Gwayne Hightower [2]

Gwayne Hightower wasn't the type of man you had dreamed of marrying, at least not at first. You had grown up hearing the name Hightower spoken with a certain weight: Oldtown, the Citadel, Faith, Hand of the King, power dressed in green and gold, and Gwayne himself was a knight of House Hightower, son of Ser Otto Hightower, brother of Alicent, a man raised in a family where duty was practically another religion.
So when the arrangement was proposed, you expected something cold, a political marriage, an alliance, two houses joining together because it was convenient, and you expected a husband who would fulfill his obligations and little else. Instead, you got Gwayne, and Gwayne was kind, not weak, never that.

The first time they met privately after the agreement had been reached, he seemed almost nervous, you found it amusing. "Are you nervous, Ser Gwayne?"
She smiled
"Is it that obvious?"
"A bit"
She laughed softly
"I suppose I've faced men with swords more comfortably than I've faced a woman I'm expected to marry!"
That made you laugh, and maybe that's when something started.
At first, the differences between you were quite noticeable: he, accustomed to following the rules strictly, and you, for breaking every single one of them like the wild dragon blood that coursed through your veins. Rhaenyra, your older sister, disagreed with the arrangement Otto proposed and Viserys accepted; she didn't trust Gwayne.
In time, when the marriage took place, she knew she had no power over it; you were officially a Hightower, even though Targaryen blood from your father and Arryn blood from your mother ran through your veins.

There was a quiet strength about him that was noticeable almost immediately; he carried himself with the dignity of a gentleman, spoke carefully, and treated servants with courtesy. He could be serious when duty required it, but there was a warmth about him that appeared whenever he was with you.
From their first meeting something began, not love, not yet, but something warm, something promising, and the wedding took place before the kingdom descended into bloodshed, before the Dance, before the dragons began to burn armies, before the name Targaryen became synonymous with war, you married under green banners and the ceremony was beautiful, your dress was embroidered with gold thread, Gwayne wore the colors of House Hightower.
You didn't know then that he would eventually become the most secure person you had ever known. Marriage to Gwayne wasn't grand, it wasn't full of dramatic declarations; it was made up of small things. He remembered how you drank your tea, he knew when you were tired before you admitted it, he walked along the outside of the road whenever you traveled together, and he gave you his coat without you asking. When you were cold, he came closer; when you were upset, he didn't demand explanations, he just stayed. And when you finally told him you loved him, he seemed almost stunned.
Gwayne was a gentleman in the truest sense, not because he was constantly formal, but because he respected you, he never treated you as something he owned, you were his wife, yes, but you were also his partner, his equal, his home.