A Lion Still Has Claws

Part 10

The Great Sept of Baelor's bells chimed throughout the city signaling high noon. The sounds of the loud rings repeated, insisting redundant dread within Rhaenyra. She stood atop the marbled stairs waiting for the bells to stall. At the stop, she would walk into the Sept ready to marry once more.

Her violet eyes looked down at her white dress. Both her hands shook as she reached to press her hand to her belly. It churned, she felt sick. Her palm scraped against the pearls and stones sewn into the white fabric, imprinting ever so lightly. Rhaenyra's hands then fell to the cloak that rested against her back. She traced the length of the cloak, her fingers dipped with each dent of fabric. She was ashamed of wearing it. House Bolton's sigil was strongly displayed in intricate detailing. Slowly, she reached to pull the pin holding it to her person. It fell to the ground in a fluid motion.

The flayed man of her former house held no value. Rhaenyra was a Stark, the Queen in the North. The legacy of House Stark depended on her and her children. She was willing to destroy houses, begin a war, and burn cities to the ground for House Stark. For Robb Stark. Her eyes closed as she thought of him. Her husband, the love of her life. The bitterness of betrayal crept over her, aiding to the ambition of self-preservation. She knew how to play the game for she had seen her father's attempts for years. Marrying Jaime Lannister was the only way to become a true player. 

The bell's ringing stopped and the Sept's doors pushed open. Rhaenyra forced a smile, entering the foreign house of worship. She felt the eyes of the Seven fall upon her as she passed the doors. They mocked her, ridiculing her for not marrying before her own gods. 

Rhaenyra's eyes wandered over the few faces that surrounded her. She nodded to Loras, who stood beside his family. A bit of pride rose as she caught the Lady Olenna's gaze. It vanished, for she saw pity in the old woman's eyes. She turned away quickly to find her children. Her eldest sons bounced excitedly at the sight of her, her babe slept in Bella's arms. The sight of her children calmed her enough to continue her walk toward Ser Jaime and the Septon. 

Ser Jaime stood proud before his gods. He resembled the golden knight he had once been. Resting over his false hand was a bright crimson cloak, it had been his mother's. Rhaenyra thought him handsome as he stood before her.

She fell to the floor, bending to her knees. Her white dress pooled around her as she waited for him to reach for her. Rhaenyra heard his heavy boots tap against the stone steps. She turned to see him offering his flesh hand. She took it, allowing him to guide her to his side. He turned her, placing the Lannister cloak over her shoulders. Rhaenyra tensed as he turned her once more to face him.

Ser Jaime's eyes brightened as his gaze fell to her lips. "With this kiss," he paused, leaning toward her. "I pledge my love." Rhaenyra's lips did not move as he gently kissed her. She felt bile rise in her throat as he pulled away. "I take you as my lady wife," he continued. She reached to grip his hand, intertwining their fingers.

"And I take you as my Lord husband," her voice quivered. She lifted their hands to present them to the Septon. The old man grasped their hands, tying them together with a silken rope.

He widened his arms as he spoke. "You stand here one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." His spotted hands held theirs, blessing their union. "Ser Jaime Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock and Lady Rhaenyra of House Bolton, profess your vows to one another in the presence of the gods." 

Ser Jaime's eyes met hers, Rhaenyra gave a shattered breath at the sight of pure happiness. She was overcome with feelings of desperation and hopelessness. The simultaneous words escaped her in a mumble. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Crone, Mother, Maiden." Each name fell from her lips in a lie, begging for a false blessing from gods she did not worship. She felt their strong judgment. 

Rhaenyra recalled Prince Oberyn's words, Dorne stands with you. The sentiment repeated in her mind, enabling her to speak her vows. "I am his," her palm sweated in Jaime's grasp. She gripped his hand tighter, her nails gently pierced his skin. "From this day, until the end of my days."

Jaime kissed her once more as they were pronounced one and the Sept erupted into cheers. 

The wedding feast followed in a haze. Nobels crowded into the main hall of the Red Keep, preferring to celebrate marriage over witnessing. Rhaenyra was seated beside her new husband, ignoring the guest who congratulated their union. She preferred the company of her goblet, acting on impulsive crudeness by enjoying too much drink. There was no need to act decently for her children were rushed to bed.

She poured herself another cup of ale, ignoring Mace Tyrell's speech about marriage. Ser Jaime sat intrigued beside her seeming to apprehend every word. Rhaenyra felt a hand drop to her thigh as the speech progressed. Her goblet nearly fell from her grasp at the touch. The delicate affection brought by Ser Jaime bothered her.

Rhaenyra tried to ignore his grip. She turned to focus on the Lord of High Garden, but he was replaced with his son. Loras smiled brightly to her, she returned his gesture.

"Ser Loras," she offered her hand.

Loras kissed the back of her knuckles quickly, weary of Jaime's jealous gaze. "Lady Rhaenyra," her hand fell back to the table, curling back around her goblet. "Ser Jaime," his voice became cold as he faced the Kingslayer. "Many congratulations on your union. May the Seven bless you with many children." He turned away, joining the side of a beautiful boy. Rhaenyra smiled, wondering if her friend attempted to refind happiness.

Tywin then stood from his seat. The room silenced as he readied to speak, all attention fell to the lion. "I welcome the wolves into my lion's pride," his words exuded degradation and embarrassment. Rhaenyra felt the hand at her thigh tense as he began to speak, she ignored his words and refilled her cup once more. "To Lady Rhaenyra Lannister," he lifted his goblet high, all other's in the hall followed suit. "May she produce an heir to rule over the Rock and aid my son in all the treacheries that a Lord must endure." Cheers followed his small speech, wine sloshed as chalices clashed. A celebration for Tywin's acceptance of the Pretty Wolf. "Now!" His booming voice easily silenced the uproar. "The Septon has given his blessing, it is time for the sword to find its sheat!"

Repetitive chants followed his words, "To bed! To bed! To bed!" The hand at Rhaenyra's thigh moved, Jaime, reached desperately for his cup of wine.

"It is time for the bedding!" The clatter and shouts stopped. Rhaenyra was lifted from her seat with curious ease. She screamed loudly at the surprising touch. The men holding her carried her to her chambers, obliging to tear away at her dress. Their coarse hands traveled over her body, tearing at the beautiful white fabrics and silks. She continued to scream hoping anyone would intervene. Rhaenyra despised the bedding tradition at that moment. The foreign touch of faceless men, the degrading feeling encasing her. 

"Touch her any further and I'll slice your throats." The men dropped her to the floor. She fell to the stone with a loud thud. She was thankful to be away from the harsh touches, the floor was comforting. Rhaenyra was lifted once more into another's arms, it was Jaime. He covered her with her forgotten marriage cloak and carried her toward her chambers. She felt vile and disgusted with herself, angry that Ser Jaime Lannister made her feel protected.