The Dragon of Duskendale -- A Song of Ice and Fire Fanfic

Chapter 3

"For the sake of the Mother, Ren, smile."

Aelor clapped his friend on the back as he settled into his seat at the head of the table, taking the glass of wine offered by one of the serving wenches when she materialized at his side. The Prince of the Iron Throne was grinning ear to ear despite it being only his second glass of the night, a far cry from the scowling and drunk Lord Renfred Rykker. Dressed in black and scarlet breeches and a matching tunic that still appeared crisp despite the last round of lively dancing, Aelor pushed his chair on the high dais onto it's back two legs, throwing one booted foot and long leg atop the recently cleared table.

Ren grunted, face unmoving. Seated to Aelor's right, a place of high honor in a prince's hall, the newlywed was staring down at the backs of his large hands, dark features flushed with drink. "I don't know how to do this, Aelor."

The Prince laughed heartedly. "I think it is a bit late to try and back out now, old friend. You have the wedded down, with just the bedded to go."

Ren's red face went redder, conflicting with the brilliant blue of his vest. "Exactly."

The serving girl—Jeyne, if Aelor remembered correctly—reappeared with another glass of red, extending it towards Ren. Aelor stopped her with a hand movement, smiling but shaking his head to ward her off. She nodded, curtsied one-handed, and left. "Come now, Renfred. Half of the handmaidens in the Red Keep knew you were more than capable by the time we were four and ten. From what Heavy Hallie told me this morning, you haven't lost your touch." His friend's face, already colored, blushed all the deeper at the name of the bosomy courtesan Aelor had had waiting in his friend's chambers the night before as a wedding gift of sorts. An impressive feat, considering Ren had already been as red as the Targaryen banner.

Aelor gestured down at the chaos that had once been his tidy main hall, to the pretty, plump young woman dancing with her younger brother. Her face was alight with laughter, just as it had been every moment since her arrival the morning past. "Look at Malessa. Look at her, Ren." His friend finally did, grumbling beneath his breath some expletive Aelor graciously decided to ignore. "She is having a grand time, and I daresay she has much more to fear from tonight than you do." The eldest daughter of Lord Donnel Buckwell, one of Aelor's sworn lords, had seemed completely calm and confident since her arrival. Truth be told she put her new husband to shame, Renfred having been a jittery, irritable mess for three solid days. "Besides, you and she have always gotten along swimmingly."

"Yes, but..." Ren finally grunted and brought a fist down on the table, more from embarrassment than anger. "I've no experience with maidens."

Aelor grunted in surprise, then grinned mischievously. "Well, as Willem Darry always told us...practice makes perfect."

"Aelor do—"

But he was too late, and Aelor did. Before the drunken Lord of Hollard Hall had even finished his threat Aelor had regained his feet, near catapulted down the steps, and strode to the center of the chamber, guests and servants scattering out of his path. Cellador and Ceranna of White Harbor, the musicians Aelor had hired at great expense, immediately ceased the jaunty tune they'd been playing, laughter and drunken conversations filling the sudden quiet for a moment before dying down. Smiling broadly, the Lord of Duskendale clapped his hands together, calling out to the lords and ladies gathered in his hall. "I think it is past time for the bedding!"

Renfred's cursing, loud as it was, was swept away by the cry of the crowd, women converging on him from all angles. Wylla Lyberr, wife to Ser Willis, had attacked Ren's breeches before he'd even managed to find his feet, as if she had been waiting all night for the opportunity. With a laugh, Aelor realized she probably had been.