Beneath the tall gilt statues of the Mother and the Father, Septon Meribald, crowned with crystal and gold wire and robed in a pristine white habit, held the Seven-Pointed Star in his hands. Facing Aegon and Sansa at the altar, he recited the prayers.
The ceremony of holy matrimony had officially begun.
Below the dais, "Littlefinger," wearing a blue velvet outfit adorned with a white mockingbird pin, smiled broadly, unable to hide his delight.
Opposite him, the dwarf in a crimson lion-embroidered gown tugged at the bow at his throat, his gaze complicated.
When Septon Meribald finished the invocation, the king and queen swore the Sevenfold Vows before the statues of the Mother and Father, then received the Sevenfold Blessing from the septon, who stood in their place.
After that, in full view of the septon and all the guests, the newlyweds exchanged seven promises in turn.
Still not finished—next came the hymns.
Led by the brothers and sisters of the Faith, everyone joined in singing the "Hymn to the Mother" and the "Hymn to the Father."
Afterward, Septon Meribald asked loudly, "Including the bride and groom, does anyone object to this holy union? Does anyone raise a challenge? Does anyone wish to contest the groom?"
Well, in old Hong Kong films, this was usually the point where the bride's ex-boyfriend burst into the church, dragged her off, or whipped out a machine gun as the plot hit its climax.
But in Westeros, such behavior was perfectly legal, even sanctioned under the protection of the Seven. Big Black once again spread his hands helplessly: don't blame me for this one.
You could state the challenge openly, and you could act openly.
At this moment, there were indeed two people itching to stand up—Tyrion, and Harrold.
Tyrion wasn't trying to steal the bride. His tongue simply itched to shout, "Hey, this scene? The bride and I have done this before, and the officiant outranked this one—it was the High Septon! Not a single person objected that time!"
Harrold, known as "Harry the Heir," Robert Arryn's successor, had once courted Alayne Stone. It wasn't exactly true love, but he had been quite enchanted by her beauty.
When Alayne cut ties with him, he sulked only briefly before happily returning to his mistresses. After all, aside from her looks, he really couldn't stomach the fact that she was "Littlefinger's bastard daughter."
But now…
A goddess—an absolute goddess.
Looking at Sansa wearing her coronet, she was even lovelier, even more alluring.
And she had slipped right past him.
He was the heir to the Vale. If he married the heir to the King in the North, with the support of the Riverlands nobility…
He very much wanted to rush forward and shout, "I object!" but he had already done so two days earlier.
Much like when Brynden Stark once went to Riverrun to marry his long-betrothed fiancée Catelyn, and young Littlefinger challenged him with a drawn sword, Harry the Heir had already challenged Aegon.
It fit well within Westerosi knightly culture. No one would accuse him of insolence or treason.
Both had been trained for more than ten years under masters of the knightly arts, true talents meeting in earnest combat.
Unfortunately, Aegon wore a lightweight but sturdy Valyrian steel–infused armor and wielded a sharp, unbreakable Valyrian sword. His defense, speed, and offense all eclipsed Harry's completely. How was he supposed to win?
Even now, Harry's right arm was still wrapped in bandages.
Seeing no challengers step forward, Septon Meribald announced the exchange of cloaks.
"Westeros's self-proclaimed 'best father-in-law,'" Littlefinger stepped up and gently removed the bride's cloak from Sansa. Jon Connington, the actual "good father-in-law" of the Seven Kingdoms, removed the groom's cloak for Aegon.
Littlefinger carried off the Stark direwolf cloak; old Jon handed the groom's cloak to Aegon, then stepped aside.
Aegon took his cloak, gave it a light shake, and—like a child wearing an adult's clothes—wrapped Sansa in it, fastening it at her throat to show that from this day onward, she was his family, and he would stand in her father's place and protect her forever.
Seeing the tall, strong groom and the delicate, birdlike bride, Tyrion's mismatched eyes twitched again.
He remembered that day: he was only three feet tall, just under a meter, barely over a meter even in lifting boots, while Sansa was slender and over one-sixty. Even on tiptoe, he couldn't reach her neck to drape his cloak.
Everyone had laughed.
Helpless, he'd had to stand on the jester's back to complete the ceremony.
And now, with near–six-foot-two Aegon holding five-foot-three Sansa, it was so harmonious—so painfully harmonious.
"By this kiss, I offer you my love! Sansa, may you be my wife and companion." Aegon declared in a ringing voice.
Blushing, Sansa answered softly but clearly, "By this kiss, I offer you my love!"
Then the two leaned in and kissed deeply, for a long time.
Septon Meribald pulled a crystal from his pocket, lifted it high, and quietly cast a Holy Light spell—a reduced version of Holy Healing, just a ball of white light without any healing power.
During Cersei's trial by combat, the Dragon Queen had seen septons fiddling with crystals in the sunlight pretending to perform miracles. She found it tacky and created an actual divine spell so her followers could show off properly.
Though Holy Light was easy to learn and consumed little energy, among the thousands of septons in the Seven Kingdoms, only about a hundred could use it—those whose moral character aligned with Dany's values and who were true believers.
They had to meet the requirements of Daenerys, the "Mother of the Seven." Those with intense piety but who followed the doctrines of the old Seven-Pointed Star received no favor from the Seven.
Dany could see the thread of faith in every believer; no fraud could fool her.
With a real god, and with that god willing to put in the effort, the god's church could truly become the cleanest institution in the world.
"In the presence of the gods and all gathered here—"
The Holy Light made the crystal shimmer with a thin, cloudlike rainbow glow. It fell upon the bride and groom and all the witnesses, filling the hall with sacred solemnity.
In that moment, Septon Meribald seemed like a vessel of the Seven themselves.
"I solemnly proclaim Aegon VI of House Targaryen and Sansa of House Stark husband and wife.
From this day forward, they are one body, one heart, one soul, forever. Any who dare interfere with their marriage shall suffer merciless curses."
The sacred marriage was officially concluded.
Well, Robert and Cersei were wed in this manner, Joffrey and Margaery as well, and Tyrion and Sansa too.
Perhaps Aegon and Sansa might have a different ending?
After the wedding came the feast.
The ceremony was held in the Sept and presided over by a septon. There were not many witnesses, and even low-ranking knights were not qualified to attend.
The real excitement was at the feast, held in the great hall of the Gates of the Moon.
Of course, the identities of the newlyweds were far from ordinary. They were the king and queen—yes, they had already donned their crowns.
Before the feast, the king had to receive the blessings of his subjects.
Aegon and Sansa stood outside the Sept, on the steps of the marble square.
Brienne, now a sworn "Knight of the Cloak," led forty-nine knights who formed a protective circle around them, while the long line of petitioners stretched out before them.
Jon Connington was the first to step forward. Emotionally overwhelmed, he embraced his foster son and kissed Sansa on the cheek.
"Your Highness, you've grown up and come of age. From now on, you must uphold the responsibilities and honor of a king."
"Foster father, I will," Aegon said with a smile and a nod.
"Ser, you should call him 'Your Majesty,'" Sansa suddenly interjected.
The moment the wedding concluded, the alliance of the True Dragon formally took effect. In name, Aegon received the allegiance of five and a half of the Seven Kingdoms.
And the remaining half was the Reach. Aegon held the dying Old Rose's letter begging for aid: if Aegon helped Highgarden, the Tyrells would lead the Reach in swearing loyalty to him.
Thus, Aegon could openly be considered the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
Old Jon froze for a moment, then nodded and sighed. "Yes, Your Grace. I should call him Your Majesty. I wish you a hundred years of harmony—and may you soon bear an heir."
"I will," Sansa replied with a blush, yet with graceful composure.
Then Littlefinger came. He embraced his "daughter," gave Aegon a respectful bow, and showered them with an endless stream of flattering blessings.
When the dwarf arrived with Arianne on his arm, both Aegon and Sansa wore strange expressions.
"A bit awkward," Tyrion said, scratching the nostril where his nose used to be. "That day…"
He had intended to say that back in King's Landing, Joffrey and Margaery stood at the doors of the Great Sept receiving blessings, while he and Sansa had stood together offering theirs.
But Sansa did not want to hear anything about "that day" or "those years." She cut him off, speaking bluntly: "Ser, things are good for all of us as they are now. That is enough."
"Yes, good for all of us," Tyrion said, baring his teeth in an exaggerated grin. "Long live the king, long live the queen! May the king and queen be a perfect match and forever blessed!"
After speaking, he seized Sansa's jade-like hand and planted a loud kiss on the back of it. Then he wrapped his arms around Aegon's waist—Aegon looking distinctly displeased—and muttered, "You bastard, go bed your cousin tonight."
Aegon glanced at the long queue still waiting, put on an elegant fake smile, and murmured back, "Bastard, I'm not like you. I don't insult my wife. Now get lost."
Arianne smiled faintly at the corners of her mouth, pretending not to have seen or heard anything. She offered two polite yet distant words of blessing.
The line was so long that no one had much time. The dwarf soon led Arianne away, and before long it was Illyrio's turn.
He was even more emotional than when he delivered his gifts. His eyes were bloodshot, and he cried uncontrollably while offering blessing after blessing.
No one found it strange. Many people had cried—Jon had teared up earlier, and even Littlefinger had smiled with tears in his eyes.
They simply assumed this foreign fat man was flattering the king in hopes of securing a good fief.
And indeed, the plump merchant no longer hid in the shadows. Aegon had granted him a marquisate; he was now the king's Master of Coin and also served as the army's quartermaster.
Those of noble status could offer their blessings in person. Commoners with no status—mercenary riders, merchants, prostitutes who had come after hearing the news—were kept ten meters away by the Golden Company knights in gold armor, black cloaks, and red dragon sigils.
"Long live the True Dragon!"
"Long live Aegon! Long live Queen Sansa!"
Cheers surged toward the newlyweds like a tidal wave. Whatever their character might be, Aegon and Sansa's looks were exceptional. The man was handsome and bold, the woman beautiful and radiant. Both carried themselves with pleasant demeanors, without any aloofness, making it easy for ordinary people to take a liking to them based on appearance alone.
"Now that Sansa is married, and you don't oppose this match anymore, does this mean you can let me go?"
In the crowd, a long-bearded, wild-haired man in leather armor whispered to the cloaked figure beside him.
That face—wasn't it Jaime, missing all this time?
(End of chapter)
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