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Rhaenyra had imagined her wedding night many times throughout her life, as most highborn women do. For the briefest of moments in adolescence, she, and her friend Alicent, shared fantasies of romance and the beginnings of the rest of their lives. But somewhere along the way, the dreams changed, and the cruel reality of truth set in. There would be no true love for either of them, not when they spoke their vows and especially not in their wedding chambers. Rhaenyra, on her part, hadn’t expected quite so many tears.
Poor Laenor had doused their wedding sheets with wet salt for his lost lover. Rhaenyra had done her best to bring him comfort, but he seemed to stiffen at her touch. She wasn’t sure if was the circumstances of their newly shared bed or perhaps something else… in truth, she feared he blamed her as much as she blamed herself. She’d spent her night staring at the tapestries, wishing she’d been flying on the dragons depicted above her. Far from the grief and guilt, far from her mistakes.
She still could not understand what had possessed Ser Criston Cole. Hands that had been so gentle and heartening hardly a moon's turn ago had pummeled a man to death quicker than she could realize what was happening. Ser Harwin had dragged her away from the chaos, but she still caught the look in her white knight’s eyes. The empty stare had been anything but what she’d known him for, his fury only fading once Ser Joffery’s body lay limp with death. Did I do that to him? Do I sully all I touch?
Rhaenyra made her way to the high council chambers, her white shadow missing as she wished she could forget Laenor’s wail of grief. Although she was an hour early, the room already had half its usual occupants. Her heart fell to her shoes when she recognized Ser Criston kneeling by the balcony, the morning sunlight shining brightly off his white armour. Alicent stood above him, looking more regal than ever in a jade dress that rivalled last night's beauty.
“What is the meaning of this?” she heard her voice echo against the quiet.
All heads turned to her then. Her father’s face more tired than ever. Ser Lyonel Strong was sombre, and Ser Criston kept his gaze at Alicent’s feet. It was her old friend who answered before the King could. “Ser Criston is being released from his duty as your Sworn Protector.” The Queen told her. “After last night's folly, the King sees no other option. Despite this, I’ve decided to keep Ser Criston in our service. Years of loyalty and faithful obedience won’t be thrown away over one mistake.” Rhaenyra thought she saw the Queen smile, but it was gone as quick as a knife.
“Or one murder?” she challenged. She knows. He told her, and she knows. Rhaenyra could feel the enmity in Alicent’s gaze from across the room, even more keenly than last night’s dinner. She hadn’t understood then and hardly had the time to, but she knew now. In all the distance spanned between her and Alicent over the years, she’d never felt so far away than now, so unfamiliar.
“Ser Joffrey’s loss will be felt greatly among our court.” Her father said flatly. “But it wasn’t quite a secret he spent his time in… unsavoury ways. Blood runs hot at weddings, and fests and men duel, this outcome was unfortunate, but I’d rather put this mess behind us.”
“Duel?” she blurted, appalled. “I don’t recall any duel beginnnin-“
“Enough.” Her father’s voice brokered no argument, a rarity for him. The bruised grooves under his eyes told her how unwell he still was, and clearly without patience. “Get on with it.”
The High Septon continued with his drawl of formality. Rhaenyra watched frozen, a fire sparkling in her chest. Ser Criston spoke and re-took the vows of any Kingsguard, varying slightly from the ones he took as her sworn shield. The image of him kneeling before the Queen took shape in her mind, burning in her memory; she wouldn’t forget this betrayal. Ser Criston Cole had never truly cared for her; she understood then. Only the white collar around his throat had ever mattered to him.
Rhaenyra pushed the heavy doors she had entered only moments before and fled from the scene. Her eyes stinging with memory. Ser Criston’s silhouette against the morning sun now embedded beside her father announcing his new choice of a paramour. Next to the cold fear of being abandoned in a room of naked strangers and the bitter taste of her mother’s funeral pyre. She was wife to the saddest man in Westeros, but she wasn’t sure she had room for more grief.
Her footsteps echoed oddly down the hall as the scarlet velvet of her dress flowed around her. It took her longer than it should have to realize why, turning around, Ser Harwin stopped when she did. A few paces away, he stood politely in his armour, a steel grey accompanied by a gold cloak for the City Watch. He must have been one of the guards in the council’s chambers, but she hadn’t noticed.
“Princess.” He bowed slightly; under his helm, she thought his dark gaze seemed kinder than usual.
“I don’t require being hauled away this morning, Ser Harwin.” She told him bitterly, her fury too great to remember it wasn’t him she was cross with.
“Of course not, Princess.”
Rhaenyra bit back a retort and continued on her way, stopping as her footsteps kept echoing in pairs. She turned again, and he stopped again, hands behind his back. “Do you require something?”
“No, Princess.”
“Then why are you following me?” she demanded, exasperated.
“You’re without a sworn shield, Princess. It would be unseemly for you to walkabouts the castle without a guard of sorts.”
“You had no issue with me bounding about the streets beyond the Red Keep once, alone.” She reminded him.
He almost smirked at her. “Respectfully, Princess, you were not alone that night.”
Vexed, she crossed her arms. “Certainty the City Watch should require its captain this morning? I think the security of the city is more important than one girl.”
“In that, we disagree.”
Rhaenyra sighed, her shoulders falling slightly along with the fight in her heart. “Do as it pleases you, Ser Harwin.” She muttered, and he did. Throughout the morning, her once-white shadow was now darker and quieter than it had been before. She first sought out Syrax, flying up and far from her problems as she wished to the night before. Yet, the freedom couldn’t last forever, and eventually, she need come back down to reality.
She spent her night very similar to the one before, lying beside a grieving Laenor as she stared up at the ceiling and wondered how she’d made such a mess. Wondered how Ser Criston had gone from wishing to run away with her to standing beside Alicent, who seemed her strongest enemy now. And Daemon… he’d been there, and then he wasn’t, like the night at the brothel he’d left her with no goodbye. Her feelings for him were a conflicting storm, but mostly now, she just felt deserted.
The following day Rhaenyra avoided the council. As much as she valued her opinion in those meetings, she hoped the realm could do without her for one day. She wasn’t the sort to run away from her problems, not the way Ser Criston had wished to. And she wasn’t, she knew. She only wished for a morning to herself. So, instead, Rhaenyra found herself at the stables, commanding the young horse master to ready a steed for her.
“Another for me.” Rhaenyra turned to find Ser Harwin again. He’d followed her into the stables.
“As much as I appreciate your commitment to your self-assigned post, I don’t think you’ll be able to keep up, Ser.”
Harwin grinned at her, amused. Taking off his gold cloak and tampering with the claps of his armour whilst the boy was saddling their horses. “You’re talking to a Knight, Princess. We’re taught to ride as we are to swing a sword.”
“No one ever taught me to swing a sword. I was only permitted to ride.” She told him, running her fingers through her white mare's main. “I will meet you back here in an hour or so. You need not strain yourself.”
“Strain?” he echoed as though it was unbelievable before shaking his head slightly and mounting the chestnut stallion that’d been brought over. “I’d say your safety is worth the risk, Princess.”
She rolled her eyes, wondering if Ser Harwin’s father had put him up to this nonsense. Lord Lyonel was already Hand of the King and his son in line to inherit Harrenhal. It didn’t make sense why he’d rather spend his days following her around. “Riding through the Kingswood isn’t quite as simple as plopping down the streets of King’s Landing.”
“No doubt, Your Grace. I imagine it’s almost as tricky as riding with a tourney lance.”
She muttered to herself. “Nearly.” While steering her mare out of the stables. They first trotted on in peaceful silence, making their way through the busy streets before reaching the Dragon Gate. Even a few minutes from the city, the air was fresher than it’d been. Nothing compared to the sky above with Syrax. Still, there was something comforting in the aroma of the greenery and soil, which wasn’t found hundreds of feet in the air.
Rhaenyra led them down the King’s Road for a while before rearing off down a game trail. The path became more difficult as they bent and turned over little streams and fallen branches. She glanced behind her and bit her lip at the look of concentration on poor Ser Harwin’s face. “I do hope roads aren’t too troublesome for you?” she called.
“No!” he shouted from behind. “Cake and I are doing just fine. Thank you, Princess.”
She snorted. “Cake?”
“Does his colour not remind you of chocolate cake?”
She shook her head and didn’t answer, focusing on guiding her mare over a fallen log. She’d ridden this mare many times in the past year but hadn’t thought to name her. She stroked her silver hair, feeling suddenly contrite. “What about Snowflake?” she muttered. But she didn’t think she or the horse had ever seen fallen snow before.
Listening to birdsong and the music of the woods aided her in forgetting all the mess she’d left behind in the city. The breeze brushed away the heat before it could stick to her back and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Glancing over her shoulder, Ser Harwin smiled as his horse nearly stumbled. She shook her head again, feeling young and mischievous with her freedom. Rhaenyra kicked her heels, and her Snowflake was running.
They flew through the trail as though she was flying with her dragon, but branches tugged on her clothes as she passed, begging her to slow down. She could hear Ser Harwin and his Cake crashing through the wood behind them, doing their best to keep up. And for a little while, as the greenery became a blur like an emerald ocean, she forgot. Until a loud thump woke her from her musings, she turned back to see Cake barreling after them, riderless.
Rhaenyra pulled up her reins, and the chestnut steed sped past in a panic, and she turned back for her shadow knight. She didn’t register the pounding of her heart was fear until she saw him, sitting up and holding his head. A little relief touched her, and she slid off Snowflake as she neared where he fell. A branch she’d ducked under seemed to be his undoing.
His mop of dark curls was a tangle. His surcoat, red and blue with accents of green, was covered in mud. “Are you alright?” she asked, kneeling beside him.
“Aye, I-” Her foot slipped from under her, and she fell backward into the wet earth. She could feel the cold-water soak into her hair as soon as her head fell back. Struggling, she managed to right herself in a similar sitting position. Ser Harwin cleared his throat, a strange gurgle noise, and she realized he was trying not to laugh at her.
Rhaenyra was not so proper; smirking, she flicked her muddy glove at his face, and he flinched as he was showered in speckles of dirty water.
“Mercy, Princess.” He chuckled, “Mercy.”
She sighed, feeling light for a moment until she saw the red mark on his forehead. Her mirth died. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” He insisted, “Your dress, on the other hand….”
“They’re riding clothes, besides.” She assured him. “They don’t matter. I’m sorry, Ser Harwin, I shouldn’t have done that.” Rhaenyra did her best to suppress her guilt, but it only worsened. Somehow her best friend hated her, and her white knight had forsaken her too. Now the one man who appeared to give a damn, and she’d nearly had him break his neck in the woods.
Harwin must have read something on her face, for he took her muddy glove in his hands. “Hey.” He said, not continuing until he had her full attention. “I want to be here, Princess. It’s an honour to be your protector, even if only for the brief time before you’ve chosen another. There’s no place I’d rather be than sitting here hurting in the mud, knowing you’re safe.”
Rhaenyra sniffed, and he released her hand as though remembering himself. Why had Daemon, with all his gifts and flights of desire, never shown her such devotion? Was it really so difficult to show someone you cared? She was starting to think otherwise. If he wanted to be here, then he would be. Same as anyone else. “I fear I don’t understand why Ser Harwin. Is being the captain of the City Watch not a more fulling role than babysitting?”
He smiled and shook his head, muddy water dripping from his curls. “You’re much finer company than those brutes, Princess, trust me.”
Rhaenyra climbed to her feet, using his shoulder to haul herself upward before gaining her balance. She reached out a muddy glove toward him. “Then rise Ser Harwin as the chosen sworn shield to the Princess of Dragonstone.”
His eyes grew big as he stared up at her. “I-I don’t think I’ve said the vows proper.”
“I prefer what you’ve said to the customary ones.”
Harwin took her extended hand. “Then let me add, I am yours, Princess. I will shield your back and give my life for yours if need be. I will hold your council and fulfill any service you require of me.”
Rhaenyra smiled brightly for the first time since she said her wedding vows. “And I vow you shall always have a place by my hearth and mead at my table, and I shall ask no service of you that shall bring you dishonour.” She tapped his shoulders in turn with her other arm as though it was a sword. “Rise Ser Harwin, Sworn Protector.”
She helped him up from the muddy earth, and he towered over her again. His chocolate eyes were as soft as the smile on his lips. She realized he’d always been there on the periphery of her life, keeping a watchful eye. Rhaenyra was sure she didn’t deserve it, but she’d never been so grateful for his presence as she was now. My Shadow Knight.
“Princess?” he broke the quiet, and she blinked.
“Yes?”
“Would you mind sharing your horse on the ride back?”
She broke into a laugh, reaching over for her mare’s reins. “Her name is Snowflake.”