Breakbones and the Dragonrider

Chapter 14

Larys threw the scroll into the fire, and made sure every part of it turned to ash. He stood, leaning into his cane with both hands, contemplating what he had just read. The Goldcloaks and Kingsguard would be on high alert now, and a further attempt against the princess's life would be unwise.

Larys went to his desk, and sat slowly, lowering himself down. He grabbed a blank scroll, and began writing his message. It was a terrible risk, putting his deeds to paper, but he had to breech the subject somehow. He expected in the coming years, loyalty like his was going to be appreciated, but he had to lay claim to what happened, or else how would that debt be repaid?

He had studied the history books. He had seen what happens when claims to the throne are challenged. And if one were to come out on top, they had to pick the right side.

After he finished the scroll, he made the arduous walk to the rookery—he would trust no servant with this missive. The maesters helped him to choose the right raven, and the maesters even tied the scroll onto the bird's leg for him. Larys waited until he could no longer make out the black of the raven's feathers as it flew towards the Reach. Towards the High Tower.

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Harwin hung the iron up after he stoked the fire in the fireplace, adding another log to keep them warm. Rhaenyra was tucked into the bed linens, on her side, watching him. He stood and walked back to the bed, sliding in beside her and pulling the linens to his waist. He mirrored her posture, facing each other on their sides, their heads propped up on their hands.

Rhaenyra's gaze fixed on Harwin's chest. She placed her hand there, feeling how years of training, fighting, and serving the realm had shaped him. Who would have thought the man said to be the strongest in Westeros could have been so tender, gentle?

Rhaenyra's hair reflected the amber hue of the fire, and Harwin reached up appreciatively to tuck it behind her ear. His hand rested on her hip over the heavy blanket. They laid there for a moment, taking each other in, comfortable in silence.

"I hope my sisters weren't too much today," Harwin said, a smile in his eyes.

Rhaenyra smiled and shook her head. "Precocious and..."

Harwin waited for Rhaenyra to finish. "Forward?"

"It seems to be a family trait," Rhaenyra said flatly, a downturned smile on her face.

Harwin smiled fully then, sighing. "I think Lyla was quite taken with you."

Rhaenyra's smile faltered for a second. The memory of Lyla in her garden castle sent a shiver down her spine. But she'd made a promise to a little girl, something that felt sacred to her.

"She's lovely," Rhaenyra said, smiling up at Harwin. He fought against a bigger smile.

"I had hoped you would like the girls. My step mother... my home," he said, looking down at his hand on Rhaenyra's hip. He was nervous.

"How could I not?" Rhaenyra said gently. "I only wonder..." Rhaenyra struggled to get the words out. She steadied her breath, and looked at Harwin's chest. "Why didn't your father put your name forward to..."

Harwin breathed deeply, slowly. It was something he had thought about, but he had come to the conclusion that even if his father had presented him as an option, King Viserys would have rejected the offer. He had no Valyrian blood. The wealth of House Strong was not inconsiderable, as their land holdings in the Riverlands were some of the most fertile and productive in all of Westeros, but could have been matched by any number of other houses in Westeros. And Rhaenyra hadn't given him a second look at that point. He didn't mind at the time, but now he regretted not ever approaching her before he caught her running in the streets of Flea Bottom.