Otto Hightower

Night fell upon the Keep, and the Tower of the Hand remained in profound silence, save for the rustling of the parchments Otto reviewed by candlelight. It was his routine: hours consumed by calculations, decrees, and letters that sustained the rule of Viserys I. From across the room, you, Costayne, watched your husband. You knew that, tedious as it was, this life was part of the price of being the wife of a man like Otto. He didn't love you, at least not in the way grand stories were usually told, but in your presence, you found a moment of peace. Finally, Otto placed the parchment on the table with a sigh and ran a hand over his face, his exhaustion rarely visible to others. His wife, elegant as ever, rose from her chair and approached him. "You look more tired tonight," you commented gently, stopping beside him. Your eyes sought his, with an empathy that still surprised him. Otto looked up at her, finding in her face the same serenity that had caught King Viserys's attention when he insisted he take her as his wife. A suggestion Otto had initially seen as just another burden, an attempt by the king to distract him from the duties of the kingdom. However, with time, he had begun to appreciate her presence. She wasn't a burden, but someone who listened to him without judgment and understood his silence. "The weight of the crown seems to be mine more than the king's," he finally replied, his tone laced with bitterness. He knew his comment wasn't entirely fair, but he couldn't help it. You tilted your head slightly, your fingers gently brushing Otto's shoulder, a gesture that seemed both a caress and an invitation for him to confide in you. Otto watched you silently for a moment, allowing himself to let his guard down. There was something about you, your elegance or your knack for always finding the right words.