On Begged and Borrowed Time
Inspired by that Criston x Rhaenyra edit and Ivy - Taylor Swift (y'all broke me with this one ok)
Pairing: Criston Cole x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Laenor Velaryon x Rhaenyra Targaryen
Tags: Angst, Fix-it (kinda), Laenor is a good guy okay he needs love and better PR in this fandom, Possible multi-chap, Sadgirl Rhaenyra is a simp for Criston
Summary:
Ser Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone are married. But with the spectacle of her lover murdering his in their wedding feast, both are languishing in their home in the Red Keep. Rhaenyra feels the weight of being heir and starts to wonder if her disgraced lover, Ser Criston Cole, was right about Essos. Ser Laenor, who feels for his wife as much as she does for him, decides to find a way to keep her from wasting away.
Chapter 1
Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, The Realm’s Delight, known for her beauty and wit, is wasting away in her chambers in the Red Keep. Her hair, usually in beautiful braids, lay uncombed and unkempt on her shoulders. She changes from one night dress to another, her dresses remaining untouched and gathering dust in her closet. She refuses to eat, save for a few sips of water, and many many glasses of wine. She drifts off from one drunken stupor to another, refusing to speak to anyone, even to her father, the king of the seven kingdoms himself, King Viserys.
The king, flanked by his loyal kingsguards, is reduced to a pleading mess at his beloved daughter’s bedroom door, pleading for her to eat, to say something, to do anything at all.
“My girl.” pleaded the king, tears in his eyes. “I blame myself for this. For all of this.”
The king weeps, clinging to the knob of the princess’ door. “I hurt you.”
The princess, sitting on a table by the window oblivious to her father’s pleas, pays no mind and takes a long, big sip of wine from her goblet.
Dornish Red. The humor of the gods sometimes.
The king, slowly losing hope in getting through the walls of his beloved daughter’s heart of ice, once tearfully pleads with the princess for audience, to calm the storms of her heart that were his making.
But was it his making?
-
On another side of the Red Keep, Ser Criston stands guard to Queen Alicent Hightower, who is sitting on the Iron Throne, listening to the concerns of the realm in her husband’s absence.
His armor has been a lot heavier than he first donned it, especially after the night the princess had taken it off of him. Now that talk of the princess languishing in her chambers are making rounds in the castle, his already tattered heart shatters even more.
“Rhaenyra hasn’t eaten for days.” he hears Princess Helaena whisper to her mother, the queen. The astute Queen Alicent may not have been on good terms with her stepdaughter and former friend, but a look of worry paints her face quickly at Helaena’s words.
“Send the maester to her, mother.” says the kindly young princess, “She’s ill.”
“She refuses to listen to father. What makes you think she’ll listen to the maester?” huffed Aegon, drunkenly, sipping on his tenth cup of ale for the day.
A furrow makes its way to Queen Alicent’s face. Rhaenyra has always listened to her. Maybe she’ll listen to her now?
Ser Criston swallows down the bile that had been rising in his throat. Maybe he’s to blame for all of this. If he had just refused that princess that night. Maybe if he just kept his stupid heart in place and knew where he stood.
A relief washes over Criston as he sees Ser Arryk Cargyll arrive to relieve him from his shift. As soon as the knight made his entrance known to the queen, Ser Criston bid his queen farewell for the day, hoping that back at his chambers in the White Sword tower, a bottle with still enough ale left awaits to soothe him.
-
Ser Laenor was not any worse than his wife. His beloved was snatched away from him by the Stranger, on his wedding day no less, by his own wife's lover, of all people. The gods did have a strange humor.
He takes out all this anguish and pain in swordplay, tearing down training dummies one by one to pacify the rage in his heart, spending more time in the training yard more than the marital bed with his wife.
While he couldn’t love her the way a husband should love a wife, he cared for her. The princess has always been close to her Velaryon cousins, and he couldn’t ask for a better marriage of convenience than his beloved cousin and friend.
As much as it pains him to lose his first love, his Knight of Kisses Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, to the princess’ beloved himself, the lowborn Ser Criston Cole, he could never fault her for the actions of her beloved.
As much as it pained him to admit, no amount of gold or power they earned could ever make them happy, take away their pain.
Laenor was about to strike down another training dummy when a ward of the Red Keep calls for his attention.
“Ser Laenor, I apologize for interrupting.” says the nervous young girl, who he recognizes to be one of his wife’s handmaidens.
“You interrupt nothing.” Laenor says kindly, putting down his long sword.
“The king pleas for the princess to see him. “ the handmaiden tells Laenor with obvious sadness on her face. “The princess refuses, still.”
“He is stood at her door, ser.” continues the handmaiden “He refuses to leave.”
Laenor wipes sweat off his forehead. He put this longsword back to its hilt on his belt, walking towards the handmaiden who leads him back to the chambers he shares with his wife.
It was possibly the longest walk of his life, with all his thoughts and guilt crashing down on him as he made his way into the halls that lead to the royal chambers.
When was the last time he spoke to Rhaenyra?
He tried. He spoke to her, but all she gave him was a small, sad smile. He had the kitchens prepare her favorite meals, which she politely tasted but still refused to eat. He offered to take her back to Driftmark, offering the hospitality of his family and the calming sea breeze to cure whatever ills her, but she refused.
What was left for him to do?
Laenor had the training yard, his dummies, his sword. But what did Rhaenyra have?
Ser Joffrey was gone. He doesn't have to be reminded of his loss everyday, as long as he does not let his mind linger onto his memories for too long.
But Ser Criston lives. And everyday, the princess has to see him. To look at him. To speak to him. To have their lost love roaring back to her, all while reminding her the best thing to ever happen to her is in plain sight, but will always be out of her reach.
He hated Ser Criston for murdering his beloved. He could put him to death if he liked. After all, his family is the wealthiest, most powerful in the realm, next only to the house of the dragon themselves.
But he remembers Rhaenyra. Her tears at his expense. How she comforted him in their mess of a wedding. How she offered him the freedom to love as he pleases despite their marriage.
He knew what it was like to lose the one you love.
He could never do that to her.
Laenor and the handmaiden arrive at the door of their marital chambers, where he finds the king, ill and aging, desperately clinging to the door handle, and to whatever remains of his daughter’s love for him.
“Your grace.” Laenor greets, saddened by the king’s state. “I apologize for all of this. I shall speak to my wife.”
“There is nothing to forgive, ser Laenor.” replies the king. “Had I tried to listen to her…”
“Let me speak to my lady wife, your grace.” offers ser Laenor, feeling sorry for the sickly old man that rules the realm. “I will do everything to restore her joy and her health.”
Laenor gives the king’s hand a reassuring pat. The king, understanding the young lord’s sympathy, truly believes that her husband could make a difference. King Viserys steps away from the door and makes his way back to the throne room, while Laenor takes his place by the door.
“My love? Rhaenyra?” calls out Laenor, knocking on the door. “It’s me.”
In seconds, he hears the door make a small sound.
“Laenor.” was all she said, his presence comforting her.
Laenor enters the room, as the princess returns to her seat by the window. He notices many empty bottles of wine on the floor.
The princess, still a beauty despite the disheveled hair and crumpled night dress, gives him a small smile.
“I can’t stand seeing you like this.” says Laenor, grabbing one of the wine bottles and filling a goblet for himself. “Please tell me what I could do. What I need to do to help you.”
Rhaenyra gives him a small, sad smile, the kind he always saw her wear since they married.
“Nothing.” says the princess. “You being here is enough.”
-
Laenor couldn’t believe what he was doing. Of all the times he had the misfortune to run into Criston Cole, it took everything in him not to pommel his face in, the way he did with his Joffrey.
In fairness to the lowborn knight, Criston looked every bit guilty whenever Laenor’s eyes would meet his in the court, and this possibly would be the only reason why he hasn’t murdered him yet.
This and Rhaenyra, his wife.
Laenor knew Criston would be training in the yard at this hour, and he knew it would be an opportune time.
As he moves closer to where the Dornish knight stood, he notices his presence and immediately faces him.
“You really are a skilled knight.” says Laenor, impressed with Criston’s reflexes. “No wonder your princess chose you.”
Your princess.
Laenor’s words echo in Criston’s mind, along with the princess’ voice from all of his memories of her. He so wanted to drive his sword deep into the Valyrian knight’s heart for mocking his pain.
But then he remembers.
“I apologize, ser.” says Criston, quicker than he would have liked. “I know nothing I do could ever…”
“You can never bring him back.” says Laenor, the sting of Joffrey’s loss in his heart still fresh and painful as ever. “But there is one thing you can do.”
A feeling of relief and fear crept into Criston’s heart. What did Laenor want? A quick death for him by his hand? Throw him in the black cells? Send him to exile in Dorne?
But he owes him. That, Criston knew. Whether he liked it or not, he is at Laenor’s mercy.
He takes in a breath, gathering himself and his thoughts, readying himself for the young lord’s sharp sword - or sharp words - when the Laenor’s words take him aback.
“Your princess needs you.”
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