pray for yours too.”

The room fell silent, and Lia immediately felt rotten for having reacted negatively to Alicent’s suggestion. From the way Rhaenyra slowly moved to prop herself up on her elbow, her gaze downcast, it was apparent the sentiment was one that was shared.

“The sept it is then,” Lia agreed softly, tugging her flower crown free from her hair as she rose to stand.

Despite the drafty, old stone of the Grand Sept, it was stiflingly hot within as they descended the steps, the heat of the candles burning bright within making sweat prickle upon the back of Lia’s neck. Alicent led her and Rhaenyra towards the large, circular dais that sat in the room’s centre, the top of it laden with lit votive candles. White wax dripped in enormous stalactites from the edge.

“I come here to be close to my mother,” Alicent told them, taking a wick and lighting her own candle, “I thought perhaps you could do the same, Rhaenyra?”

Lia shifted uncomfortably, twisting the rings upon her fingers as she looked upon the flames. The Hightowers were a pious house, and though the Costaynes followed the faith of the Seven, they did not observe quite as strictly as those they were sworn to – at least Lia did not.

“I would not know what to say,” Rhaenyra confessed, clearly sharing in Lia’s discomfort as she hesitated beside her friend.

“Then do not say anything,” Alicent insisted, giving her sleeve a gentle tug, “just contemplate quietly.”

Lia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as Rhaenyra complied, kneeling beside Alicent and clasping her hands in front of her. She wondered if in some unknown realm, leagues away, a god of Old Valyria looked upon Rhaenyra’s actions with disdain. She pondered how Daemon, or even Viserys would react if asked to do the same, and fought the urge to smile.

“You too, Lia,” Rhaenyra said, turning her head to look up at her.

“I have no one to pray for,” she admitted, shrugging slightly, “none of my family have…have died.”

She felt almost embarrassed to allow the last of the words to leave her mouth, as though she was being prideful in flaunting something she had that they did not. If either Rhaenyra or Alicent felt that way, they did not show it.

“No one needs to have died for you to pray for them,” Alicent explained, keeping her hands folded in prayer as she turned to look at Lia. “Just kneel with us.”

Lia gave a slight nod, sighing softly as she knelt beside Rhaenyra. She placed her hands together and closed her eyes, but she did not pray. Instead her mind wandered to the last time she had visited this very same sept with her mother, when her family had visited King’s Landing all those years ago.

“Now, Lia, you must light a candle and pray for our safe travels back home,” her mother had urged her, pushing her towards the dais with a firm hand upon her back.

Lia had not prayed for her family’s safe return for the Whispering Sound. Instead she had prayed that her family could stay with her, so that she could be as happy as both Alicent and Rhaenyra were, surrounded by loved ones.

Her prayer had gone unanswered, and her family had left the next day. From that point onwards, Lia never prayed again, deciding that if there were any gods at all that they had decided she was unworthy of listening to, in which case she thought they were unworthy of speaking to.

As Lia made her way back to her chambers, she was met by Otto. He strode purposefully towards her door, drawing up to his full height in front of her as she paused at the sight of him. Her hand stilled its movements upon the door handle as she looked quizzically at the small wooden box he held in his hands.

“I had not forgotten what day it is,” he told her, the corners of his eyes crinkled in softness as he looked down at her. “Forgive me for leaving it so late, I have been otherwise occupied, but I have a gift for you.”

Lia’s eyes moved from the box, up to Otto’s face and then back again, a mixture of nerves and suspicion fluttering in her belly at the kindness and warmth he regarded her with. “What is it?”

“Allow me to show you inside,” he gestured towards the door, and Lia nodded, pushing it open and stepping forward as he followed close behind.

She watched curiously as Otto made his way towards her writing desk,her maidservant having long since tidied away her brooch and the letter from her mother, and set the box down upon it, taking a seat in the same chair that she had sat in that very morning.

“Come closer,” Otto gestured, before reaching for a sheet of parchment and the lit candle that sat upon the table.

Lia stepped towards him, her body feeling like a tightly coiled spring. She had never felt so uneasy in his presence before, and a part of her longed to flee from the room, to burst into Rhaenyra’s bedchamber just as the princess had done to her that morning, and demand sanctuary from the uncomfortable sensations that swirled within her body.

She bit back a gasp as Otto’s hands reached for her hips, firmly but not forcefully guiding her to perch upon his knee. It was nothing she had not done before – as a child, she and Alicent had shared Otto’s lap countless times while he read to them from history books. Alicent had always paid rapt attention, while Lia usually fell asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the comforting scent of sandalwood that seemed to permeate Otto’s very essence. Sitting on his lap now, however, caused a stirring within her that made Lia’s cheeks blaze. She was so tense she feared she may shatter apart at the slightest touch. 

“I had this made specially for you,” Otto explained, clearly oblivious to her discomfort as he pulled a block of golden yellow wax from the box and melted it over the candle, letting it drip onto the parchment he had in front of him. 

As it pooled upon the page, Lia could see that it was the same shade of yellow as her house colours. Without realising, she leaned back against him, allowing her back to rest against his broad chest as he took a stamp from the box, encouraging her to grip the wooden handle as he wrapped his much larger hand around hers to guide it.

The contact made her breath hitch, and she sat frozen, only able to focus on the sensations of his warm, calloused palm against the back of her hand, and his sturdy thigh pressing into the underneath of her clenched thighs.

Otto pressed the stamp firmly into the wax, holding her hand there for a few seconds, before pulling it back. “If you press too lightly, the stamp will not take,” he explained, “there, can you see that?”

He let go of her hand, taking the stamp from her as she leaned forward over the desk to examine the impression that had been left in the wax. It was a circular sigil, and she recognised within it two roses from that of House Costayne, however, in place of chalices there were flames.

“What are those?” she asked, hovering her finger over a flame, careful not to press it into the still solidifying wax.

“Ah,” he rumbled from behind her, and Lia was certain she could hear a smile in his voice, “those are the beacon flames of House Hightower.”

“But why?” she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion as she twisted around in his lap to look at him.

Otto smiled softly, but his expression gave nothing away. “You will make much use of this, I am sure,” he told her, patting her softly on the hip as he made to move from his seat.

Lia sprang off of him as though she were a cat on a hot roof, though found herself suddenly heavy with disappointment at the loss of his proximity.

“Now, get to bed,” he said cooly, standing and smoothing his doublet, his expression once more becoming the look of stern disapproval she had grown used to, “the hour is late.”

She lifted the parchment as he strode from the room, examining the rose and flame sigil, pondering its meaning. She was overcome by the sense that once she discovered the truth of it, she would not like what she found, and allowed the page to slip from her fingers. It fluttered to the tabletop just as the door closed heavily behind Otto.

Lia came to stand beside Rhaenyra the following morning, as the princess looked out upon the gardens from the wall walk of the Keep. Despite the gentle breeze and warm sunshine that shone down upon them, making the lush greens of the gardens seem more vibrant than usual, Rhaenyra’s expression was pensive, her gaze hardened, mouth pinched in the way it did only when she was annoyed. Lia followed the line of Rhaenyra’s sight, catching a glimpse of Viserys walking beside Laena Velaryon. Laena looked tiny compared to Viserys, and Lia could not help but silently wonder what the King would want with a child.

“Lord Corlys has seen fit to offer a betrothal between his daughter and my father,” Rhaenyra said, as though sensing Lia’s thoughts, her tone was clipped with annoyance, her eyes never leaving the gardens below.

“She is only twelve though,” Lia said, her eyes widening in horror, trying her best to push the images that flashed through her mind away, none of them pleasant.

“Well, apparently, Rhaenys has told her that she will not have to bed him until she is fourteen.”

Rhaenyra turned to look at Lia then, and though her expression remained angry, there was a desperate sadness held within the depths of her gaze. Lia tilted her head sympathetically, reaching out to give her friend’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

“He named me as his heir, why must he remarry?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lia did not know how to answer that, but knew her silence would offer little comfort either. “He is not attempting to replace you,” she offered gently, “but he is the king, he is expected to take a wife.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, shaking her head as she looked back towards the gardens, her expression hardening to anger once more.

“If not Laena, it will be someone else eventually,” Lia told her.

Lia followed as Rhaenyra walked away. She had meant to offer comfort, but it was obvious that in speaking the truth she had unintentionally hurt her. As they rounded the corner of the wall walk, Rhaenys came into view, sat upon a wooden bench, clearly observing the same view that they had just been.

“It bothers you, does it not?” she asked Rhaenyra with a cat-like tilt of her head.

Lia shot Rhaenyra a look of apology as she slipped away, acknowledging the elder princess with a bow of her head before going back inside. She had never felt comfortable in the presence of Rhaenys. Much like the ferocious Red Queen, Meleys, whose back she flew upon, Lia always had the sense that Rhaenys possessed the ability to tear people apart, though with words instead of rending jaws and blistering fire. She had no desire to hang around for the inevitable dressing down that Rhaenys would give her friend, lest the attention be turned upon herself. Silently, she withdrew without even a farewell to either woman, and slipped into the halls.

Alicent balked at the sight of Lia, her eyes widening slightly and her lips pressing into a tight line as they happened upon each other in the empty corridor. 

“Another present for me?” Lia asked teasingly, lifting the lid of the small wooden box that Alicent held in her hands.

“Must you be so nosy?!” Alicent snapped, snatching it away and slamming the lid closed once more, but it was too late, Lia had already seen what was inside.

She recognised the small stone dragon from the model of King’s Landing that Viserys kept within his apartments. Rhaenyra had snuck them into the room when they were younger, and they had giggled raucously as they had moved the little models about the makeshift city streets, finding the very idea of a dragon visiting the Street of Silk so funny that tears of laughter had rolled down their rosy cheeks. It had been less funny when Ser Westerling had happened across them and they had received a scolding for their trespass, mercifully lenient owing to the princess’ involvement.

“Why do you have that?” Lia demanded, her stare piercing as it fixed upon Alicent’s.

“It is none of your business,” she answered simply, leaving Lia to stand there and watch as she walked away.

Really, she did not need to ask, she knew Alicent had continued her visits to Viserys at the request of her father. It was a secret she hated keeping, and for that reason alone she hoped that Viserys would agree to marry Laena Velaryon. Her friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent would never be the same again if Otto had his way.

Lia kept a distance from Rhaenyra and Alicent over the next few days. She loved them both dearly, but Rhaenyra’s petulance regarding the inevitable betrothal of her father and Alicent’s continued secret courting of him put her in a position that made her squirm with discomfort. She preferred to exist in solitude than endure a situation where she would unleash chaos by speaking the truth or be complicit in deception if she did not.

She sat upon the settee in her chambers, her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned back against the window sill. The early afternoon light that streamed in illuminated the pages of the book she read, the tome perched precariously within the fingers of her right hand – it was a tale of a heroic knight, rescuing his lady from the clutches of a monster.

Lia scoffed as her eyes trailed over the part where the knight valiantly draws his sword, challenging the beast that holds the maiden captive.

“Wait until he realises she is friends with a princess and rides off to save her instead,” she murmured quietly to herself.

She looked up as a soft knock fell upon her door, snapping the book closed. “Come,” she called out, watching curiously as a timid looking page boy opened her door the smallest of fractions, peering through.

“Apologies for the intrusion, my lady. The Lord Hand has requested your presence in his apartments.”

“What for?” she asked curtly, annoyance prickling at her at the hesitation in the messenger’s tone and body language. It was borne of politeness, she was sure, but she found it far ruder to have to address a floating head than she would if he simply stepped into the room.

“Forgive me, my lady, he did not say.”

The boy’s expression was simpering, apologetic and, unable to stand his presence a second longer, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “I shall be there momentarily.”

It was a short walk from the space that Lia occupied within the castle to where Otto resided. She knew the route well, could have traversed it with her eyes closed, and yet she found herself dragging her feet, prolonging the journey. The memory of him pulling her into his lap burned fresh in her mind, if she closed her eyes she could still feel the press of his chest against her back, the touch of his hand as it guided her own. It was not the proximity that she wished to flee from, however, but the way she craved more of it.

“Did the messenger not impress upon you the need for haste?” Otto asked, brow pinched in annoyance as she entered his apartments, keeping her spine rigid against the solid wood of the door as she closed it gently behind her.

“I am afraid he did not,” she said, eyes raking over him from head to foot. He stood before the lit fireplace, which served as the only source of light in the large chamber. He cut a formidable silhouette within the gloom of his surroundings, dressed in the green of House Hightower, strapped into the iron plating that protected his middle.

She wondered how he had looked in his youth, when he had served as a knight, if he had been as stern then as he was now, or if he had charmed his way into the heart of Alyrie Florent with kisses to the hand and demands of her favour.

His lips pressed into a tight line, an expression that made Lia immediately want to grin triumphantly as she knew she had frustrated him. “I need you to assist me with my armour,” he told her, beckoning her closer.

Lia stepped towards him, the heat of the fire coupled with the feverish blush that broke out across her pale skin made her want to claw herself free of it. Instead, she busied herself with tightening the straps that held his faulds fastened. “It looks as though your squire has done most of the work for you already,” she commented, “could Alicent not help you with the rest?”

“Alicent is with the king,” he replied firmly.

Lia was grateful for the fact that Otto had his back turned to her, so that he missed the way her eyes flashed with anger as she glared at the back of his head. He was not even trying to hide it from her anymore.

He turned, holding his arms out towards her, and she reached over to the table where his gloves rested, picking one up and focusing on the feeling of the supple leather beneath her fingertips as she tugged it gently over his large hand. “Where are you going, anyway?” she questioned, attempting to mask her fury with curiosity as she lifted her eyes to meet his intent gaze.

“To Dragonstone,” he replied, as she helped him into his other glove, “and that is all you need to know,” he added quickly, as if sensing she would press for further information.

He was right of course, a thousand questions raced through her mind – what could he possibly need upon that desolate rock? It sat empty, the seat of House Targaryen that Rhaenyra would inherit one day and do as she pleased with. Otto had no business being there.

She sighed, allowing her gaze to drop as she stepped away from him, but Otto was quick to follow, closing the space between them as he gently grasped her delicate jaw in his hand, urging her to look back up at him. The leather of his glove was soft and warm, and she fought the urge to nuzzle into it.

“It is important that you grow accustomed to assisting in this manner, Lia,” he told her earnestly, “it will become a routine for you sooner than late.” 

Her brow furrowed in confusion, unable to make sense of his meaning. He raised his other hand to rest upon her cheek, cradling her face as his expression softened considerably, his hazel eyes searching the blue of her own. “You will be good while I am gone?”

Her breath hitched, it felt as though all the air had been stolen away from her lungs. She placed her hands against his chest, her fingers clutching the thick quilting of his doublet, as she forced herself to grin, an attempt to dissipate the tension. “I am always good.”

Lia could still feel the press of Otto’s gloves upon her face as she leant against the balustrade of the wall walk that overlooked the gardens. Despite the crispness of the air, her skin still felt heated, even though more than an hour had passed since Otto had departed from King’s Landing.

“You look as unhappy as I feel,” Rhaenyra’s voice startled Lia from her thoughts, and she turned her head to see the princess coming to stand beside her, resting her forearms upon the stone ledge as she leaned forward to look out to the horizon.

“I would rather not speak of it,” Lia sighed, turning her attention back to the gardens below. “And what of you?”

“My uncle,” Rhaenyra said bitterly.

“I suppose that makes a change from it being your father,” Lia smirked, “but what has he done? Your father told him to return to the Vale.”

“Since when has Daemon ever done as he is told?” Rhaenyra scoffed. “He has stolen the egg meant for my brother and taken up residence upon Dragonstone.”

Lia’s lips parted in shock at the realisation, as the reason for Otto’s swift departure now made sense. She could not envision Otto being able to convince Daemon to stand down without there being significant bloodshed – the two men despised each other. She knew Rhaenyra was well aware of this too and, as she turned to look at her, she could see from the determined set of her jaw and her piercing gaze that it was not something the princess would leave unchallenged.

“You want me to talk you out of doing something stupid?” Lia asked, turning to face her fully.

Rhaenyra shook her head, pushing away from the balustrade and reached for Lia’s hand, keeping it clutched between both of her own. “I would go to Alicent if I needed to be convinced not to do something. I am asking for your support, and your silence in this.”

Lia sighed, her shoulders sagging as she cast a withering look at her friend. “‘Nyra, I–”

“Lia, please,” Rhaenyra begged, her brows arched in a look that bordered upon despair. “My uncle will listen to me, you know he will, but I need to leave here without my father or Alicent knowing, because they will try to stop me. If they ask after my whereabouts I need you to lie. Promise me – promise me – that you will give me time to get to Syrax before you say anything.”

In answer, Lia tugged her hand free of Rhaenyra’s, and pulled her into a crushing hug. The scent of bergamot mixed with smoke filled her nostrils as she pressed her face into her long, silver hair. “Please, please be careful.”

Come nightfall, neither Rhaenyra or Otto had returned yet, and Lia’s thoughts raced, anxiety coiled like a serpent within her belly as she sat up against the pillows in bed, unable to shake the idea that Daemon had hacked them to bits with Dark Sister.

Her door being gently pushed open followed the soft knock upon it, and Alicent stepped tentatively through it, the pink of her nightgown so pale it could easily be mistaken for white in certain light. She held her hands in front of her, her cuticles picked bloody as she stared at Lia with uncertainty in the depths of her brown eyes.

“It has been a long time since I have fallen asleep without both my father and Rhaenyra here,” she explained quietly, shifting nervously from foot to foot, “and…forgive me, it was a childish thought…”

“No, wait!” Lia called out, as Alicent turned back towards the door. “It isn’t childish, I do not wish to be alone either.”

Lia pulled back the covers, patting the space beside her, and Alicent’s face softened, a small smile tugging at her lips as she moved towards the bed and climbed in beside her friend. For a long moment, Lia was convinced that Alicent would simply fall asleep as the silence stretched heavy and uncomfortable between them. Her fingers stroked idly at the soft linen of the bed sheets until finally Alicent spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think I am a good person?” she asked.

Lia huffed back a soft laugh, as though it were the most ridiculous question in the world. “You imbecile.”

‘You are the best of any of us.’

Alicent smiled, though it was a tight and uncomfortable thing that did not reach her eyes. “I fear Rhaenyra will no longer think I am…”

“I am guessing you know where she has gone?”

Alicent gave a slight nod. “Word of it got back to Viserys from the dragon keepers. He is furious.”

Lia glanced sideways at Alicent, it puzzled her how she could speak so casually of the king, as though she was being allowed to peer in on a secret that she had no business knowing.

“Do you wish to marry him?” Lia dared not speak his name or title, to mention either would be to fabricate it into something tangible, something that could not be undone.

“My father wants me to,” she replied simply, clutching the bedcovers tight against her chest.

“That is not what I asked,” Lia chastised softly. It had always irked her the way that Alicent made a habit of avoiding speaking her own thoughts and desires, simply existing through the whims of others. “But you know, Laena may end up being the one, and then…then you would be free.”

“I am not sure free is a word I could ever use to describe myself,” Alicent leaned in, resting her head upon Lia’s pillow, and Lia moved closer. She had no words of wisdom to offer, nothing that could quell the worry in Alicent’s heart, she simply hoped her presence was enough. Sinking down into the bed, she allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by the comforting presence of being cuddled near to the closest thing she would ever have to a sister.

Lia squealed, her heart practically leaping in her ribcage with happiness as she flung herself towards Rhaenyra the next morning. She had strode towards Lia in the courtyard, a proud smirk upon her face, still clad in her riding leathers. She was dirty and smelly, and the stench of brimstone was an assault on Lia’s senses as she crushed the filthy leather of the princess’ chest against the pristine brocade of her own. It mattered not, she had never been more pleased to see her.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Lia teased gently as she pulled back, discreetly checking Rhaenyra for any sign of injury.

“I am unharmed,” Rhaenyra reassured her.

“And the egg?” Lia asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Back where it belongs,” Rhaenyra’s glove clad hands tugged Lia by her forearms into the nearest alcove, her voice becoming hushed. “I have been thinking about what you said, about Laena.”

“And?” Lia urged, unresistant to Rhaenyra’s manhandling of her. She cocked her head impatiently.

“It occurred to me when I confronted Daemon how easily he could have cut me down, to reclaim his position as heir, what he believes is rightfully his,” Rhaenyra explained, never relinquishing her grasp of Lia. Lia wrapped her slender fingers as best she could around the sleeves of Rhaenyra’s riding jacket, an attempt to mirror the gesture. “I am all that stands between Daemon and the throne. Perhaps…perhaps it would not be so bad if my father were to remarry, if only for any subsequent children he sires to push Daemon further down the line of succession.”

Lia felt relief wash over her like a refreshing wave, heaving a gentle sigh. “It gladdens me to hear that, it is inevitably going to happen at some point, whoever it is–”

“It must be Laena,” Rhaenyra insisted, and Lia’s relief dissipated so quickly it may as well have never existed at all, “it would unite the last of the Valyrian houses in the realm and ensure the continuation of our bloodlines.”

Lia gave Rhaenyra a tight smile, hoping desperately that her face did not betray the secret she harboured for Alicent, nor the disgust that roiled within her belly at her friend’s explanation. The incestuous customs of House Targaryen had always seemed strange to her, and something she avoided paying any mind to as much as possible. “Of course,” she said quietly, “it should be Laena.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asked, her arms dropping limply to her sides as Rhaenyra pulled away from her and turned to walk inside.

“To receive the scolding I am owed,” she called over her shoulder with a smile.

‘Gods, please let it be Laena that Viserys chooses.’

The next time that Lia saw Otto, he was striding towards the small council chamber, with Alicent at his side. He did not spare Lia a second glance, his steps quick and purposeful as his daughter hurried to keep pace with him. Alicent never attended meetings of the small council, and as she passed Lia, their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Lia immediately knew from the haunted look in Alicent’s stare and the grim line her mouth was pressed into what was about to happen – Viserys had made his choice.

She felt sick to her stomach, and though she knew it was better to stay away, she was unable to resist the pull towards the closed doors of the chamber. Lia kept a safe distance, so as not to be told to go away by the white cloaks posted outside to keep watch and prevent intrusions. She paced nervously, certain she must be wearing down the stone of the floor as she walked back and forth, twisting the rings on her fingers as she silently prayed to any god who might listen that Viserys would choose the Velaryon girl, and not tear apart the only thing in this lonely place that brought her any joy.

After what felt like an eternity, Lia froze, her pulse racing as the doors to the chamber burst open and the hulking frame of Corlys Velaryon stormed down the corridor, his dark features twisted into an expression so angry it was almost a snarl. It was not the face of a man who had just been given the news that his daughter would be queen; it was the face of a man spurned. Lia’s heart sank like a stone in a pond. For the second time in her life, Lia affirmed that if indeed the Seven did exist, they were deaf to her pleas.

Rhaenyra hurried out shortly after Corlys, and it was the sight of tears streaming down her cheeks that finally spurred Lia into action as she moved towards her friend.

“I hate her, I hate her,” Rhaenyra choked out, not resisting as Lia wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. They remained that way, awkwardly stumbling through the Keep, back towards Rhaenyra’s quarters, as Lia attempted to hush Rhaenyra and soothe her angry sobs with gentle words and calming sounds. The pair were so fixated on one another that neither stopped to notice if anyone else in the castle might take note of their commotion, and if they had then neither Lia or Rhaenyra would care.

Rhaenyra came to perch on the edge of her bed, eyes red and watery as she swiped at the tears upon her ruddy cheeks with jerky, angry movements.

“I am afraid I do not have a handkerchief,” Lia said softly, sitting beside her, their hips grazing slightly. It was a meek attempt at comfort, to lighten the mood, to take Rhaenyra’s mind and her own off of the fact that their happy little trio had been torn asunder. It was unsuccessful.

Rhaenyra’s fists bunched in the skirts of her golden gown, exhaling heavily to calm herself. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “My father is going to marry Alicent. Alicent! Of all people, how could she do this to me?”

Lia reached out, placing a hand over one of Rhaenyra’s hands as it continued to ball up the silk of her dress, and squeezed gently. “It was not her choice. Her father made her.”

She realised what she had said the moment Rhaenyra recoiled from her, blue eyes widening momentarily as she snatched her hand away, as though scalded by Lia’s touch. “You knew.”

It was an accusation, not a question, and Lia could not bear the weight of it. She turned away, placing her hands in her lap as she lowered her gaze. Shame was never an emotion that Lia had worn well, and in this very moment she had never felt uglier than beneath the scrutinising stare of one of her dearest companions.

“You knew and you did not tell me,” Rhaenyra’s voice had grown quiet, voice laced with spiteful anger, the beginnings of a dragon drawing back to spew forth fire.

“It would not have made a difference if I had,” Lia admitted sadly, a look of pleading in her eyes as she finally raised her head to face her.

Rhaenyra was too far gone in her fury to be reasoned with. Her eyes narrowed in contempt as she regarded the girl next to her with something akin to hatred. “Out,” she commanded.

Lia shrank back slightly, but made no further attempt to move, her heart twisting painfully in her chest as tears of her own blurred her vision. “‘Nyra, please–”

“Out! Get out!” Rhaenyra shouted angrily, jumping to her feet and shoving forcefully at Lia. Lia stumbled backwards, grasping fruitlessly at the princess as fat, hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “Get out!”

Lia managed to duck out through the door, quickly closing it behind her just as a hair brush clattered loudly against the wood. She made no attempt to compose herself, walking quickly through the winding corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, with a hand clasped over her mouth to muffle the sobs that forced their way out of her throat, threatening to choke her. As Lia rounded a corner, she came face to face with Alicent, her own eyes tearful as she pulled to a stop, looking utterly miserable as she stood in front of Lia.

“I am sorry,” Alicent whispered, her fingers plucking absentmindedly at her fingernails as she clasped her hands in front of her.

Lia breathed a watery sigh, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she smoothed a hand over her curls.

Not now. Not now. Not now.

“So am I,” Lia finally told her, meeting her stare, “but right now…right now I cannot bear to look at you.”

She moved around Alicent, walking away, not trusting herself to look back, selfishly focused upon her own upset. Lia knew that the moment she looked upon her friend’s sad, vulnerable face her resolve would crumble to ash and she would shove all she felt aside to comfort her. Right at this moment she needed to wallow in her own misery, not tend to anyone else’s.

Lia wallowed for weeks, existing within the Keep as a mere spectre, mourning the loss of her friends. She knew that she should reach out to Alicent, that she must be feeling every bit as scared and sad as she was, if not more – after all, she was having to marry a man she had not asked for. But she could not bring herself to take the first step and bridge the chasm between them, the idea of doing so felt like a betrayal to Rhaenyra. She had not spoken to Rhaenyra since she had demanded that Lia leave her room, and Lia doubted that appearing to have taken Alicent’s side would shift them closer to reconciliation. She felt stuck, trapped in her own misery, and she knew that Otto Hightower was to blame – the man who had pushed his only daughter towards the king, in the pursuit of his own ambition. She avoided him as much as she could, speaking to him as little she could get away with, not trusting herself not to erupt at him just as Rhaenyra had done to her. The confusing rush of heat she felt whenever in his presence had not gone away, but it had been dwarfed by bitter resentment.

The morning of Alicent and Viserys’ wedding, Lia caught sight of Alicent as she walked past her chambers. The doors had been left open, to allow for the scurry of maidservants all coming and going as they attended to her, readying her for the ceremony.

Alicent stood elevated upon a wooden step stool, in front of a full length looking glass, draped in a backless gown of ivory lace. Her auburn curls were piled high upon her head, adorned with a high set tiara inlaid with iridescent pearls and sparkling diamonds. She looked beautiful, but it was not this that struck a chord with Lia, it was how tiny, vulnerable and alone she appeared. She still looked every bit the little girl playing at dress up, just as she had in her mother’s clothes when her courtship with the king began. But this time Lia was not left fighting the urge not to mock her, this time she wanted to offer comfort to her friend, because she looked absolutely terrified.

Lia stepped into the room, silently unapologetic as she was met by the frustrated huffs of the maidservants she pushed past in order to get to her friend. She came to stand beside her, meeting Alicent’s gaze in the reflective surface. Alicent remained upon her step stool as a stout woman knelt before her, placing hasty stitches into the hem of her dress, but she reached out an arm, draping it around Lia’s shoulders and pulled her against her waist. Lia clung tightly to her, as though grasping a lifeline after weeks of being set adrift.

“Do you hate me?” Alicent asked quietly as she continued to look at Lia in the mirror.

“You imbecile,” Lia breathed, hugging her tighter. ‘I love the bones of you.’

The ceremony itself was a tense affair. Despite the fact that the grand sept was filled to capacity with well wishers for the impending nuptials, Lia’s gaze was honed in upon Rhaenyra, who sat on the opposite side of the aisle to her. Lia could practically feel the ire radiating off of her. The princess kept her gaze fixed ahead, eyes filled with malice as she watched her father drape his cloak around Alicent’s shoulders. Her lips were drawn into a petulant pout as she kept her arms crossed around her middle.

“You ought to be watching the wedding, not the princess,” Otto leaned in to whisper to her from where sat beside her.

Lia scowled at the flush of pink that dusted across her cheekbones at the brush of his beard against the shell of her ear, and wordlessly turned to face the front. She would not grant him the privilege of her attention or her response.

She barely touched her food at the wedding feast, but the same could not be said of the wine. Seated between Otto and his son, Gwayne, at the head feasting table, Lia did not look at either of them, her attention focused solely upon the jug in front of her. She repeatedly lifted the pewter receptacle to fill her cup with Dornish red. The burn in her throat was a pleasant distraction to the misery that sat further down the table on either side of Viserys. She found the gradual lightheadedness helped her to care less about how subdued Alicent appeared, to pay no mind to Rhaenyra’s sullen face. Were it not for the jaunty tune being played by the musicians in the corner of the hall, the atmosphere could easily be mistaken for a funeral and not a wedding.

“Perhaps you might speak to Gwayne?” Otto urged gently as he leaned in to speak quietly to her. “He has traveled from Oldtown to be here today.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” she said, her tone dripping with petulant defiance, content to ignore the red headed young man beside her.

As she reached forward for the wine jug again, Otto gently grasped her wrist, staying her hand. “I think you have had enough,” he warned, the stern intonation one she was painfully familiar with.

“Allow me to respectfully disagree,” she slurred slightly, a lazy grin spreading across her face as she finally turned to look at Otto, “must you be so boring?”

“Up. Now,” Otto commanded, rising from his seat. Though he kept his voice low enough for only her to hear, the anger that blazed within her eyes as he stared expectantly down at her left no room for argument.

A stone settled in Lia’s stomach as she rose from her seat, unsteady on her feet as she followed him through a side door, into a quiet and empty passageway of the Keep.

He rounded on her as the door closed behind them, the anger in him now at a simmer instead of boiling over. “You are in your cups, and I think it best you retire for the evening, lest you embarrass yourself.”

“I am not yours to command,” Lia bit back, staring up at him defiantly, even as she swayed with the effects of the wine, her limbs feeling much too heavy to cope with the fuzziness that clouded her mind.

“Must you always be so disagreeable?” he demanded, nostrils flaring in irritation.

“Must you always ruin everything?!” she shouted back, hating the way her voice wobbled as a lump formed in her throat.

Otto furrowed his brow, eyes searching her face in confusion. “What exactly do you mean?”

Inhibitions lowered, Lia allowed the floodgates to open, hiccuping around sobs as she lunged towards Otto, slapping her hands weakly against the crushed forest green velvet of his doublet as she raged at him. “You have married Alicent to Viserys! You made her! You took away my friends! Alicent will be queen, but what of me? What of me? You have forgotten me!”

He caught her wrists, holding them tight against his chest, until the fight left her, and she slumped against chest, crying quietly. Only then did he release her, his arms coming to wrap around her, holding her gently against him. The smell of sandalwood surrounded her, soothing her, and she allowed her eyes to close as he gently stroked her hair.

“My darling girl, I could never forget you.”

His voice was the gentlest she had ever heard him sound and she pulled back slightly, her large tearful eyes meeting the soft understanding reflected in his as he looked down at her.

“I wanted to wait until the wedding was over to tell you, but it seems there is no point in delaying any longer,” he said, his hands coming to rest upon her shoulders.

“Tell me what?” Lia asked, feeling dread begin to coil within her belly.

“When Gwayne returns to Oldtown, you will go with him. The two of you are to be married.”

Otto broke the news with a prideful look upon his face, eyes glittering as he smiled down at her, as though bestowing a great gift upon her.

Lia felt the bottom fall away from her world, her heart and stomach dripping endlessly with it.

‘I do not want this. I do not want this.’

She felt as though she could not breathe, the urge to tear at her bodice to ease the restriction of her ribs became almost overwhelming. Pulling out of Otto’s grasp, Lia turned and ran, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the unwelcome news he had just delivered as possible.

For the third time in her life, Lia found herself beseeching to gods she did not believe in.

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Would That I

Pairing: Otto Hightower x f!reader Warnings: Smut, age gap, keeping it in the family. Word count: ~1.1k Summary: Otto makes sure his pretty, young wife has absolutely everything she desires. Based on this request.

She is smitten with Otto the moment she lays eyes on him. Arriving in King’s Landing she anticipates a week of uninteresting jousts and tedious formalities, but as she sits in the stands, thoroughly uninterested by the spectacle of the two knights charging towards each other on horseback, her eye is drawn to the Hand of the King. He is older than her by at least three decades, but he is refined, tall and ruggedly handsome. While the potential suitors within the capital are seemingly endless, none of them compare to Otto Hightower

Using every excuse within her arsenal over the coming days, she seizes all opportunities to see and speak to him, and is delighted to find he is every bit as charming as he is handsome. He titters at her jokes and she is enamoured by the way his eyes crinkle as he smiles, the green of his iris appearing to sparkle as he does so. His voice is deep, yet velvety smooth and she hangs on his every word. He is intelligent, diplomatic and sharp as Valyrian steel.

Her desire for him intensifies as the days press on, and emboldened by one too many cups of Dornish red following a feast one evening, she leans forward and presses her lips to his, her heart fluttering as she feels the warmth of his large palm cup her cheek as he returns the gesture.

“I have not felt like this about a woman in years,” He tells her.

She smiles at his words. She has not felt like this about a man ever.

There is no need for her to leave come the end of the week, King’s Landing is now her home, and after a hastily put together ceremony in the Sept, Otto Hightower is her husband.

He surprises her with his virility on their wedding night, wringing peak after peak from her pliant body, leaving her exhausted but with a satisfying ache between her thighs the following morning. Otto spoils her beyond comprehension, she wants for nothing and has the finest of everything; jewels from Lys, gowns of Myrish silk and lace, wines from the Arbor. He is diligent in keeping her sated in every aspect of their marriage.

It is obvious his daughter, Alicent, does not approve, though she does not say it, and who can blame her? She has to admit that she’d be annoyed too if her father chose to marry someone younger than his own daughter.

It is not Alicent’s silent disapproval that bothers her, however, it is how the ladies of the court love to gossip. It is not unusual in Westeros for men to wed women much younger than themselves, yet she finds herself at the center of all manner of prying questions regarding the nature of her marriage to Otto. She supposes it is because of the responsibility he holds as the King’s Hand.

“What is it you see in him?” One bold lady dares to ask.

She bites her lip, considering her answer. She longs to say that it sends a thrill through her body to wait upon her knees for him, gazing up at him as he presses the head of himself past her lips. Such talk would cause a scandal, however, so she gives a tight smile and says that he is tall.

“Surely that can’t be all?”

“No, he is handsome too,” She says wistfully, thinking about how he gazes up at her from between her thighs, the softness of his beard tickling her soft flesh, the sensation causing her to clench around nothing.

“Is he kind to you?”

“Oh, yes, Otto is extraordinarily generous!” There is a particular necklace that Otto insists she wears, with nothing else to accompany it, whenever they are alone in their marital chambers. It sits tight against her throat, adorned with emeralds that gleam in the same shade of green as the Hightower house colours. It likely cost a small fortune, but in his eyes nothing is too good for her, not when he is buried to the hilt inside of her.

“Is that your favourite quality of his?”

“No,” She muses. “I adore his dedication to his family.”

The combined heat from the fireplace and lit candles that sit upon every surface of the bedchamber make the room stiflingly hot. She feels sweat trickle down her neck, disappearing beneath the emerald choker that sits snugly around her neck, every green gemstone glittering in the dim light as she rolls her hips against Otto’s.

His grip on her waist is vice-like, every sensation heightened by warmth, as the length of him nudges against a spot inside of her that makes her tense with every undulation of her body. She feels taut, pulled tighter than a bow string until it eventually snaps, sending her headlong into oblivion, waves of ecstasy rolling through her as she collapses against her husband’s chest, triggering his own release.

His fingers stroke gently over her dampened skin as he holds her close. Already, renewed desire throbs between her legs.

“Are you satisfied, my dear?” Otto asks softly.

“I will never have enough of you, my love,” Comes her playful response.

“That is not quite what I had in mind.”

“Oh?” She lifts her head, eyeing him curiously.

“I have seen the way that you and Aemond look at each other, I am no fool.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “It is nothing, I can assure you.”

“I do not mind,” He rises from the bed, pulling on a robe. “I wish for my darling wife to be satisfied, to have everything she desires, so I shall make it so.”

He opens the chamber door, uttering “you can come in now” and her eyes widen in disbelief when she sees Otto’s second oldest grandson hovering in the doorway. It seems outrageous to her that he would suggest such a thing, yet she cannot deny the way it makes her pulse race.

“I shall be back in an hour.” Otto informs them both, before leaving.

She is too stunned to speak at first as she takes in the sight of Aemond. He seems stoic and unaffected in his demeanour, until she studies him more carefully. She takes in how his pupil is dilated with lust, the prominent bulge that presses against the lacings of his trousers, and the slight parting of his lips as he struggles to control his excited breaths.

Arranging herself atop the bedspread, she relaxes knowing that he desires her just as much as she desires him. She beckons him to her with a crook of her finger. “Come now, don’t be shy.” He goes to her eagerly.

It is just one of the many perks of being Otto Hightower’s wife. He is nothing if not generous in every aspect of their marriage, and so dedicated to his family.

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Fire on the Mountain - Masterlist

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Canon typical sexism, canon typical violence, angst, smut, age gap, power imbalance. Individual warnings will be applied to each chapter.

Summary: Lia Costayne, childhood friend of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower, has always had lofty ambitions, and is all too happy to use Alicent's father to advance her position at court. Otto sees greatness in Lia too, however, their visions of what success looks like for her could not be more different.

Author's note: Header image by @vampire-exgirlfriend. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

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Act One

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three - coming soon!

Drabbles

To Walk the Old Path