Chapter Eleven: Rhaenyra III
The marriage tour had only just begun, and Rhaenyra was already sick of it all.
She had arrived a month ago on Dragonstone, where all the lords and squires and even some hedge knights would gather to try and win Rhaenyra's favour, and she still had another month of suffering all the courtier's proposals until she could go finally go back home. And then she would have to return to Dragonstone again for the second part of the tour six months later.
Her father had said Rhaenyra was free to choose who she could get married to, a liberty that she would not normally have.
And what if I choose to marry nobody?
None of the marriage suitors had particularly excited her very much, or at all, really. She recognised some of the suitors from her father's wedding, and they were just as uninteresting as she remembered. The previous night, Borros Baratheon, now the Lord of Storm's End, asked Rhaenyra for a dance after the supper. Rhaenyra, not wanting to hear of any more of Borros' exploits in the whorehouses, declined his proposal.
Lord Borros did not take it as well, however, leaving Dragonstone for Storm's End the following morning.
I take it Lord Borros shall not be my husband then.
Some of the people Rhaenyra had remembered dancing with were not present, some were to be attending the second round of the tour, or some were already married. Elmo Tully had now been knighted; married Lady Camilla Vance; and had a son of his own, a young lad named Kermit. Ser Thoren Hightower, Lord Jason Lannister, and Ser Harwin Breakbones, meanwhile, were to attend the second round. She thought back to those lords and knights that she danced with: Ser Thoren with his funny japes and gentle nature, Lord Jason and his pride the size of his castle, and Ser Harwin with his huge, hulking shoulders.
Tonight, Rhaenyra would have to endure another feast, and also another round of dances, fake pleasantries, and listen to how a lord of a keep the size of a tavern would treat Rhaenyra like a true queen.
I swear it, if another hedge knight says he can protect me better than everyone else here, I shall swim back to King's Landing myself!
That evening, she wore a long white and red dress, with red Myrish lace that covered her arms. Sewn into the bodice were cloth-of-gold dragons, and she wore a golden necklace wrought with rubies that was shaped like dragon wrapped around her neck. The necklace looked more like a long snake wrapped around her neck, however. Sometimes, Rhaenyra felt like her duties and responsibilities were also wrapped her around her neck, too.
The Great Hall of Dragonstone was the shape of a massive dragon, as was everything inside and outside of the castle. The doors were red and huge, and resembled entering the mouth of a dragon. The hall itself was large, with long grey stone tables that were laid out on either side of the room, shaped like two sleeping dragons guarding the hall. In the centre of the room was the dais, spread out in front of the dragon shaped throne that Rhaenyra would sit in for the feast. The Throne of Dragonstone was no Iron Throne, but it was still a throne, nonetheless.
And it was the same throne Aegon the Conqueror sat on himself.
She entered with Ser Harrold Westerling, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Harrold was a large man, with a long salt-and-pepper beard and a shiny, bald head. He walked slowly, as he was a man of four-and-seventy, so Rhaenyra slowed to allow him to keep up. Though the old knight was good company, Rhaenyra would have preferred the company of Ser Criston Cole, her sworn shield, but Ser Criston was busy dealing with some bandits in the kingswood when Rhaenyra left for Dragonstone. Sometimes she noticed Ser Criston taking a small glance at her, but she knew that Ser Criston swore an oath of chastity and was too honourable of a man to forsake his oaths for her.
Maybe if Ser Criston was not in the Kingsguard, I would have chosen to marry him. When I'm Queen, I could dismiss him from his vows and marry him then. I'd be allowed to, who would be able to refuse the Queen?
"Ser Harrold, do you ever regret not marrying?" she asked the Lord Commander.
"Aye, sometimes, Princess. But my dream as a young lad was to always become a Kingsguard member, so I would not trade it even for marriage to any woman in the world." Ser Harrold replied.
"I say this, you are lucky you did not marry. If I could, I would not marry at all," laughed Rhaenyra.
Ser Harrold gave a small laugh in response, as he took his place standing by Rhaenyra's side, always on her right as she supped and entertained suitors.
The first course of the dinner was a crab stew spiced with saffron and cloves, served in a hollowed out loaf of bread for a bowl, which Rhaenyra took small spoonfuls of, in between talking to all the men vying for her hand.
The first man of the night to present himself to Rhaenyra was Lord Symon Dondarrion, a man who looked to be twenty years older than Ser Harrold. He limped forwards towards the dais, in a black leather doublet, and purple cloak, which bore the lightning bolts of his house.
"With... your... hand... in... marriage... Princess... I... would... treat... you... as... a... true... lady... and... we... would... have... strong... healthy... children..." he croaked, looking so red that he might have died had he said any more words.
Rhaenyra leaned towards Ser Harrold and whispered, "How old is this man. He must have been alive during the Doom of Valyria!" though she may have whispered too loud as most of the people present chuckled.
"That was... unseemly, Princess." Ser Harrold responded, disapprovingly.
"No, Ser Harrold, it was unseemly for him to offer himself to me!"
"As you say, Princess. But still, make sure to thank Lord Dondarrion for attending before dismissing him."
"Thank you for taking your time to come all this way, my Lord." Rhaenyra said to Lord Symon Dondarrion with a forced smile on her face. Most of the times, she had forgotten to thank the suitors for attending, until Ser Harrold reminded her.
Most of these suitors do not deserve my thanks, in truth.
Next was Ser Owen Fossoway, who boasted for ten minutes about the beauty of Cider Hall, until Rhaenyra had to remind him that Maegor's Holdfast alone could fit five Cider Halls inside of it. After him was a man who claimed to be from House Mudd, despite the house going extinct hundreds of years prior to Aegon's Conquest. Then was a Reyne boy so fat he collapsed after standing in line for so long. Next was Garibald Grey, a boy who could be no older than eight.
"If... Your Gra... the Princess would be... so kind to marry me... I would protect... you... from all your enemies..." the young boy said, stumbling on his own words.
"And how will you protect the Princess? She has a dragon you fucking idiot, and you're still a small boy!" shouted Ser Unwin Peake from the crowd, as he sat laughing with Ser Jon Roxton. Rhaenyra had danced with those two men the previous night, and found Ser Unwin to be a funny man, and Ser Jon to be even funnier.
"Ser Unwin is correct it seems, you are too young for me. Next!" laughed Rhaenyra.
As the dejected boy walked away, Ser Harrold nudged Rhaenyra again to remind her of what to do. The boy was already halfway out of the door when Rhaenyra shouted her thanks for the boy's attendance, which only met with even more laughs from everyone.
After the young boy was Ser Amos Bracken, one of the men Rhaenyra danced with on her father's wedding. As he gave a speech as to why he should marry Rhaenyra, he was interrupted by a shout from across the room.
"Stop trying cunt, she will never choose some Bracken scum like you!" the heckler was Samwell Blackwood. The Blackwoods and Brackens were historical enemies, and always fought each other, even in times of peace.
"As I was saying, Princess, Stone Hedge is a brill..." Ser Amos continued, before being interrupted again by Samwell Blackwood drawing his sword.
"A duel for the Princess' hand, Bracken! If you're lucky, maybe I'll let you live!"
As they both drew their swords to fight for the honour of marrying Rhaenyra, she had finally reached her tipping point.
"Okay, I have seen enough! Ser Harrold, we are leaving for King's Landing. This... tour is over! I thank you all for coming!" she declared, remembering to thank everyone this time.
"Princess... I would not recommend..." said Ser Harrold, rushing to try and keep up with Rhaenyra, as the Blackwood and Bracken continued to clash swords in the hall.
"I have already decided, Ser Harrold. I am tired of this farce." Rhaenyra would face the consequences of halting the tour so early from her father when she returned, but one month of this was already more than Rhaenyra could take. She would not do another month, and the same again in half a year's time. She turned around to see Ser Harrold with an exasperated look on his face, pulling Ser Amos away from Samwell Blackwood, who was shouting "Yield" repeatedly in a puddle of his own piss on the floor.
This whole bloody tour has just made marriage seem even worse in my eyes.
On the ship back to King's Landing, Rhaenyra was being scolded by Ser Harrold, whilst they stood by the bow, admiring the glory of the Red Keep and King's Landing in the distance. Ser Harrold was going on about how noble houses would take Rhaenyra's decision to end the tour prematurely as a slight, when suddenly, they heard the distant roar of a dragon.
"Seven Hells!" shouted Ser Harrold.
The roar was more a squeal, and it was so high pitched Rhaenyra felt her eardrums pop when it happened.
Wait a second, I know that roar.
Then, a few seconds later, the dragon came out of the clouds, soaring downwards and narrowly avoiding the ship as it dove. The ship rocked from the ripple of the dragon's wings, and Rhaenyra was thrown to the wooden deck of the boat.
"Princess!" Ser Harrold shouted, helping Rhaenyra back up to her feet.
As Rhaenyra got up, she looked up at the dragon, who had flown towards King's Landing.
It was long, with a thin, serpent like body, and its body and wings and legs was colored red, just like blood.
Rhaenyra knew that dragon the moment she saw it.
Daemon Targaryen had returned to King's Landing.
