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The police come before the news hits, that’s the one mercy she’s granted. Daemon calls her to the door where she finds men in uniform with sober looks on their faces. Her first thought is something happened to Harwin, but he’s in the house with her. Her mind ticks through the others, Corlys, Rhaenys, Laenor, and Laena. They should all be safe. Their lips move and Rhaenyra barely registers their words. She sinks to her knees, Daemon has to catch her. Her mind struggles to process the news. Sometime that evening, her father had shot and killed his pregnant wife and her baby siblings.
Heart wrenching sobs claw their way out of her throat. Someone’s arms, probably Harwin’s, wrap around her, trying to offer comfort. All she can say is “no.” No this can’t be happening. No he wouldn’t have done that. Not to Alicent. Not to the son he had always wanted, who was only three years old. Not to little Helaena, who had just turned one. But he had. And he hadn’t even had the decency to turn the gun on himself. It is a long time before Rhaenyra is able to move from the doorway.
Otto Hightower’s quiet evening is interrupted by a knock at the door. The police officer’s face at his door is horrifically reminiscent of the day different ones arrived to tell him his wife had been killed. This time, they’ve come to tell him that his only daughter is dead. Not just her, but the children too. Aegon put down like his dog. Helaena curled up in her crib.
He has to go to the coroner’s office to identify his daughter. To confirm the cold body lying on a slab had once been his little girl. The sight of the sheet stretched over her pregnant belly nearly makes him vomit. They offer to use DNA testing for the children to spare him, but he won’t do them the disservice. He has to face what he’s done. He confirms the tiny bodies are, were, his grandchildren.
The man is numb after that. He drives home on autopilot. He calls his son, breaks the news that his twin is dead, along with her children. If he hadn’t already been broken by the sight of Alicent’s body, the sound of his son’s broken sobs would have pushed him over the edge. “Tell me you’re lying!” Gwayne begs, “Please, tell me you’re lying.”
He cannot.
He listens to his son cry over the phone. Criston is there, visiting his friend, now having to provide him comfort. “I need to make arrangements,” he finally says. “I’m so sorry.”
Otto calls his lawyer, gets his affairs in order. It does not take much time, he’s been prepared since Alyrie died. He places the papers in the safe, a note on the desk. His son will know the code. The man goes into his closet, pulling his hunting rifle out of its case. He goes to the bathroom. He steps into his shower. He closes the curtain, wanting to limit the mess. He makes one final phone call.
“911, what is your emergency?”
He tells the operator his name, his address, what he’s about to do, and about the note for his son, waiting for him on the desk in his office. He hangs up before the operator can try to dissuade him. Otto places the muzzle of the rifle under his jaw, and his finger curls around the trigger. He squeezes it, and with a loud bang, he joins his daughter.
Gwayne has become catatonic after the second phone call. He doesn’t know how he ends up at his father’s house. Perhaps Criston carried him. He doesn’t go into the bathroom. He ends up in his father’s office. There was a letter for him, directing him that every needed document was in the safe. He doesn’t move from the desk. Criston has to open it for him, pull out the documents. Gwayne doesn’t move to take his father’s suicide note. Criston has to read it aloud while Gwayne stares ahead, not listening until one sentence brings him back to earth.
“Daemon never knew about the pregnancy.”
“What?” He asks hoarsely.
Criston is staring at the note, pale and stunned, “He… he thought Daemon wouldn’t be good for her, so…” Gwayne rips the note from Criston’s hand, hurriedly scanning it, his stomach dropping into his feet.
The note, written in his father’s hand, details how Daemon’s reputation, the time he had shown up wasted at Aemma’s funeral, coupled with Alicent calling him crying, too scared to tell Daemon herself, had led to his father convincing Daemon that Alicent didn’t want him anymore. He had broken them up, believing Alicent and the baby would be better for it. He did not protest when Alicent wanted to marry Viserys, saving Aegon from being a bastard. He had thought Viserys would’ve been a better father. He had been wrong.
Gwayne drops his head in his hands, “Daemon didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t leave her.” Fury lances through him, he grabs a stapler, hurling it with such force at the wall it breaks apart. “SHE SHOULD STILL BE HERE!” He screams.
The rage leaves him, fatigue settling in again as he braces against the desk, sobbing. “He wouldn’t have done this to her.” He sobs. “He wouldn’t.”
The worst part of burying a baby isn’t the fact you’re burying a baby, it’s finding out they make caskets that small. Rhaenyra has to leave the room when she sees them, crumpling into a ball in the hallway of the funeral home, sobbing. She clutches her stomach where her own unborn child lies. She’s not even two months along, she hasn’t felt a single kick or the baby’s heartbeat yet, but she already loves this baby. She’d fight a direwolf for them, face a platoon of marines made up of Greybeards. She can’t understand how Viserys did this. Even after all the abuse he had put her through, this still felt incomprehensible. Harwin joins her, sitting beside her, slinging an arm around her, pulling her into him. He says nothing, there are no words of comfort that can be offered.
“Rhaenyra,” she wipes her tear-filled eyes to see Criston and Gwayne standing in the hallway, looking equally awful. “Sorry, we got the time wrong.”
“I can’t do it,” she says to no one in particular. “I can’t pick out my siblings’ caskets.”
Gwayne lets out a pained sigh, he hadn’t thought about the baby caskets. He looks at Daemon, who’s sitting on the other side of his sister. He’s glad he’s here, though he knows it’s just to support Rhaenyra; this news shouldn’t be shared over the phone.
Daemon starts to stand up, “I should step out.” He has no intention of starting a fight or bringing up the bad blood between him and Alicent. Everyone deserves peace while they plan the worst day of their lives.
“My dad-” Gwayne begins, choking on his words. “My dad’s dead.”
Daemon freezes, “What?”
“He killed himself. The same night that Ali…” Gwayne trails off, unable to say the words. He takes a deep breath, Criston’s hand is squeezing his shoulder, giving him strength. He wills himself to get through this next part. “He left a note.”
“Gwayne, I’m so sorry,” Daemon says, realizing his former best friend is standing before him, a broken man with no family left.
“He…” Gwayne pauses; he can’t do it. He can’t say the words. He pulls out the note and hands it to Daemon. “You should read this.”
Daemon looks at the note in confusion, “Gwayne I-”
“No, you need to read this.” He insists, pushing the note into Daemon’s hands.
Daemon’s eyes flick over the words, his face neutral, but growing more concerned, more horrified, as he reads on. By the time he is finished, all the blood is drained from his face. “What is this?”
Gwayne says nothing. What can he say?
“Gwayne!” Daemon’s hands grab his collar, pushing him against the wall. “You’re lying. Tell me you’re lying.” Gwayne lets out a shaky breath, the deja vu of Daemon repeating his own words to his father making him feel hysterical. “Tell me this is some sick fucking joke.” Gwayne looks at him with bloodshot eyes. There is no humor in them.
“Aegon’s my son?” Daemon asks, his voice cracking. Rhaenyra looks sharply up, her mouth hanging open. “Viserys… Viserys killed my son?” Criston gently separates them. Daemon staggers back, slumping to the ground, his hand covering his mouth in horror as his eyes shine with tears.
{...}
Gwayne’s favorite time of the day is the moment he first wakes up, for a brief blissful minute, he doesn’t remember his twin is dead, that he’ll never see his nephew and niece again. He’ll never see them grow up, he’ll never meet Aemond, he’ll never grow old with his twin. Four lifetimes have been wretched away from him.
He doesn’t even feel real anymore. He has no appetite. No desire. No impulse to do anything. If breathing were not automatic, he would have stopped the day his family died. Criston has to coax him out of bed every morning, beg him to eat. He does it to placate him. Food tastes like sand in his mouth now.
He doesn’t want to go to the funeral, but he owes it to them. People try to talk to him, he doesn’t respond. The only ones he acknowledges are Rhaenyra, who does not look as though she’s stopped crying, and Daemon, whose eyes have a far off stare.
No one could bear the idea of Helaena and Aegon lying alone in the cold hard dirt. A coffin large enough for Alicent and her children was found. His father’s is smaller. Gwayne always knew he’d have to bury his father, but not like this.
“What was he like?” Daemon asks Rhaenyra as the Septon recites scripture. It’s one of the first times he’s spoken in the past week. They’ve been ghosts moving around each other, trying to make it through each day.
“He was kind, he loved attention. He wanted to be friends with everyone he met. He liked hugs. He loved,” she chokes slightly. “He loved his mom, he was so clingy to her.”
“And Helaena?”
She feels another tear run down her cheek, “sweet. Really sweet. And quiet. She could be in her own little world, but you know she liked you when she wanted to play in the same room as you.” She stares at the coffin, it doesn’t feel real, part of her is convinced they’re not in the coffin, that they’re out at the park, but they’re not. “I always thought I’d see them again,” she confesses to Daemon. “When they were older, I thought they’d reach out, I’d get to see them again. I’d be the cool older sister who took them shopping and bailed them out of jail.”
Harwin’s arm is resting on her shoulders, its heavy presence grounding her. “He reached out to Geradys, he wanted to talk to me,” disgust fills her voice. “As if I’d talk to him after what he did. He,” she laughs slightly, “he says he never would’ve hurt me. That I was his favorite.” Rhaenyra wants to be stunned by his audacity, at how he tries to avoid blame, but she can’t be. He can lie to her all he wants, she knows the truth, had she still been in the house, she would be resting in a coffin next to Alicent and her siblings.
The guilt wracking her this past week has been unbearable. Why had she told her father about her ownership of the company? Her mother had ordered Daemon to keep that knowledge from her until she was of age and out of the house, but Rhaenyra had always thought it would just result in him becoming more belligerent. More screaming, more yelling, more attempts to control her, never this. Never death. No one blames her except herself. That didn’t provide absolution.
The Hightowers are buried in a nice plot, the hill overlooks a river, there’s flowers and trees. It’s peaceful and beautiful. Rhaenyra imagines taking her baby here for a picnic on nice days, telling them about their uncle and aunt.
Gwayne is ready to die. There is nothing left for him. No father. No mother. No sister. No nephews. No niece. He can’t go on without them, he doesn’t want to. And he’s agony, all the time. Not from physical pain one gets from sore muscles or broken limb. It’s from an all encompassing weight, pressing in on him from all sides. The burden never ceases, he struggles to move his arms and legs, to breathe, to lift himself from bed.
The burden finally eases when he decides to kill himself. Making a plan has relieved the near constant pressure trying to force him through the earth’s crust. He’s going to go to his father’s house, find one of his hunting rifles, and join his family.
He feels lighter now, getting through the day is easier. He’s going to have a final get together, a send off to Daemon, Criston, and Rhaenyra, before enacting his plan.
“Gwayne wants to have us over for dinner,” Daemon tells her. “Criston says he’s been feeling better.”
Rhaenyra looks up from her dinner, “really? Better? That’s so soon.” Her brows furrow in concern.
Corlys immediately perks up, “He seems better?”
Daemon nods, “Criston says it was like an overnight thing. He’s kind of relieved. Gwayne has barely gotten out of bed the past month.”
“I mean, I’m happy he’s doing better but,” Rhaenyra pauses, “it hasn’t even been two months.”
“He’s going to kill himself,” Corlys says resolutely.
“How do you know that?” Daemon asks.
“I was in the military, I’ve seen this before. Deciding to kill yourself and making a plan often causes someone to feel better. The finality of it makes them feel relieved. They’re happier, they throw a party, they start giving away items. He’ll probably thank you for being such a good friend, then he’ll do it.”
Daemon feels the air leave his lungs again, he tightens his grip on his fork. “He can’t do that. How do we stop him?”
“He needs supervision and to be kept away from guns.”
“Pysch unit,” Rhaenyra says, “we can 5150 him.” Part of her feels revolted at the idea of doing to Gwayne what her father tried to do to her. This is different, she reminds herself, he needs it, I’m trying to stop him from dying. “If we can convince them he’s a danger to himself they’ll commit him without needing his consent.”
Daemon pushes away from the table. “I need to talk to Criston.”
The dinner is nice, they go out to a restaurant they used to frequent in high school. They reminisce about the past. Gwayne talks about Aegon and Helaena, even though it hurts, but Daemon should get to hear about his son. He gifts him and Rhaenyra every home video he could find that featured his niblings. He won’t need them anymore.
“Thank you,” Daemon says, while shooting Rhaenyra and Criston a look. Seven fucking hells this man does not get left unattended until he’s locked in the psych unit. They both subtly nod.
“I’m glad we did this,” Gwayne says, “you’ve always been a really good friend.”
“Me too,” Daemon glances at Criston.
Things take an abrupt turn when there are a couple strangers in business casual clothes waiting at his apartment.
“What’s going on?” Gwayne asks, feeling a deep sense of trepidation.
The woman in a blue blouse speaks first, “Hi I’m Ms Waters, I’m with the local mental health crisis team, this is my partner, Ms Seaworth.”
Gwayne looks accusatory at his friends. “What is this?”
“Your friends are concerned that you’re at risk for hurting yourself.”
Gwayne’s jaw clenches, rage burning through him. “I’m not, I’ve actually been feeling pretty great lately.” He directs that part towards Daemon and Criston. Their faces remain unconvinced.
“You’re been feeling great?” Ms. Waters repeats, “You lost your entire family about two months ago didn’t you?”
Fuck, “As good as I can be.”
“Why don’t we take a seat?”
Gwayne remains standing, “This is an overreaction, I don’t need help.”
“You’ve barely been able to get out of bed and overnight you’re suddenly feeling better? You took us out to dinner, you’re thanking us for being in your life.” Criston says.
“Is it a crime to be grateful?” Gwayne snaps.
“Cut the bullshit Gwayne, you lost the rest of your family, this,” Daemon gestures, “isn’t normal.”
“We’re just trying to help you Gwayne.” Rhaenyra says in a sad voice that almost makes him feel guilty about his decision.
“It sounds like everyone has some concerns, why don’t we sit down and talk about it?” Ms. Seaworth offers, her congenial tone makes Gwayne grit his teeth. Fucking bitch trying to make me feel better. My family is dead.
“Let me make this easy, I am not having any thoughts of suicide, and I have no intention of harming myself.”
“He’s lying,” Criston sounds so miserable, “he’s going to go to his dad’s house and shoot himself with a hunting rifle.” Gwayne turns sharply to his boyfriend, stunned. “I found your note.”
“You went through my things?”
“Gwayne, there’s an ambulance outside, we’d like you to come with us.” Ms. Waters says.
“I refuse, I’m not going to a psych unit.”
“Unfortunately since you’ve proven to be a serious risk to yourself, you are being involuntarily committed.”
“You can’t do that.”
“We can, and it’ll be easier for all of us if you come willingly.”
“Babe, please just go with them.” Criston begs.
“Fuck you,” Gwayne spits out, his boyfriend flinches as though he’s been hit. “I will never forgive you for this.”
Daemon steps in front of Criston, “stop being a fucking dick, he just doesn’t want to lose you.” Gwayne scoffs in response. “You’re the only thing I have left of my son!” Daemon snaps, nearly shouting, “I’m not losing you too. Get in the ambulance before I throw your ass in myself.”
Gwayne grits his teeth, staring hard at an unwavering Daemon before letting himself be escorted to the ambulance. He’s admitted straight to the psych unit. They take his shoes and give him grippy socks instead. The rest of his person is searched for any harmful objects. The staff is annoyingly polite as they show him his room. They’re annoyingly vague about when he’ll be released too. “At least seventy-two hours.” He feels even more incensed to kill himself. Just to prove a point to them.
He waits the aggravating seventy-two hours for his release, only to be denied. They still think he’s suicidal for some reason. He asks every day when he’ll be released. Every day he gets denied. Criston visits him every day. Daemon swings by when he can. Rhaenyra is at university and on the fencing team so she’s too busy to come, is what they tell him. But she does call. It drives him crazy. Criston’s mom Luz starts showing up. Criston must’ve come out while Gwayne’s been locked up. She always brings something homemade, urging him to eat, that’ll make him feel better.
He’s belligerent to his friends sometimes. Oftentimes he doesn’t speak, just fiddling with the puzzle pieces on the table. It doesn’t deter them. It takes him longer than it should to realize the nurses track his activity, and that avoiding therapy, staying in his room, not showering are all things that lead to them deeming him ‘unwell’ and ‘not fit for discharge.’ So Gwayne starts showering, starts attending all the stupid therapies, leaves his room outside of when he has visitors. He’s going to do what it takes to look better and the moment he’s released he’s putting a bullet in his head.
He attends group religiously, never speaking. He starts to learn more about the patients here. Most are voluntary admits, which surprises him. They’re terribly depressed like him, they’re suicidal like him, and yet they don’t want to die, so they’re here. He learns of their lives, their struggles, he feels guilty for being there when they have it worse. Life long battles with depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, constant struggles with drug abuse. He’s lived a good life, his family is just dead. So many of them have it worse than him, yet they’re trying to stay alive. He doesn’t get it.
He’s stunned to be met with sympathy when he finally speaks about why he’s here. “Damn, I’d need to be admitted too,” most of them agree. They’re surprised he struggled through a couple months without help.
He starts to feel less lonely. The grief is still maddening. The depression is all consuming, but there is the barest hint of relief at not being alone, at seeing others manage to go in spite of everything. I’m still going to kill myself, he thinks after every group.
The most infuriating part of the prolonged stay is that it starts to work. Getting out of bed every day is better than when he lays in bed and rots. Talking to people eases his burden. He starts to participate in group more. The antidepressants start taking effect. He stops fighting with Criston and Daemon. Luz Cole’s food starts to have flavor again. In spite of everything he slowly starts to get better. It’s the worst. Getting better is hard work, it’s slow, it’s boring, you backslide and lose your progress, dying is easier, so why should he bother? Because it’s what Alicent would want. Every single person tells him. Eventually he has to admit they’re right.
It takes about a month for him to be discharged from the psych unit. Frustratingly, he’s telling the truth when he denies any suicidal intention. He’s surprised when Criston informs him they’re going to move to Driftmark.
“Why?”
“It’ll be good to be around family, besides Rhaenyra’ll need help with the baby.”
Right, the baby. The fact that Rhaenyra is pregnant at eighteen makes his head want to explode. The fact that she’s married at eighteen to her baby daddy is even more rage inducing. A large part of him fears Rhaenyra being trapped in a similar situation to Alicent. He moves to Driftmark without complaint, ready to study Harwin like a hawk. If he gets the slightest indication he is like Viserys, he’s sending him to hell himself.
Harwin is, thankfully, a good man. He’s friendly and helpful. He’s helping Rhaenyra learn Old Tongue because they want the baby to be fluent in both their languages. His family helped move her out when she turned eighteen. He’s in the military like Criston, but different branches.
Gwayne is still deeply depressed, getting out of bed each day is laborious, his medication dosage is still being adjusted, but there is something helpful about living with Daemon and Rhaenyra.
The trial commences six months after Viserys is arrested. Rhaenyra nearly backs out of being a character witness because it means she’ll have to appear in court visibly pregnant. The idea of Viserys knowing she’s with child makes her skin crawl, but she wants that man in prison, and she wants to help do it. She chooses a looser but still professional cute suit and takes some zofran with her morning zoloft before she goes to court.
She stares down Viserys as she testifies, detailing the abuse he put her and her mother through. She has a white knuckled grip on her knees as they ask her if she knew that Viserys had poisoned her mother. She did not. She describes how ill her mother had been, how they had thought it was a side effect of the chemo, only to find out years later, after prosecutors had combed through the journals she had supplied, that he had killed Aemma. His wife would never have more kids and committed the grave sin of aborting the long awaited son. So he had poisoned her. The fucking monster.
The jury doesn’t even take a half hour to deliberate. Viserys is found guilty and sentenced to die. Rhaenyra finds out the news at home, watching TV. He’s stabbed to death by his fellow prisoners long before the state has a chance to kill him.
A few months later, Rhaenyra’s water breaks, a few hours later Jacaerys Strong is brought into this world. The little boy is handed to Gwayne, the weight of Jace in his arms is a familiar one. “He looks like Aegon,” he says softly, staring at his little face. Okay, he thinks, I’ll do it. I’ll stick around for him.
They go on. They build lives that’ll always be haunted by ghosts. Jace is held a little tighter, a little longer on the bad days, and there are many bad days. They do their best to heal themselves around the broken pieces that’ll never heal.