The Stronghammer - CH - 25 (Patreon)

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stood by the window of her chambers, gazing out at the Red Keep with a restless heart. The cool evening breeze swept through the open shutters, playing with the loose strands of her silver-gold hair, but it did nothing to calm the storm within her. She could feel the eyes of her father’s guards, ever vigilant, ever watchful, as they loitered in the corridors, keeping their distance but never far enough for her to forget their presence.

It was maddening.

Ever since the wedding feast, where she had caused quite the spectacle, she had been unable to go anywhere without being followed. Her father, King Viserys, in his infinite concern, had ordered her to be accompanied at all times. The guards' presence was suffocating, a constant reminder of the limits placed on her freedom. Rhaenyra had always been headstrong, a rebel at heart, but now she felt trapped, unable to even breathe without feeling the weight of her father’s disapproval.

And it all began with that night.

Her lips curled into a small, secretive smile as the memory returned to her, as vivid as the day it had happened. The grand wedding feast—her father’s marriage to Alicent Hightower, a girl barely older than herself. Rhaenyra had never been able to hide her disdain for the match. How could her father replace her mother so easily? How could he marry someone so close to her own age? The very thought made her blood boil.

But she hadn’t simply sulked in silence. No, Rhaenyra had made sure her displeasure was known. She had danced with reckless abandon that night, defying her father’s expectations, ignoring the whispers of the court. And then, there was him—Robert Stronghammer. She remembered the feel of his hands on her waist as they danced, his touch strong and sure even through the haze of drunkenness that clouded his mind. He had been so unlike the lords and knights who courted her with cautious smiles and carefully measured words. Robert was raw, untamed, and impossibly strong.

That kiss… She could still feel it on her lips. In front of her father, in front of the entire court, she had kissed him. She hadn’t cared about the consequences, only the fire that burned inside her. The moment their lips met, she had felt alive in a way she never had before. His muscles had been taut beneath her hands, his body radiating warmth and strength, and for a brief, reckless moment, she had wanted more.

Her father had been furious, of course. The scandal had sent shockwaves through the court, and Rhaenyra had relished in it. She wanted to make her father uncomfortable. After all, he had married Alicent Hightower barely a year after her mother had died. He had replaced his queen with a girl who should have been her peer, not her stepmother. It was only fair that Rhaenyra caused him a bit of discomfort in return.

But now, as a result of her defiance, she was under constant watch, unable to even move freely within her own home. It had taken all sorts of begging, promises, and clever words to convince her father to release Robert from the dungeons after the incident at the feast. She had argued that he was too valuable to remain imprisoned, that his actions were misunderstood. Viserys had eventually relented, but now Robert roamed free while she was the one kept in a gilded cage.

Rhaenyra’s frustration simmered beneath the surface as she clenched her fists. She needed to see Robert again. There was a fire between them, one that couldn’t be extinguished so easily. She had seen him around the Red Keep since his release, but always from a distance, always under the watchful gaze of her father’s guards. The brief moments their eyes met only fueled her desire. She knew he was thinking of her, just as she was thinking of him.

But the godsdamned guards were always there, shadowing her every move, keeping her from even getting close to him. She felt like a caged dragon, her wings clipped before she could even take flight.

Rhaenyra turned from the window and began pacing her chamber. She needed to find a way to meet Robert in secret, away from the prying eyes of the court and her father’s ever-present watchmen. It wouldn’t be easy, but she had never been one to shy away from a challenge. She was the blood of the dragon, after all. If anyone could find a way to defy her father’s will, it was her.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and Rhaenyra whirled around to see one of her handmaidens enter. The girl bowed her head respectfully before speaking.

“Princess, the king has requested your presence at the evening feast,” the handmaiden said softly.

Rhaenyra sighed, her irritation barely concealed. Another feast. Another night of playing the dutiful daughter while her father and his new queen paraded around like everything was as it should be. It made her sick.

But perhaps there was an opportunity here.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra said, her tone thoughtful. “I shall attend.”

As the handmaiden scurried away, Rhaenyra allowed a plan to form in her mind. The feast would be the perfect opportunity to slip away, if only for a moment. She would find a way to lose her guards, even if it was just for a brief encounter. She needed to see Robert, to feel that connection again, and she was willing to risk much for it.

With a determined glint in her eyes, Rhaenyra began to prepare for the evening. Tonight, she would find a way to break free, if only for a stolen moment.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was filled with the usual hum of conversation, the clinking of goblets, and the rich scent of roasted meats and spiced wines. King Viserys Targaryen sat at the head of the table, his face weary but composed, as the evening feast unfolded around him. Beside him, Queen Alicent smiled politely, but her eyes often flickered toward Rhaenyra with an edge of concern.

Rhaenyra sat further down the table, her posture rigid, her mind elsewhere. The feast, as grand as it was, felt like little more than a performance, and she was growing tired of playing her part. The tension in the air had been simmering for days, and tonight, it seemed, everything would come to a head.

As the servants moved about, refilling goblets and serving more dishes, the king’s voice cut through the low murmur of conversation.

“Rhaenyra,” Viserys began, his tone gentle yet firm, “there is something we must discuss.”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze to her father, already bracing herself for whatever unwelcome topic he intended to bring up. The look in his eyes was familiar—a mix of fatherly concern and kingly duty. She had seen it before, and she knew where this conversation was headed.

“I’ve been considering your future,” Viserys continued, “and it has been suggested that a marriage to Laenor Velaryon would strengthen the ties between our houses. The Velaryons are of noble blood, and the union would unite the strength of the Targaryens and the sea power of Driftmark.”

The mention of Laenor’s name sent a wave of irritation through Rhaenyra. She clenched her fists under the table, fighting to keep her composure. Laenor Velaryon, she thought bitterly. The idea was laughable.

Rhaenyra had heard the rumors about Laenor, as had everyone else at court. He was no more interested in women than she was in being a pawn in her father’s political games. And besides, she knew there was more to this suggestion than just strengthening ties with House Velaryon. There were whispers—whispers that Laenor’s marriage to her was part of a larger Velaryon plot to claim the throne through their children, given Rhaenyra’s place as Viserys’ heir.

Before she could speak, the king continued, his voice quieter but laced with tension. “I’ve heard rumors,” Viserys said, his eyes flicking toward Otto Hightower at the far end of the table. “There are concerns that the Velaryons might be seeking to strengthen their claim through this union. They’ve never forgotten that Rhaenys, Laenor’s mother, was passed over for the throne. If you marry him, your children could be used to press their claim. I don’t want this marriage to weaken the stability of the realm.”

Rhaenyra’s heart raced. She knew what her father was hinting at. Laenor Velaryon, with his noble name and sea power, was not the only option. Her father had always held certain expectations about who was worthy of her hand, and she could see the unspoken disapproval in his eyes whenever her attention wandered toward knights and lesser men—men like Robert Stronghammer. The king hadn’t mentioned Robert’s name outright, but the implication was clear.

Otto Hightower, who sat quietly beside Alicent, nodded in agreement. “The Velaryons are powerful, Your Grace, but their ambitions are well known. I fear such a match would only cause division and unrest in the future. And, as Hand of the King, I must advise against it.”

Rhaenyra felt her anger rise like wildfire, but it wasn’t just Otto’s meddling that stoked her frustration. It was her father’s carefully veiled expectations, his refusal to acknowledge her desires. She could feel Queen Alicent’s gaze on her, as though the young queen were silently offering her own opinions, eager to insert herself into Rhaenyra’s future as well. Alicent’s recent attempts to offer her “advice” on suitable matches had only fueled Rhaenyra’s irritation. Alicent, who was barely older than her, had no right to meddle in her affairs.

And then her father said the words that made her blood boil.

“Rhaenyra, I understand your concerns,” Viserys said softly, “but you must marry someone of your station. A knight with no prospects, no matter how strong or brave, is not a suitable match for the heir to the Iron Throne.”

The meaning behind his words was clear. Her father knew about her attraction to Robert, knew of the dangerous fire between them, and he was putting his foot down.

Rhaenyra’s fists clenched tighter under the table, her nails biting into her palms. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her anger barely contained. She knew she couldn’t marry Laenor. It wasn’t just the absurdity of the match, or the fact that Laenor would never desire her. It was the principle. She refused to be used as a political tool, a pawn in someone else’s game.

And then, as if to add insult to injury, Alicent leaned forward, her voice soft and sweet, but her words laced with condescension. “Rhaenyra, your father only wants what is best for you,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Perhaps it’s time to consider a match that will strengthen the realm. There are many lords who would be honored to have your hand.”

Rhaenyra felt the last of her patience snap. She couldn’t take it anymore—the insinuations, the constant reminders of her duty, the suffocating weight of her father’s expectations.

Without a word, she pushed back her chair and stood. The hall fell silent as all eyes turned to her. Rhaenyra’s face was flushed with anger, her eyes blazing with defiance. She didn’t care that she was making a scene. Let them whisper. Let them see her fury.

“I will not marry Laenor Velaryon,” she said, her voice sharp and unyielding. “And I will not be used as a tool to further anyone’s ambitions.”

Viserys’ eyes widened in surprise, but before he could respond, Rhaenyra turned on her heel and stormed out of the hall, her footsteps echoing through the silence.

The moment she was outside, the cool night air hit her face, but it did little to cool her temper. She needed space, needed to breathe, needed to escape from the crushing expectations that weighed her down.

And above all, she needed to see him. Robert Stronghammer. The one man who made her feel alive, the one man who understood her fire. But how could she ever reach him when the whole world seemed determined to keep them apart?

With her heart racing and her anger still burning hot, Rhaenyra disappeared into the shadows of the Red Keep, her mind already turning to plans of rebellion.

Every day, she longed for something, someone, to break the monotony. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Robert Stronghammer—his broad shoulders, his confident stride, the heat that had surged between them when they danced. He had made her feel alive, something she hadn’t felt in years.

But it seemed like the gods were determined to keep him just out of her reach. Every time she thought she might find a moment alone with him, some duty or another would drag her away. Her father’s talk of marrying her off to Laenor Velaryon had only sharpened her resolve. She wouldn’t be caged. She wouldn’t let them dictate her life any longer.

If she wanted a miracle, she would have to make it herself.

Rhaenyra stopped pacing and took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do. Her uncle Daemon had shown her the hidden passageways within the Red Keep—secret tunnels that only a few knew existed. They had been carved out long ago, a labyrinth of shadowy paths that ran beneath the castle, allowing one to slip in and out of the keep undetected. Daemon had used them for his own adventures, and now she would use them for hers.

Moving quickly, Rhaenyra grabbed a set of clothes that she had hidden away, garments she had used on rare occasions when she wanted to blend in with the common folk. It was a simple tunic and breeches, the kind a young boy might wear. The idea of dressing as a boy didn’t bother her—in fact, it excited her. King’s Landing was dangerous for a woman, especially one of her station. But in this disguise, she would be just another street urchin, free to move as she pleased.

She slipped into the clothes, tucking her long silver hair beneath a woolen cap. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled. She felt different already. Not a princess, not an heir to the throne, but a girl who could go where she pleased. For once, she was in control.

After making sure the coast was clear, Rhaenyra slipped into the passageway hidden behind the tapestry in her chambers. The air inside was cool and damp, the stone walls pressing in on either side of her. She moved cautiously, remembering the path Daemon had shown her all those years ago. The tunnels twisted and turned, winding their way beneath the keep and out toward the city.

It took time, but Rhaenyra didn’t mind. Every step she took away from the Red Keep, away from her father’s suffocating expectations, felt like a victory. By the time she emerged from the final tunnel into the streets of King’s Landing, the sun had set, casting long shadows across the city. The air was thick with the smells of the harbor—salt, fish, and the smoke of countless fires burning in the crowded streets.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Rhaenyra felt free.

She wandered through the streets, her heart pounding with excitement. The city was alive with the sounds of people calling out to one another, the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, and the distant laughter of revelers spilling out of taverns. No one looked twice at her as she moved through the crowds, just another nameless boy in the bustle of King’s Landing.

But as the initial thrill began to wear off, Rhaenyra realized that she had no real plan. She had come here to find Robert, but how? She had no idea where he might be, or how to track him down in a city as sprawling and chaotic as this. She knew he hadn’t left King’s Landing—she had seen him at the Red Keep only two days ago—but where would a man like him go?

She walked aimlessly for a while, her eyes scanning the faces of the people she passed, hoping for a miracle. But as the minutes turned into hours, doubt began to creep in. Perhaps this had been a foolish idea. Perhaps she had been too impulsive, too reckless.

But she would find him. She had to.

Determined not to give up, Rhaenyra headed toward one of the many inns clustered near the harbor. Robert was a man of action, a knight who had seen battle. He would need to be near the heart of things, somewhere where men of his kind gathered. She might not have a plan, but she had her instincts, and those instincts told her to keep moving.

As she walked through the narrow alleyways, the sounds of the city became more muted, the crowds thinning as the night deepened. She passed groups of sailors and merchants, some drunk, others deep in conversation. She passed taverns where men sang bawdy songs, their voices slurred by drink. But none of them were Robert.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she found herself standing before a small, nondescript inn tucked away on a quiet street. The windows glowed softly with candlelight, and the low hum of voices drifted out from inside. It didn’t look like much, but something about it felt right. Rhaenyra’s heart quickened as she stepped toward the door, her hand hesitating on the worn wood for just a moment before pushing it open.

The inn was small and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of ale and smoke. A few men sat at the tables, talking in low voices, but it wasn’t the kind of rowdy crowd she had seen in other parts of the city. This was a quieter place, where men came to talk business rather than make a scene.