Chapter Text
Samwell had heard depictions of the capital, the most populous place in the seven Kingdoms with people from all over the realm, even from the Free cities. They say that the smallfolk were notified at the start of the day by the rumbling of dragons, and sometimes you could feel the earth shaking beneath you when one of the largest took flight. While he treasured the Blackwood Vale deeply, seeing the grandness of King´s landing left him speechless.
They are welcomed at the gates by a small army of gold cloaks who paraded the Blackwood retinue along the streets for King´s landing. They are a small party, taking into account the Tullys that they had encountered on the road, and it was just the servants they had seen ridden ahead to make the proper accommodations.
“Don't turn your face away, boy. This will be your people one day,” his father said to him, quickly noticing his shift in focus.
Samwell usually rode behind his father, uncles, and even his cousins. Now, he was leading them. He tried not to lay his head low in front of the people who stared wide open at the man who was going to marry the heir to the throne.
His mother had carefully prepared everything for his presentation to the people. A tunic of mostly black, adorned with vibrant red thread, held together with golden claps The red cape that falls over his shoulders is adorned with stitching of crows flying entwined. His mother had been glad that he did not have to trade their house colors for another, and he could wear black and red proudly.
His father, more than willing to spare more coins for his wedding had gifted a new stallion. A red thing, huge and seemingly built for war.
“You will look like a conqueror when you enter the city, and you are one. You have tamed the dragon,“ He had said, and Samwell could not disagree more.
As much as he held his gaze straight and impassive, he could not help but feel like a man walking towards his death, sweat coated his brow and he was eager for something or someone the delay his meeting with her.
As they keep getting up to the hill of the Red Keep, the buildings and the people get finer. They throw flowers and congratulations as if he were one of the seven come again, and not some minor lord.
“Make way for our future prince.”
“Seven Blessings to the Princess.”
“A favor from the lord.”
His body feels heavy to carry, as if he were a spirit possessing someone’s else corpse. The motions go too fast, and it makes his head spin. Before he knows it the iron throne lays before him. The thing has claimed too many lives to count, a monument to the Targaryen rule and yet, he does not spare more than a glance at it when he sees Rhaenyra standing beside it.
Samwell has spent only two moons without seeing her, but it feels like a lifetime. He stares unabashedly at her, and to the pain in his heart, she does not acknowledge him directly. He wishes to blame her, but he can not. It’s his fault for this estrangement, he seems to have a talent for causing mess with women.
The king speaks, and the nobles clap for the wedding that is to be celebrated. The pomp is over, and the rest of their party is shoved into the guest chambers, ready to make preparations for his permanent stay in the palace. A small party is to be held in the gardens, only comprising of the most important nobles, his sires, the King, the Queen, and her.
Seeing her obvious desire to ignore him, Samwell makes a point to not ogle at her so openly, instead at a tapestry. The sight of the woman fornicating with a dragon makes his head spin so fast that he almost tramples a servant carrying a trait of refreshments.
“Rhaenyra mentioned you were tall, but you seemed to exceed my expectations,” King Viserys ignored the lack of manners in him.
“My wife has giant blood, your grace” his father proudly remarks and while his mother does not smile, her cheeks blush.
“What a blessing, my boy, sadly, will be a short man.”
“He is only four, husband.” The queen replies curtly. Samwell knew she was a former lady of Rhaenyra, but he had not expected her to be so young.
Rhaenyra had not spoken much of the Queen, but by the rumors he had heard and the comments she had made in passing, they were once close friends now their relationship can only be described as distant, at best. Samwell can understand, just the thought of one of his friends even glancing at his mother makes him displeased.
His father and the king quickly grow into a jolly mood, japing about old tales while the King's council trails behind him. It does not surprise him, Rhaenyra had remarked once that his father was so like her own. The imposing figure that is his mother takes her place behind the queen who looks dwarfed against her, something he notices for the slightly panicked look on her face.
“Samwell,” his stomach falls at the sound of her voice. He knew she was approaching due to her raspberry scent growing stronger, yet he hoped she would not address him, so openly while in her anger.
“Princess, I’m glad to see you well.”
“You are? You seem like a dead man walking. Tell me, its the sight of your dirty boots more pleasing than me?”
He slowly raises his head to meet the princess's face. Her silver hair is tied to frame her face, which is decorated with a bit of black kohl around her eyes. Samwell is dazzled by the way it makes her cold eyes shine.
Memories of that night quickly flash in his mind. Rhaenyra's face is wroth with anger. Swollen red lips. The flash of betrayal in her purple eyes. The feeling of his fingers on her waist. The sight of her drenched in the rain, being covered in the safety of the weirwood tree, and the double take he did to make sure she was not a creature of the forest, strange and alluring waiting to guide him to his death.
“They are not.”
The uncomfortable silence that they have once seemed to overcome, has now taken hold of them again.
Brash and impulsive, Rhaenyra merely calls out “coward,” proceeding to storm out of the garden.
Inquiring glances fall upon him, and his sires while disappointed do not seem surprised. They had noticed his sudden change of mood on the last moons. He had become cagey, snapping at his cousins more frequently and even sometimes refusing to indulge in Alysanne's plays.
In Raventree, his father would take his shoulder, and demand an explanation, but in the King's court, things are not so straightforward. They seem to try to dissipate the tension with tight smiles and ordering the servants to bring more wine. Samwell reluctantly joins their charade.
“You know, we have stocked in salmon for the celebration.” The king says to him sitting down on the couch. He can see the exhaustion painted on his brow despite his smile.
“That’s good, your grace.”
“Rhaenyra ensured of it, she said you were fond of the fish.”
He fidgets, embarrassed. Samwell knows she will never forget about it. They were having night supper in the hall, and the cook had decided to cook salmon with garlic and thyme. When they put the plate in front of him, he could not help but take a big sniff followed by a blessing to the gods. He had gulped half of it, before noticing that the princess was too busy laughing even to touch her plate.
He can feel his cheeks growing red at the mention. “Aye, your grace, I will give my thanks to the princess.”
“She does not speak much of you, you know, only when she is prodded by me. It’s strange. Rhaenyra has never been quiet. Ever since she was a babe, she has been outspoken, unafraid to show her displease,” The king continues, a sad smile adorning his face. “The late queen would sometimes be exhausted at the end of the day just by dealing with her and her storms.”
“She has her temper, inherited from my father. Yet, when it comes to the thing she pleases the most, she seems to be as quiet as a mouse.” The implication makes his head shoot up. Samwell knows the fool face he must be making, cheeks red and mouth agape.
“Your grace-“
“My daughter is wroth, the gods know why, but I know that is not by her choice of husband or the wedding to come. I hope that you mend this rift between you soon.”
“Thank you, your grace” He means it. A different King would send him packing back to the Riverlands.
He should be occupied trying to fix his estrangement with the princess, yet he finds himself in the guest chamber assigned to him, surrounded by his cousins, dirty and one even injured. Samwell knew they would get up to trouble in Kings Landing, but he never thought it would come this fast.
“Surely you can talk to the king to punish him,” eagerly demands Edmund.
“He fights without honor, only anger,” Pipes up Roland.
“A savage. He is a treacherous Dornish,” Says Emmon followed by a spit to the ground.
“He is not Dornish. He is from the Stormlands. You twat,” replies Edmund.
The two of them quickly get into each other faces with Roland in the middle trying to break it off. Samwell gets a little closer in order to swing a fist to calm them down if he needs to.
“Explain.” He demands to Theo, who is adjusting himself in a more comfortable position on the bed, after having his arm cast on a sling.
“We were japing at the courtyard. Just laughing while crossing swords, the maids were watching and they are pretty things here,” his cousin drawls pleased with himself.
“Have you learned nothing after Father tore off your ear over your bastard?” Snaps Samwell.
Theo's eyes glare at him, warning him about saying anything more about little Rob, who was left behind in the Riverlands. “Sorry,” he says and nods for him to continue.
“Cole saw us messing around and wanted us to keep it down. It’s a place of training, how can we keep it down? We were getting our sweat off after being stuck in the road for such a long time.”
“He called us green boys who knew nothing” pipes Edmund while holding down Emmon.
“I told him, we may not know how to act in the King's courtyard, but at least we do know honor and loyalty” Theo continues, his voice cracking with anger.
He can feel a little chill running down his spine. Fear grips in heart and he turns away so his cousins cannot see the look of dread on his face “Why would you say that to him?”
Emmon twists free out of Edmund. He has that smile on his face that he gets every time hears a rumor. “We all have heard the stories.”
“Rumors.” Clarifies Roland
“They said the Princess and her Kinsguard were too familiar. You remember as well as I.” He had forgotten Theo had gone with him to the Trident. “How he snickered or sneered at every suitor that came along as if he was a jealous lover. Now, he stares down at her and is beside the green Queen. The traitorous cunts who seek to steal-“
“Careful,” he clamps his hand in Theo’s mouth shutting him up, “We are not at RavenTree.”
They stay silent looking at the walls, trying to gather any noise. All of them were raised as hunters, and to be a hunter they need to understand how a prey thinks. Silent, quiet, not being noticed, all of it to avoid a certain death. This is not their home, and they are prey.
“He took insult to it,” murmurs Roland. “He was not satisfied until Theo was twisting in the ground screaming after he broke his arm. The bastard did not even have the decency to call for help, he left him there like a dog.”
Theo grimaces at the description, no doubt his proud cousin has been put to shame, and the lashing will only get worse when his lord father finds out.
“I will not speak to the king, “Declares Samwell,” Cole is a Kingsguard, the highest honor one can take. You just call him a traitor, and while he can be, some can say you call the king a fool for his choice of men. Tongues get twisted around here.”
For much Samwell wants to reel his cousin in and go against Cole, all united, it will be a stupid act. If they do, they will cause more talk, talk that will trickle down and harm Rhaenyra. He won’t let that happen, not even when he does not know where they stand together.
His cousins eyed him as if he were a coward, “Let me get through the wedding. Cole can wait. For now, stay out of trouble.” He clarifies.
“Does this mean we are not gonna go to the throne room to see if Maegor's ghost haunts it?” Edmund asks and receives three fists to his body as a response.
He only escaped the lashing of his father by mere grace. His mother quickly shooed him away while his cousins were being berated. Samwell had no interest in staying by any chance, he had to go to get something to be back into Rhaenyra's good graces. He just did not expect to have company while he explored kings landing in search of a token of affection.
“Ladies are akin to be wearing more green. I'm sure this silk scarf will have you win the favor of your love.”
“Green is not something she likes, right?” he asks Erryk, his new companion who shakes his head in denial.
(He was stopped by guards who asked him about his destination. Sawmell had grown puzzled by this inquiry, he was never questioned at Raventree Hall, and he always had the freedom to leave and come at his will. When he was informed that he had to wait until someone could accompany him, he simply laughed.
“My prince, you are a stranger to the streets and the malice of King´s Landing. It’s best for your safety.” The guard had said.
Samwell thought that he must look a fool. He was not a lord, even less a prince, not for now, there was still a fortnight to the wedding. His head started to throb at the late realization that from now he would be now as a prince. A prince, that could not leave to have a moment of solitude in the inn with a plate of soup and a large book for company. The guards ignored his plight and presented him with a man who could only be a few years his elder.
“My prince, Ser Erryk at your service.”
“Good morrow ser. Could you please change? Plain clothes, if you will. They will charge me more if they see me with a Kingsguard”)
In his wildest dreams, would he ever imagine himself strolling in the capital in the company of the Kingsguard? Samwell has to stop himself multiple times from staring too directly at Ser Erryk. He is still young, but carries an air of wisdom and honor, unlike some of his sworn brothers. Yet, as much as he is in awe, he can not help but get enerved, every time he sees Ser Erryk take a tight grip on the sword, it makes this once casual stroll something darker.
They have already been to at least five different shops, and as much as he likes to, he does not find anything appropriate to gift to the princess. He would not be in this problem if he had just been braver to confront her when he had the chance, but for now, he has to grovel. He should grovel.
“Is the princess fond of the stars?”
“Do you think she needs more riding gloves? The last time I saw hers they worn out.”
“Perhaps, she will be happy if I get her lemon pies.”
For much that he seems to be impatient with his inquiry, Ser Erryk maintains a noble stand and answers his questions as much as he can, but it’s not that helpful, for the Kingsguard is not that close to the princess.
“We could maybe ask for Ser Cole to help us, ” At that response, Samwell breaks the bow he has been holding.
The sudden show of anger startles the salesman and Ser Erryk. For much he wishes to hold his composure, Samwell knows the rage shows plain on his face.
“Please don’t bring up Cole, ser Erryk.”
The Kingsguard eyes in suspicious, as he pays the merchant for the broken bow. He will not answer his silent question, he does not think he can answer anything regarding that man at this moment, without going to plant his boot on his face like he deserves.
“Who is that?” Ser Erryk asks the merchant.
He points to a painted tapestry of a blonde girl surrounded by creatures of the forest. The girl in the picture must not be older than two and then and has a shy smile on her face. She wears a gown of blue and silver while holding a small dove on her face. She looks innocent and sweet like the princess in the stories Gwenys used to read.
“That is a tapestry of the late Queen Aemma. The Good Queen Alysanne distributed various copies amongst King´s Landing noblest families, so the people could get to know the face of her granddaughter on the eve of her wedding to the then prince Viserys.”
As he holds the tapestry closer, He smiles at the woman he never met. Rhaenyra speaks only traces of her mother, but Samwell feels the love she holds for her in every word that she utters. This is it. No more looking.
“I'll take it.”
He is poor. Most of his coin has gone to the tapestry wrapped in blue and gold paper. Samwell knows he should not have looked so eager in the face of the merchant. He wonders how should he convince his father to spare him some coin his way, that is a new problem to face. He just hopes it is worth, it that if reconciliation will not come, he can at least hope for the twinkle in her purple eyes.
He wanders through the Red Keep, trying to keep up with the guard guidance to the princess garden where he knows she is reunited with the ladies of the kingdom, including his mother. He hopes she at least spares him a moment alone from the watchful eyes.
The ladies stop their chittering once the guard announces him. Queer looks fall upon him, their smiles taunting him about him seeking out Rhaenyra in the middle of a meeting.
The princess herself, eyes him with contempt, no doubt still angry at him, but Samwell does not fault her. He gives her a wide smile, no doubt awkward, and pleading eyes hoping to soften her up.
“I believe my son and the princess have matters to discuss. We should give them some room.” His mother announces, her imposing tone making the ladies get up their seats quickly.
Samwell is perplexed at her ability to have such a command of this group of ladies in such a short amount of time, for it only takes a nod from the princess to follow his mother out of the garden. Not too far away for that would be improper, but just enough for their ears to strain to follow up their conversation.
His mother's eyes send a message “Behave and don’t make a mess.”
“Princess.”
“Lord Blackwood,” she drawls and he twitches.
His mouth feels dry, and the speech he had conjured suddenly disappears from his mind. He scrambles to come up with something, yet before he can, he kneels before her.
“I’m sorry for behaving improperly since my arrival. You are my future lady wife and ruler, I let my fear command me, and faltered in my duties towards you.”
“Duties? Is that what a future marriage is to you?” Her mocking tone drips with bitterness.
“My marriage to you is my greatest desire,” He speaks fervently, some will even say desperately, “I speak of duties because duties require that I honor you, and the last time we saw each other I acted on my lowest impulses.”
His breath feels hot, and his cheeks are burning. He knows he does not look so different from the fool Frey who had declared his love for her.
“Do you regret it then?” She does not meet his gaze instead choosing to spin the rings around her fingers
Does he regret it? Samwell ponders, he does not regret the hunt they did together, searching for a fleeing stag. He does not regret taking the ale she had offered him after noticing his nerves at being alone without a chaperone for the first time. He had felt like the bravest knight in the kingdoms as he slew the great stag with just a single arrow to the head.
Rhaenyra had kissed him on the cheek as a reward, and he dared to kiss her on the lips drunk in gory.
Their lips met in a chaste kiss that soon gave to more carnal desires. The ale served for that. He does not regret pinning her against the weird wood tree. Rhaenyra had always seemed so grand to him, yet she weighed nothing as he lifted her, her legs coiling themselves as roots in his waist.
He probably committed too many sins, and even sacrilege against the old goods when his hand stained from the tree sap found his way into her laces. Her cheeks rosy with the heat of the counter, and her lips bright red from rough kisses, he almost came in his trousers at the sight of her.
He found heaven and damnation that night.
Honesty, he must give her honesty, “If I were a more honorable man, perhaps, but I’m not. I do regret how on the terms we left things off.”
“Honor, something that can be twisted so easily, a low excuse for our actions. Tell me what an honorable man would say about my lack of maidenhood.” The anger that flashes through her eyes makes Samwell wonder if she sees the ghost of someone else on his face.
(His hands had briefly hesitated on her laces. His mind went into the circumstance he was going to take the maidenhood of his future bride. Rhaenyra had let a puff of a laugh come out her lips probably guessing his thoughts.
“I’m not a maiden” she had whispered to him, and he froze.
Everything had shifted, he could not hide the shock of jealousy going to his body. His face probably twisting into something ugly, by the expression on her face. He remembered the words of his mother about her uncle, two betrothals happening so quickly.
“I’m going to kill your uncle.”
Pushing him off of her, “My uncle did not bed me, I did not take for you to trust those vile rumors.”
“Ser Criston then?” Samwell knew she was not lying, and he knew he had the right answer over the way her body had gone still. He had noticed the same thing that Theo did in the Trident. )
It was the shooting of an arrow in the dark. He had suspected something had happened, the one overzealous sworn guard had suddenly never returned to her side, and now was guarding the Queen. Rhaenyra never spoke of him, and he never asked, looking back Samwell concluded he was too afraid of the answer.
They did not speak words that night. Only anger and poison. He wondered if she loved him if their future marriage was just an excuse so she could carry on with her once Sworn guard quietly. Rhaenyra had been incensed at being accused of treachery. At some point, when their throats were raw the guards located them deep in the forest, and in the next morning, with a leap of Syrax Rhaenyra was gone.
He had twitched for days, the weight of their last meeting heavy on his soul. He had sent a raven wishing for a safe arrival to the red keep. Distant and formal. The princess had not replied, and they had not spoken since. He had cried alone at night, fearing for letter breaking off his betrothal.
If she had not bled on their wedding night, he would not have questioned. Ladies lose their maiden’s blood all the time on horses, it would have been easy to dismiss it with the princess being an adept rider of Syrax. Yet, she had spoken the truth to him, in a bad time, but the truth nevertheless.
“I do care for your lack of maidenhood.” He admits shamefully having his head low. “but, I care little about purity, and I will never think you a lesser woman cause of it. You are so many things, Rhaenyra. Brave, strong, passionate, and intelligent. Your lack of maidenhood does not counter the Queen that one day you will be and the woman that you are.”
What a sight he makes. Red-faced with tears gathering in his eyes. “He was your confident and then your lover. I want to slay Criston Cole. I want to shatter his Morningstar and see the innards of his brains splashed in the courtyard. I want to his banish him off the books, and of every corner of this earth. He had something that I crave deeply and I despise him for it.“
He can feel the iron taste of blood in his mouth. Perhaps this is why Targaryen marry each other, a non-Valyrian probably succumbs to madness after storing their fire in his heart.
“It is this poisonous jealousy that has kept me away from you, and like a coward, I succumbed to it. I fear that I can not live up to the likes of him in your life and that pains me.”
He was a fool Frey, how could he not? A snorting idiot in front of the cold gaze of her. He was pathetic.
“You will never be Criston Cole.” She remarks, and a jolt of pain passes through him. “He asked me to run away with him. Give up the crown and sell oranges. I reject him, of course, for above all, things, I am the crown. He did not like that, “I won’t be your whore” he said. Then, he went to the Queen and stayed at her side. It seems the holy mother has forgiven the besmirch he placed on the white cloak.”
Her hand caresses his hair, gently she grips it so his dark eyes face her. Samwell can feel himself shaking before her, an urge to take her or flee overcomes him.
“Honor is important to Ser Criston. Honor that he molded to his desires. In the search for honor, he left my side and went to those who sought to see me displaced from my place as heir. I don’t want an honorable husband, I want a husband who seeks to aid me in these treacherous paths. Who cares not for honor, but for loyalty to me. My sword in the morning and my heart in the night.”
“Can you be that husband for me?” She whispers to him. He swears he can feel the heat of fire in his ears.
Samwell knows he is too far gone. He will never lock back. “Yes, Rhaenyra. If you will still have me, I will.”
“Fool,” She says, her mouth slowly closing onto his.
The weight that he has been carrying finally lifts. The taste of her mouth washed away all of his worries. Sweet berries that Samwell knows are the holiest of tastes. He is no longer just a man, but a creature that has found the heavens in the lips of a goddess.
A kick to his ribs finally snaps him out of his trance, separating his lips from his princess.
“Leave.” His mother commands him, a gaggle of blushing and scandalized ladies behind her.
“I have not given the princess her gift.” He replies meekly looking to Rhaenyra, who ignores him hiding her face behind her fan.
“Leave” his mother repeats.
He fears his mother repeating herself, so he hastens. He quickly deposits the tapestry in front of Rhaenyra and kisses the ring on her finger as a goodbye. As soon as he exits, the ladies scream like chickens in a fit of laughter, and nosy questions.
Once in the privacy of his chambers, he quickly takes his breeches off. He strokes his manhood off, as his mind wanders into the loviliest of images. Rhaenyra decked in a gown of black and red sitting on the Iron throne. The crown of the conqueror upon her brow, as Blackyfre lays on her opening legs, legs opening up for him, just as he delivers the severed head of Criston Cole for her, the proof of his devotion.
Samwell can't wait for his marriage to come.