Chapter 10: ^CHAPTER TEN-RYKER II^
Three years past, in the chill of morning, the castle's torches still flickering...
"Rhaenerys, the hour of reckoning approaches," Ser Kristoff announced, his voice echoing through the chill, dimly lit chamber.
Rhaenerys rummaged through her worn leather knapsack, seeking her fingerless gloves. The supple leather felt reassuring in her grasp. "Where is Selene? She vowed to be here an hour ago."
Ser Kristoff's brow furrowed, his eyes creasing with concern. "Selene quit."
Rhaenerys froze, her eyes widening in shock. The cold stone floor beneath her feet seemed to shift. "What?"
Ser Kristoff handed her a parchment sealed with the Grand Master Stewardess's emblem, the wax still warm from the seal. "Her mother's health worsens. By the Seven, I expected her replacement to arrive forthwith."
As Rhaenerys scanned the parchment, her gaze lingered on the intricate script, the words blurring together. She felt a pang of loss; Selene had been her rock.
Just then, a youth burst in, panting heavily, his breath visible in the chill air. "Apologies for my tardiness, my lady."
Rhaenerys turned, scrutinizing the newcomer. Ryker's face glistened with sweat, his dark hair mussed. His eyes, a deep shade of brown, met hers.
"I am Ryker, my lady. Your new Steward," he replied.
Rhaenerys' frown deepened. "My new...Steward?" She eyed his simple tunic and breeches. "How many winters have you seen?"
Ryker stood tall. "Ten-and-five winters, my lady."
Rhaenerys turned to Ser Kristoff. "Master, we share an age."
Ser Kristoff sighed. "Aye, yet Ryker boasts experience, serving four years under the Grand Master Stewardess."
Rhaenerys' gaze returned to Ryker, who arched a brow. "Very well," Rhaenerys conceded, rising to her feet.
As they descended toward the pit, the air thickened with tension. Rhaenerys spoke: "Your tardiness raises concern. This match demands focus."
Ryker explained, "I adjusted strategy, considering your Challenger's brute strength and your difference in weight."
Ryker pulled out a worn leather-bound book from his pack. "I've studied Buff's fights, my lady. He relies on brute force, but his footwork is clumsy. We can exploit that."
Rhaenerys' eyes narrowed. "Go on."
Ryker flipped through the pages, stopping at a crude sketch of the pit. "We'll use the narrow spaces to our advantage. Lure him into tight corners, where his size works against him."
Ser Kristoff nodded. "Sound strategy, Ryker. But Buff's no pushover."
Rhaenerys' gaze locked onto Ryker's. "I won't underestimate him."
As they descended into the pit, the air grew thick with tension. The torches cast flickering shadows on the stone walls. Rhaenerys' heart quickened. The pit's center lay empty, awaiting the combatants. The crowd's murmurs grew louder, their faces a blur.
Rhaenerys spotted Buff, his massive frame looming at the opposite entrance. Buff's eyes locked onto hers, a sneer twisting his face. He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing through the pit.
Rhaenerys stood tall, her heart pounding. Ryker's words echoed in her mind: "Focus on his weaknesses." Buff's massive strides devoured the distance between them. She flexed her fingers, ready. Her palms felt slick with sweat and she wiped them on her breeches, her eyes never leaving Buff.
Ser Kristoff's voice whispered in her ear. "Steady, child. You've trained for this."
Rhaenerys took a deep breath, the familiar scent of leather and sweat calming her nerves.
Ryker's hand touched her shoulder. "Remember, my lady: tight spaces, quick strikes."
Ser Kristoff's eyes bored into Rhaenerys'. "This is your test, child. Prove yourself worthy." She nodded at that.
The pit's master shouted, "Let the match commence!"
Rhaenerys and Buff faced each other, their eyes locked. The crowd's roar faded into the background.
Buff charged, his massive fists swinging. Rhaenerys dodged, her feet dancing across the stone floor.
Ryker's strategy echoed in her mind: "Lure him into tight corners."
Fear crept in, threatening to overwhelm Rhaenerys. What if she failed? What if Buff's brute strength proved too much?
She pushed aside the doubts, focusing on Ryker's words: "Quick strikes, exploit his weaknesses."
Rhaenerys landed a swift kick to Buff's knee. He grunted, stumbling.
Buff sneered, "You think you can take me down, little girl?"
Rhaenerys' face set in determination. "I've taken down bigger foes."
Buff's laughter boomed through the pit.
Ryker watched, his heart racing. Had he prepared Rhaenerys enough?
She dodged Buff's wild swings, her movements fluid.
Ryker's breath caught. She's got this.
Ser Kristoff's eyes narrowed. Rhaenerys was holding her own and Buff's strength was waning.
Rhaenerys seized the opening, her eyes flashing with determination. She struck Buff's exposed flank with precision, her fists flying in rapid succession. Each blow landed with a satisfying thud, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
Buff stumbled, his massive frame wavering like a felled tree. His face contorted in pain, sweat dripping from his brow.
"Keep moving!" Ryker shouted, his voice carrying above the din.
Rhaenerys darted sideways, avoiding Buff's wild swing by a hair's breadth. Her feet danced across the stone floor, her movements fluid and deadly.
Buff charged, his face twisted in rage, his massive fists swinging wildly. Rhaenerys sidestepped, her eyes locked onto his, anticipating his next move.
He slammed into the stone wall, the impact echoing through the pit like thunder. The ground shook beneath their feet.
Rhaenerys pounced, landing a series of swift kicks that sent Buff stumbling back.
Buff's legs buckled, his strength waning. Rhaenerys sensed victory within reach, her senses heightened.
With a swift, precise kick, she struck Buff's jaw, the sound cracking through the air.
As Buff's defeated form slumped to the ground, the pit's din transformed into a deafening roar. The crowd surged forward, their faces alight with excitement.
Rhaenerys stood tall, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing with triumph. Sweat dripped from her brow, mingling with the faint scent of leather and sweat.
Ryker rushed to her side, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Well done, my lady! Your skill is unmatched!"
Ser Kristoff approached, his eyes shining with approval. "You've proven yourself, Rhaenerys. Your focus and strategy served you well."
Rhaenerys' gaze met Ser Kristoff's, her expression a mix of pride and relief. "Thank you, Master. Ryker's counsel was invaluable."
The pit's master, a grizzled veteran, stepped forward. "Rhaenerys, you've earned your victory! Claim your prize."
A servant approached, bearing a small chest adorned with the pit's emblem. Rhaenerys opened it, revealing a pile of gold coins and a small, intricately crafted silver dagger.
The crowd's cheers intensified, their applause thundering through the pit.
As Rhaenerys raised her arms in triumph, the torches seemed to shine brighter, casting a golden glow across the scene. In this moment, Rhaenerys knew she was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
Ryker beamed with pride, his eyes shining with admiration. "My lady, your skill is breathtaking! You outmaneuvered Buff at every turn." He stepped closer, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I knew you had the potential, but to see it unfold... truly remarkable."
Rhaenerys smiled, her cheeks flushing. "Your strategy was invaluable, Ryker. I couldn't have done it without you."
Ser Kristoff approached, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Rhaenerys, you've proven yourself a worthy warrior. Your focus and determination are traits to be proud of." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You've made me proud, child. Your growth is a testament to your hard work and dedication."
As the crowd's cheers faded, Rhaenerys retreated to a quiet corner, her thoughts swirling. She replayed the fight in her mind, analyzing every move.
She realized that Ryker's strategy had been the key to her victory. His insight into Buff's weaknesses had allowed her to exploit them.
Rhaenerys' gaze drifted to Ryker, who stood watching her with a knowing smile. Their partnership was blossoming into something formidable.
With a sense of clarity, Rhaenerys knew that she was ready for the next challenge. The pit had tested her, but she had emerged stronger.
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"That sounds platonic enough." Baela commented.
"Well, of course it does. Were you expecting us to meet at a pleasure house?" Rhaenerys deadpanned.
Rhaena snorted while her sister chuckled. "But of course not. When did the romantic entanglements begin?"
Rhaenerys' gaze turned sharply to her and sighed.
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A year past... "Rhaenerys!" Ryker called. She was in the training grounds working on her kicks. "By the sevens, you've just finalized a match, Nerie. Surely a break is due."
Rhaenerys stayed her foot mid-kick to answer him. "The tourny begins in seven days hence. I shall rest when I have prevailed."
Ryker shook his head. "A day's break will not cost you the tourney, my lady. Resting has a place within training as well. The body remains hale and hearty when it's well rested."
He gently took her hand and pulled her away from the doll. "Come, a feast has been thrown in celebration of your 100th win. You cannot be late to your own celebration."
Shortly after, Rhaenerys sat in a corner exhausted etched on her face, her strength was far spent after an hour of mingling with guests.
As she sat in solitude, a young lad approached her with a mug in his hand. "The strain of hosting this feast seems to be weighing down on you."
She gazed up at him in confusion having had her head bowed before he approached. "This merry feast was not mine to host."
"Perhaps not, but it was held in your name, was it not? The burden of diplomacy fell on your shoulders." He responded with a slight smile.
Rhaenerys' attention was then drawn to his Lordly attire which was also adorned with the sigil of House Tully. Her eyes widened in realization. She rose abruptly. "My Lord!"
"Do not rise on my account, please. I come as a faithful supporter of your prowess. I'm implore you to sit." The young Lord said, motioning for Rhaenerys to sit.
He sat across from her then extended the mug towards Rhaenerys. "Lord Paramount Oscar of House Tully. Ser Kristoff is a dear friend of mine and thanks to him, I have witnessed your skill and prowess in the pits."
Rhaenerys accepted the mug. She gazed and its content and saw that it was water.
"I have found that a mug of fresh water does wonders in calming the mind." Rhaenerys brought the mug to her lips and took a generous gulp.
Rhaenerys breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude. "You have my thanks, my Lord."
"Oscar. Formality is of no use between those of similar years." He said with a dismissal wave.
"My thanks to you... Oscar." Rhaenerys reiterated. This is guy that got Daemon unsettled. She thought, intrigued by him.
"How fares your grandsire?" Rhaenerys asked in genuine concern.
Lord Oscar's eyes narrowed into slits briefly before they softened. "His ailment prevail still. The Maesters are more than a little concerned about how fast it progresses."
Rhaenerys gave a solemn nod. Knowing what she knew, giving him false hope with words of encouragement would be ill advised.
"Ser Kristoff informed me of your visions." He said gently. His words sparked Rhaenerys' irritation. "Do not chastise him. We have a strong bond and he thought your sight could hold things beneficial to me."
Rhaenerys' gaze turned thoughtful and she recalled the ancient feud between houses Bracken and Blackwood. "Perhaps, my visions may indeed be of help to you, my Lord."
For a brief span, Rhaenerys spoke of the rivalry between the Brackens and the Blackwoods and what transpired in her vision. Lord Oscar listened intently, his brow furrowed. She brainstormed with Lord Oscar on what could be done to prevent bloodshed. Together they wove a tapestry of strategy.
Ryker, in search of Rhaenerys, took a cursory glance around the tavern. His eyes settled on her figure, nestled in a secluded corner with Lord Oscar, their head bowed together, lost in their conversation. His gaze darkened as he took note of the proximity of Lord Oscar to Rhaenerys, their faces inches apart.
He clenched his jaw, fighting back the wave of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm him. He approached their table in purposeful strides, his gaze never wavering from Rhaenerys.
"...I would be delighted to show you the castle's secrets," Lord Oscar said, his smile charming. "The grandeur of the Riverrun—"
"My lady," Ryker interrupted, his deep voice commanding attention.
Rhaenerys and Lord Oscar turned to him, their faces inquiry.
"Forgive me, Ryker," Rhaenerys said. "I was engaged in discourse with Lord Oscar, Paramount of the Riverrun."
"Lord Oscar," Ryker's voice was measured, "this is an honour." He bowed his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Oscar's.
Oscar's gaze narrowed, his smile glacial. "The honour is mine, Steward Ryker."
Ryker's gaze broke from Lord Oscar's, settling upon Rhaenerys with grave urgency. "Ser Kristoff bids your presence, my lady."
He turned to depart, his strides purposeful.
Rhaenerys rose swiftly, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "Ryker, wait! Where do you hasten?" she called after him.
Rhaenerys hastened down the corridor, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls as she pursued Ryker. "Ryker, wait! Where does Ser Kristoff bid me?"
As she turned a corner, she collided with a stumbling sot. The reeking man grasped at her, his bleary eyes leering. "Ah, fair lady, share a cup with me... or perhaps a tender word?"
Ryker appeared, his face stern. "Release her, you drunken cur."
The drunkard, cowed, let go of Rhaenerys at once. Ryker's fist clenched, ready to strike.
Rhaenerys seized Ryker's arm, staying his hand. "No, Ryker. Let him go."
The drunkard, taking advantage of the distraction, turned and fled, stumbling down the corridor.
As they watched him disappear, Ryker's expression softened. "My lady, come. Ser Kristoff awaits."
Breathless, Rhaenerys nodded, following Ryker into the training room.
Rhaenerys followed Ryker into the training room, the sound of clashing steel and murmured instructions filling the air. She expected to find Ser Kristoff awaiting her, but the room was devoid of his presence.
"Where is Ser Kristoff?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Ryker's expression turned guarded, his eyes evading hers. "He does not await you here, my lady."
Rhaenerys' eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. "You deceived me, Ryker. Why?"
Ryker's jaw clenched, his voice low. "I needed to remove you from Lord Oscar's presence. His interest in you grows... troubling. I fear his intentions may not be entirely pure."
Rhaenerys' understanding dawned, and with it, a spark of amusement. "You harbor jealousy, Ryker."
Ryker's face remained stoic, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion. "I fear for your safety, my lady. Lord Oscar's influence is far-reaching, and his reputation... questionable."
Rhaenerys stepped closer, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "And what of your own intentions, Ryker? Do you seek to protect me, or keep me for yourself?"
Ryker's gaze locked onto hers, his expression unwavering. "I would be lying if I said my intentions were purely noble, my lady."
Rhaenerys' eyes narrowed slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Explain," she urged, her voice soft.
Ryker's voice dropped to a low murmur, his words measured. "As your steward, my duty is clear. Yet, I find myself drawn to you beyond mere obligation."
Rhaenerys' pulse quickened, her mind racing with the implications. "What feelings?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ryker's eyes burned with intensity, his jaw clenched. "Feelings that make me question my own honor, my lady. Feelings that make me want to protect you not just as my duty, but as... someone dear."
Rhaenerys' heart skipped a beat. She felt her resolve slipping, her emotions tangling in confusion.
"You speak of attachment," she said, her voice cautious.
Ryker nodded, his face inches from hers. "More than attachment, my lady. I speak of desire. To be more than just your Steward. I fear I may have fallen deeply in love with you, Rhaenerys."
Rhaenerys' heart fluttered, her emotions swirling like a tempest. She longed to admit her own feelings, but duty beckoned, its call loud and insistent.
"Ryker, I..." she began, hesitant, her voice tangled in uncertainty.
His eyes searched hers, hopeful, yet laced with trepidation.
But Rhaenerys' resolve strengthened, bolstered by the weight of her responsibility. "I have a purpose, Ryker. A duty to fulfill. I cannot afford distractions."
Ryker's expression turned contemplative, his gaze drifting inward as he gathered his thoughts. "I've seen it, my lady – the way we've grown closer over the years. The way our interactions have changed, subtly yet unmistakably. I've tried to ignore it, thinking your visions and duty came first, that I had no right to intrude upon your sacred purpose."
His eyes refocused on hers, burning with intensity. "But the thought of you with another, the thought of you bound to someone else... it's unbearable. The notion that I might lose you to duty, to fate, or to another's arms – it haunts me."
Rhaenerys' pulse quickened, her heart racing with the fervor of his words.
"I had to speak out," Ryker continued, his voice low and urgent, "rather than risk losing you, rather than letting silence seal my fate. I know I may be presumptuous, that my feelings may be unrequited, but I had to take the chance."
The air between them vibrated with tension, heavy with unspoken emotions. Rhaenerys' thoughts reeled, her heart torn between duty and desire.
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Baela and Jace shared a telling look. Before they could intervene, Ryker summoned Rhaenerys. "I ride with you, Nerie."
Rhaenerys began to protest, "You cannot mean to—"
Ryker's resolve was clear. "I do, my lady. I've relinquished my stewardship, I am no longer bound by duty and Lord Harwin's granted me leave."
Their eyes clashed, wills testing. Finally, Rhaenerys yielded, her nod barely perceptible. "To Rook's Rest then."
Weekly Power Status
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