The Dragon & The Wolf - XXIV (Patreon)

Chapter XXIV : Too far, too late

The crowd in the tourney arena buzzed with excitement and curiosity as Sir Criston Cole and Arthur Stark faced each other in the sandy circle. The sun glinted off Sir Criston's dented armor, while Arthur Stark's elegant doublet, adorned with the direwolf of House Stark, seemed incongruously delicate for the brutal contest about to ensue. Arthur had gotten his sword back, but seemed in too much of a trance to fetch a fitting armor for a proper battle. The clamor of the onlookers subsided to a hushed murmur as the two men squared off under the keen watch of Rhaenyra Targaryen, who sat in her place of honor, her gaze intense and her eyes puffy.

“This is my fault!” She lamented inwardly on the verge of tears. “Arthur will never forgive me.  Why isn’t he wearing any armor?! Gods, no! Please, no! Don’t take him away from me! Don’t let Ser Criston kill him. I have no one else… Please!”

King Viserys Targaryen, with a furrowed brow, watched with a mix of confusion and concern, his hands gripping the arms of his throne. Beside him, Corlys Velaryon leaned in to whisper something to Princess Rhaenys, who responded with a sly smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I expected a far more boring event.” the Lord of the Tides confessed to his wife. “This is actually entertaining.”

Rhaenys chuckled in response, her gaze was locked on Rhaenyra.

“The poor girl has lost control of her plot. Now she will lose everything, this is a historical day.”

Neither Corlys nor Rhaenys noticed the terror and pain in Laena’s eyes, their daughter wanted to rush to her cousin to comfort her… But there was nothing she could do or say that would prevent a tragedy from happening.

Arthur Stark held his sword with a calm yet firm grip, his body poised and relaxed, as if he were merely taking a stroll through the godswood. Across from him, Sir Criston Cole hefted his Morningstar, the weapon's spiked head gleaming menacingly. The half-broken shield on his arm seemed more a hindrance than a help, yet Criston exuded the confidence of the seasoned warrior was.

However… Something was off, and the Stormlander could very clearly see it. Arthur Stark’s eyes had regained their yellow color, but it was not the beastly gaze the Northerner had given to Prince Qyle before killing him, this was a coldest and vilest gaze Ser Criston had ever seen. Those were the eyes of a demon, a creature who tormented the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and only the Kingsguard was standing between this thing and the heir to the Throne.

Without warning, Criston lunged forward, swinging his Morningstar in a wide arc. Arthur sidestepped with ease and phenomenal speed, his evil eyes never leaving Criston's. The Morningstar whistled through the air, hitting nothing but empty space. Criston's momentum carried him forward, and Arthur darted in, his sword a blur of silver as he aimed for the weak points in Criston's armor.

Criston grunted as Arthur's blade found a gap between his vambrace and breastplate, drawing a thin line of blood. The knight snarled, whipping around with surprising speed, his Morningstar coming down in a vicious overhead strike. Arthur jumped backwards to avoid it and Ser Criston moved forward, forcing the Northerner to back down.

Arthur slid back a few paces, his boots skidding in the sand, but he held his ground by deflecting the Morningstar’s spiky head with his sword. Then, without warning, he charged with all his weight to ram the Stormlander down with his shoulder. This was an insane move from the Kingsguard point of view who still managed to raise his broken shield, Arthur might have been a bit taller and bulkier than Ser Criston, but the latter wore armor, which made him heavier than the Hand. Yet he was hit with so much strength that he stumbled backwards and almost fell on his butt. Arthur did not give him time to breath, he kept attacking. His sword met the half-broken shield, and split it in a single stroke until it reached Ser Criston’s heavy gauntlet which managed to block the blow but ripped a cry of pain from the knight who looked down in disbelief as his blood was spilling on his sleeve.

His instinct took over his disbelief, and he swung his Morningstar to force the Northerner to back down, which he did, ripping his sword of the half-split shield.

The entire audience had looked in disbelief before Arthur’s show of inhuman strength. Lord Corlys Velaryon had been so impressed and surprised by this move that he slightly leaned forward with furrowed brows.
“How…?” He murmured. In all of his travels, he had never seen anything like this, only far taller men than Arthur Stark had managed to accomplish such a prowess.

The crowd roared, the tension palpable. Rhaenyra leaned forward as well, her eyes flicking between the combatants, while Viserys's concern deepened. Only Rhaenys scratched her chin with amusement, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Criston undid the straps on his shield in a hurry to threw it away, surprisingly, Arthur had given him plenty of time to do so. The Stormlander then swung his Morningstar in a relentless barrage. Each strike was powerful enough to shatter bone, but Arthur's agility kept him just out of reach. He parried and dodged, waiting for the right moment.

But the Kingsguard had more than enough experience to not give him another opening. He swung and swung again, ignoring his exhaustion and pain, only his determination and duty were guiding his arm. Nothing would stop him. Nothing would…

Arthur swung his sword so hard he broke the Morningstar’s chain, sending the spiky head in the dust and leaving Ser Criston with nothing but a stick in his hand and a flabbergasted expression on his face.

Silence had fallen on the arena after Arthur’s clear finishing move, most mouths were agape, and all eyes had widened.

In the distance, a wolf’s howl was heard, and though it was distant, it resonated in the arena like a victory cry.

Arthur’s Northern guard actually roared in victory.
“Stark!”

“Winterfell!”

“Stark!”

The Northerner rose his free hand to demand silence from his men, he was not in a celebrating mood, he pointed his sword at Criston’s chest.

Everyone was expecting the Stormlander to surrender, but not Arthur.
“Give this man a sword!” He commanded, his yellow eyes never leaving the Kingsguard’s.

Some people in the crowd applauded what they thought was a demonstration of honor, but more experienced knights and those who knew Arthur like Rhaenyra knew what was happening; the Northman was playing with his food and wanted the Stormlander to suffer.

Ser Criston’s face contortioned in rage when he realized what his opponent was doing, when Ser Harrold brought his very own sword to support his fellow Kingsguard as his duty as Lord Commander required; the Stormlander seized it without thanks and charged back.
That ended up being a terrible mistake that Ser Criston realized too late when his steel clashed with the Northman’s.
Indeed, Cole had seen Stark fight with difficulty against a spearman and had fought him himself with a Morningstar. But between the two of them, Arthur was the better swordsman. And with his superior strength, the fight could only go one way.

Arthur proved it when he dodged Ser Criston’s thrust and sent his helmet flying with a circular sword strike.

The Hand of the King forced the Kingsguard against the Royal Stand’s wall. Instantly, Rhaenyra got up and leaned forward to keep her eyes on the fight.

Arthur and Criston had their swords locked in a cross, but the Northman used his strength to push Cole’s own blade against his face. The Stormlander screamed to call upon what was left of his strength, he tried to get away from Arthur’s trap, but the Northman caught his wrist with his free hand and forced the knight to maim his face with his own blade. As Ser Criston kept screaming, Arthur shut him up by headbutting him, then, he used his grasp on the Kingsguard’s wrist to pull him to the side, he heel kicked his opponent behind the knee, forcing him to kneel, and hit him in the back of the head with the pommel of his weapon. Ser Criston fell flat, his bloody face buried in the dust.

The crowd and the Northmen alike roared in victory. Criston Cole, who had been the people’s champion mere moments ago, was now lying in the dust, defeated. And the common people who had chanted his victory were now applauding his defeat.

Rhaenyra had sighed in relief after Ser Criston had fallen, it had been nothing, a simple breath, and with the clamor that had resonated in the arena, it would have been impossible for anyone to hear her.
But Arthur seemed to have heard her, he rose his head and pierced Rhaenyra’s purple eyes with his yellow glare.

She gulped… and her fear returned instantly. Her breath became erratic, her nails dug into the stand’s railing, and she began to tremble. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, terror ran through her bones. No one saw her, her pain was drowned in an ocean of applause and cheers, the only witness of her despair was Arthur, and he could not seem to care less.

She would have probably succumbed to the wounds on her heart had she not noticed a movement at Arthur’s feet.
She screamed when she saw the sword, which is the only thing that saved Arthur’s life, but it did not save his face.
Ser Criston’s sword drew a crooked and bloody line on the Northman’s face, going from his lower right cheek, passing around his right eye and stopping before it reached the top of his nose. The crowd instantly stopped cheering, in the blink of an eye, Ser Criston was on his feet while Arthur was stumbling backward with a hand on his bloody face. Rhaenyra screamed again but no one seemed to hear her as Arthur barely blocked the knight’s next blow. It became obvious to every person present that the Kingsguard had lost his mind, gone were his training and refined technique, there was nothing left but a roaring beast in armor swinging his sword like a maniac. Arthur clumsily backed down as he kept his left hand on his face and his left eye open.

“I’ll kill you!” Ser Criston screamed. “For the Princess! I will not let you touch her! I will…!”

Arthur punched him with his left hand, revealing his bloody face for all to see. The wound only amplified the evilness of his eyes.
Arthur’s punch was so strong it instantly broke Ser Criston’s nose. As the Knight lowered his guard, the Northman tackled him to the ground, knocking his sword off his hand. Stark unleashed an avalanche of punches on the Kingsguard’s face, his blows were so hard they resonated across the arena. Soon, his gloved hand was as covered in blood as Ser Criston’s face, and he did not care. Not at all.

“Arthur, stop!”

Rhaenyra’s cry had not been a plea for mercy, it had not been a horrified scream caused by the brutal turn the fight had taken, it had been a prayer she had shouted from the bottom of her heart for Arthur to return to being the man she loved. She wanted it to stop, this tournament, her plot, all this blood… She had never wanted more than to feel Arthur’s lips on hers, to feel the comfort of his arms and the warmth in his gaze. That was all she had asked for, all she desired, and all she had lost.

Arthur actually stopped, his fist half-way to Ser Criston’s bloody and broken face. He got up slowly, took his bloody glove off and threw it in the sand, he did not rise his head to look at Rhaenyra, yet, from where she stood, she could clearly see the wound on his face and realize how deep it was. His face was ruined… She had done this…
There was no turning back.

Arthur did not bother to pick his sword up, he walked towards his fallen banner, lifted it in the air to fly the direwolf proudly, and went back towards the Red Keep without looking back, ignoring the confused looks that surrounded him and his very own guard who rushed at his side.
Viserys himself did not get up to congratulate the winner, he simply held a sad expression on his face when he heard his daughter low sobs and lowered his head.

That was how the Tourney to celebrate Princess Rhaenyra’s courtship and her search for her husband ended.
In the silence of a graveyard.

(-)(-)(-)

“You take the pain like a bear, Lord Hand.”

Grandmaester Runciter had arrived in his quarters after he had been done washing his face, the Maester had been horrified when he had realized that the Northerner had been about to sew his wound himself when he had entered. Fortunately, Arthur had regained his calmness, despite the cold anger that threatened to blow in his heart.

He did not thank the Maester for his compliment, it would have been quite unsafe to move your mouth when someone was patching your face up.

Knowing this, Runciter kept speaking:

“You’re lucky the blade did not reach your nose, or you would have lost it. Unfortunately, though I’m confident you will make a full recovery, the wound will leave scar.”

Arthur waited until the maester was done, then he spoke:

“It doesn’t matter.” He said.
He got up to look at his face in his mirror. The wound did look deep and was ugly. In the North, such a wound would add character, but here? Everyone would simply whisper in his back about this ridiculous fight that Rhaenyra had caused. There was nothing left for him in this gods forsaken stinking city.

“How is Ser Criston?”

Now that he had calmed down, he had realized that the poor knight had been manipulated by Rhaenyra, he did not know what kind of lies the Princess had whispered in his ear, nor did he care at this point, the damage had been done. Cole and him would bear the scars of her plot for the rest of their days.

“He will recover, but will not be able to accomplish his duty for a few weeks, I am afraid.”

“Thank you Maester, you may leave me.”

“My Lord.” And the old man left.

Arthur shook his head, he had already informed Roderick Dustin of his plans, he only had one thing to do before putting an end to this awful day.

He changed his clothes and left for the King’s quarters, ignoring the looks and whispers of the Lords and Ladies that crossed his path.

When he arrived, he was greeted by Ser Erryk and Ser Harrold who were guarding the door. The Westerling man nodded in greetings.

“Lord Hand.”

“Lord Commander, do not be too harsh on Ser Criston if you will. He is but the unfortunate victim of a plot.”

If Ser Harrold was surprised, he did not show it. Instead, he knocked at the door.

“Your Grace? The Lord Hand is here to see you.”

They waited for a moment, then another, finally Viserys answered.

“Send him in.”

The Ruler of the Andals and the First Men was in a sorry state, that was the first thing that came to Arthur’s mind when he entered.
It appeared that the Hand had interrupted the King’s bath, for the King’s hair and housecoat looked wet. The Queen was by his side, visibly worried for her husband’s health as the latter was sitting on a stool, breathing heavily. He looked paler than a ghost, yet it was Arthur’s face that seemed to disturb the handmaidens that had gathered behind the bath.

Arthur picked up another stool and sat in front of his King who greeted him with a weak smile.

“Lord Hand.”

“Why do you inflict this upon yourself?” Arthur himself was surprised by his own question, but in all the moons he had spent in the capital, Viserys had ended up being one of the only people he had come to respect.

The King smiled weakly, perhaps he was glad that someone as honest as Arthur seemed to care about his health and had realized that, as King, Viserys could call upon the best healers in the World but never did.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Fine, don’t answer.” Arthur sighed. “May we speak in private?”

The Targaryen man nodded and waved to dismiss his handmaidens. Once the Northerner was alone with the Royal couple, he took his pin off and placed it on a table. Viserys could not look more miserable.

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but I have come to resign my position as Hand of the King, and I have two reasons for this. The first, I’m afraid, is urgent news; My Uncle, Rickon Stark, your warden of the North has been the victim of an assassination attempt.”

“What?” Viserys did not seem to believe his ears, Alicent’s eyes widened in horror. “Did he survive?”

“Yes, for now. However, he remains in bed, and Maester Alim is not very optimistic regarding his potential recovery. My cousin Cregan is barely six, and I do not trust his fate to my father and my brothers, which is why I must return North, to protect him and guide him until his sixteenth nameday.”

“Gods be good.” Viserys whispered. “Now I understand why you seemed so angry in the stand.”

“Which brings me to my second reason: Rhaenyra went too far.”

This time, Viserys lowered his head in shame and understanding. The way his daughter had behaved in the past weeks had worried him, what had happened in the arena had confirmed his worries. He had warned her, he had told her that if she went too far, she would lose the Stark man. She had not listened, and now she had to pay the price.

“Manipulating Ser Criston into provoking me to force me to participate in this tournament has costed us all especially deeply, especially Ser Criston and I. This game is over, and I am not playing anymore. If Rhaenyra wishes to seat on the Iron Throne, one day, I have told her who she has to marry, whether she listens to me or not is not my concern anymore. I have no more advice for her. With your permission, your Grace, I’ll leave on the morrow.”

The King did like he would surrender so easily, even though he knew the battle was lost.

“Is there anyway for me to convince you?”

Usually, that would have been the worst question to ask, but Viserys knew how brutally honest Arthur could be, and even though he was resigning, he was not distrustful.

“No. I decided to go back North the moment I’ve received a raven. This… spectacle in the arena simply convinced me to never come back.”

“I understand.” Viserys looked even more tired now. “I accept your resignation, even though it pains me to see you leave. Your honesty and youth were refreshing.”

Arthur bowed slightly and turned towards Alicent.

“My Queen, it was an honor meeting you.”

“The honor was mine, Lord Arthur.” The Hightower lady looked as sad as regretful. “The children will miss you.”

“I’ll miss them too.” He smiled, but the pain the stiches caused him turned his smile into a grimace. “Good luck on the third one. They are all lucky to have you as their mother.”

Alicent smiled gratefully and nodded her thanks. Arthur made to stand up but Viserys interrupted him in his momentum.

“I know my words may be meaningless at this point, but I would have been proud to call you, my son-in-law.”

Arthur could not contain his eyeroll as Alicent chuckled in amusement.

“What is it with you Valyrians trying your best to embarrass me?” He growled but nodded politely. “This was never going to happen; my only regret is that Rhaenyra never realized nor accepted it and…” He shook his head, now was not the time to lament. “There is nothing more to say.”

Viserys nodded sadly and allowed his former Hand to take leave. He did not lie, he doubted that Rhaenyra would find another man like Arthur Stark… A tear ran down his cheek at this thought. His heart ache at the thought of seeing his daughter miserable for the rest of her life.

“It could have been so different.” He murmured.

Alicent took his hand to comfort him.
“She will overcome this, I know she will.”

Viserys wished he was as positive as his wife, but he knew his little girl all to well.
He simply prayed she would not run away on her wedding day.

(-)(-)(-)

Arthur knew he should have left this city at first light, he knew and yet he still waited, allowing his men to take all of their time to break their fast. He should have written a letter, but he was no coward, he would face her like he had always done, only this time, he would show no mercy, he was out of mercy.

Sitting in front of the stables with Shadow by his side, he almost thought she would not come when his men came back from the kitchens. She only appeared after he had saddled his horse, and she looked even more miserable than Viserys had looked on the night prior.
Rhaenyra had had a terrible night, in Maegor’s tunnels, she had stood in front of Arthur’s door for hours, trying and failing to muster the courage to see him. To speak to him, to apologize, to beg him.

But she had been afraid, afraid of seeing what she had done to his face, afraid of being pierced by those terrifying yellow eyes once more, afraid of being abandoned.

She had not slept at all, she cried all night, and on the morrow, Alicent had come to inform her of Arthur’s departure, and the reasons that had pushed him to depart.

Now that they were face to face, she knew she would never convince him to stay, and she wanted nothing more than to scream in despair.
Arthur told his men to wait for him and went to Rhaenyra, his face was stone.

“You know… I have nothing to tell you.” His nonchalance was worse than any thing the Princess could have imagined in her worst nightmares. “Everything you needed to know, I have told you already. I wish you good fortune in your ascent to the Iron Throne, Princess.”

He turned on his heels and she caught his sleeve.

Arthur sighed in frustration, even though she looked miserable with her head down and her arm stretched towards him, he felt nothing but anger.

He turned back.
“Look at me.”

She did, though her terror was palpable, her eyes widened in despair when she saw his wound from up close.

“What have I done…?” She whispered in horror.
“Whatever the hell you wanted, as you have always done.” He shrugged. “This is nothing new, really. I hope you have at least apologized to Ser Criston for using him.”

Rhaenyra’s silent was eloquent, and Arthur rolled his eyes at that.

“You don’t even care.” He sighed. “This was all a game to you and you thought yourself so smart, you thought you had devised a clever plot and look at what you have done: Court is whispering about you, about us, lords, knights and heirs alike felt insulted by this pitiful display and think they have been manipulated by you. And they are not wrong. Me leaving is the only way to put an end to these rumors. The rest is up to you. My family needs me.”

He made to leave, but of course she had to whisper:

“I love you…”

“If that is true, then I honestly pity whomever you’ll end up hating.” Arthur snorted. “You think I’ll forgive you? After everything you’ve done? I have already forgiven a lot of things coming from you Rhaenyra, but my family?”

She paled even more after his words; she had been so preoccupied by his wound that she had forgotten about the banner.

“How dare you use my family for your plot? That was wrong, Rhaenyra.”

His voice had turned to ice, all the warmth the Princess had longed for was long gone.

“I… I’m sorry… about your uncle…”

“That, was not your fault.” Arthur said. “But we are beyond apologies at this point. I am leaving, there is nothing you can do or say that will stop me. This is the last time we’re seeing each other, Rhaenyra. I am not coming for your wedding. And if you don’t want to get raped during the bedding ceremony. Then give up on that fucking chair. This is my last advice, take it or leave it.”

He turned once again and walked too fast for Rhaenyra to catch him once again. The Targaryen Princess watched helplessly as the man she loved mounted his horse without bothering to give her one look.

Arthur rammed his horse and the Northerners departed, some of them were polite enough to respectfully nod at their Princess but she ignored them. Her teary and puffy eyes were set on the back of their leader, who never turned back.
Rhaenyra watched helplessly as the Northern host disappeared in King’s Landing, leaving her alone in the courtyard, surrounded by stable boys, handmaidens and workers who knew better than to speak to royalty, with nothing but her despair. Her gaze was empty, her eyes full of tears, her heart broken.

A whimper suddenly pulled her out of her trance, and she almost lost her balance when she discovered that Shadow was still at her side.

The massive direwolf looked sad, it was sad… for her. It slowly approached to lick her tears, but it only managed to break whatever composure she had left, she buried her face in the beast’s fur and cried. She cried, again and again, she clung at its fur, she screamed in its fur, unleashing all the violent emotions she had accumulated in her heart since the end of the melee.

“Don’t leave me…” She whispered to the wolf. “Please… Don’t leave me… I… I don’t want to be alone.”

Shadow remained, for what felt like an hour, it waited until the Princess dried her tears, until she was done sobbing, until she had regained a bit of composure. When she finally released it, the massive black direwolf gently rubbed its nose against her face, and Rhaenyra instantly realized that this was goodbye.
Soon, the direwolf went to follow its master, it threw one last sad look in her direction when it reached the gates, then it ran to catch up to the Northern host.
Leaving Rhaenyra broken and alone.

AN: I know lots of you have been wondering where I'm taking this story. Well, here's a little something: Rhaenyra's wedding will happen at the end of the second arc, Canon will be... respected and modified... I really can't say more.
Know this though, this was always the plan to have Arthur leave after Rhaenyra went too far, if you've enjoyed the story so far, I'm pretty sure you'll like what's next.
One more chapter to go and I'm going back to the Northern Dragon, take care ;)