The Dragon & The Wolf - XXXVIII (Patreon)

Chapter XXXVIII: Husband and Wife

Before she fell for Arthur, Rhaenyra had dreaded her wedding night, fearing not only the pain of losing her maidenhead but also the sweat and lust of the imaginary lordling who would have rejoiced in conquering a girl of Valyrian descent. Yet, even in her wildest dreams, she could never have imagined such a perfect moment.

Arthur had made the moment magical, worshiping every inch of her body from toe to forehead, whispering words of love and desire that set both her body and mind ablaze. It had hurt—Arthur was quite large, and Rhaenyra much smaller—but her husband had waited for her, apologized for causing her pain, kissed her to reassure her, and paused until she was ready to continue. As she lay in their bed, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, Rhaenyra blushed at the debauchery they had indulged in. Arthur had taken her in every way a man could take a woman, bringing her to a state of utter bliss several times during the night. The first time she felt him spill his seed inside her, her eyes widened in shock—not just at the unfamiliar heat, but because the implications of this new sensation resonated in her mind.

Rhaenyra had remained motionless afterward, quietly processing what had happened and what it could mean. Arthur had asked if she was okay, and Rhaenyra, in a trance-like state, had asked for more. Their lovemaking lasted for hours, sometimes clumsy due to Rhaenyra’s inexperience and Arthur’s need to learn her body and its mysteries to please her properly. But most of the time, it was the greatest moment of their lives. Arthur had spilled inside her twice more, marking the end of their wedding night. Rhaenyra was too exhausted and sore to continue anyway. They ended up cuddling under the furs, clinging to one another as if fearing it was all a dream. Rhaenyra had never been so happy, so satisfied, so at peace with her life. Finally, she knew why she was fighting.

Arthur fell asleep quickly after declaring his love for her one last time and kissing her goodnight. Rhaenyra took a bit longer, despite her exhaustion and inner peace, as the sensation of her husband’s seed leaking out of her set her imagination ablaze. As she gazed at Arthur’s sleeping face, she began to envision a brood of children with their combined features running through the corridors of the Red Keep, chased by septas and maesters alike, laughing at their mischief—until their father caught them with an icy glare and returned them to their lessons. Rhaenyra chuckled quietly at the thought; Arthur would be a fair but firm father, doing everything to ensure their children grew into fine princes and princesses. She gave him a peck on the cheek before settling into the comfort of his chest and arms. Soon, she fell asleep, dreaming of children.

(-)(-)(-)

The next day was… bizarre. First, her private parts and thighs were incredibly sore and sticky. She practically leapt into her bath to relax and clean herself as soon as it was drawn. Arthur had apologized, but she brushed off his concerns, considering it an acceptable consequence. However, her husband joined her in the bath, letting her rest against his chest while he massaged her thighs, earning sighs of relief from his wife.

“I should take you to the hot springs,” he whispered in her ear while soothing her legs. “Where we could have all the space and hot water we need to enjoy ourselves, with no one to disturb us.”

Rhaenyra felt her cheeks burn and lightly elbowed her husband’s ribs, despite her smile. “Don’t even start. With how sore I am, we won’t be able to do it again until tomorrow.”

“Then we’ll enjoy the hot springs tomorrow,” Arthur declared, kissing her neck. “I think I’m growing addicted to you and the way you taste.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth fell open in shock. “Since when are you so perverted?” she giggled, feeling his hands move up to her breasts to massage them.

“Since you let the wolf out of his cage. But don’t worry, dear wife, you’ll always be the subject of my perversion.”

Rhaenyra groaned. How could he say such things when she was too sore to return to bed? Oh, she would make him pay. Yet, she couldn’t help but marvel at this new side of Arthur, the one hidden behind his dutiful, stoic facade—the wall she had managed to breach.

Being married was bizarre, but not in a bad way. Rhaenyra felt different, as if she had taken a step forward on an unknown path yet felt confident enough not to worry. Arthur had to attend to his duties as regent and prepare for his departure, so Rhaenyra chose to have lunch with her father. Even he looked at her differently now, as if acknowledging for the first time that she was a woman grown. Rhaenyra saw melancholy in his eyes and wondered if she would feel the same after her own children’s weddings.

Rhaenyra spent her day tending to Syrax, conversing with northern ladies, and helping Cregan with his studies after the boy used that pretext to spend time with her. Her thoughts always drifted back to Arthur, as if they were now linked by something greater than marriage itself. When she joined him in his room after his duties, she felt complete again and hugged him. Arthur warmly returned her embrace, and they sighed in relief.

They had supper together in the privacy of their room, discussing their day. In the end, nothing significant had happened, but it was their first day as husband and wife, and for some reason, it felt special in a way she couldn’t describe.

“How do you feel now that we’re married?” she asked him out of the blue.

Arthur looked pensive for a moment before answering, “It’s… strange. But at the same time, it feels so right.”

“I know what you mean,” she replied. “I’ve been trying to understand what I’m feeling, and… I can’t quite put it into words.”

They chuckled, the atmosphere far more relaxed than they were accustomed to. “Never in a million years did I imagine myself married to you,” Arthur said. “Calling you my wife feels… incredible, because I never realized how badly I wanted this. Now that I have it… I don’t know. You’re right; it’s hard to describe.”

Rhaenyra tried to elaborate. “When I think about how we met, everything we’ve been through—always so close yet so far apart—and now to have your hands on my skin, to feel you inside me… I feel like things will never be the same now that we’ve been in bed together.”

“Things will never be the same, Rhaenyra. We’re husband and wife now.”

The Princess felt a shiver run down her spine. Arthur moved his chair next to hers and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “If things were still the same, I wouldn’t dare run my fingers through your hair or call it beautiful,” he said, his voice laced with care and love. “I’d still fear for us when speaking in private. I’d fear kissing you. Now, I can hold you in my arms, kiss you, make love to you, hold your hand in public, take you in my arms, and whisper how much you mean to me. And I don’t care what anyone says—you’re my wife, I’m your husband, and not even an army of dragons and Others could keep us apart.”

Rhaenyra looked at her husband as if seeing him for the first time, amazed by how their wedding had transformed him and how freely he could now express his feelings. He used to be so reserved, so closed off, but with her, he could show his true self. And she loved every part of it.

“You are amazing,” she whispered. Arthur shook his head sadly.

“Don’t forget you’re the one who worked so hard for us to be together. This is thanks to your efforts.”

Rhaenyra cupped his cheek and rubbed the scar on his face. “If you weren’t such a great man, I wouldn’t have tried so hard.”

“If you weren’t such a great woman, I would have stubbornly refused,” Arthur replied, his voice low, comforting, and sweet. “I love you, Rhaenyra, and because of that, I don’t fear the future, as long as I get to grow old with you.”

The Princess felt her heart skip a beat, her mouth open in awe at his words. “I never thought you could be so incredibly sweet,” she whispered.

“Neither did I. I guess I’m still drunk on your honey,” Arthur teased.

Rhaenyra gasped in mock outrage and gave him a light slap. Her husband caught her in his arms, covering her neck with kisses and love bites as she giggled under his touch.

Translated French Section:

Rhaenyra melted under his repeated assaults, as if happiness were so simple and only needed to be plucked. She slipped an arm behind her husband’s neck and drew him into a tender, savory kiss, as if drinking in all the affection and love he held for her. Arthur returned her kiss, willingly giving her what she so ardently desired.

They lingered like that for long minutes, savoring their union and the life that lay before them. When they finally parted, Rhaenyra gazed into his eyes, searching for answers to all her questions and the future they were about to share.

“I’m afraid,” she murmured at last. “I’m afraid of losing what I’ve fought so hard to gain.”

Arthur gently wrapped his arms around her waist. “We lead a risky life, you and I. The entire realm envies us and wishes for our downfall. Yet, I don’t fear the might of the Seven Kingdoms. I fear no rival, no dragon, and above all, I don’t fear the future, as long as it’s by your side.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “You’re saying that to reassure me.”

“Yes,” Arthur admitted. “Would you prefer a more logical and pragmatic response?”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra replied. “Believe it or not, since I’ve grown accustomed to your way of speaking, I’ve always found your gruff northern logic reassuring. You always provide at least the beginning of an answer to my worries.”

Arthur kissed his wife’s neck, and as they both gazed at the flames in the hearth, he adopted the pragmatic tone she requested.

“The good news is that we’ll return to King’s Landing with many allies. On my uncle’s advice, I’m bringing at least one son from each northern house. And a guard large enough to ensure my safety and yours, in addition to the one you already have.”

“And the bad news?”

“I didn’t say there was any, beyond the unpredictable. It’s likely that the news of our marriage will cause a seismic shift across the continent. The Hightowers will scream, that’s a given. The southerners who already dislike you will fly into a rage upon learning you’ve married a northerner. Fortunately, our second wedding in the capital’s sept will be an opportunity to gather the discontented, the loyal, and the ambitious. We can’t do much about the discontented—they already hate us for what we are: a woman and a northerner. It’s possible some heirs may be more open to negotiating with us and recognizing your authority than their fathers. Fortunately, your father might live long enough for some of the discontented to die before your ascension, which could reshuffle the deck in some areas. But I’m getting sidetracked—back to our upcoming wedding.”

“It’ll feel more like a battlefield than a wedding,” Rhaenyra interjected.

“First, we must strengthen ties with the lords most favorable to your reign. That could involve their wives or children. We mustn’t neglect anyone and should reward their loyalty with gestures that entice the undecided. As for the ambitious, they’ll weigh their options. Our advantage is that your half-brother and half-sister are too young to offer anything. However, the Queen’s fertility gives them a clear long-term prospect, especially with a third child on the way. I don’t want to pressure you—never will—but the entire continent expects you to conceive soon.”

Rhaenyra’s shoulders slumped at his words. That such sensible words came from Arthur was painful. She would never forget the fervor with which her father had desired a son, causing so much suffering to her mother and leading to her death. She knew her duty and had even enjoyed fulfilling it since the previous night, but that didn’t stop her from fearing the inevitable pregnancy she was destined to endure.

Sensing her distress, Arthur tightened his embrace and hurried to continue, avoiding lingering on the painful subject. “The ambitious will negotiate with Alicent or her uncle, Lord Hightower. It’s likely Alicent will hold banquets or tea salons to charm the ladies into influencing their husbands, brothers, fathers, or betrothed. Don’t join her or mimic her. You’re not like other ladies, queens, or princesses. You’re the heir to the Iron Throne, and you must stand out.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I don’t know, Rhaenyra,” Arthur admitted. “You’ll need to find something acceptable for the ladies that sets you apart from a typical lady and inspires noblewomen to support you.”

The Princess nodded, letting her husband continue. “I won’t be idle either. I’ll need to be firm with the lords who despise me—and there’ll be many—cooperative with those who support you, and convince the ambitious that our side serves their interests. All while preventing a brawl between northerners and southerners. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

Rhaenyra snorted. Arthur had forgotten to mention what she considered the most important issue. “You forgot Daemon.”

Her husband’s reaction was immediate; he groaned, “Oh, fuck…”

“He’ll likely try to challenge you,” Rhaenyra warned, knowing how enraged Daemon would be to learn she had married a Stark.

“I beat Cole,” Arthur reassured her. “But you’re right—he’ll try to humiliate me by any means. Your father, despite banishing him, won’t cause a scandal by publicly dismissing him.”

“I’ll handle him,” Rhaenyra declared, not as a request or suggestion but as an uncompromising statement.

Arthur frowned, pausing his shoulder massage for a fraction of a second. Before he could voice his doubts, Rhaenyra continued, “I’ve known Daemon my whole life. He’s always coveted my father’s throne, believing his strength alone justified his ambition. He betrayed me, manipulated me, and tried to defile me to achieve his goal. I’m not afraid of Daemon, Arthur, and more than anyone, I resent him for what he’s done. He’s still my uncle and has a terrible reputation at court, but if he draws too much attention, I’ll send him away myself.”

Arthur grimaced. “As insufferable as Daemon is, he’s an asset and an enemy of the Hightowers. We must be careful not to isolate ourselves, Rhaenyra. It would be wise to approach the Velaryons before Daemon makes his move, or we could be caught between them and the Hightowers.”

Rhaenyra slumped against her husband’s chest. She noticed they hadn’t finished their plates but didn’t care; she’d lost her appetite. “I don’t see what I could offer the Sea Snake,” she said with a hint of irritation. “He’s always wanted his blood on the Iron Throne. Now that we’re married, his plans are ruined unless he weds Laena to Daemon and supports him.”

“That would be suicidal,” Arthur replied. “Daemon is third in the line of succession, and he’ll be even further if Alicent gives birth to a boy and you have children. Lord Corlys is ambitious and touchy, but he’s not a complete fool.”

“His idea of marrying Laena to the Sealord of Braavos’ son suggests otherwise,” Rhaenyra countered.

Arthur snorted in amusement. “Fair point, but you and I have made less-than-glorious decisions too. We must also consider Princess Rhaenys, who I’m sure will be less driven by emotion.”

“What do you propose?” Rhaenyra asked.

Arthur hesitated briefly, but it was enough for Rhaenyra to grasp his plan. “You want to propose a marriage between our first child and one of Laenor’s,” she said coldly.

Arthur didn’t falter. “Actually, I was thinking of marrying our first two children to Velaryons to secure their alliance—not necessarily Laenor’s children, as he’s too unpredictable, but Laena’s, especially if she marries Daemon.”

Rhaenyra’s face twisted with anger. “You want us to sacrifice our children before they even exist to forge alliances.”

“We’ve sacrificed a peaceful life to embark on a quest that will likely span centuries to stop the White Walkers, Rhaenyra. Yes, we’re lucky to love each other, a luxury our descendants may not have. But if we’re not willing to make such moves to ensure the stability of your reign, we’ve already lost.”

A tense silence followed, broken by Rhaenyra’s long, resigned sigh, heavy with disgust. Arthur’s sigh was one of regret. “You’re already worried about not being a good mother.”

The Princess lifted her head slightly. “Is it that obvious?”

“To someone who knows you well, yes. Do you truly think you’ll be a bad mother, Rhaenyra?”

She stared into the hearth, trying to imagine herself in a role that intimidated her even more than ruling the Seven Kingdoms. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “And that scares me.”

Arthur gently caressed her cheek. “The fact that you’re so concerned is already a good sign. Our children don’t exist yet, and you already love them and feel guilty about the duties you’ll impose on them. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Rhaenyra. If you didn’t have a good heart, I wouldn’t love you.”

Those simple, obvious words were exactly what she needed to hear. Gods, what would she do without her husband?

“I’ve ruined the evening, haven’t I?” she said with regret.

“We would’ve had to discuss this sooner or later, Rhaenyra. We’ve only been married since yesterday, and balancing our lives will be difficult. We won’t just be husband and wife—you’ll be Queen, I’ll be your consort, our children will be princes and princesses, and we’ll inevitably make mistakes. Honestly, we can’t anticipate every trial we’ll face. Remember what we said: one step at a time. First, we prepare for our return to the South while enjoying our time in the North. Then we handle our southern wedding, and we move forward from there.”

Rhaenyra turned and sat on her husband’s lap, gazing into his eyes. Some of the doubts weighing on her heart had lifted. She kissed him tenderly and whispered in his ear, “I’m not as sore as I was this morning.”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose, and a small, predatory smile spread across his face. “You’ll be sore tomorrow if you keep this up.”

“Then I’ll go to the hot springs to relax my—”

She didn’t need to say more. Arthur grabbed her by the backside, lifted her, and carried her to their bed. One step at a time, as they’d said—they needed to focus on making their children before worrying about them.

(-)(-)(-)

Alicent Hightower, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, nearly dropped her wine goblet when Lord Lyonel Strong, Hand of the King, read the message from her husband, King Viserys, sent from Winterfell. The letter announced the upcoming nuptials between his daughter and heir, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, and the Regent of the North, Arthur Stark. As if that weren’t enough, the couple had already married once before the Old Gods of the North and would hold a second ceremony in the capital, before all the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms who accepted Viserys’ invitations.

Alicent, whose third pregnancy had proven more challenging than her previous two, felt her heart race. How could her husband be so indifferent? Giving his heir’s hand to a Stark—what madness had possessed him? Had the events of the tourney not shown him the disaster this union represented? How would the southern lords react to such news, after all their efforts to secure an advantageous match for Rhaenyra’s reign?

Once again, the Princess had chosen to follow her heart, sacrificing the realm to marry the man she loved. Did she believe herself untouchable? By the Seven, Alicent could already see the catastrophe this marriage would unleash. It would be a miracle if blood wasn’t spilled that day.

Alicent had nothing against Arthur Stark personally; she even considered him honorable. But how could he not see that he was leading them all toward war? Had she misjudged him? Had she underestimated his ambition? What kind of man was the one she would have to call ‘Consort’ after her husband’s death? His children would be heirs to the throne, viewing Alicent’s own children as threats to their legitimacy.

Her baby seemed to sense her distress, delivering a series of kicks that nearly doubled her over. “Enough!” she snapped, startling the other members of the Small Council.

Blushing with embarrassment, the Queen quickly adopted a regal, pedagogical tone. “My apologies, my lords, but one must show great firmness with children, even before they’re born—especially with princes and princesses.”

“If Viserys had done the same with Rhaenyra, we wouldn’t be on the brink of disaster today,” she added.

“Rest assured, Your Grace,” Lord Lyonel soothed. “Every father at this table understands your struggle.”

“Thank you, Lord Hand.”

Lord Beesbury cleared his throat to draw attention and spoke, “My lords, Your Grace, perhaps we should begin preparing for the royal wedding between Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Arthur. It’s likely that lords from across the continent, including some Dornish, will send delegations to attend. As Master of Coin, I’m concerned about the cost, especially since the King will likely want to hold another tourney.”

Lord Lyonel nodded but added, “Lord Arthur Stark is not a lavish spender. When he served as Hand, he worked to reduce extravagant and unnecessary expenses and lowered certain taxes to encourage trade. I doubt his wedding to the Princess will be as grand as Rogar Baratheon and Queen Dowager Alyssa’s golden nuptials.”

“It’s not just Arthur Stark’s wedding,” Tyland Lannister interrupted. “These are royal nuptials. Every lord, their heirs, and representatives from Dorne and the Free Cities will attend. While we shouldn’t plan anything as extravagant as the golden nuptials, we must arrange festivities befitting the occasion, or their marriage will be mocked as well as contested.”

A heavy silence followed the Master of Ships’ words, broken only by the Queen’s nod of thanks for what she saw as courage. Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, who had been silent until now, snorted derisively. “I agree with you, Lannister, but I doubt the King will approve.”

“The Princess’s marriage would’ve been contested no matter who she chose,” Lord Lyonel said, clearly displeased with Ironrod’s tone. “It’s not our place to question this decision.”

“I didn’t question it; I commented on it,” Tyland corrected.

“And would you have done so in the presence of the King, the Princess, or even Arthur Stark?” Lord Jasper retorted.

“Arthur Stark has never shied away from words and isn’t a fool,” Lord Lyonel said. “He’s likely already considered the ‘comments’ we’re making. There’s no need to dwell on this. We don’t question or comment on royal decisions. If you have reservations about this marriage, take them up with the King, his daughter, or his good-son. In the meantime, we have a realm to govern, my lords, and a wedding budget to prepare.”

Alicent remained silent, partly because she wanted no part in the wedding preparations—she knew any suggestion from her would be dismissed by Rhaenyra—and partly because Lord Lyonel’s words echoed in her mind. The Lord of Harrenhal was right; Arthur Stark had likely anticipated the repercussions of the marriage announcement across the realm and knew it would be contested. That meant he had a plan, and Alicent trembled, unable to fathom what the Stark had in store.

A detail struck her, and she spoke as the lords began discussing seating arrangements for the lords and foreign delegations in the Red Keep. “My lords… Are you certain Dorne will send a delegation? Lord Arthur did, after all, kill their prince.”

A brief, heavy silence followed. Lord Lyonel grimaced slightly. “You’re right, Your Grace. No member of House Martell will travel to the capital to attend the wedding of the man who killed their brother. However, it’s not impossible that a small delegation might be present to report to Prince Qoren on the marriage’s true impact on the realm.”

“The Lord Hand is correct,” Lord Jasper agreed. “But we’ll need heightened security during the wedding. The Dornish are known for ruining weddings—remember Lord Wyl of Wyl.”

“Thank you, Lord Jasper,” Alicent replied quickly, unwilling to recall that gruesome tale.

Lord Jasper inclined his head, his expression still sour. Lord Tyland seized the opportunity to speak again. “We must also account for the fact that there will be far more northerners at this wedding than King’s Landing typically tolerates. We’ll need more than heightened security—we’ll need an entire army to prevent a disaster.”

Alicent let out a deep sigh of weariness. How, by the Seven, had it come to this?