Chapter Text
“It is ridiculous, don’t you think?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice pitching up out of frustration. Ser Criston shrugged, stoking their fire as night fell. “To arrange a betrothal for your daughter at her birth?”
“It is not uncommon, princess,” Ser Criston replied, his eyes scanning the woods for any threats. She had snuck out of the hunting camp for Aegon’s second name day and he had followed closely behind, keeping an eye on her. Rhaenyra huffed, plopping down on an overturned log. She stared up at the evening sky through the treetops, admiring the way the last rays of sun cast shadows on the leaves.
“Do lords and kings just sit around and think ‘isn’t it wonderful that you had a son a year ago and now I conveniently have a daughter? I have a brilliant idea, we should marry them off to each other!’ without even sparing a thought for the children they’re using as little pawns.”
“It is not a death sentence, princess.” She ignored him.
“And when I told my father I did not wish to marry Ser Harwin, Otto Hightower suggested that I wed Aegon instead. Aegon? He is two. Completely absurd. Otto Hightower only suggested it because he is an overly ambitious man who wishes to have his own flesh and blood on the throne one day.” She crossed her arms, turning to glare at the flames.
“At least you would be able to hold off the wedding for longer,” he replied with a chuckle. “Would it be so terrible to wed Ser Harwin?” Ser Criston asked, raising a brow at her. “He has not done anything untoward, has he?” Rhaenyra shook her head. “Are you sure? I could always kill him for you if he has.”
“It will not be necessary to kill Ser Harwin,” Rhaenyra groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. “He is… a gentleman, I suppose, but I did not choose him. For sixteen years, my entire life, he has been my intended, and I have hardly shared more than a few sentences with him. And I am meant to wed him in a month’s time?”
“I do not want to overstep but I believe the reason you have not shared more than a few sentences is because you will not allow him to speak with you.”
“He never tries to speak to me,” Rhaenyra huffed, throwing her hands up.
“He never speaks to you because you look at him like you’re planning to feed him to Syrax if he shows any intention of approaching you.”
“Perhaps he does not speak to me because he does not want to marry me,” Rhaenyra said hopefully. Ser Criston snorted, lips tugging up at one corner.
“Are you being serious?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course.”
“He wants to marry you.” His tone was firm, final.
“How would you know that? Do you speak with him often about our impending nuptials?” Ser Criston shook his head, settling back as the fire blazed higher.
“Aside from the obvious, he has a duty to perform as the heir to his house. His family is loyal and he will surely uphold his end of the agreement without objection. Marrying you will make him Prince Consort and only a fool would be willing to give that up.”
“What do you mean by ‘the obvious’?”
Ser Criston gestured at her and she raised a brow. He sighed, rolling his eyes.
“I only meant that you are attractive, princess. I am sure you are aware of this. Men do tend to enjoy marrying an attractive woman.” Rhaenyra straightened, pulling her shoulders back.
“So you think that if he did not find me attractive he would be less inclined to continue with our betrothal?” Ser Criston’s face scrunched.
“Do I now have to worry that you will maim yourself to get out of your own wedding?” Rhaenyra laughed loudly, shaking her head.
“I only wish to have the choice, Ser Criston. Even if my father picked ten men and I had to choose from only those, it would be more freedom than I have now. You are lucky you do not have to worry about such things.”
“Becoming a Kingsguard did take that off my plate, not that my marriage would have been anything grand.”
“At the very least you could have married for love,” Rhaenyra sighed.
“That could always come later for you, I suppose, if you give the poor kid a chance.”
__________
Rhaenyra strode back into the camp, her head held high as she ignored the whispers and looks of disgust from the hunting party. She was covered head to toe in blood, hands clasped behind her back as she returned from her unprecedented and eventful night out. Ser Criston walked closely behind her as they neared her father’s table.
Her father’s gaze was piercing, his jaw grinding as he watched her from across the camp with narrowed eyes. She tore her gaze away, wanting to look anywhere but at him, and her eyes drifted to Ser Harwin. He was watching her intently as he skinned the kills from that day. He smiled broadly at her and gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement but she averted her gaze and continued walking. Her father stood as she approached his table and she followed him into his tent. She felt his ire as she stood in silence by the entrance, waiting for him to speak.
“You are the heir to the throne, Rhaenyra. You cannot simply up and leave unannounced and put yourself in danger,” he said angrily, gesturing to her bloodied clothes.
“I’m sorry, father. I needed time to collect myself after our disagreement last night. I wish to speak with you again about the wedding-”
“Not the discussion of your betrothal again,” he moaned. “What would you like me to do, Rhaenyra? Break a betrothal agreement that has been in place for sixteen years with one of our most loyal houses?”
“Well I-”
“You have a duty to perform, more so now that I have named you my heir.”
“I only wanted a choice, father. I’ve had no choice in any of this!”
“You are young. You do not yet understand sacrifice. You want a choice in the matter? Fine,” he grumbled, taking a seat. “Let us speak with Lord Strong and hope he does not take offense.”
“What?”
“You,” he gestured to one of the maids tidying the tent. “Go and fetch Lord Strong and Ser Harwin.” The maid nodded, bowing her head and scurrying from the tent.
“Father you cannot seriously mean to call them in here to discuss this right now.”
“I’d like to be done with this headache, Rhaenyra.” Her back stiffened as the flap of the tent opened and Lord Strong entered, followed closely by his son and heir. Rhaenyra turned to glare at Ser Harwin, but his expression was unreadable as he walked toward her. He stood at her side silently, hands clasped behind his back as he faced the King.
“Your Grace,” Lord Strong said with a bow of his head. Ser Harwin bowed his head in acknowledgement as well, first to the King and then to Rhaenyra. He had not looked her in the eye since walking into the tent, and her gaze kept turning to him, trying to catch his attention.
“Lyonel, my headstrong daughter seems determined to make my life as difficult as possible. She has a request to make of you.” Rhaenyra’s jaw dropped and she sputtered as Lord Strong turned to her.
“Father, I do not think I should lead this discussion.”
“Oh, now you do not wish to speak of it? When you’ve been complaining for half your life about this arrangement?” the King asked, amused. Rhaenyra tilted her head to look at the ground, her heart thudding as she tried to gather her thoughts.
“Lord Strong, I wished to speak with you regarding the betrothal agreement between myself and your son.” Her voice was hushed and the tent was deafeningly silent. Rhaenyra looked to Ser Harwin, whose gaze was trained on a spot behind her, still refusing to look her in the eye.
“Is something the matter?” Lord Strong asked, his brow furrowing in concern. Rhaenyra swallowed, suddenly feeling childish and guilty. But she had brought it up and there was no turning back.
“It is only that –I hope you will understand– I wish to choose my husband.” Lord Strong nodded but remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. She looked to her father pleadingly, but he shrugged, holding his hand out to gesture for her to continue. “This agreement was made with absolutely no thought to how I might feel about it.” The men remained silent and she felt her emotions bubble to the surface.
”And I realize that, yes, it is my duty as a girl and especially now as heir to the throne to wed a nobleman and produce heirs but the thought is suffocating enough without factoring in that it has all been arranged and set up for me from the moment I entered this world and now that I have come of age and come into my inheritance you expect me to wed your son, a man I did not choose for myself, and give him several children with a smile on my face and no complaints and I do not wish to do it!”
Rhaenyra’s chest was heaving, tears welling in her eyes as she practically shouted the confession at Lord Strong. She could not look at Ser Harwin, who remained unmoving at her side.
“I see,” Lord Strong replied, a frown filling his features. “Harwin?”
“I will not drag an unwilling bride down the aisle,” he said quietly, his jaw clenching. Rhaenyra felt sick, her stomach churning as she looked up at him. “It is fine if the engagement is called off, if that is what the princess wishes.” He was talking about her as if she were not in the room, looking past her. She tilted her head, trying to get him to turn his gaze to her but he would not, instead turning his head away to look at his father.
“When we return to King’s Landing we can have more official paperwork drawn up to dissolve the betrothal,” Lord Strong said, bowing his head before slipping from the tent. Ser Harwin followed his father out, having successfully avoided looking at Rhaenyra throughout the entire interaction.
“You must still wed someone, Rhaenyra,” her father said, his eyes softening as he stood, coming to her and taking her hands in his. “I can arrange for some of the lords and heirs of Westeros to stay at the Keep to give you the opportunity to know them better.”
“Fine,” Rhaenyra said, letting her tears spill over. Her father lifted a hand, brushing them from her cheeks. It had been too simple to get Lord Strong and Ser Harwin to agree to a dissolution, far easier than she had anticipated. They had relinquished the betrothal in under five minutes and she should have felt relieved, but her stomach was sinking at the memory of Ser Harwin ignoring her entirely.
“Many have shown a great interest in you, Lord Jason Lannister in particular has-”
“Jason Lannister is a fool. I’d sooner drop dead than marry a fool.”
__________
Harwin stole away to the woods the moment he left the tent, his hands shaking as he stormed off. She was infuriating, selfish, childish. He was angry at her outburst, angry that she could so easily dismiss him. If his father had any personal ambitions he would have insisted on keeping the match. But his father was a kind man and unfortunately, Harwin could not blame him for granting the princess her wish. He took several deep breaths before slumping to the ground. He could not even look at her, could not bear to see the look of distaste or pity or whatever negative emotion she felt towards him that day.
Years of her ignoring him and openly disliking him and their arrangement had not mattered. They were betrothed and when they were wed, he knew he would be able to win her over eventually, if he was patient. Unfortunately for him, he was overly patient and he had been desperately in love with her for years.
There was only a month until they were meant to be wed, as the princess had come of age earlier that year. He had looked forward to their union more than he wanted to admit, embarrassed at his one-sided affection for his betrothed. He thought she might come to feel the same way eventually, if she would give him a chance. Footsteps sounded behind him but he did not turn until he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. His father was looking down at him tenderly.
“I’m sorry, my son,” his father whispered, patting him on the back. His father knew, for years now, that Harwin loved the princess, despite her not reciprocating his interest. Harwin had been betrothed to her at her birth, shortly after his first name day. He had known no true purpose in his life other than being the heir to House Strong and being betrothed to the princess.
And now one was no longer to be. He leaned into his father’s touch, enjoying the comfort it brought him. He could not begrudge the princess for her choice as he wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, but he had hoped she would eventually be able to find happiness with him.
__________
Several weeks had passed before Harwin found himself being called into the small council chamber with his father, the King, and the Princess to finalize the dissolution. He was poring over a document detailing which lands were to be given to him as a consolation prize, positions at court he could take if he was interested, and a large sum of gold to be granted as an apology for the inconvenience of no longer having a bride.
He did not care about any of it and had not expected to be rewarded with anything for agreeing to release the princess from her duties. He simply could not force her into marriage with him. It would eat him alive to know that she would resent him every day if he had not agreed to give her the freedom she desired to select her own match. He signed quickly, not wanting to dwell on it for much longer, and hastily slid the stack of parchments across the table to the princess.
Princess Rhaenyra looked down at the parchment, her fingers brushing over the blank space for her signature. Harwin could see her hands shaking, her breathing becoming more shallow as she read over the dissolution of their betrothal agreement. He watched as her fingers drifted over his signature, smudging the not-yet-dried ink.
“Might I have a moment to speak with Ser Harwin?” she asked, not looking up. His father and the king glanced sidelong at each other, but exited the room without saying a word. Harwin sat still, his hands folded on the table in front of him as he waited for her to speak.
“I think this is a mistake,” Rhaenyra said, gesturing to the papers. Harwin’s breath caught. Surely she could not mean what he thought. “I do not think we should dissolve the betrothal.” Harwin let out a sigh of relief, his mood lifting and hope filling him as the words left her lips. “If we marry, I will not have to deal with all of these ridiculous lords vying for my affections and you will still get to be Prince Consort.”
“What?” Harwin asked, suddenly confused.
“It is beneficial for both of us to continue with this arrangement, I think,” the princess replied, looking at him with widened, hopeful eyes. “I will bear you two children, the first will sit the throne and the second will inherit Harrenhal. We both have a duty to our houses. I suggest we fulfill that duty but afterwards allow each other to do as we please.”
There was no ‘afterwards’ for Harwin. Doing what he pleased did not involve going separate ways from her. It involved a lifetime of being a devoted husband and father, fulfilling his desires of holding her in his arms each night, playing with their children on the beaches at Dragonstone. His duty was not only to continue his line but to dedicate himself to her happiness. He had been silent for too long and Rhaenyra continued speaking.
“When you agreed to end our betrothal at my request I realized that there are few men in the realm who would be willing to give up what you did. I do not need love from a husband, I need respect and understanding and I want as much freedom as I can be allowed in my position. And I feel that you are most suited for that.”
“Right, of course.”
“So do you agree?”
It sickened him that he could not deny her, that she had him so firmly wrapped around her finger she could ask him to put himself to the sword and he would do it without question. A farce of a marriage was all she was asking of him and he felt so much longing for her that he could not find it in his heart to decline. He would have her in whatever way she would allow him and it would have suffice. He nodded, reaching across the table and tearing the papers.