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theforgottenmcrmy · 5 months

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Oaths~ Part 3/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 23 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, general Ser Criston Cole hatred

Summary:

Would Lord Corlys turn his back on Rhaenyra, when in doing so meant he severed his relationship with his granddaughters? Moreover, would Princess Rhaenys continue to steadfastly stand by him if he did? The love the typically stoic Targaryen princess held for them was a secret to none.

A/N: Thank you all for reading this past few parts.🖤 I hope you enjoy this one. The next parts will probably be posted close together as well, but may be titled two separate chapters (as opposed to part 1/part 2, etc.). I'm tossing around the idea of "Second Sons" as one of the next chapter names if that's indicative of anything. I hope you all have a great rest of the weekend 🖤

"... It is said that they have been executed.

More hushed whispers ensued.

This was news to Harwin. It was most unfortunate that what Queen Rhaenyra alleged, while foul, was not entirely beyond belief. Particularly not when one considered the likes of Lord Otto Hightower and, Harwin could only assume, his snake of a brother Larys, could have been acting in the Usurper’s interest.

You kept your voice even, but Harwin still felt the shock of the news as it registered within your mind from his place several paces away. “Executed? …At whose command?”

“It is said Lord Otto Hightower has my half-brother’s ear. He has been named as the Usuper’s hand, after all.”

You said nothing, still reeling.

With undisguised disgust lacing her tone, Rhaenyra pressed on. “However, it is rumored that the dowager queen’s sworn shield, Ser Criston Cole, contributed more actively in carrying out Otto Hightower’s decrees.”

Just the mere mention of Ser Criston Cole’s name was enough to get Harwin’s blood burning. However, the implication that Ser Criston Cole was further besmirching the name of the White cloaks, and all knighthood alike, by playing the role of judge, jury, and executioner as he saw fit, and without any repercussions? That was downright infuriating.

A flash of a memory filled Harwin’s mind. The night of what was supposed to be the opening feast celebrating then Princess Rhaenyra’s nuptials to Ser Laenor Velaryon. The rage, pure unbridled anger as Ser Criston Cole pummeled one of the guests to death with his bare hands. How such a horrific act had gone not only unpunished, but rewarded by continued service under Queen Alicent’s protection was beyond Harwin’s ability to comprehend. Ser Criston Cole should have been stripped of his cloak right then and there- if not worse.

The words were out of Harwin’s mouth before he had a mind to stop them.

“It seems Ser Criston Cole’s bloodlust has not diminished, even after all these years.”

As he had not stepped forward, Rhaenyra had to physically turn her body to look at him. When she did, their eyes met with an understanding Harwin had seldom reached with any other. For their own multitude of reasons, the two of them shared a mutual hatred for Ser Criston Cole.

“It would seem so, Lord Strong.”

What Harwin would do to have one more shot at the poor excuse of a man. Perhaps, in time, such an opportunity would present itself... Perhaps Queen Rhaenyra would arrange such an opportunity for him. Needless to say, regardless of how fate provided him with it, Harwin would not squander it.

Rhaenyra opted to forgive his outburst and did not rebuke him for speaking out of turn. When she turned back to the Painted Table to address you and the rest of the group at large, she was reinvigorated with purpose. “Rest assured, Lady Y/N, when I reclaim King’s Landing and ascend the throne, I will have justice for Lord Beesbury, Lord Caswell, and all others who were wrongfully slain for upholding their oaths to me. Rest assured, Lord Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole will be dealt with.”

Harwin wondered whether Lord Otto Hightower would be given a trial. Despite his egregious treachery, the queen’s supporters would likely demand he be given one, if only to put him through public humiliation before his demise. And any supporters of the Usurper would cite the lack of a trial as an example of supposed tyranny on Rhaenyra’s part.

But Harwin did not think Prince Daemon would so willingly pass up the opportunity to feed Lord Otto to Caraxes…

To the room at large, Rhaenyra proclaimed, “As my first official act as queen, I have decided to declare Lord Otto Hightower and Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower as traitors to the realm. They, and all of their supporters, are a danger to the stability of the Seven Kingdoms, and their rebellious acts will be met with justice- the queen’s justice.”

“Hear, hear!” Lord Bartimos Celtigar bellowed, to the audible agreement of many around him.

“And as for the others we have mentioned here today- Ser Criston Cole, Lord Larys Strong, Lord Tyland Lannister, Lord Garrett Redwyne, and any other individual found to be acting in support of the Greens’ cause or otherwise aiding the false rule of my half-brother- it is my will that they be apprehended and made to stand trial, where the extent of their crimes will come to light. May the appointed jurors and the Seven have mercy on their souls.”

“A wise decision, Your Grace,” Lord Gunthor praised, stepping forward and up to the Painted Table once more.

“Agreed!” Lord Bartimos concurred. “An iron fist against against this Hightower treachery is certain to set the tone for your reign.”

Across the Painted Table from him, Lord Rydan stepped forward. “And what of the Usurper, Your Grace?”

Rhaenyra’s response to the posed question was not immediate. As she visibly deliberated within her own mind, her entire council watched her expectantly. Finally, she said, “I will not have it be said that the Greens were more generous and willing to prevent needless bloodshed than I. If they wish to offer terms in the hope of a peaceful resolution to this mess, I shall meet them halfway. Maester Gerardys?”

The man in question broke through the remnants of the observing crowd, his chains rattling softly as he stepped forward once more. “Yes, My Queen?”

“Send a raven to King’s Landing,” Rhaenyra commanded him, before pausing. After a moment, she added, “And send a second to Oldtown, addressed to my youngest half-brother. Inform them all that I have declared Lord Otto Hightower and the dowager queen as traitors to the realm. Make very clear my intentions to have everyone else who has aided in the unlawful usurpation of my throne arrested until they may stand trial. As for my half-brothers, Daeron, Aemond, and Aegon, as well as my sweet sister, Helaena… they have all been led astray by the council of evil men. Let my siblings come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask for my forgiveness. I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart. They are my own blood, and I will not be made to be a kinslayer.”

The implications of the queen’s orders took their time resonating within the minds of those in the room. And for several long moments, a silence fell upon the room.

Lord Rydan was the first to break it. He cleared his throat, and raised his eyebrow. Not without caution, he inquired, “Is that wise, Your Grace?”

Rhaenyra turned to look at him with mild surprise. “Are you questioning me, Lord Bar Emmon?”

“I would not say so, Your Grace. ‘Tis just, while your inclination to be merciful is admirable, I worry about unforeseen consequences that may arise by leaving these challengers to your throne alive.”

“If my half-brothers renounce their claim to our father’s throne, they will no longer present a challenge.”

“Your Grace, we have already witnessed how little the Greens value their oaths,” Lord Bartimos interjected carefully. “Even if he agreed and bent the knee to you, could the Usurper truly be trusted to keep his vow? And what of the younger two? Rumors persist that Aegon fancies spending his time drinking and gambling, and that he much prefers the company of whores rather than courtiers. But Aemond is said to be studious, cunning even. Who is to say he would not bend the knee to appease you, if only to- perhaps quite literally- stab you in the back the moment you lowered your guard?”

“There is also Daeron to consider,” you chimed in softly, visibly more reluctant in voicing your concern that Lord Celtigar and Lord Rydan had been. “I do not think Daeron would oppose you of his own accord, Your Grace. By all means, he has seldom had a chance to come to know you, let alone grow to despise you. But he is surrounded in Oldtown by those who would whisper poisonous thoughts into his ear. And though he is young, and only a squire, I’ve heard it said that he is quite brave, and bold... Should anything befall Aegon and Aemond, the Greens would not have a difficult time shaping him into the kingly pawn they so clearly desire.”

Rhaenyra leaned forward, placing her palms downward upon the Painted Table as she regarded her advisors through the hoods of her violet eyes. Her next words were spoken with severe conviction. “I will not have Aegon killed, nor any of my other half-brothers for that matter. I will commit no such act by my own hand, nor do I wish to command it of another’s. I will not be a kinslayer.”

“The Usurper is not to be touched,” Harwin insisted, stepping forward as well. “Nor Aemond, nor Daeron.”

He took several strides over, resuming the same place at the Painted Table where he had stood shortly before. You looked up at him as he came to a stop beside you. Beneath the large stone slab, his fingers brushed yours lightly.

“If blood is to be shed, let it be Aegon who bloodies his hands first,” Harwin urged, looking at the surrounding lords and ladies imploringly. “Let our queen’s hands remain clean of that filth. No matter what region or customs we each hail from, I imagine we can all agree that no man, or woman, is as accursed as the kinslayer.”

“If you do not mean to have the Usurper killed, and if he does not agree to bend the knee, where does that leave you, My Queen?” Lord Bartimos countered, now mildly vexed. “What is our next move to dispose of the Green boy and reclaim what is rightfully yours?”

The queen pulled herself up, straightening her back and leveling her shoulders. “That is the reason I have called you all here, My Lord Celtigar. Remaining idle in Dragonstone is no longer an option- time is of the essence. Any reinforcements the Greens plan to send for, or any they have already sent for, will advance close to King’s Landing with every sun set.”

“You need to act,” you insisted seriously, the words slipping from your mouth before you had a moment to question whether to silence them. Respectfully, you added, “And with haste, Your Grace.”

“I agree. But the problem in doing so remains thus- the extent of my allies are, as of yet, mostly unknown. It would be far easier to devise a strategy if all the pieces upon the board were apparent. The majority of those who have already declared their support for me are present in this very room, and yet, as Prince Daemon reminded us all the other day, the amount of swords at our immediate disposal would not be nearly enough to take the city… Still, I am not without hope that a possible solution to my problem merely has not yet come to light.”

“How can we best aid you, Your Grace?” you asked.

“I have called you all here as my counselors in my time of need,” Rhahenyra said simply, looking at the many faces about the room once more. “Council me.”

“I still maintain that a swift, precise show of force would bring this farce to an end.”

Lord Bartimos’ impassioned argument re-commenced for what you thought might have been the fifth time. In all honesty, you had lost count after he had repeated his proposed strategy thrice times over.

Rhaenyra remained at the head of the Painted Table, though instead of standing, she now sat in a chair that had been placed there for her. She fiddled with the armrest absentmindedly as her counsel argued amongst themselves around her. You had also lost recollection of how much time had passed before she had given up on having an active voice in the discussion, when she eventually succumbed to the seemingly undeterred will of the loudest participants in the room.

Still, if she so desired, Rhaenyra could silence them all, and cease what she may have hoped would be fruitful dialogue, but what had ultimately become an unproductive squabble. But Rhaenyra’s mind was elsewhere. Where her thoughts might have laid, you dared not to speculate. Few other of her councilors seemed to even notice her straying attention, save you and Harwin.

Many of the other lords and ladies, though almost all had taken a turn to provide their input at some point or another over the last hour, had resigned themselves to the outskirts of the room once more. Many indulged in wine or engaged in frustrated whisperings with one other as disagreement after disagreement had shifted the tone in the room from one of promise to one of dull despair.

But as for Lord Bartimos Celtigar and Lord Simon Staunton, they had remained standing at the Painted Table. Each insisted the superiority of their own plans of attack loudly before the others in the room, despite the fact that most everyone else was no longer paying them much mind either.

You and Harwin had also remained at the table. Though your intent of support had been declared, neither of you had the resources with which to offer immediate help to remedy the queen’s unfortunate circumstance. Because of this, the pair of you had opted to remain relatively quiet thus far.

But as Lord Bartimos droned on once more, you realized your patience had grown incredibly thin. And as Lord Simon eagerly pointed out a flaw in his proposed plan- again- you finally came to the conclusion that the very least that you and Harwin could do was to try and regain some control of the room while the queen mentally worked to regather her bearings.

“You must use what the gods have gifted your house, Your Grace,” Lord Simon was saying, though Rhaenyra had not looked in his direction for several minutes. “Dragons.”

Lord Bartimos nodded enthusiastically, suddenly amenable to Lord Simon’s proposal. “Use them, Your Grace, and the Usurper will have no choice but to oppose us with his own dragons. Our nine must surely overwhelm his four.”

“And as the dragons clash in the skies above, how many innocent lives shall perish in the flames below?” you demanded, glaring at the two men across from you.

Lord Bartimos and Lord Simon turned to you readily, eager to have yet another challenger present themselves to the forefront of their debate.

Lord Bartimos gave you a small, wry smile, and chuckled dryly. He took the break from his self-imposed ramblings as an opportunity to finish off his goblet. A serving boy stepped forward to refill it with wine.

Lord Simon was not so subtle in his own response. “I would not expect you to know of such matters, Lady Tyrell, given that you are both far younger than I, and of the fairer sex. But this, in all but name, is a matter of war. And in war, people die.”

“The purpose of war is to fill graveyards,” Lord Bartimos added, his freshly refilled goblet of wine swishing around precariously in his wrinkled hand. “And the trick is to put more of their men in the ground than your own.”

With a commanding edge to his voice that he had seldom had use for these days, Harwin argued, “If you rush King’s Landing with dragons now, the majority of casualties will be the citizens of King’s Landing themselves, not Green soldiers, or even our own.”

Your husband’s authoritative tone was rather effective on Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos, who had suddenly lost their smug expressions and had yet to find another. They blinked blankly a few times as Harwin continued.

“We want to rule the city, not burn it to the ground. All of this talk of brute shows of strength is futile; our queen will have ample time for feats such as those later on in her reign. Perhaps the solution to our immediate problem lies in a far more… subtle approach.”

The attention of Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos had already turned to Harwin, but at your husband’s rather curious wording, your interest was piqued as well.

Half-cautiously, half-disbelievingly, Lord Simon requested, “What exactly are you suggesting, Lord Strong?”

Harwin’s eyes fell upon the Painted Table, his hazel hues fixating on King’s Landing. “I am very familiar with the halls of the Red Keep. I know of its integral strengths, and I could speak to more than a few of its weaknesses as well.” He looked up, meeting the hard, questioning glares of Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos in turn. “But I am even more familiar with the inner workings of the city. I have spent many hours and countless nights patrolling its many streets and alleyways. I believe that all we would truly need is one night, and a few good men. We could take the city from the Greens by surprise, not force.”

Lord Bartimos raised an eyebrow. “My Lord, do you know of the queen’s shield, Ser Criston Cole?” It was not a question; the entire room had heard Harwin’s snide remark not but an hour before. “They say has been made Lord Commander of the King’s Guard.”

This was news to you, and as such, you knew it had to have been news to Harwin as well. But Harwin was unphased, and his deadpan reply to Lord Bartimos was delivered with such flippancy, you had to stifle the chuckle that threatened to break your reserved composure.

“All the better, then. Ser Criston’s exorbitant hubris will have undoubtedly created ample opportunities for us to spot the weaknesses in the White Cloaks’ patrols and allow us to capitalize upon them.”

Behind you, Selwin was not so successful in halting a short laugh that slipped out from his lips.

“I believe Lord Harwin’s idea has merit,” Prince Jacaerys announced, joining the conversation.

Like his mother, he too had opted to say little. Unlike his mother, Jacaerys seemed intently focused on the many conversations happening around him, as though he sought to digest all of the information being presented.

“Thank you, My Prince,” Harwin nodded to him graciously.

Jacaerys returned the gesture stiffly before turning back to Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos. “We ought to explore Lord Harwin’s idea further, see if we might be able to devise some sort of plan. If spilling blood can be avoided, especially if it is to be the blood of our subjects, then that is a route that must be pursued at all costs.”

Lord Bartimos looked absolutely tickled at the young prince’s suggestion. “Might I remind you of how your ancestors claimed the Seven Kingdoms, My Prince?”

On the other side of Harwin, Ser Erryk Cargyll suddenly stood to attention, his focus captured by something across the room.

“The Lord of the Tides, Lord Coryls Velaryron, and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

The announcement, quickly followed by the tapping of a cane upon the stone floor, caused the heads of everyone in the room to snap over towards the entryway, including your own.

There, accompanied by Princess Rhaenys at his side, and trailed by his granddaughters, the Ladies Baela and Rhaena, the infamous Sea Snake himself descended down the stairs to fully enter the chamber. He walked step by step with his wife, publicly and proudly displaying to all who were not keen enough to already know that the pair viewed one another as nothing less than equals. The two emitted a sense of authority that no man or woman in their right minds would dare challenge. And when they moved, the rest of the room gave them the respect they had silently commanded, with various nobles bowing their heads as they passed.

Lord Coryls used the support of a cane, and his neck was wrapped in bandages. The true extent of his injuries were never made known to you, but the physical remains of the treatments that had been deemed necessary all but confirmed in your mind that they could have been as fatal as the rumors had suggested. The fact that Lord Coryls was upright, walking, and seemingly of his right mind thus far was incredibly fortunate.

You had not seen Princess Rhaenys since Ser Vaemond Velaryon’s petition in King’s Landing, and that had been some weeks ago. Though she looked much the same, she also looked refreshed, reinvigorated, and positively pleased to be back at her partner’s side.

Lord Coryls had been fighting in the Stepstones for the better part of the last decade. If you were forced to gamble, you would wager that Princess Rhaenys had not seen her husband in all that while. The thought of being separated from Harwin for such a span of time was not a welcome one in the slightest, and it only served to increase the amount of respect you held for Targaryen princess, for the Queen Who Never Was.

“My Lords, and Ladies,” Lord Coryls greeted the room, sounding mildly winded. No one would dare comment upon it.

“Lord Coryls!” Rhaenyra had risen from her seat, watching the every movement her father and mother by law made with earnestness. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

The Sea Snake looked genuinely touched from her words. “I am very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man.”

As their elders exchanged greetings, Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena slipped away, weaving through the various lords and ladies in the room to take their chosen places besides their betrothed. You noted, not without amusement, that the faces of the eldest Velaryon princes were visibly enlightened by the ladies’ mere presence.

Lord Coryls looked about the room, as though making a mental record of every face present. “Where is Daemon?”

“There are other concerns which demanded the Prince’s attention,” Rhaenyra replied simply.

Though Lord Coryls looked as though he wished to say more, he let the matter go. Cane in hand, he continued to meander over to the Painted Table, and the lords and ladies who were in his way silently parted to free his path. He looked down at the stone depiction of the Seven Kingdoms appraisingly.

“Your declared allies?” he surmised.

“Yes,” the queen confirmed, crossing a few paces to resume her rightful position at the head of the Table.

Lord Coryls hummed. “Too few to win a war for the throne.”

The reminder, though blatantly apparent to all who had been present in the room for any period of time that morning, was no less disheartening to hear when spoken aloud. But you could tell the gears in Rhaenyra’s mind had once more begun to turn.

“Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses of Arryn, Baratheron, and Stark-”

“Hope is the fool’s ally.”

“Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house, but all of them swore oaths to me.”

“As did House Hightower, if I remember.”

“As did you, Lord Corlys.”

The Sea Snake was a fierce man, one who had never shied away from speaking his mind, or from demanding answers for difficult questions. He had the respect of many throughout the Seven Kingdoms because he had earned it. But Rhaenyra Targaryen was not merely some spoiled princess making frivolous demands, either. You had to admit, it was rather interesting to bear witness to their exchange of dialogue as they attempted to assess one another.

Lord Corlys did not seem interested in granting Rhaenyra’s insinuation a response. Instead, his critical gaze turned upon you and Harwin. “Lord Strong, Lady Tyrell.”

“Lord Velaryon,” you acknowledged, as Harwin bowed his head in greeting beside you.

“The pair of you are a far way from home, are you not?”

“It is most fortunate,” Rhaenyra interceded, “that Lord Harwin and Lady Y/N were already in the midst of traveling to Dragonstone for a much overdue visit. Houses Tyrell and Strong have both reaffirmed their allegiance, Lord Coryls.”

Lord Coryls’s eyebrows raised. “Those would be some significant numbers of men added to your cause, Princess… ‘Tis unfortunate that any mustering of significant force from Highgarden or Harrenhal is likely to take more time than can be afforded.”

“Rest assured, Lord Coryls, if summoned, our men will ride with purpose to aid our queen,” Harwin countered.

This seemed to amuse the Sea Snake. His gaze lowered, his focus settling across the Painted Table. He started with King’s Landing, then moved upwards towards Driftmark, Dragonstone, the Eyrie, and all the way up to the Wall in the North. His attention left the Painted Table then, moving towards his granddaughters, who stood beside their betrothed at the far end of the table.

He, perhaps more than anyone else, save his lady wife, had to see in them what was plainly apparent to almost all others. Baela and Rhaena were each the image of their mother, and by extension, House Velaryron, in their own ways. Though there was little doubt that Baela and Rhaena offered their grandsire the respect that many others did, you could tell by the resolved looks on their faces that little would sway them to abandon their betrotheds’ sides- physically or figuratively.

…

Just as Lord Corlys’s silence had begun to cause you apprehension, the Sea Snake looked back towards Rhaenyra once again.

“Your father’s realm was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood, and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet, and house… Your Grace.”

As Lord Coryls bowed his head in respect to his queen, you felt the shock of his words settle into your mind and amongst others in the room.

Pun aside, the Sea Snake’s declaration was truly a change in the tides. With the larger numbers of the combined Lannister and Redwyne fleet already at Aegon’s disposal, the support of the seasoned and battle-tested Velaryon fleet was absolutely essential to Rhaenyra’s cause. And now, it was officially hers.

Though she masked it well, the queen was still wide eyed. “You honor me, Lord Corlys.” Her eyes softened as a thought struck her. She turned behind her, addressing one of the few other Targaryens in the room. “Princess Rhaenys.”

You dared to wonder if the support of the Queen Who Never Was meant more to Rhaenyra than the indomitable naval support she had just been handed. Ever graceful, Princess Rhaenys’s small smile was as unwavering as her strength.

The queen offered a gentle smile of her own, but when she turned back to the Painted Table, it faded just as quickly as it had come. “But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war’s first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand.”

You silently offered up words of praise to the Seven that Rhaenyra had not taken any of Lord Bartimos or Lord Simon’s deadly suggestions to heart- at least not for now.

Lord Coryls looked befuddled by her assertion. “You do not mean to act?”

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast,” Rhaenyra corrected him. “I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Though the lords and ladies within the room had disagreed with one another on many issues that morning, all were hard-pressed to protest the queen’s reasoning.

Even Lord Corlys accepted her answer without further inquiry, nodding to himself. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he said, “A consequence of my near demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triarchy have been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the Gullet, we can cut off all seaborn travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

You felt goosebumps run the lengths of your arms, sheerly covered with the fabric of your gown. If what the Sea Snake said was true, the Redwyne and Lannister fleets were as of much use to Aegon as the men in and around Highgarden who waited to be roused by you were to Rhaenyra. They could not tilt the scales in the Usurper's favor if they were unable to sail to King’s Landing.

Princess Rhaenys stepped forward. To the queen, she volunteered, “I shall take Meleys and patrol the gullet myself.”

Though Lord Bartimos Celtigar had been a proponent of charging the Red Keep with dragons not but a moment before, the latest developments had caused a major change of mind within him. “When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King’s Landing, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Green surrender.”

Could it be that simple? You narrowed your eyes at King’s Landing in thought. The plan- if successful- had the potential to minimize the overall loss of life, for the citizens of King’s Landing, the soldiers sworn to those in the room, and the very beasts the Targaryens had built their dynasty with.

Though the queen looked somewhat hopeful, she also seemed to restrain herself. “If we are able to completely seal off Green reinforcements from reaching King’s Landing, by land or sea, and if we can strategically make use of our men and dragons at hand, perhaps it could work… But a siege can go on for weeks, months even.”

“The Red Keep would be more than prepared for a siege.”

“It certainly is,” Lord Corlys acquiesced. “But if it is made known to those within that aid will never reach them-”

“Days could feel like weeks, the weeks months,” you realized out loud. “The Greens would grow desperate.”

“Even if the Velaryon fleet could restrict movement of the Redwyne and Lannister fleets in the Narrow Sea, King’s Landing is still accessible by land on all other sides,” Rhaenyra noted, before looking at you expectantly.

“I shall write to my uncle at once, and give the order to start mustering our men,” you avowed. “If we act quickly, and with the right intelligence, the Tyrell army could cut off any Hightower forces marching from Oldtown and up through the Reach.”

Rhaenyra nodded understandingly, the traces of a small, grateful smile lingering on her face. She cleared her throat, looking to others in the room as she did so. “Even if we could deter the main Hightower forces, there is still the possibility that others within the Seven Kingdoms will join the Greens’ cause.”

“Not all of them would be as far away from King’s Landing as Oldtown,” Lord Corlys agreed. “And if they were not, they would pose a more immediate threat to our siege than a Hightower army ever could.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, but out of determination rather than anger. “If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, and to truly eliminate any chance of the Usurper and the Greens receiving aid, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eerie, and Storm’s End.”Maester Gerardys offered, “I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.”

“We should bear those messages.”

All eyes turned to the eldest Velaryon prince, and now heir to the Iron Throne, who had spoken for the first time in a long while.

Prince Jacaerys, palms facing downward on the Painted Table, did not buckle under the sudden attention his proposal had drawn. “Dragons can fly faster than ravens, and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Lord Coryls did not take care to hire his proud smile as he beheld his grandson. To Rhaenyra, he said, “The prince is right, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra looked at Jacaerys for a moment, then to Lucerys, who stood silently beside his brother. The second Velaryon prince did not look as confident as Jacaerys, but that did not take away from the determination you saw in his brown eyes. You did not doubt for a second that if his mother asked it of him, Lucerys would readily join his elder brother to act as her envoy in an effort to reclaim her throne.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra conceded. “Prince Jacaerys will fly north, first to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell, to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly fourth to Storm’s End, and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon.”

For the first time in hours- or perhaps days- an undeniable sense of hope had fallen over Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra declared, “We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore… And, the cost of breaking them.”

You watched with something akin to glee and fondness as the room erupted into enthusiastic conversation. You had known the truth of it since you were but a girl, when your father traveled to King’s Landing and made the oath before King Viserys himself. But now, witnessing the moments leading up to the truth being made real, and for all in the realm to behold with their own eyes- it was another matter entirely.

The Seven Kingdoms was to finally have its queen.

A/N: 🖤🖤🖤

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theforgottenmcrmy · 5 months

Text

Oaths~ Part 2/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 22 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, super mildly suggestive themes

Summary:

One would be more hard pressed to find two individuals whose styles, both in dress and beyond, contrasted more. To all who were not known to either you or Rhaenyra, it most-assuredly provoked wonder as to how the pair of you had ever taken a liking to one another at all… But, as two women, who had once been but girls, that had been tasked with shouldering the burden of a legacy far grander than themselves, common ground had to have been easier to find than one might initially suspect.

A/N: thank you guys for the love for part 1.🖤 I hope you enjoy part 2. part 3 should be up 11/25

The Chamber of the Painted Table, like most other rooms in Dragonstone, was large and cavernous. However, one could not say that the architecture of the room failed to impress upon witnesses the grand historic moments that were said to have transpired there.

As Harwin entered the chamber with you by his side, and your sons just a few paces behind, hushed conversations from those already occupying the room bounced off the stone walls and ceiling quickly filled his ears.

Though he had hoped your entrance into the room would go relatively unnoticed, he knew such a wish was moot when he immediately spotted Ser Erryk Cargyll dutifully standing guard beneath the entryway.

“Lord Harwin Strong of Harrenal, and his wife, Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, High Marshal of the Reach, and Wardeness of the South!”

Ser Erryk’s announcement rang throughout the chamber clear as a bell, and immediately turned most everyone’s attention in the room upon the four of you.

Harwin opted to ignore the curious looks and questioning sidelong glances thrown your way. It was rather easy for him, as he had never given much weight into other’s opinions of him, save the select few that he held most dear.

But not everyone was as free as Harwin was of such burdens. He felt you squeeze his arm tighter as the pair of you descended down the stairs. In response, Harwin imperceptibly pulled you closer to the side, hoping the subtle action would provide comfort when his words could not.

“Lord Strong!”

Lord Gunthor Darklyn, who was hovering near the bottom of the stairs, called up to him jovially. It was a rather odd spot for Lord Gunthor to choose, particularly when most of his peers made themselves at home in various other places throughout the large chamber. But Harwin suspected Lord Gunthor’s position to be strategic; perhaps he wished to be one of the first to greet the queen personally upon her arrival.

Lord Gunthor was a relatively approachable individual, and even Harwin had to admit that the man had an amicable way about him. He was younger than Harwin would have suspected upon first hearing of him. In fact, back when they had first arrived in Duskendale, and he was greeted inside the castle gates by the man who could not have been any older than five and twenty, Harwin almost mistook him for the current lord’s heir. Lord Gunthor’s dark hair showed no signs of graying, nor his face signs of wrinkles, save the small crinkles by the corners of his lips that had to have been caused by no other means than an abundance of smiling.

Lord Gunthor followed his verbal greeting with a curt nod as the four of you finished your descent of the stairs and came to a halt. “It is good to see you again, My Lord.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Ah! Lady Tyrell! What a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance at last.”

“The pleasure is mine, My Lord.”

“It is a relief to see you safe and well. My Lord Strong was very concerned for you back at Duskendale. I tried to reassure him that your traveling delay might have had innocuous roots, but after so many days, he would no longer hear of it. He insisted on riding out to meet your traveling party himself, and I could not dissuade him… But I trust the journey from King’s Landing was not too strenuous for you in the end?”

Lord Gunthor Darklyn was a kind man, but not even kind men were exempt from having a prying mind. Thankfully, Harwin could always rely on you for a tactful and eloquent response.

“I regret to inform you that the delay was merely due to poor weather. The specific details of it all makes for a rather dull story, I am afraid. All in all, the roads were nothing short of a mess, and nearly untraversable. However, I am glad my husband decided to ride out to meet us. By the time I saw him, I am certain that he was as happy to see me as I was to see him- if only to affirm that we were closer to our destination then from whence we had come.”

“Traveling on land can be quite tedious indeed,” Lord Gunthor agreed vehemently, politely refraining from questioning any further. “I much prefer my travel on the open waters myself. I will admit that I am rather fortunate to have been born the heir to a keep by the sea, than one surrounded by land.”

“I have heard that you were nothing less than an exemplary host to My Lord Husband and our children whilst they stayed in Duskendale. For that, you have my sincerest gratitude, My Lord.”

“‘Twas little effort on my part. Our queen has spoken highly of your family for many years, and I have since learned for myself that her praise was not misplaced. My wife and I have not been blessed with children of our own just yet, but, the Seven willing, they will be half as well-behaved as your three.” Lord Gunthor’s line of sight shifted, fixating on Derrik and Selwin. “My Lords, it is good to see you again as well.”

Derrik and Selwin, having finally been addressed, were all too happy to return the greeting.

“My Lord, would you be so kind as to extend my gratitude to your wife as well?” you requested. “It is my understanding that she kept an eye on our children after Harwin decided to seek out my traveling party, and after you had departed for Dragonstone. I regret not having the opportunity to have spent more time in Duskendale; I would have wished to impart my sentiments to her personally.”

“Of course, My Lady. Lady Meredyth will be pleased to hear from you… Perhaps you and your family might arrange for another visit to Duskendale someday? The Strongs and Tyrells will always be welcomed in my keep, so long as it is under my command.”

“A very generous offer, My Lord,” Harwin conceded. “And one that we shall consider- once things have settled.”

“Yes, yes. Once Her Grace has reclaimed her rightful place on the Iron Throne, we shall all be free to discuss privileges such as leisurely travel once more. Until then, I shall leave you to it.”

You nodded graciously to Lord Gunthor as you and Harwin took your leave.

“Lord Gunthor seems kind,” you noted under your breath, smiling and nodding warmly as additional eyes fell upon you as your family ventured deeper into the room.

Harwin merely hummed in agreement. Lord Gunthor was kind, though perhaps too much so. Whilst he appeared to have nothing but honest intentions with his support of Rhaenyra, Harwin did not have the heart to voice his concern that he suspected Lord Gunthor to lack a firm resolve that might be needed in an actual time of war.

Across the room, Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys were conversing quietly with one another. Prince Joffrey was nowhere to be present. Though he might have been deemed old enough to attend dinner the previous evening, attending a council meeting, and particularly one of such import, might have been viewed as a bit beyond his current capabilities due to his tender age.

Harwin decided to give his sons some reprieve by leading your family over towards the princes. Lucerys was the first to note your approach. His eyes lit up, and he quickly tilted his chin in your direction to alert his elder brother.

Jacerys turned, and though his initial response was one of pleasant surprise, Harwin did not miss the tight lipped smile that was reserved for him alone as the prince made his greetings. However, the gesture was still a significant improvement upon the several somewhat cold and distant interactions Harwin had had with the eldest prince the day before. Harwin was inclined to consider the observation a victory, no matter how small it was.

It seemed Jacaerys was just as eager for the council meeting as Derrik was, though he was a bit more successful in masking it. Regardless, Jacaerys quickly showed both of your sons over to the Painted Table. It came as no surprise to Harwin that both Derrik and Selwin seemed enraptured by it. As Jacerys and Lucerys proceeded to recount a bit of its history, in addition to explaining the meanings of some of the pieces currently placed upon it, you and Harwin lingered a few paces behind for some privacy.

So as not to be overheard, Harwin softly inquired, “What do you make of all this?”

He waited and watched patiently as your eyes flickered about the room, taking in the others present with quick but precise interest. All around you, various lords, and a few ladies, continued their hushed conversations as all waited for the imminent arrival of the queen. A few straying eyes found their way over to the lot of you, and once they did, you nodded and forced a polite smile to your lips.

Many, if not all, of the lords and ladies present were from noble houses of the Crownlands. Though many known supporters of Queen Rhaenyra lived beyond the region’s borders, not enough time had passed for any of them to have rallied troops or begun their marches towards King’s Landing, let alone set sail to Dragonstone. As from the Reach and Riverlands respectively, you and Harwin were somewhat akin to outcasts among the other nobility in the room. In addition to the cultural differences, which were certain to exist, your physical differences were marked not only by your physical features, but by your state of dress, and the manner in which you carried yourselves.

It was not at all difficult to believe that at least a few of the lords and ladies present would not immediately warm to your presence. Lord Darklyn was a credit to his kind, to be sure.

“There may be a few amongst us who are here for intentions less noble than upholding a sworn oath,” you speculated thoughtfully. “But Her Grace the Queen has clearly placed faith in the loyalty of all present… ‘Tis doubtful Prince Daemon would have let any of them step foot on the island otherwise.”

“He is notably absent,” Harwin pointed out, unable and unwilling to disguise the wariness he felt at the realization. “I do hope Prince Daemon does not intend to make a show of his late arrival. Again.”

Though no one was close enough to the two of you to have overheard, you shushed Harwin quickly. The playful glimmer in your eyes betrayed any malice your action might have conveyed. “The Rogue Prince is bold, but he is not unwise. A dinner is one matter, but he would know better than to interrupt a council meeting called by the queen.”

Harwin sincerely hoped you were right. But if there was one thing he had learned about the Rogue Prince’s behavior over their acquaintanceship of many years, the best way to prepare oneself was to expect the unexpected.

The sound of clinking armor and pounding footsteps suddenly reverberated into the room, silently announcing the arrival of additional members of the Queen’s Guard.

Ser Erryk Cargyll stood to attention.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!”

The queen was dressed in a simple, though elegant, black gown, embellished with a red collar. Though her sheer station alone would have demanded it, Harwin suspected that Rhaenyra would have had the ability to command the attention of a room without her title. After all, she had once been hailed as the Realm’s Delight. Such a title had not been given to any other Targaryen princess before her, no matter how lovely they might have been. Rhaenyra had always had a way of captivating the focus and demanding the attention of others, even when she did not wish for such things. As the physical epitome of House Targaryen, it was little wonder that there had once been hundreds of lords, knights, and even a few particularly brave common folk alive who had vied for her hand. In another lifetime, Harwin might have been one of them.

But, for as lovely as Rhaenyra Targaryen was, she was not you. From the very first day Harwin saw you, all those many years ago, he was not only taken with your beauty, but he was also enraptured with your spirit. And since that day, and for each and every single day since, Harwin knew beyond a shadow of doubt that no other woman, in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, would ever, or could ever, compare.

As the queen descended the stairs, Harwin stole a glance at you, as he so often found himself doing. As his eyes flickered back to Queen Rhaenyra, and then back to you once more, he made a rather interesting observation. You had donned one of your very best gowns, one of hold. Still a color of House Tyrell, but indisputably more appropriate than green at the given moment. It was intentionally chosen, that much Harwin was sure. You looked refined, and even a little imposing; both of which were well within your rights.

But the flowing cloth that draped freely over you in a very complimentary fashion contrasted harshly with constructed and unwavering black fabric of the queen’s gown. The vision you presented was something like water- ebbing and flowing over the obstacles that presented themselves, but always moving ahead. More aptly, Rhaenyra was like fire- forging forward, compelling everything in her path to yield.

Lord Gunthor bowed deeply before the queen as she passed him. “Good morrow, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra acknowledged his greeting with a small nod. This was more than sufficient for Lord Gunthor, who rose with a near giddy grin upon his face.

Everyone in the room greeted the queen as she crossed before them, right up until she reached the Painted Table, when the room went eerily still. Though the princes remained where they stood, Derrik and Selwin slowly backed away as Rhaenyra placed her hands upon the surface, her palms digging into the stone. Her chin tilted upwards, and her violet eyes calculatingly scanned up the expanse of the Seven Kingdoms before her. Her kingdoms.

The occupants in the room, you and Harwin chief among them, watched in a curious silence as the queen gathered her thoughts. Then, Rhaenyra’s head snapped back downwards, her attention shifting the many faces surrounding her, as though seeking something, or someone.

“Maester Gerardys?”

The maester in question stepped forward without delay, coming to a stop near Lannisport. “Yes, My Queen?”

“What news of Lord Grover?”

“We have not received word from Lord Grover as of this morning, Your Grace. But it is my understanding that Prince Daemon still intends to treat with him personally. I believe the Prince is with Caraxes now, ensuring that his mount will be fit for the journey at a moment’s notice.”

“Take care to remind Prince Daemon that he is not to leave for the Riverlands without my command.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

The Rogue Prince and Caraxes, flying over the Riverlands. Harwin nearly shuddered at the thought of what might occur should Lord Grover give Daemon even the slightest difficulty in securing his allegiance to the queen. The entire realm still whispered of what had happened in the Stepstones, and that had been a great many years ago. The thought of his homeland sharing a similar fate left Harwin feeling extremely wary at best, and absolutely dreadful at worst.

As Maester Gerardys bowed and withdrew from the Painted Table, Rhaenyra called out to another.

“Lord Bartimos?”

Lord Bartimos Celtigar emerged from the periphery of spectators, approaching the table with a similar haste to Maester Gerardys. The goblet in his hand hovered over his home of Claw Isle as he came to a halt to the queen’s right.

“Your Grace?”

“As mentioned the day before last, until I am able to access the royal treasury, it is likely that I shall be in need of some assistance with financial endeavors. Is House Celtigar prepared to assist the Crown in this manner?”

Lord Bartimos nodded curtly. “House Celtigar is more than willing to supply Your Grace with as much gold as can be spared. Which, as the Seven have long since smiled upon my house and my predecessors, is gold of a significant amount, I am pleased to report.”

“Once I reclaim the Iron Throne, I shall reward House Celtigar’s generosity by promptly repaying any loan that the Crown may incur. With interest.”

Lord Bartimos took Rhaenyra’s promise as his dismissal. He bowed, and stepped back.

The queen took a moment to analyze the map of the Seven Kingdoms before her. Her eyes scrunched scrutinizingly as she thought of her next move.

“Lord Massey?

Over the next hour, Queen Rhaenyra called upon what seemed to be most everyone present. She made various inquiries about a great number of things, but based on the conversations that were had, many of the issues had been previously touched upon in the initial council meeting two days past.

You stood beside Harwin patiently, diligently taking in as much information as you could from what was being discussed- and whom it was being discussed with. As time drew on, a few notable moments stood out in your memory.

The young Lord Gormon Massey of Stonedance, who could not have been much older than Derrik, or Prince Jacaerys, and Lord Rydan Bar Emmon of Sharp Point, a copper haired man of about Harwin’s age, were questioned about their ability to garrison the Gullet from ships incoming from the South. Though it was questionable how effective such a defense could be, you had to admire Rhaenyra’s thoroughness. Though the Sea Snake had supposedly arrived in Dragonstone, he had yet to be seen. Furthermore, he had yet to make any formal declaration of support, as the queen often reminded her counselors. There was simply no guarantee that the ships hailing from Driftmark and commanded by the Lord of the Tides would act if called upon.

Both Lord Simon Staunton of Rook’s Rest and Lord Gunthor Darklyn of Duskendale were asked about how many swords they could have at the ready. They were small numbers, in comparison to what the Hightowers might have been able to muster in and near Oldtown. But both Rook’s Rest and Duskendale were far closer to King’s Landing, which alone was an advantage that could not be disputed.

The information exchanged throughout the council meeting was undoubtedly vital, and you strove to commit as much of it to memory as you could. However, it was more than a fair share of information one could reasonably expect to recall. By the time Queen Rhaenyra beckoned Harwin to the forefront, it took you a moment to realize he had been summoned at all.

Sparing you the smallest of glances, but what was reassuring nonetheless, Harwin removed himself from your side, and broke through the line of nobles lining the periphery of the room. He came to a stop at the edge of the table, no more than a pace away from the Eyrie, looked over to the queen, and bowed his head.

“At your service, Your Grace.”

His show of respect earned him a small smile from Rhaenyra. But, just as quickly as it had come, the queen’s pleasure faded as she visibly refocused.

“Lord Harwin, it is no secret that all present, myself included, have received proposed concessions in exchange for abandoning our cause, laying down our swords, dismounting our dragons, and swearing before my half-brother as the one, true king of the Seven Kingdoms. And yet, we have all chosen to waive any bribes or offerings in pursuit of upholding sworn oaths, and righting the grave injustice that has been done to me and my heirs… Am I able to take yours and Lady Y/N’s presence at this meeting as reaffirmation that you have rebuked the Greens’ offer, and that both of your houses will align with mine and my sworn allies in reclaiming my birthright?”

All eyes, yours included, flickered over to Harwin. Your husband contemplated his response for a few moments longer than what you would have preferred. But when Harwin finally spoke, the weight his words carried caused your brief uncomfortableness to be forgotten at once.

“I would not speak for my wife on this matter, Your Grace. In all the years we have shared, I have never spoken for her, nor do I ever intend to. She is a titled lady in her own right, with a name all her own. A name, as many in the realm would agree, that carries far more weight than that of Strong.”

Immediately, many pairs of eyes in the room fell upon you. You would not meet any of their gazes, as your focus was solely upon Harwin. You fought to keep your composure, but hoped that Harwin could sense the appreciation threatening to burst from within you.

“But as for myself, Lord Harwin Strong of Harrenhal, I will swear before you, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, and all other princes, lords, and ladies present, that I will not be breaking faith today. You shall have the full support of House Strong, Your Grace, as I, and my father before me, have sworn and vowed to you and your father, King Viserys. Gods rest his soul.”

Hushed murmurings of “gods rest his soul” echoed throughout the chamber.

You dared to look at the queen, who gave no visible indication of how she felt in response to your husband’s proclamation.

“I must admit, I am touched by your words, My Lord. And your unyielding loyalty. My father always thought your father to be an honorable man- as did I. I am pleased to see that you truly are your father’s son.”

Harwin bowed his head once more, but this time, it was in gratitude. You knew that Harwin was likely to take Rhaenyra’s commendation as one of the highest compliments he had ever received. A favorable comparison to the late Lord Lyonel was nothing to scoff at, least of all to his eldest son.

Rhaenyra continued. “You say you will not speak for Lady Y/N, and I can respect that. Instead, I shall ask you about matters you can speak to. As Maester Gerardys has informed me, Lord Grover Tully’s true allegiance remains unknown. So I ask you, Lord Harwin- what say you if Lord Grover declares to support my half-brother as king? Are you willing to go against your liege? Would you ride into battle, knowing you may face Lord Grover on the other side of it?”

The queen’s question, while direct enough, was still a difficult one posed. You did not wish to believe that she had knowingly laid some sort of trap for your husband… But was Rhaenyra truly asking Harwin to publicly admit willingness to break the oath to his liege?

Once more, Harwin allowed himself several moments to ponder how best to answer. You were almost certain the passing time could not truly have been as slow as it felt to you, but you were still eager for his response nonetheless.

“Aye, I have sworn my loyalty to Lord Grover as my liege.” Harwin tilted his head thoughtfully, and his eyes fell downwards upon the Painted Table- towards Riverrun, you assumed, based on his line of sight. Then, his focus shot upwards, and he locked eyes with Rhaenyra. A firm look of resolve settled onto the handsome features of his face. “But I have also sworn to you, My Queen. And as the liege of my liege, I believe the loyalty of House Strong is ultimately owed to you. Lord Grover’s failure to uphold the oath he made does not liberate me from the responsibility of upholding the one I have made myself. Regardless of whom Lord Grover declares for, you shall have the support of House Strong, Your Grace.”

Visibly reassured, Rhaenyra's steely composure had finally begun to crack. “I am grateful for your support, My Lord. Now that we have established where you and House Strong stand, there is another matter I wished to discuss with you. Though Lord Grover has yet to speak for himself, Prince Daemon insists that I have other allies that may yet be found in the Riverlands.”

At this, Harwin stood taller, his interest piqued. Then, he said words you had never dreamed you would ever hear from your husband’s mouth.

“I am inclined to agree with Prince Daemon, Your Grace. My mother was a Darry, my grandmother a Blackwood. I have written to both my uncle and cousin. Though I am awaiting their responses, I see no reason to believe that both House Darry and House Blackwood remain loyal to you.”

“If House Blackwood declares for our Queen, House Bracken will most certainly declare for the Usurper,” Lord Bartimos Celtigar chimed in.

“Let them,” Rhaenyra challenged, unbothered. “They will be dealt with in the same manner as all the other oathbreakers.”

“The point still stands.” Harwin redirected, “Like House Strong, regardless of Lord Grover’s decision, I truly believe you still have friends in the Riverlands, Your Grace.”

Jacaerys stepped up to the Painted Table. A small box placed aside of the map- covering a significant portion of the Blackwater Bay- was to his immediate right. He withdrew several pawns from the box before purposefully adding the new figures among the map. A pawn of deep black was placed upon Harrenhal, and pawns of gold were placed upon both Castle Darry and Raventree Hall.

As your eyes lingered upon the new pawns, and their position relative to among the other pawns already placed upon the Painted Table, Rhaenyra continued to address your husband.

“If we are headed for war, the Riverlands will be essential territory, Lord Harwin. If there are allies to be found there, it is apparent that not all of them have shown their true colors yet. They will need a safe place where forces can gather, a toehold on the mainland large enough to house a sizable host, and strong enough to hold against whatever forces the Greens might set against it.”

… Oh no.

“Prince Daemon has made the suggestion that Harrenhal would be the most suitable location for this purpose.”

Prince Daemon Targaryen volunteering Harwin’s ancestral home as a gathering point for the queen’s army, all while Harwin was not even present, sounded typical. Predictable, even. But as much as it bothered you, you were forced to admit that the idea had some merit. You had been to Harrenhal, you had seen the scorched towers and massive grounds with your own eyes. The keep alone was expansive, the neighboring fields perhaps even more so. Harrenhal would be more than fit to serve the purpose of hosting a great deal of men.

Perhaps what irritated you the most was that Harwin had been stripped of the opportunity to suggest the idea himself.

You suspected Harwin would have agreed to it anyway. But now that Prince Daemon’s suggestion had been laid before not only the queen, but the entirety of her council, Harwin had no choice but to accept.

“If that is your will, Harrenhal shall be at your service, Your Grace.” After a moment, Harwin added, “I only ask that you give me leave to return to Harrenhal, so that I may oversee the efforts myself.”

You did not know if Harwin meant for you to join him in Harrenhal. The idea of being separated from him for a long period of time was a rather bleak one. But if you were to be even remotely nearby any active fighting, you did not imagine that would sit very well with Harwin either.

“I will take that into consideration, My Lord. If a mustering of swords in the Riverlands becomes necessary, we shall discuss this further.”

“Of course, My Queen.”

“Lady Y/N Tyrell?”

Harwin managed to catch your eye as you passed one another. As your shoulder leveled with his, he gave you what he hoped was a reassuring look.

He could sense you were still a little uneasy about the decision the two of you had made. He did not believe you had any sincere reservations about supporting Rhaenyra. But, and as obvious of a notion as it might have been, war did have risks. If war was truly what was to come- and if Harwin had gained anything at all from the council meeting thus far, it was that war was becoming an increasingly probable outcome- it would only be natural for you to want to be absolutely certain of your footing.

After you had brushed by him, Harwin gave a placating nod to Derrik and Selwin, who had begun to look a bit antsy themselves. Whether it was due to the length of the meeting, which Harwin felt confident his sons had not entirely considered in their haste to be treated as young men and demand to be able to attend, or by the fact that the focus in the room had shifted to their parents, Harwin did not know.

Harwin resumed his previous spot in the room just as Rhaenyra began her next line of questioning. From his position, his view was limited mostly to the back of your head. But every now and then, when you’d turn to address the queen face to face, he was able to catch a sliver of your profile. Despite the limited view, it was relatively easy for him to imagine the various looks upon your face by your choice of words and tone alone.

“Lady Y/N, as I have asked Lord Harwin, so too shall I ask you. Who does House Tyrell believe is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms? Will you keep the oath that you, your brother, and your father have all made to me, or shall you break faith, and support my half-brother Aegon instead?”

“Usurper,” someone within Harwin’s earshot hissed venomously.

Harwin watched as you visibly stiffened. Pulling yourself up to your full height, you pressed on with a firm edge to your voice. “Like House Strong, House Tyrell will not break faith this day. House Tyrell has always been and shall always remain loyal to you, Your Grace. You are the realm’s rightful queen. Whatever you may require of my house, be it gold, grain, or men- you need only ask.”

To say Rhaenyra looked pleased, and even a bit relieved, would have been an understatement. Thankfully, only a few present might have been able to discern the relief on her face in the first place; Harwin’s ability to do so was a mere caveat of him having known the princess, and now queen, for many years. Regardless, the queen’s favorable reaction to your public proclamation of support gave Harwin cause to believe that you were not the only one who had had some doubts over the past few days.

“I am grateful to have the continued support of House Tyrell. Your father served as my father’s Warden of the South for many years. I hope you will be willing to serve as my Wardeness of the South for even more years to come.”

“As do I, Your Grace.”

Prince Jacaerys reached in the box, withdrawing another black pawn. It most likely went unnoticed by others, but Harwin did not miss the way your focus seemed to linger- rather longingly, if he dared to assume- on Highgarden as the eldest prince marked it on the map as another of the Queen’s trusted allies.

“Now, Lady Tyrell,” the Queen redirected, “As Lady Paramount of the Reach, a great deal of lords and ladies of the South have sworn to follow you as their liege. And, as you have not broken faith today, I must ask- can we expect the rest of the Reach to follow your lead, and support in my effort to reclaim the Iron Throne?”

Your head swiveled slightly, your chin lowering as you took in the entirety of the Reach’s representation upon the Painted Table.

“I wish I could guarantee such a thing, Your Grace. Though it is the duty of House Tyrell to keep the Reach united under your rule, it does not make the reality of the situation any less true. The Reach is not likely to unite under the banner of one ruler at all- not the Usurper, nor you, Your Grace. Old feuds and bitter blood run deep among those even in the land known for its chivalry. Should war come, the Reach will be divided.” “‘Tis hardly surprising, though no less disappointing, to hear,” the queen acknowledged. “Let us address the threats first- what houses of the Reach do you suspect will deflect and pledge their support to my half-brother?”

“There is the obvious,” you began, your voice softer. “House Hightower.”

Harwin could feel the entire focus of the room- his own included- channel upon Oldtown. If fifty pairs of narrowed eyes could have burned through its image, or perhaps razed the actual city itself, to the ground, such would have been done in that moment.

“House Hightower’s influence is too powerful over the region to be ignored. Unless they have formally declared otherwise to you in writing, I advise you to consider all other houses within ten or so leagues of Oldtown as supporting the Usurper, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps,” Rhaenyra conceded. “And what houses beyond the lands surrounding Oldtown?”

“There is also House Florent to consider. They have feuded with House Tyrell for centuries. Any cause my house openly supports is not likely to earn their favor. Like the Hightowers, they too hold sway over other noble houses closest to Brightwater Keep.”

House Florent would deflect and support the Usurper if only to spite you, Harwin mused to himself half-heartedly.

“There is also another, more personal, matter to consider,” you redirected. “In addition to House Hightower, House Florent, and all the other smaller houses in their proximity, I suspect I will be unable to call upon my cousin, Lord Garrett Redwyne, to uphold his vow. Not only is the Arbor relatively close to the Hightower stronghold of Oldtown, I also have cause to believe the Usurper has offered my cousin many favors in exchange for support of the Redwyne fleet.”

“It is alarming to hear of so many houses willing to turn against their sworn liege, but I appreciate your opinion and advice on the subject regardless. Tell me, Lady Y/N- all of these houses have sworn their fealty to you, and yet you believe a fair number will disagree with your decision to support my claim to the Iron Throne. These are lords and ladies you have known for years, and your own blood is amongst some of them. If there was to be war, and they are on the opposing side of the field, what would you have done with them?”

“‘Tis difficult to give a precise answer, Your Grace.”

“I beseech you to try. Tell me- when fires are reduced to sizzling embers, and when the smoke and dust has settled- what would you do with these would-be traitors to the Crown? You are their liege, regardless of whom they support as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. ‘Tis not unlikely at all that you would have to pass judgment upon them for their crimes… How would you decide their fates?”

Harwin watched you with great interest, as did the rest of the room. The queen had posed him a few difficult, though entirely fair, questions when she addressed him earlier. Harwin should have known that you were not exempt from a similar treatment.

To your credit, and Harwin’s pride, you had a particular knack and skill for maneuvering through even the most difficult topics of conversation.

“It is the way of the South for all accused of a crime to have the right to a fair trial. I alone would not make a decision best left to the gods. But should those trials prove any of the lords and ladies, my own kin among them, to be traitors to the Crown, I sincerely hope that they would all receive a traitor’s fate.”

Harwin did not envy you having to carry out such a judgment- particularly when there was a significant chance he would be chosen as your acting sword in said proceedings- but such was the responsibility and duty of your position.

There was a look in Rhaenyra’s eye that Harwin couldn’t quite place. “Well put, Lady Tyrell…. But by now, we’ve more then enough talk of traitors for the day.” A few nearby quiet mumblings of ascent filled Harwin’s ears. “What other houses of the Reach can be counted on for support?”

You looked most pleased by the change of topic, Harwin observed. “I have written to my uncle and steward, Lord Elwood Meadows, to inquire further into this matter. I anticipate receiving word back from him by this time on the morrow. At present, I can only speak truthfully to House Tyrell and House Meadows, both of which have already declared their support for you, Your Grace. And, while we have yet to receive any formal declarations from other houses, I believe we can anticipate the support of House Leygood. My good sister, Lady Lilyan, is the wife of Lord Cerran. As she too was once in your service as your lady, I believe she remains loyal to you still, Your Grace. And with Lady Lilyan’s support, should come that of her husband’s. In addition to House Leygood, I am well aware that House Beesbury - despite their closeness to Oldtown- and House Casewell have always voiced their support of your ascension to the throne.

A queer look flashed across the queen’s face. It was one that struck her so suddenly, she did not have a moment to adequately mask it.

You faltered, your enthusiasm deflating upon noticing your queen’s hesitation. “Does something ail you, Your Grace?”

“Aside from the obvious?” she jested bitterly, earning a few uneasy chuckles from nearby observers. Clearing her throat, she recomposed herself. “You have brought to my mind another matter I wished to discuss with you, Lady Y/N. While we do not have many eyes within the Red Keep who actively vye for my return, there are a few… We have already received several intelligence reports concerning the happenings within.”

You remained still, though Harwin could see the concentration plainly upon your face. You clung on to her every word, determined to try and detect what point Rhaenyra was trying to make.

The queen’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowed as she came outright with the information she was clearly reluctant to share. “I have received several reports that lords and ladies, Lord Beesbury and Lord Caswell among them, have already been named as supposed traitors to the Usurper. It is said that they have been executed.”

A/N: Thank you for reading🖤 part 3 should be up on 11/25.

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