Chapter Fifteen: WOOHOO!
Fifteenth Day of the Second Month, 113 AC.
They say that it was bad luck for a bride to cry at her wedding.
I wondered if that applied to engagement feasts?
And grooms?
As my 'Not going to stab in my sleep'-tier servants adjusted my outfit to attend court, I wondered if given my lighter weight it would be possible for fly Sky to carry me off into the horizon? Or at the very least far enough away that I could start a new life as an extremely articulate six-year-old… with a dragon.
Oh, who was I kidding, it would be the stake for me without the framing device of my status. Or I would have to turn any town I tried to live in to kindling.
I had done my best to resist the mad idea, I wanted to help Rhaenyra and all but I did not intend to join her in unhappiness.
Going along with the scheme did not even help my attempts at self-preservation, Rhaenyra would still be stuck in a marriage that would result in nothing but trouble without my interference.
"Something troubles you?" Bulwer asked as the servants left. Before answering him, I looked at the door and frowned while I reviewed the men which had just left.
Milton, age nineteen, likes curvy girls, youngest of two brothers. Primary concern was ailing mother.
Fin, age thirty-two, drinks a touch too much, two children. Primary concern was marriage prospects for his daughters.
Ebermen waited patiently for me to finish my mental review of the staff.
There were roughly forty people in my 'household' and I intended to drill as many details of each into my head as I could.
Once I was satisfied, I turned to the Shield and grimaced while adjusting my red satin doublet, "I am six and being promised to a woman in her twenties."
"Nine and ten," I turned my glower at my shield which he reacted to with a shrug. "If you wish to be precise her nameday is still two moons away. Fourth day of the Fourth Month."
If there was one thing you could say about Ebermen, it was that the man was thorough. Less the Hound and more a Secret Service Chief crammed into a T-800.
"That does not help," I scowled regardless. Viserys claimed that it was for the good of the family, Alicent wanted to undermine Rhaenyra and secure me a future while Rhaenyra insisted that she could just annul the marriage once she was queen.
But that was not what bothered me.
Being a bargaining chip was to be expected, I was a prince and too pragmatic by half to pull some Oldstones crap.
Still… I could not help but feel that something was off. "I do not like this."
"As you say," the bull snorted. "The Lady has proven to possess inadequate judgement, I will account as best as I am able."
I sighed.
Leave it to Ebermen to somehow look at it from the practical angle.
That little tidbit was fortunately the one detail that had not been slipped, it was already enough of a source of gossip without Laena's lack of a hymen making my life irrationally difficult.
It still galled what was left of the man I had been.
The age gap was a little extreme by my standards but compared to the shit men liked to pull in Westeros, well 'hypocrisy' did not even begin to describe what that was. Hell, I did not even fault her for being unchaste, from my perspective that fell more in line with normal than just about everything else involved.
What irked me the most however, more than even Daemon, was that it did not make sense.
The Velaryon's were already being given a royal match, why the bloody hell would Viserys consent to two?
More importantly why would they arrange a marriage that was just not mathematically suited to produce children?
At most there would be a five-to-eight year window left (alright, not that narrow) and that would still be horrifically dangerous for the already iffy Laena who had not been able to make it through two birth otl before one killed her.
All of which was well before one took into account that Laena seemed to think self-control was something that only happened to other people and was being asked to restrain herself for eight years.
The only logical conclusion was that this whole thing was meant to fail.
Rhaenyra had the idea with the notion of freeing herself and annulling it later, questionable but logical given her point of view.
Alicent just wanted to screw over Rhaenyra and might well have the very same plan for later.
But why would Viserys consent to it? It made me grind my teeth that the one that agreed to the whole thing was the figure that I was least familiar with personally.
He probably just went along with what everyone else said, but it did not seem to be a situation where his hard-on for stasis would kick in. Aside from them I could not even begin to wager as to what the small council was thinking on the matter.
Lord Strong was unreadable as ever in the matter but he was likely just smart enough to avoid alienating the Blacks or Greens over the marriage.
Mellos probably had some idiotic reasoning which I could not be bothered to understand. The man excelled at Essosi politics but was hardly known for his mastery of inter-house relations.
Beesbury was affable but the man's eyes turned to saucers at the prospect of more gold for the treasury, I would have thought that he would lobby to sell me to the Lannisters.
Cole probably just mistepped, and not into a bottomless Deathstar pit. Maybe he figured that he could keep Rhaenyra from the wedding with me as the bait?
The Master of Whisperers, I had expected. Allistar Roote was too incompetent a Whisperer by half but he was wary enough of threats to the throne that he might well have pushed to pull the Velaryon's farther away from Daemon.
The others either bled Black or Green, so they voted like obedient little toys.
No, no matter how I tried to square it, it did not fit.
I sighed and massaged my temples, "I do not understand."
"We all do what we must," Bulwer noted. "Even when we are called to do distasteful things in the name of our duty."
Terrible bedside manner as usual, Ebermen. He was not wrong though, short of trying for the wall or the citadel at age the tender age of six, their word was law.
Their stupid, stupid law.
"This is a sham Ebermen," I noted as I turned to stare him in the eye, pink against hard green. "I do not pretend to understand the purpose of these machinations, but an addled fool could tell that this marriage is not meant to happen."
As usual he merely shrugged, "As you say. Unless you have some inkling however, it is not a matter in which we may interfere."
"I know that," I scowled. "But I have no wish to be anyone's sacrificial lamb."
Thing's had stuck too close to the otl, even if one divergence prevented Daemon's action I did not want to bet my life on it and I certainly did not intend to martyr myself to the cause of saving a waste-of-space Bravosi stupid enough to cross the Rogue Prick.
"If it comes to that," Ebermen snorted, " I swore an oath to protect you, with my life if need be."
I sighed, I appreciated the thought but I had no idea how well Ebermen could fight, he did not participate in tourneys and it did not take much to beat up a small child. He only sparred with my guards and forbade them from practicing beyond their little brotherhood, they seemed decent enough but that did not translate to protecting my life effectively.
And Ebermen had not been notable enough to make it into the book's though so his efforts would probably be moot anyway.
"Appreciated," I muttered before turning back to my 'mirror' and finishing my preparation. If I was to be doomed, then at the very least I could look good while doing it.
I wished that the damned lizard did not look so bloody relaxed at my situation though, laxatives are one thing but wishing doom on another seemed like an extremely disproportionate reaction.
Finally content with my appearance I made to leave my room with my hernia and lizard in tow.
Well as happy as a sentenced man could be with be on their way to the gallows.
And it did not help that I dressed in dark black and red on a sweltering summer's day.
People complained about the winter and given Westerosi winters, it was fair. But I had lived most of my life with snow and had never been a friend to hot climates?
Damned if I did not wish for my world's dressing conventions at that moment.
Things were extra rowdy around the Red Keep as the army of servants rushed to prepare for the army of lords showing up to witness the heiress of the realm get engaged to the Lord of the See-Through Closet.
Those that were salty about that particular state of things at least got to amuse themselves or rage incoherently with the choice of groom.
Although, I was more than certain the quite a few private snickers would circulate around my own situation.
Thank the One-Whose-Wings-Are-Forward that Aegon and Maegor had the presence of mind to drive home the point of 'do not be too public with your jeers because we will unleash our murder-machines on you!' or the japes would have been decidedly less quiet.
The one bright side to this mess is that I was sure to get some sliver of Laena's massive dowry, if I was allowed such a thing. I had to admit that I was more than a little fuzzy as to when such things were actually given.
Sadly, much like most of my less correct questions, I could not get answers without consulting the hairless hamster that had replaced Runciter. He would go squealing it to everyone within half a heartbeat. If I did receive some of it then I would be able to finance the rest of Sky's training equipment without Nessa giving me a weathering look.
The girl could morph into a terrifyingly Victorian figure when the mood struck her, momentarily making me feel as if I were actually a child of six.
The influx of lords had made one thing very clear, I had a reputation outside of the court.
And it was not a good one.
Apparently, some singers in the city were making a pretty penny by singing about me. What I heard from my sources (Mushroom) and my staff was that the songs varied rather wildly, some were singing of a 'bold child' while others song as ribald and harsh rumors as they could disguise without getting a hand removed.
The most common one went as far as to call me a 'boy-shaped dragon' with little horns beneath my hair and stubby wings beneath my shirt.
It reaffirmed one notion that I had already held before coming to this world, bards were dicks. Also, if I heard any song about me at the feast they would be quickly introduced to my Pete Townshend impression, repeatedly with their instrument substituting for a guitar and their heads as my stage.
My annoyance at the singers only made me less pleasant company as my guards followed quietly towards my execut-feast. Their plate and mail finely polished and crested with little dragon-headed pendants I had convinced the castle smith to make for the servants which had earned my trust. He had even whitened the metal for a touch of flair along the jaws of the little creatures.
The night seemed like it was going to be a bleak and miserable affair for me. Sitting next to a beautiful girl who likely did not harbor the best wished for my health while the court laughed at our misfortune.
I had not expected for the day to take such a delightfully pleasant turn!
I sat at the royal table during the feast as was to be expected with my family (unfortunately including Ser Otto) and the Velaryons.
No one looked altogether happy except Laenor. He was quite content to make a mockery of virtually everyone by making googly eyes at the sparkly bishounen otherwise known as Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, the Knight of Kisses. I might have had a hard time respecting a man who went by Kisses if he had not been in possession of one of the most vicious coat-of-arms that I had ever seen, and I had once been an avid 40k player. That the lad was actually thin-lipped and seemed to be making quiet gestures for Laenor to break eye-contact made him more respectable as well.
Sitting beside Laenor was my sister who eyed her betrothed as if she was weighing how well Syrax could do against Seasmoke in an aerial duel. I took what comfort I could by amusing myself with Cole's seething hatred, the 'knight's' eyes seemed like they were fighting to rip their way out of their sockets so that they might strangle the oblivious Velaryon.
I was substantially less amused by the half-hundred hungry looks being directed at the Lady of the Blacks by men ranging from those a year her junior to men who could have been Viserys's father. I felt a peculiar mix of outrage and homicidal intent as I locked eyes with and starred down some of the lords who I caught looking at my Rhae.
Starring contests had never been difficult for me and the dragon whose eyes followed my own probably only augmented the effect to say nothing of my annoyingly pale eyes.
Aemond, Aegon and Helaena were doing about as well as one could expect children to behave, which was to say not well. Between figeting, poking at each other and generally looking like they were about ready to launch themselves to the heavens.
It was sort of amusing watching Aem try to throw a knife at Ser Criston at one point, even if he merely dropped it and Hel trying to push her seat closer to my twin was vaguely hilarious along with the pleasing looks he sent my way every time she advanced.
The five other occupents at the table were doing a marginally better job at keeping their emotions under wraps but I could still tell that they were all gravitating between confusion, rage and embarrassment.
Rhaenys still proved to be insanely gorgeous at thirty-nine and seemed the least phased at the table while ripping apart her meal at as fast a pace as noble etiquette would allow.
She talked with the same ease that I was fairly sure she shouted her death-words at Aemond and Aegon while fighting them in another world. I talked back as was my habit since she was still engaging in the sheer charisma she dripped with.
For his part Corly was still very much sex-with-legs despite being in his sixties which as a fellow man I envied beyond all words.
Give him another decade and he would be starring in Dos Equis commercials. Recent events had barely dinted his charisma which was good because he was the one more or less keeping the party running despite some agitation leaking in behind the cover of his cheery expression.
Alicent was all smiles and pleasant as ever during the whole thing, granted her smile was sharp enough to cut diamonds and I was beginning to suspect Valyrian Steel was just her tongue painted grey-black but overall, she kept it together rather well I would say.
I guessed that the suffering of Rhaenyra was enough to keep her in a good mood all things considered.
Especially compared to her father, who looked so close to strangling Corlys that I was surprised that he did not go Super Saiyan.
Not that it would have worked since I suspected the Seasnake would just raise his shirt and melt Ser Otto's head with what I suspected were 'Ark of the Covenant' level abs. I did not have any sympathy for the man since I doubted he cared at all about how I felt with regards to the situation and just came to see what he could milk from it.
I had not even received a single gift from the man since my birth!
Greedy dick.
Strangely enough, the one who had taken things the worst was Viserys for some reason. I had expected him to laugh it all off, but the man was absolutely livid.
I had not seen him that upset in years and for once no one was lining up to try and garner favour. In fact, every Black, Green and filthy neutral was running for cover like mice before an angry cat that had a rack of rodent-seeking missiles strapped to its back and nothing to lose. Every few minutes he would roll his eyes with the slow unstoppable pace of a tsunami across the table to the spot next to mine and the grip on his goblet would tighten just a bit further.
Incidentally, it was such a slow roll that I could swear I heard 'eeps' from every lord that thought that his eyes had come to rest on them. I did not blame them as the tension in is arms reminded me that the King might well still have 'wookie-tears-of-yout-arms' muscle beneath the fat of his massive frame.
Fortunately, his eyes were glued to the space.
Said space was occupied by my new fiancé who I understood was upset over our arrangement and suffering through it for the good of her family… Lol, just kidding this was Westeros. Screw your loved ones!
The Velaryons had arrived short a member and short a dragon. Corlys had apologized when he presented himself in the throne room before the feast and cited that his daughter had come under a sudden illness and could not leave High Tide. He begged the pardon of the court and insisted that if at all possible, he would like to delay the betrothal a season or two to allow her to recover.
I did not buy that and neither did the court or anyone else if I had to wager. If Laena had come down with a disease that would keep her under wraps for that long I doubted that any of them would have left High Tide, in this era crippling diseases that lasted so long did not have a good survival rate.
That meant one of three things.
The first was that Corlys and Rhaenys were telling the truth and were just horrible parents even by the questionable standards of Westeros. That one was laughable in the extreme because they would have probably hauled her deathbed here if they could have.
The second possibility was that they were planning to cancel the engagement immediately and were merely trying to at least get one engagement off the ground and bribe their way out of the second one. That one did not strike me as plausible given that they still seemed to want to resume the arrangement.
It was the third one which made the most sense for me was that Laena had not taken the arrangement well and had run away. In which case we needed to fire our Master of Whispers for failing to report a Vhagar-sized absence. It also meant that the Velaryons were going to try and track her down and bring her back, they had two dragons and I did not think that Laena would be willing to try and kill her mother or brother if it came down to it.
If that was the case then I was glad that she ran away, before she became my problem. I had hoped that I had just caught her at a weak moment with Daemon but if she was willing to leave her family in a mess like that one, then she was basically the worst parts of Sansa and Arya Cronenberg-ed together and given the deadliest dragon on Planetos.
I was not frilled since I had been willing to try and make it work.
But it was better than being stuck with a moronic little hothead who put their physical pleasure over life and honor.
"Princess Rhaenyra!" Some Black lord toasted, we all mechanically followed but there was no lifting the gloominess that had befallen most of the table.
Most.
It might seem crazy what I am about to say.
Sorry Pharell, but you don't exist in this world.
I was exceedingly happy at having dodged that bullet that might have made me a far bigger target than I ever wanted to be. She was probably running to Daemon right now, he would probably make her a mistress until he had his wife was killed or she fell off of a horse, whichever he decided on.
Because I'm Saved!
I was in such a good mood throughout the feast that I did not pay much attention to the fact that the Velaryons were now on infinitely thinner ice than they had been in the otl. I could worry about that when I got over my happiness-high.
Clap along if you are not fire-proof.
I mildly hoped that I was not tapping my foot and rolling my shoulders in time with what I was certain was my extremely discordant mental beat.
Because I'm Saved.
I tried dancing in Westeros for the first time that night, I danced with the youngest girls present and did my best to suppress my mental song and not embarrass myself, but I was a little beyond caring.
Clap along if you feel like you are not screwed.
I even had a dance with Alicent and then Rhaenyra to thumb my nose at the factions for a bit of fun. Then their ladies and then anyone who was willing to go for a turn.
Because I'm Saved.
I partied the night away as the only person that really seemed to be enjoying the feast at all besides Laenor and Joffrey.
Well aside from Sky, who had seated herself not far from the festivities. She amused herself by blowing puffs of smoke at the more challenged squires who thought daring each other try and poke being renowned to be composed of the awesomeness of an exploding sun and the temper of an old man who spotted children on his lawn.
Clap along if you feared was Daemon was about to do to you!
I really just wished that I knew why Viserys had been so disappointed by her absence, he had never really cared much for me and he now had the Velaryons in a much more delicate position than he ever could have dreamed for.
Also, why is he glaring at me?
Still the night was not a complete success in my book because Cole did not ordain to end the celebrations with by committing seppuku. But I even let that slide since my mood was so great.
I understand that this might bite me in the butt later but in Westeros you take what victories you can.
Because Westeros can go to the Seven Hells.