Monogamy

You choose to be monogamous.

You killed Padreg and stole his glory, stole his place in the story as the hero. But there is no need to turn into a lecherous wastrel like him. You have never been a **** to your baser instincts. You have overcome hunger and hardship. You can overcome carnal lust.

You plan to marry a beautiful highborn woman, someone who will give you heirs of noble blood. You need this to secure your place among the landed gentry, your place in the story, and your future heirs. There is no need to complicate that by sleeping around or keeping mistresses.

A few months later, the keep hosts a knight’s tourney. One of the many spectacles nobles arrange for sport, politics, and prestige. You enter the lists as Lord Addam’s best soldier, fully clad in shining mail and armed with the finest weapons the keep can provide.

As you prepare for the first bout, your gaze drifts to the stands. There, among the noble ladies, you see her. A beautiful blonde noble girl, around your age, with a delicate grace and melancholy in her eyes.

"That’s Lady Dora," another knight tells you, adjusting his helm. "She was betrothed to Lord Padreg."

"So that is Padreg’s betrothed," you say, studying her closely.

"Yes. Everyone knew Lord Padreg was a wastrel. He bedded servant girls, tavern wenches, even whores, and never cared to hide it. Yet, they say he truly loved Lady Dora. She is sweet, polite, and beautiful. Even a man like Padreg could not help but love her."

"The girl he actually loved," you murmur, "not another harlot for the night."

In that moment, a fire sparks inside you. Not just desire, not just ambition. Something more vindictive. You will make Dora yours. Not merely to claim a noble wife, but to take everything from Padreg. To cuckold him from beyond the grave. To wed and bed the woman he loved but could never truly have.

You set your plan in motion.

Lady Dora is naive and trusting, making the first step easy. You approach her as a proper knight should, bowing low. "My lady," you say with humble grace, "may I carry your favor into the lists?"

Her cheeks flush at your request. "Of course, Sir Cedric," she replies, offering you a ribbon of pale blue silk.

"I am truly sorry for your loss," you lie smoothly. "Lord Padreg was a good and kind man. I am saddened that he was taken by such a vile beast."

"You slew the beast that killed Padreg, did you not, sir?" she asks, her voice soft as a breeze.

"Yes," you answer, keeping your mask of grief and duty. "It was an honor to avenge him. Now I defend his father’s keep, as a loyal knight."

The tourney is brutal. Knights who have trained since childhood meet you with lance and sword, but you have more than training. You have a farmer’s raw strength, a soldier’s hardened will, months of relentless practice, and the best arms and armor Lord Addam’s coffers can provide. You are not above taking shortcuts either. Many of your opponents face you dulled by wine, their steps unsure, their strikes sluggish.

Victory is not easy, but you claim it all the same. Another feather for your legacy, after the beast. Both victories are tainted beneath the surface, but the songs will never tell of such things.

After the final bout, with cheers ringing in your ears, you approach Lady Dora. You speak with all the earnest passion you can summon. "It was your favor that gave me strength, my lady," you say, offering her a gallant smile, not mentioning the cups of wine subtly laced with farmer's herbs. "I... I have fallen for you. Please, my lady, will you marry me?"

Her eyes brighten with surprise, then soften. "I accept, Sir Cedric," she answers, her voice full of innocent trust.

Soon after, you are wed. Whispers ripple through the keep. Some find it odd, this daughter of an old noble house wedding a newly made knight of peasant blood. But their murmurs are drowned beneath the songs of your triumphs, the victories that raised you from the mud to nobility.

On your wedding night, you bed Dora. She lies beneath you, golden hair spread like sunlight upon the sheets, her cheeks flushed with nervous excitement. "It is my first time, husband," she whispers, "please be gentle."

"I promise, my love," you reply, smiling as you claim her. You feel a dark satisfaction as you pierce her maidenhood, your throbbing manhood tearing her hymen and drawing blood, the moment mirroring the blade you once drove into Padreg’s back. She is yours now, wholly and without rival.

That night, as she sleeps beside you, pale and peaceful, you lie awake. Naked beneath the furs, you gaze at the ceiling with a quiet, burning triumph. You have won. You rose from farm boy to knight, from knight to hero, from hero to noble husband.

All while Padreg’s bones rot in the earth.

In time, Dora gives you two children. A son and a daughter. You name your son Gawen, for strength and valor, and your daughter Elaine, for beauty and grace. Gawen bears your dark hair and sharp gaze, but Dora’s noble brow and fair skin. Elaine is her mother’s mirror, with golden locks and gentle blue eyes, though there is a stubborn fire in her heart that can only come from you.

Dora is not a strong woman. Sheltered all her life, birthing two children drains her deeply. You ask no more of her. You allow her to rest, to live a life of ease and quiet joy.

Your children grow in privilege, raised in silk and safety, the lives of highborn heirs.

Yet some nights, when the fires burn low and the keep grows quiet, you remember the farm boy you once were. You recall the rough soil between your fingers, the hunger in your belly, the cold bitterness of being told you were born to serve and nothing more.

You remember what it took to reach this life. Stabbing a man in the back is not the act of a hero, no matter what the songs say. No matter how brightly your armor shines.

But then you look at Dora, sleeping beside you, her face peaceful beneath the pale moonlight. You hear your children’s soft breaths in their chambers, safe and cared for.

And you decide, once again, that your life is worth the price you paid.

Ending 7: Landed Gendry