The Lord’s Violent Outburst!

The dim light in the stone chamber flickered as the fire crackled in the hearth. Ormund Hightower, dressed in deep green with silver adornments, held the unfolded parchment with a rigid grace. His jaw tightened, the veins in his hand twitching as he read its contents. The air grew heavy—dangerous—an unspoken tension chilling those in the room.

The letters fell to the table in a swift motion as Ormund slammed his fist against the wood. The delicate pomander he’d been handling earlier tipped, spilling its aromatic contents onto the floor. Without pause, he reached for his goblet and hurled it across the room, the clatter bursting like thunder against the stone wall. Daeron flinched but quickly mobilized to usher out the servants before things escalated.

“USELESS CRAVEN COWARD!”

Ormund’s voice boomed, echoing off the chamber walls. He unsheathed his sword in one sharp motion, the blade catching the light of the flames dancing far too close to madness in his eyes. His fury turned on the table in front of him, striking blow after blow, each shout punctuated by steel gleaming against oak.

“ ! ! !” He roared, hacking the furniture into splinters, his strikes fueled by both rage and something deeper—betrayal. The heavy breathing from Daeron and Ser Jon Roxton at the edges of the room filled the air; neither dared interrupt as the violent display continued.

Finally, Ormund stilled, his shoulders rising and falling erratically as the heat of his temper began to cool. Adjusting his grip on the sword’s hilt, he exhaled sharply, wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve. The fire snapped and popped behind him as he sheathed the blade with practiced force.

He moved to pick up the discarded scabbard, his movement slower, more restrained now. Though his face remained composed, his nostrils flared slightly, evidence of the simmering frustration still lurking beneath his facade. Ser Jon, silent but attentive, moved quietly to upright the chair that Ormund had knocked over in his earlier fit, stepping back just as Ormund sank heavily into it.

Finally, he cleared his throat, his gaze shifting to Daeron, whose wide eyes betrayed his unease. “Your uncle Gwayne has sent word,” Ormund stated, his voice now measured but clipped. He paused, breathing in before speaking again. “It seems your brother Aemond will not be joining us after all.”

Spouse User! 💚🕯🗡💥✨️

Side Note: Guess who watched the new season of Hotd! THIS SEAL! Anyhow. This is set during season 3, episode 4, when Ormund throws his fit after reading the letter from Gwayne✨️ As always, User can be whatever y'all want/from whatever House y'all want! Ormund and User are married and have been for however long y'all want, honestly. Go crazy! Also, do any of y'all think that James Norton/Ormund looks a tiny bit like Glen Powel at certain angles or is it just me? Oh well! I hope y'all enjoy!💖