A Lion Still Has Claws

Part 8

The death of King Joffrey was well deserved. His demise offered satisfaction to his enemies, Rhaenyra and House Tyrell revealed in his pain the most. Rhaenyra had heard of the details through gossiping servants. She regretted not being present for she longed to see the purple skin, the bile, and the reddened eyes of the Bastard King. Poison took him, a fine weapon to kill a monster. 

Joffrey's funeral had little mourners. His family centered around his embalmed body, Rhaenyra and her sons stood away at a distance. She saw the indifferent faces of his parents and the excited state of his grandfather. He focused on the new King, the youngest bastard. Tommen was a child, not ready for the crown. He would be controlled by his family more than Joffrey. Rhaenyra left the Sept of Baelor with the two, listening to their shared words of honor and wisdom. She thought of Tywin's lack of both. He easily imprisoned his own son believing he was the murderer of the late King. Tyrion rotted in the Black Cells simply because of the hate his family held. 

The throne room was filled with nobility upon their arrival back to the Red Keep. Rhaenyra sent her children away with a maid. Tommen followed in a kind gesture. The new King attempted to speak to the Northern children who looked toward him in shock. It was a sweet moment that Rhaenyra enjoyed witnessing. She watched as they left the crowded room, yearning to follow along. She knew her place and her duty to console Ser Jaime upon his return. 

Rhaenyra knew Ser Jaime Lannister felt a failure. He would forever be a member of the Kingsguard, even if he denounced his oath. Jaime would be bound to protect the throne with his life. Those in line for the crown were his children, his blood. He watched his son die before him as a hopeless father. The sword at his side was useless against the poison that took him. His pain offered gratification for Rhaenrya. The sadness Ser Jaime felt solidified his stray from his family. 

She smiled at the thought, leaning her back against a pillar. Her violet eyes wandered over the crowd of people in search of Ser Loras. Rhaenyra craved conversation, the mourners' false wails and gossip became too overwhelming. The nobles were an unsatisfying company, inducing her need for Loras. She could not find him, he was not beside his crying sister or his seemingly lost father. 

A goblet fell into her line of sight. Rhaenyra assumed the drink was offered by Ser Jaime, she graciously accepted it. She turned to face an unfamiliar man, a guest to the court. The Dornish Prince, Oberyn Martell. Rhaenyra knew of him, the Red Viper, she had heard tales and rumors of him throughout her life. Each twisted into a heroic epic, Oberyn became a graceful warrior she admired. His battle skills rivaled the brute of other stories and gossips of her youth. The Prince was cunning and viciously vengeful, she commended his need for retribution.  

"Cheers", Oberyn smiled at her. His eyes turned to dark slits as his cheeks rose in happiness. He lifted his goblet, gently tapping it against her own. Rhaenyra laughed at his gesture, raising her drink. "A Lannister King is dead."

"A Lannister King is dead," Rhaenyra repeating almost laughing at his sentiment. There was no shame in the words, no worry. Both did not care about the whispers rising beside them as they mocked the death of the Bastard King.

The two sipped at their wine, content with the other's company. Oberyn dropped his emptied cup to his side, his left arm fell with ease. The other pressed into the pillar, he stood comfortably beside Rhaenyra. "I must say it is an honor to officially meet the Pretty Wolf." His person exuded ease and warmth, she enjoyed his presence.

"And it is an honor to meet the Red Viper of Dorne."

Oberyn's smile returned with a laugh. His eyes met hers briefly, shifting away to look toward the crowd that filled the throne room. Their interaction was being watched. "Condolences on behalf of Dorne and myself. The death of your husband is a great loss of the Realm." He reached to his chin, lightly stroking his beard.

Rhaenyra's voice fell to a whisper, "Thank you." 

"The Young Wolf was a fine King." His eyes met hers for the first time. She saw the sincerity in his gaze, an unusual characteristic in the South. "Even in Dorne, we heard of every battle. The North won every fight, not out of luck no," his voice faded as he shook his head, "It was because their King fought beside each warrior." Oberyn brought his goblet to his lips. He gave an annoyed sigh realizing the cup was dry. The cup fell to his side once more, swinging lowly in his grasp. "It hurt knowing the Lannisters continued their bitter ways. The Lion was willing to kill the Wolf to become hypocrites in their own right. They could not allow for Northern liberation out of pride and sick hubris."

Rhaenyra nodded, staying silent as he spoke. His words offered justification for her mourning. He provided reassurance in the realm's hatred, making her feel understood in her own despise toward House Lannister.

Oberyn looked toward the crowd of people, his lips pursed. "I want you to know, my lady. Dorne stands with you." Rhaenyra tilted her head at his words, shocked. Her cup gently shook in her grasp as she drank from it. "House Martell seeks vengeance for my sister and her children's death. We waited too long to see the gold melted away." Oberyn moved his hand to rest it against her shoulder. She felt calmed by his touch. "I see no King in the North, but a Queen." 

His hand fell and he turned back to the crowd, leaving Rhaenyra alone. She motioned quickly for a cupbearer to fill her emptied goblet. The wine poured seductively in a flow of red, she thought of Oberyn's words. His sentiment repeated continuously in her mind as she watched the wine flow. As it reached the brim of the cup, the redundant thoughts stopped. 

Rhaenyra quietly thanked the servant, relieved to be alone once more. She attempted to sip her drink but felt an arm tightly wrapped around her waist. She grimaced at the touch.

Ser Jaime placed a hurried kiss upon her head, whispering against her. "My father wishes to speak with us." 

Tywin's solar reeked of intimidation and power. The large room was dark, no candle or sun lit the space. House Lannister's sigil was proudly displayed on every surface, melted into the ironwork, and sewn into the tapestries that lined the walls.

Rhaenyra scoffed at the obnoxious display of pride. She sulked further into her seat, the desire to leave for her rooms growing. Ser Jaime stood behind her. His hand fell to her shoulder, squeezing at its tense state. The two waited for Tywin to speak. He sat at his desk, cockily leaning to one side of his chair. A smirk played at his lips as his eyes wandered over them.

Ser Jaime broke the silence, tired of the awkward tension. "You wanted to see us?" He pulled at a loose stitch on Rhaenyra's shoulder. An easy form of distraction.

Tywin's eyes brightened as he looked to his heir. The golden knight, the future of his house. He nodded, "I have details regarding your wedding and information regarding your marriage."

Rhaenyra's breathe hitched at his words. Her stomach clenched in fear, only calming as she recalled Oberyn's words. A false smile spread against her cheeks as she reached for Ser Jaime's hand. "Lord Tywin, I must say how grateful I am to be wedded to your son. Such an honor it is-."

She was interrupted by Tywin's laughter. Her violet eyes darkened as she watched his face redden from humor. "You are a more convincing liar than your father." His hand slapped against the wood of the desk, she felt Ser Jaime's grip tighten. "Do not think for a single moment I am happy about this arrangement. He chose you for his bride Pretty Wolf, not I. I agreed to the match for his happiness." 

Rhaenyra's shoulders fell in ease, she pursed her lips tightly. "It is pleasing to know you still view me as a Stark."

Tywin's face fell, calming from his harsh laughter. "Northern loyalties never flatter. If it weren't for my son I would have had you and your sons hung upon your arrival to the Capital."

She smirked, "Yes I have heard you are fond of murdering mothers and their children."