Chapter 14: Another Wedding

119 AC

The sky was bright and clear as I stood on the pier watching ships from distant shores dock along the harbor. The air was alive with the chaotic shouts of sailors, their voices cutting through the cries of seabirds as I waited for the arrival of a ship—the one that would bring my soon-to-be wife.

I knew she was due to arrive today, so I'd lingered at the tavern nearest the docks, waiting for my men to report the sighting of her vessel. Choosing to wait for her personally and escort her to my keep had been a decision made on a whim. No one would fault me for sending a trusted knight to bring her to the castle instead, but I thought it only right to greet her myself. After all, this would be our first meeting since the betrothal had been arranged.

I had followed my parents' advice and written to her. We had exchanged only two letters before the betrothal was finalized—formalities, all of it, but necessary. Two letters hardly revealed anything of a person, especially one who was little more than a stranger. Yet, in those brief exchanges, at least one thing had been clear: Elinor was remarkably eloquent. I found myself looking forward to each of her letters.

I watched as her ship docked, the sailors expertly dropping anchors and securing ropes, while the plank was lowered with a creak. Among the figures disembarking, I noticed a beauteous young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, clad in a simple but immaculate red dress. Her long brown hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and her posture radiated a quiet elegance. She was a far cry from the awkward girl I had last seen in King's Landing, years ago.

The second daughter of Lyonel Strong was a tall woman, much like the rest of her family. I didn't think of myself as particularly short, yet she stood only a few inches shorter than me, and certainly taller than several men in my service even.

I made my way over to her. She was accompanied by just two guards, a maid, and little else. Her baggage was few—some bags, held by her attendants. It seemed she had little use for excess. I couldn't help but think that at least she was a woman of practicality.

I raised her hand to my lips, pressing a light kiss to her fingers. "My lady," I greeted with a bow. "Welcome to South Haven."

"My lord," she replied with equal grace. "I thank you for your warm welcome."

I took a step closer, still holding her hand gently in mine. "How was your journey?" I asked, glancing at her as we began walking together. "It must have been quite the length to sail from King's Landing to the Stepstones."

"I've never sailed before," she said, her voice soft but sure—gentle, yet not lacking in confidence. "At least, not on anything larger than a river. It's been quite an exciting experience."

"I'm glad to hear it, my lady," I replied with a smile. "Sailing is something of an acquired taste, in my opinion." If she spoke truly, it would reflect well on her. A Velaryon's son could hardly marry a woman who feared the sea.

We reached the spot where my men waited with horses and a carriage—a luxury I rarely needed but one I found essential when hosting a noble lady. I held the door open for her, stepping aside to allow her to enter first, then followed her inside.

The driver urged the horses forward, and the carriage rumbled over the smoothed dirt patches that I called "roads." My four guards and knights rode alongside, positioned carefully to ensure no one could approach unnoticed. Trusted men, all of them. As we passed the town, I swept a hand toward the view.

"Welcome to my island," I said with a smile. "A place once ruled by pirates, where three in five people don't speak our tongue. But despite that, we have much to offer. Our beaches are unmatched in beauty, and we boast a greater variety of spices than anywhere else in the realm. That, I can promise you."

She giggled softly. "That would explain why the people here speak so… differently."

I shrugged. "The people I brought from Driftmark spoke like any other Driftmark folk—similar to most Crownlanders. We also have some more adventurous souls from across Westeros, each with their own speech. However, the majority of my subjects are those who've lived here long before I came to power. Most of them didn't speak a word of Common Speech until just a few years ago."

While the Westerosi settlers I brought with me are mainly concentrated in the town, they make up less than a half of the population. In the first couple of years, the town was mostly Westerosi, but as time passed, people from all over have arrived—many of whom don't speak Westerosi at all. Instead, they've developed a curious hybrid language: a blend of trade tongue and Common Speech. I'm sure there's a proper name for it, though I can't quite recall it at the moment.

As for the rural areas, well... best not to dwell on that.

If this continued, I wondered, would it eventually evolve into an entirely new language within a century or two? It seemed almost a miracle that Westeros had managed to retain a single language for so long, with its many accents and dialects still largely intelligible across the continent after thousands of years.

"It seems prosperous enough here," Elinor remarked, her gaze fixed on something outside the window, her eyes keen and calculating. "Speaking the tongue doesn't seem necessary for one to thrive." She paused, as though weighing something in her mind. "It's hard to believe that just a few years ago, this place was a lawless pirate's den. Does the spice trade have something to do with it?"

"The spices certainly helped," I replied. "As did silk, perfume, pearls, and glass. But the pirates? It was Westerosi steel and our brave men who freed us from their depredations."

We continued our conversation as the journey went on. My castle wasn't far from the shore—just a half-hour ride away. I'd chosen the site for its vantage point; the hill it sat upon offered a sweeping view of the land and sea. As we made our way, Elinor asked about everything she saw, and I was happy to indulge her. She was pleasant company, and before long, I found myself at ease in her presence, the initial awkwardness fading

"This is my castle," I said, sweeping my arm toward the looming structure. "Unimpressive, perhaps, especially for a Strong. I'm sure you've seen chambers far grander than my keep in Harrenhal."

"It will be a mistake to think that size alone is what matters. Strength is also important, and your castle has strength aplenty." She winked at me.

I turned my head slowly toward her.

"T'was a joke, my lord."

I raised an eyebrow. "You think my castle is weak, then?"

"No, it's a very strong castle."

I snorted.

"Well, in any case, I welcome you to my castle. I'm sure the long travel has made you weary, and I have prepared the room for you. I hope you will enjoy your stay here."

She smiled. "I intend to, my lord."

The table was laden with grilled and fried fish, boiled oysters and buttered crab—truly a feast of the sea. If Elinor was to be my wife, it was best she grew accustomed to our traditional fare sooner rather than later. As for me, my appetite was lighter than usual, so I opted for a modest portion.

Despite the quiet distance I felt from the meal, Elinor and I continued our gentle conversation. We spoke of trivial matters—how the weather had been that week, whether the fish was fresh, and how the servants were settling in. There was no rushing these moments; no hurry to bridge the space between us. We let the time pass as we ate, our voices a soft noise in a en empty hall.

"Lord Corwyn." She paused, her gaze thoughtful, as if weighing the sound of the name on her tongue. "No, I hope you won't mind if I call you Corwyn instead?"

I stared at her, momentarily caught off guard. "Why would I mind? It's my name."

Elinor took a slow sip of her tea, her movements deliberate, but there was an unmistakable tension in the way she held the cup. "Well then, Corwyn," she began, her voice softer than usual, "I hope you won't take offense at my question. But…" She set the cup down carefully, then folded her hands in her lap, her gaze steady but guarded. "May I ask what you expect from a marriage?"

I exhaled, caught a bit off guard by the sudden seriousness of her tone. "What do you mean by that?" I asked, brow furrowing. "Marriage is marriage. I imagine what I have in mind is no different from what you expect."

She shook her head, a small frown tugging at her lips. "Not necessarily. You know, Corwyn, that every couple has their own idea of what marriage should be, don't you? For some, it's nothing more than a duty—something that ends once an heir and a spare is born, or sometimes, not even that." She met my gaze directly, her eyes searching. "Is that the sort of marriage you want?"

I paused, considering her question, and then cursed myself inwardly. Here I was, tangled up in thoughts of an angry princess hundreds of miles away, while my betrothed only ever focused on the future. Our future.

"I don't know," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."

And yet, wasn't that the heart of the matter? I had no true understanding of what marriage meant. I had three children, but I wasn't permitted to claim them as mine, not in any real sense. They were just my nephews to the world, and I was left fumbling in ignorance.

"You're an honest one." I grunted in lieu of an answer that I didn't have.

"I prefer to be forthright," she said, her voice steady. "There's no point in withholding the truth when we're discussing something as important as a lifetime together. It's better to be clear about what we want and expect from a marriage, right from the start." Her gaze seemed to drift, growing distant. "I've seen what happens when two people enter a marriage without even the slightest understanding of one another. It's not something either of us would relish."

I glanced down at my cup, lost in the swirling darkness purple wine.

"If it were you, then," I asked, breaking the silence, "what would you want?"

She looked at me, a faint smile tugging at her lips. It was soft, almost wistful. "I don't want us to be strangers," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "I want our bond to be more than just a matter of duty. I want something real between us."

I was struck by a sudden sense of guilt. I thought of my promise to Rhaenyra, and the weight of it soured my mood. This would all be so much easier if Elinor were the type of woman who would keep a distance between us, bound only by the obligations of duty.

I pushed the discomfort aside, burying it beneath the surface. "I will not have us be strangers beyond our duty, either, my lady," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil beneath.

Her smile softened, approval flickering in her eyes. "And what of children, then?" she asked. "How many do you expect?"

I chuckled. "Now, this discussion feels a bit premature."

She raised an eyebrow, her tone matter-of-fact. "Our wedding is already finalized. I don't think it's too early at all."

I leaned back in my chair, considering her words. "Well, it depends on a few things. A son and a daughter would be ideal—perhaps another son if fortune favors us. Anymore beyond that would be welcome, but I wouldn't say it's urgent."

"Somewhere between two to four, then." She murmured half to herself. "That sounds about right. But what if we only have daughters?"

"That will be up to the gods," I replied with a shrug. "No need to worry, though. I don't think it would be a problem." Even if all we had were daughters, there was no shortage of distant male relatives to carry on the name. Betrothal between far-off kin was hardly uncommon in Westeros.

She nodded thoughtfully, then shifted the conversation. "And what about the wedding itself? I have some experience in planning one, I'd like to do my part."

"There's not much to plan just yet," I replied. "Your father pledged a thousand gold dragobs for the wedding, and my family will likely match him coin for coin. Add my own fund with that and we have enough for a grand affair—more than enough, in fact, if we're careful and avoid some of the more extravagant indulgences."

Elinor raised an eyebrow, her expression curious. "And what, exactly, do you consider 'unnecessary expenses'?" she asked, her tone light but sharp.

"No roasted peacock, for one," I said with a wry smile. "It tastes exactly like regular chicken—only a hundred times the price. I see no reason we can't have capon instead."

Elinor giggled at that. "True. No peacock, then. But what else? What about the guests?"

"As for the guests, all my household advisors and knights are a given," I replied. "But I'll also extend invitations to other notables on the island and all the lords of the Stepstones. My father will likely invite some of his friends, so we may see a few Crownland lords, perhaps even some from the Free Cities."

Elinor nodded thoughtfully. "My father has invited some Riverlords, though I doubt many will make the journey. It's quite a long way for them."

We continued discussing the wedding for some time, the conversation ebbing and flowing as we navigated the many details and the finer points of ceremony. Elinor seemed eager to contribute, offering suggestions on everything from the decorations to the choice of attendants, and I found myself appreciating her input as we spoke of the practicalities.

It was strange, in a way, how we could be so engrossed in the logistics of our future while still remaining strangers in many ways. There was a certain distance between us, a space not yet bridged, and yet, with each conversation, each decision, it felt as though we were slowly inching toward something more familiar. Still, there was much we had yet to learn about each other—things no amount of planning could prepare us for.

After a while, the conversation began to slow and I felt the need to step away, even if just for a moment. I stood up slowly, the sound of the chair scraping softly against the floor breaking the silence. "I've taken enough of your time, my lady, and the night is late. Perhaps it's time foe us to rest."

Elinor looked up from the table. "Of course," she replied, her tone genial, though there was a trace weariness beneath it—time passed passed slowly as we talked.

I stood in the dim light of the sept, my footsteps muffled against the stone floor. The cool air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint echoes of my own voice. I addressed the still, unmoving statues of the Seven.

"Pardon my absence," I muttered. "I've been busy. Though, you're likely already aware of that."

I sank down onto a wooden bench before I continued. "Perhaps you're angry that I turn to other gods as well, sometimes," I said, my voice still soft. "But what am I to do? You never answered me." I paused, staring at the flickering candles that cast long shadows across the chapel.

The Seven were said to be merciful. Surely, they could overlook this small transgression. It wouldn't be fair if gods were allowed to test men's faith whenever they pleased, but forbid humans from questioning their divinity in return, would it?

I exhaled, leaning back slightly, my gaze lingering on the distant altar. "Remember how I promised to make my life a worthy one?" I spoke the words more to myself than to them. "Turns out it's harder than I thought. I'm sure you're disappointed in me."

Silence, as it always was. These statues were not living, after all—they were mere likenesses of gods who never deigned to speak to mortals directly.

"Unless if everything that happened is a part of your plan. Should that be true, then everything is your fault. I hope it all serves a purpose at least." I said. Many would find me a touch irreverent, though If those gods exist, no amount of sweet talk would work anyway. I always find talking frankly with the divine to be comforting, disregarding whether they were real or not.

Sure enough, when I finally laid down to sleep that night, I did so with light mind and lighter heart.

The past month has flown in a blur.

I had never actually organized a wedding before. The only one I had been somewhat involved in was Laenor's, but that was mostly handled by my parents and the King, with me hardly lifting a finger. Now that it was my turn, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of details that demanded my attention—and the ever-ticking clock. The Sept had to be notified, suits and dresses tailored, vows memorized, foodstuffs ordered, invitations sent. There seemed to be no end to the list of tasks, and I struggled to find a single day without something pressing to do.

And the letters—by the gods, the letters. Even with Elinor's help, I still spent hours each day writing. It wasn't enough to simply send out the invitations; I had to reply to the never-ending tide of well-wishers as well.

The miser in me winced at the extravagant cost for a single occasion, but I pushed the thought aside. I refused to let myself become the subject of mockery among the nobility.

As the day of the wedding slowly approached, the island began to buzz with activity. The once quiet shores were now filled with the steady arrival of guests, each one escorted by their entourage. Thus how I spent my time shaking hands with a few scores of lords and their kin, and even some of Father's old contacts from Essos.

I had not realized how many people would actually attend. It was as if every invitation had somehow turned into a summons, and even those I had hoped might politely decline seemed eager to make the journey. The once quiet halls of my home now seemed too small, and I couldn't help but feel inadequate.

I vowed to expand the castle the first chance I got.

My family, too, arrived in full force. Father, Mother, and Laenor had arrived just four days before the wedding, along with many of our cousins. Laena made her appearance the day before with Daemon in tow, their presence adding a final touch to the gathering.

One evening, as I sat at the table in my study, a light knock interrupted my thoughts. It was Laenof, her face framed by the doorway, her expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said simply.

I rose, motioning for him to come in, and offered him a seat.

"It seems we've done this a lot, barging to another's room unnnounced." I japed. "Is there something you need?"

"You don't seem happy." Was Laenor's quick answer. The words hung in the air. "Or, to be exact, you seem to have something burdening your mind."

Laenor could be damnably perceptive at times.

"Is that the best thing you could say?" I replied.

Lanor tilted his head but did not speak. instead, patiently waiting for me.

"I am happy." I said firmly. "Elinor had been nothing but delightful. I believe we'll get along well." I was being truthful at that. In time, perhaps something resembling love would blossom.

"I suspect there was a slight hindrance somewhere." Laenor said.

"Rhaenyra disliked my partner." I blurted, my voice low. "Well, more like she dislikes that I have another partner at all. I offered to part amiably, but..."

"It didn't end well." Laenor finished with a wince.

That was obvious. We sat in companiable silence for a few blessed minutes, each with our own mind.

"That explains why she snapped at me when I offered to visit your wedding together." Laenor said slowly. He took a sip of wine before he resumed. "Mind telling me the details? Rhaenyra refused to elaborate what happened."

I explained to him what had happened that day—our conversation, the argument, and the vows. Laenor sat in silence, listening to me without interruption. The more I spoke, the more Laenor's expression darkened.

"I see," He finally said after I finished telling my story. "That explained most of it. Rhaenyra could be stubborn at times." He took a bottle and poured himself another glass of wine. "You're likely already know this, but I doubt there's anything you can do to change her mind. The only one who can do so is herself."

I nodded. "I know."

Laenor straightened his back. "You know, Corwyn?" He spoke once more, his eyes boring to me. "I decided to stay at Dragonstone once I returned home." He said.

"Really?" I thought it over. "Any reason for why?"

Laenor spread his arms. "Do a man need any reason to spend more time with his wife and children?" Looking at my frown, he continued. "To be honest, I feel that I've mistreated both of you. It's my fault your relationship with her has soured, and it may even jeopardize any future happiness you might find in your marriage." He shook his head, his expression softening. "You've been nothing but dutiful. More than I deserved. Now, it's time for me to do my part. Small though it is."

I wasn't sure if it would make a difference or if there was any real purpose to it. But just knowing that someone understood and wanted to help eased my burden more than I expected.

"I appreciated it, Brother."

The night of the wedding, I spent the night tossing restlessly on my bed, certain that I had missed something despite spending my entire day triplechecking everything. Eventually, the first light of morning pulled me from my restless slumber, and I awoke feeling more exhausted than when I had laid down.

"Nervous?" a voice asked as I dragged myself to my dining hall, cutting through the fog of my thoughts. I looked to my side and saw Elinor was already there.

Yes. "Not quite. I've attended weddings before," I replied, though the words felt hollow.

"But you've never wed yourself." She pointed out.

"Obviously," I replied. "Though you're hardly different in that regard."

"Then perhaps we can share our nervousness together." She said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "It took all my willpower not to break into a cold sweat as it is. It would be nice to know I'm not the only one feeling this way."

"I doubt that." I said. "Perhaps if magic existed, then I could help."

Elinor hummed thoughtfully. "Magic is real, though it's not like what you think. My sister was taught it by a woods witch. She knew how to concoct all sorts of medicine and even foretell the future in water and clouds."

My mind screeched to a halt. "Lady Jocey is a witch?" I asked, the words feeling almost absurd as they left my mouth. The image of the gentle, almost shy woman I remembered clashed so completely with the idea of her as a practitioner of magic. "How come I never heard of this before? She never showed any magic in my presence."

She chuckled softly. "No. Not Jocey. My natural-born sister Alys. You wouldn't have met her—she's even older than Harwin and serves as a wet nurse and midwife at Harrenhal."

"Is that so?" I replied, intrigued. The idea of magic, even in the most casual sense, always piqued my curiosity. While I was generally skeptical of the supernatural, especially the sort that sounded more like herbalism and confirmation bias, I couldn't shake the feeling that some things—however inexplicable—were real. "Count me interested, then. I've always been fascinated by magic."

She smiled. "Mayhaps you'll meet her one day, should you ever visit Harrenhal."

We continued eating our meals as we made small talks. Once finished, we left the table to change into our wedding attire.

I couldn't help but admire myself as I donned the doublet of sea green, trimmed with gold; its rich fabric fit perfectly. Over it, I draped a cloak of silver velvet, embroidered with the seahorse of my house, its intricate design glinting in the light. I took a moment to comb my hair once more, just to be doubly sure.

"Your home is rather austere, is it?" A voice asked behind me. I turned to find my parents standing in the doorway, both with a smile on their faces.

"When compared to High Tide? Aye. I have better use for my coins than frippery." I answered.

Father raised an eyebrow, his smile widening as he stepped further into the room. "Ah, ever a practical man," he remarked, glancing around with amusement. "No need to worry, Son. We're not here to needle you about your home."

I gave him a dry smile, leaning casually against the table. "Good to know," I replied, though my tone carried a hint of challenge. "Though I suspect you're about to needle me about something else."

Mother slapped Father's arm lightly. "Your father is terrible at this. Is it so difficult to say we're here to show some parental concern?"

Father huffed. "Yes, that. From one married man to another soon-to-be. How do you feel today?"

I straightened up. "About what to be expected. Nervous, excited, a little overwhelmed."

He nodded. "I see." He gave me one of his charming smile. "Well, I'm just here to give you some encouragement, if you need it. And if you want advice, always remember, no one would criticize you harder than yourself."

Mother sighed. "What your Father forgot to say is, he's proud of seeing the man you've become. Both of us do. You've grown into an impressive man, and we're happy for you, my son."

Mother hugged me after she said her piece and stared at Father until he relented and hugged me too. I laughed. "I'm happy too, for both of you. I will never forget all you've done to me for as long as I live."

The great hall was alive with the heavy thrum of low voices. The long tables, draped in fine cloths, had been set with goblets of wine, silver platters piled high with delicacies, and flickering candles casting shadows on the stone walls. Above, the rafters were adorned with garlands of ivy and wildflowers, their bright colors a touch of spring amidst the stark grey stone. The air was thick with anticipation as the noble guests in silks and velvets—some smiling, others uncaring—took their seats. At the far end of the hall stood the raised dais, where the groom and the bride would soon make their vows.

When the bride arrived, the murmurs of the crowd faded to a hush. The bride was tall and stately, a woman who embodied the proud elegance of a highborn lady. Her long gown of dark velvet swept behind. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, met those of the groom—dressed in a handsome suit beneath his ceremonial cloak, his face schooled. A soft melody from the wedding musicians filled the air, though the notes seemed to fade into the background.

With the bride's arrival as the signal, Septon Addam raised his hand and began the prayers. His voice boomed through the hall as the first words of the prayer fell from the Septon's lips like the slow tolling of a bell, calling the gods to witness the union. When he led them into the recitals and hymns, the assembly rose as one, their voices rising in song.

I followed it all with deliberate care, reciting songs and uttering vows that I spent days memorized. Seven vows, seven promises, seven blessings, and seven songs, before it was finally time.

At Septon Addam's prompting, we turned towards each other, Hazel eyes meeting purple for more than a short glance again, and I sought her hands to give them a gentle squeeze. Elinor began, "With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband."

"With this kiss I pledge my love," I echoed, my voice steady, "and take you for my lady and wife." Elinor leaned forward, just as I did, and our lips met for a kiss. The kiss was brief, but in its simplicity, it carried the gravity of the vows we had just spoken.

When we parted again, Septon Addam raised his crystal high, the light reflecting in the clear stone gleaming as he addressed the assembly. "Here in the sights of gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Corwyn of House Velaryon, and Elinor of House Strong to be united as husband and wife—one flesh and soul, now and forever. And may the gods curse any who would dare to come between them."

The challenge done, I brought the silk cloak about her shoulders, the fabric billowing slightly as I unfurled it. My fingers lingered for a fleeting moment after I had closed the silver clasp set with a sapphire around her neck, my fingers warm on gown and skin before I moved to stand at her side again.

As we made our way from the sept to my keep, the air was filled with polite exclamations, smiles, and the murmurs of congratulations. My sister's cheerful laughter rang out among the crowd, adding to the festive noise of the day. Yet Elinor paid little attention to it all. Her focus remained fixed ahead, her expression calm and composed, as if the flurry of well-wishes and revelry passed her by like distant echoes.

Unlike the previous day's solemn ceremony, today was a stark contrast, filled with the energy of celebration and loud cheering. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meats and ale. Pipers and drummers played joyous tunes all over, while jugglers tossed brightly colored balls and blades into the air, puppeters performed intricate plays with wooden figures, and flame-breathers danced through the crowd, spewing arcs of fire into the air, their figures silhouetted against the flickering torches.

Today marked the celebration joust, the first ever held on my island, and the excitement was palpable. The lists had been set up in a wide open field just beyond the keep, a sprawling arena of packed earth and banners flapping in the cool sea breeze. The stands, hastily constructed from wood and canvas, were already brimming with spectators—nobles in their finest silks, common folk with their eager faces pressed against the fences, and even the children, clutching small wooden swords and shouting in excitement.

The knights and riders, eager for honor and hold, had gathered in their brightly polished armor and gleaming lances. Their horses, too, were groomed to perfection, their coats sleek and glistening under the sun. Banners bearing the crests of the competing houses were proudly displayed around the field, fluttering in the wind. The sound of hooves and the rustle of armor filled the air as the knights took their places, while the crowd cheered, some shouting the names of their favorites, others discussing wagers.

There were more participants than I thought. Almost every visiting house sent one knight to participate, and we even had some of the more adventurous hedge knights from the mainland Westeros. Some were quite famed as well. I kept my face from wincing as I recalled the cost. Just the winning purse alone already cost me a considerable sum.

There was a sudden loud buzz of voices as another knight found himself unhorsed and the clink of coins exchanging hands. My turn came again, and I mounted my horse to face my current challenger, Prince Daemon.

This wasn't just a competition of skill; it was a spectacle, a statement that my house, my island, had arrived in the world of true knights and tournaments. As the signal was given, the crowd fell into a hush, all eyes fixed on us as we poised at either end of the lists, lances raised high, ready to charge.

Daemon was no easy opponent. We clashed five times, each tilt ending with the sharp crack of splintering lances against shields. Our horses thundering across the field and the crowd roaring with every collision. The tension built with each joust, neither of us giving an inch, but this was my hour. On the sixth charge, as the sun cast long shadows over the lists, the stalemate was finally broken. With a forceful strike, I struck Daemon's shield with such precision that the prince was sent flying from his saddle. His horse skidded to a halt as Daemon tumbled to the earth, the crowd erupting into a mix of gasps and cheers.

I rode up to Daemon, my horse's hooves kicking up dust as I slowed to a stop. "You ride well, my prince," I said, offering a nod of respect, my voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through me.

Daemon's expression darkened. He was a man of great pride and defeat—especially before an audience—sat uneasily with him. Though his jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with frustration, he managed to temper his anger, forcing his posture to remain regal as I approached.

"You rode far better," Daemon said, his voice tinged with what I hoped was begrudging respect. "I suppose you're the one with the greater determination to win."

I nodded with a wry smile. "Well, you bested me in the joust celebrating your wedding," I replied, "so I suppose we're even now."

Daemon snorted, unable to suppress a small laugh. "Good luck beating Breakbones, then. He has his own reasons for putting on a strong show."

"I intend to," I replied, my voice steady as I turned my horse back toward my camp. There would be a few moments of respite—enough time for the crowd to place their bets and settle their excitement before the final tilt.

The reprieve was short lived. Soon enough, the herald called the two of us to the ground for the final tilt. On one side of the field, me, the man of the hour. On the other side, Ser Harwin Strong stood tall in his gleaming grey armor, his face obscured behind the polished visor of his helmet. His lance was already resting against the saddle. He gave a curt nod to his squire, who checked the tightness of the straps securing his armor.

We hadn't had much chance to talk before. Despite his sister marrying me, our conversations had been limited to mere formalities, nothing beyond the barest of exchanges. The man was gregarious and pleasant enough company, but we weren't close.

I kept my eyes trained on him. Soon, the trumpet sounded, sharp and clear, cutting through the tension of the moment. Both of us spurred our horses forward in unison, galloping with thunderous force, kicking up dust with every pounding stride. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch as the first lances were broken.

With a final, bone-crushing collision, my lance found its mark, hitting Harwin squarely in the chest, knocking him clean from his saddle. The impact sent him hurtling to the ground, the air leaving his lungs with an audible grunt.

The crowd erupted in a mix of awe and exhilaration. I remained in my saddle with my lance still held high.

As my horse slowed to a trot, I turned toward the fallen knight, raising my visor. I saw Harwin already get up and give a brief nod of respect to him before dismounting. His squire rushed forward to assist him, but Harwin just waved them off.

"You're damn good." Harwin began, his voice a near shout. "Now that's a proper man! With you as her man, Elinor will have nothing to fear!"

He gave me a hearty thump at my back that almost threw me off. On foot, he had near a full head on me and perhaps twice my weight. "You as well. I count myself lucky to not break any of my bones."

Harwin guffawed loudly. "A humble man! Certainly a good thing to be, but this is your wedding day, my good man! You can afford to be boastful for the day!" He took my right hand and raised it high for all to see before shouting to the audience. "South Haven! Where's the celebration for your lord's victory!?"

The crowd erupted into a deafening cheer, their voices rising like a wave crashing against the shore. Even those who couldn't speak our tongue were swept by the noise and roared as well. Harwin, with his booming laughter and larger-than-life presence, kept my hand raised high, as if I were a knight returning from battle rather than a groom fresh from a joust. His grin was wide, his eyes sparkling with the same energy that seemed to fill the entire square.

"To Lord Corwyn!" he shouted, his voice carrying easily above the crowd. "May his rule be as strong as his lance! I'll toast you properly later. Now take your flower and crown your queen!"

Harwin's enthusiasm was very infectious. It took a lot of effort to keep the grin off my face as I took the offered wreath and walked to where my bride was waiting. Close to her were her family; her father, the Hand of the King, was beaming. Her other brother kept his face impassive, his walking stick leaned on his lap. My family also sat close, clapping and beaming with pride as I handed the crown to my blushing bride.

"To the only woman worthy of the title. I name you my queen of love and beauty."

"I never expect you to be such a romantic." Elinor said as she combed her hair on the bed.

I looked up from my comfortable pillow and looked at her. "And why is that?"

"Can you promise you won't be angry?" At my nod, Elinor continued. "I always thought you were more... practical. Rational. But this?" She nodded toward the small crown of flowers resting on the desk beside him. "This is unexpected."

"Oh, and did you know that there were rumours that you were a sword swallower back in the Red Keep?" Elinor tacked in quickly.

I sputtered. "Where did that even come from?"

Elinor shifted guiltily. "Well, it's just... you have plenty of admirers. Yet you seem content with surrounding yourselves only with men. So some of us liked to joke about that."

"Admirers." I tried the word. The idea just seemed strange. "You mean the girls? They were young back then. It was hard to take their admiration seriously." Assuming that was real.

Elinor raised an eyebrow. "Most of them are the same age as you." She countered.

Ah. "And I was young as well too." I replied, a little sheepish. "I guess love didn't come until later." I finished lamely.

Elinor shifted, resting her head on the pillow beside me. "I never thought of it that way," she said. "Say, what will you do in the future now that we're wedded and all?"

I hummed thoughtfully. "Well, first things first—I'll need to get the accounts in order. We've spent quite a bit recently. After that, there are a few interesting proposals on the table, from Westeros and beyond. It looks like I'll have to travel to sort them all out. It's probably for the best, really. It's strange to think that I'm the only one among my siblings who hasn't yet visited any of the Free Cities."

"Oh, a trip?" Elinor exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "Can I come too? I've always wanted to travel abroad."

I pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. "Wouldn't dream of it," I said with a smile.

AN: Kept you waiting, huh?

In all seriousness though, sorry for the long wait. I already wrote half of the chapter before several whammies struck me like wrecking ball, some good, some bad. Anyway, the chapter's been sitting on 3k words forever. By the time I got the time to write again, I forgot about half the story even though my notes are intact, so I ended up writing another short story to get my groove back. Might publish it as a oneshot in the near future, I dunno.

Anyway, I hope future chapters won't take as long to write, though I'm not brave enough to promise that. Hopefully you'll enjoy this.