The day of her marriage to Prince Hugh had dawned bright and
clear, as it had done for three days now, cold and sharp, but bright
and barely a hint of clouds in the sky. It looked like it would be dry,
and rain and snow would not mar her wedding day.
She had risen early and broken her fast with her father, the
traditional wedding day breakfast with the other family dispensed
with in this case as her betrothed had instead taken his dragon out
on what he called a 'scouting mission' to the south of Kings Landing.
She had fretted a little at this, but her father had told her not to worry,
it was just how Prince Hugh was, focused as he was on the war and
their inevitable victory.
Afterwards she had relaxed with her ladies in waiting and maids,
who had arrived from the Vale only a week ago, with tales of attacks
by Mountain Clans and of terrible travelling conditions, deep snows
and roads tuned impassable in places. The actual wedding
ceremony would be held in the Great Sept atop Visenya's Hill, a
rather somber looking building she had always thought, its dark
brown stonework making it look as if it was frowning at you,
somehow.
Afterwards there would be a feast in the Great Hall of the Red Keep,
and then, and then Hugh would bed her, and they would truly be
married in the eyes of Gods and men.
There was a Septa present, who was keen to lead them all in
prayers and was annoying in constantly reminding her about her
duty as a wife, and that she had to obey her husband in all things!
Yes, yes, she had already had more than enough of that from her
father already, and she assumed that telling the Septa some of the
details of what her father had commanded her to do would not
please the Septa one bit.
Anyway, after a light lunch it was time to prepare for the big event,
she was bathed and washed, massaged with scented oils, her hair
done up in an appropriate style. Her legs, face and other parts of her
body had been waxed a few days ago, in accordance with an ancient
Valyrian tradition apparently and as she was dressed and prepared
she felt nothing, just a strange, disassociated numbness at it all.
She hardly knew Prince Hugh, she had not seen him since he was
declared a Targaryen and betrothed to her, he had spent all his time
away at the frontlines in the Reach. He had arrived into Kings
Landing late last night and she had not seen sight nor sound of him
at all, she would see him next at the alter in the Great Sept.
Her maids and ladies in waiting interpreted her silence and stoic
looks as her trying to calm her nerves, but she felt no nerves, she felt
nothing at all actually, except an emptiness that threatened to
swallow her up whole.
She was not in command of anything in her life she knew, everything
was being planned out and decided by others on her behalf. She
was nothing, a vessel for others to steer, an item to be directed
hither and thither at their command, and now finally to be married off
to a man she did not know, who barely even knew his courtesies and
graces, a former smallfolk blacksmith of all people!
She had of course not railed at her father for doing this to her, for
she knew it would be futile, and likely to draw her father's
considerable anger down upon her head, and she did not want that.
She had quite a bit of time on her hands after her betrothal had been
announced to think and ruminate, and many was the hour she had
spent in sour and angry contemplation of her life and her lot. But in
the end she had no choice, but that did not mean that she could not
at least try to make the best of things, despite who she was being
married to.
Yes Hugh was a brutish savage, or so it was reported by the more
voluble of the court gossips, but she had heard nothing of him being
cruel or of him indulging in drinking or whoring, the very opposite in
fact. And of the man himself, he was handsome enough she
supposed, and with his lack of charm and courtesy, actually
somewhat endearing for all that.
And as he was a High Lord now, a Prince even, he would need
schooling in the arts of being noble, and she knew she could provide
coaching on this to him easily.
The, the physical aspects of marriage she knew little about, one of
her maids who was herself married had just said that she needed to
relax and let her husband guide her, but that it would hurt and that
there would be bleeding at first. It all sounded, well, horrible to her
mind, and such a huge fuss, but one all secret and hushed up, like it
was something to be ashamed of? Was it something to be ashamed
of? The Septa's droning's on the subject had been filled of
cautionary tales against lust and 'unnatural desires', whatever that
meant! It was so frustrating; nobody would tell her in plain and
simple terms what she could expect and even what she was
supposed to do! It was very, very annoying this whole bedding
thing….
After two or so hours she was finally ready for her wedding, all
dressed up, primped and perfumed. Her dress was the latest
fashion, according to her ladies in waiting, the finest silk, lace,
brocade and damask combined into a garment of stunning beauty, at
least that was how it was described to her.
In the largest mirror she had ever seen she was being displayed,
allowed, no, prompted to turn and swish, pivot and wheel, for final
adjustments and for the admiration of the other women present.
An underdress of very pale green silk, patterned with the seahorse of
her mothers House, with long sleeves reaching to her wrists, above
that a sliver, silken dress, sheathed in lace, which was patterned with
tiny three headed dragon symbols of House Targaryen. The outer
dress was cut back at the front, clasped at her waist by a slim golden
chain, the buckle was a single dragon in a circle, seeming to eat it
own tail, apparently the symbol that Hugh had taken as his own.
'Already marking me as his', a tiny, traitorous voice spoke in her
head, she quashed it, returning her mind to its hollow emptiness.
Over her shoulders would be draped a wedding cloak, black and
scarlet and with the three dragons emblazoned upon its back. But
not quite yet, she would not don this cloak until she left the Red
Keep for the journey to the Great Sept.
Her husband's sigil was a bronze dragon in a circle, eating its own
tail, and he had taken to displaying it ever since he had been given
their family name. She supposed that this would be similarly
emblazoned upon the cloak he would drape around her shoulders to
seal the wedding ceremony.
Eventually all was decided to be ready, and they moved off to board
the carriages that would take them to the Great Sept, her father
arriving and draping her maiden's cloak around her shoulders and
taking a seat beside her in the carriage.
Off they went, out of the Red Keep and with an escort of hundreds of
mounted knights they proceeded through the streets, the crowds
kept back by lines of shoulder-to-shoulder soldiers of the various
houses loyal to her father and the City Watch.
She barely saw anything of the waving crowds, nor of the buildings
as they passed, until they arrived at the hill atop which the Great
Sept sat, and as before, and despite the brilliant winter sunshine, the
building was doing it usual and seeming to frown at her.
She dismissed this from her mind and stepped down, taking her
fathers hand and she was led, along with her ladies in waiting, into
the echoing, cold building.
Her mind barely registered the people inside, nor when she was led
before her husband to be, who towered over her, dressed in what
she had heard referred to as a 'double breasted frock coat'. Said
garment reached to just above his knees and was made of fine wool,
trimmed with scarlet at the cuff and collars, which stood up proud
around Hugh's neck. The front of the so called 'frock coat' had a
double row of golden buttons down its front, opened back at the neck
in two flaps to reveal the scarlet silk lining. A black silk shirt could be
seen underneath this at his neck, around his waist was a scarlet silk
sash, over which was a sword belt, bucked at the front with a bronze
dragon in a circle, a sword and a dagger, both sheathed, hung from
this belt.
Black woolen trousers, with a narrow scarlet stripe running down the
outside and polished boots completed what Hugh wore, his hair was
worn lose, to just above his shoulders.
As the Septon droned on and on she studied the man she was about
to marry, and about whom she knew almost nothing, able to really
see him close up for the first time. He certainly lacked the classical
features of the blood they obviously shared, his face was roughly
proportioned and not at all shaped with the delicate and refined
features that were so telling of one of the Old Blood. She doubted
she would ever call her husband handsome, well unless she was
looking to flatter him over something, but there was a
certain…..solidness to his face that was not unpleasant, if she was
forced to admit it.
His presence was overwhelming, he was a big man, tall and broad of
shoulder, in fact Hugh was one of the largest and tallest men she
had ever seen, his hands alone looked to be easily capable of fitting
around her waist. And when their hands were bound together she
had felt their calloused roughness for the first time, an unconscious
shiver had trembled through her body.
With her new cloak draped over her shoulder she had emerged from
the Sept a married woman, to the cheering of the crowds, no doubt
encouraged by men in her fathers employ casting coins into the
thronged smallfolk.
She had her arm in Hugh's, his bulk at least warm beside her and
shielding her from a rising, freezing wind. They sat together in the
carriage that returned them to the Red Keep in silence, she did not
know what to say to Hugh and he appeared to be equally unsure as
to what to say.
Back in the warmth of the Great Hall she shed her wedding cloak
and sat at the high table alongside Hugh, and the feast to celebrate
their wedding began. As it was winter and the realm was at war, it
was not the fabulous display that she might have expected as a
Princess, but in truth it all barely touched her, she was hiding within
her skin she knew. She was just hoping that this would all end and
that she would wake up, back in the Eyrie, with no concerns beyond
balls and flirting with handsome knights.
Instead, she was here and listening to that disgusting dwarf
Mushroom caper around in motley and make sly remarks about the
likely enormous size of her husband's manhood and the discomfort
she was about to face during her bedding.
She ate and drank, not tasting anything really, and drank more than
she probably should have, trying to ignore everything around her,
and trying to ignore Hugh most of all. He had tried to converse with
her on numerous occasions, but when her responses had been only
one or two words he had soon got the message. She was not ready
for this, she might never be ready, but she wished this could have
come a few years later, when, when what exactly she asked her
slightly tipsy self?
When she was older yes, but what difference would this truly make?
She would be married to whomever her father wanted, and that man
would be who gave her father the most benefit, not whom she found
the most attractive. And as power tended to accrue with age, or at
least she reasoned so, her husband would likely be older than her,
maybe even much older than her. Hugh, in his defense was not that
much older than her, probably a decade at most, and at least was
not fat and wrinkled.
'Hardly enough basis for a marriage' sourly bubbled up through her
mind, as her fantasies of dashing knights on horseback, balls and
tourneys filled her mind.
People came to the High Table to pay their respects, her grandfather,
many lords and ladies, Knights in profusion, some even bold enough
to ask to kiss her hand, which she allowed, though she did not know
why. Even young King Aegon, who seemed rather shy and tongue
tied, they even danced, Hugh and her, and she danced with her
father and her grandfather, along with some lords, but not too many,
for she did not feel like dancing at all. King Aegon did not dance with
her, for he seemed rather reluctant to dance at all, much to her
father's displeasure she noted.
"It's time" came from beside her, Hugh's whispered breath hot on her
neck.
"I'm, I'm sorry?" she asked, her brain befuddled and thoughts slow
feeling. The pair of them were sitting back up at the High Table and
there was no dancing or other entertainment underway, except for
the musicians that had played throughout most of the feast.
"Your Lord father has directed that I take you to bed, wife mine. And
he directs that I be sure to bed you, as does that fool mushroom,
who has apparently wagered a gold dragon that you will be with child
within three moons."
Hugh's voice was tight with what she knew was suppressed rage,
but she held out her hand and Hugh took it, the pair of them making
the required courtesies to the King and then her father, to the
howling din of a chorus of catcalls, disgraceful shouts, banging of
utensils on tables and jeering.
Prince Hugh led her out of the Great Hall and through the grounds of
the Red Keep, the fresh and cloudless day had given way to a dark
and cloudy night, with swirling, freezing winds howling around the
walls, towers and buildings of the Red Keep.
Her husband had a wolf fur cloak that he had donned on leaving the
hall, he had immediately removed it and draped it around her
shoulders, the wedding cloak she wore being little or no protection
against the elements.
She mumbled her thanks, feeling its warmth envelope her against
the cold, night-time air, her breath clouding before her. Surrounded
by guards they hurried into Maagor's Holdfast and up the many
flights of stairs to the chambers that had been assigned to them.
Once inside it was at least warm, the inner chamber, their bedroom,
not separate bedrooms as Lords and Ladies often had, a single
bedroom, which was lit with a few candles and a fire roared in the
fireplace. The bed was heaped with furs and blankets and looked
warm to her, and inviting, for she suddenly realized that she was
very tired, and all she wanted to do was go to sleep.
From an adjoining room two of her ladies in waiting and two maids
appeared, she went with them into the room to be undressed for
bed. This they did swiftly and with none of the ceremony that had
accompanied her getting dressed a few hours ago. Over her naked
form they placed a lace and silk shift, which came to about mid-thigh,
but which was little better than transparent in some places and
looked hardly likely to provide any warmth.
With that they withdrew from the room, and she was left standing
there, wondering what to do. Well, it was colder in this room, so she
returned to the bedroom to find her husband, how, how strange that
felt to her mind, holding a letter in his hand.
"This was on the table there" he nodded with his head, "its from your
father, in his own hand. He informs me that you have been taking
moon tea twice a day for nearly a week now and that the chances of
you getting with child are very low. And he bids me do my duty by
you, by order of his authority as the Regent to King Aegon, 2nd of his
name. Is, is this true, Rhaena, about the, about the Moon Tea?"
"It is my Lord Husband" she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
"
Your father is a cunt" she heard Hugh say, in an accent that was
distinctly, thickly northern sounding.