- Day of the Wedding -
In the throne room of the Red Keep, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Harrold Westerling, acted as herald, announcing both the words of the King and the arrival of the nobles as they entered the room.
"It is with great pleasure that His Grace, King Viserys, announces the start of the royal wedding celebrations," he proclaimed loudly to all present.
"House Lannister, with their lord, Jason Lannister—Warden of the West, and Lord of Casterly Rock."
"House Hightower, with their lord, Hobert Hightower—Beacon of the South, Defender of the Citadel, the Voice of Oldtown..."
The chatter of guests and the music of court bards and troubadours mingled with the Lord Commander's announcements.
"Congratulations, Your Grace," Jason Lannister smiled at Viserys. "You have made a fine match for the Princess."
"Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no better man than Ser Laenor," Rhaenyra answered in place of her father.
Jason scoffed, slightly disgruntled that she hadn't even considered his earlier courting of her. But soon, he chuckled. "Well... if this is only the welcome feast, I admit, I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding."
"Well, my daughter is the future queen. I wanted this to be a wedding for the histories," Viserys smiled at his daughter, who returned the smile at his words.
He glanced around the table and asked, "Where is the Queen?" Queen Alicent Hightower was not present at the high table before the Iron Throne, beside the king and the princess. "I had hoped to pay my respects."
"I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations," Viserys said, glancing at the empty seat beside him as an excuse for his wife.
"This is why men wage war... because women would never be ready for battle in time," Jason chuckled.
Rhaenyra's expression was unamused. If she could, she would have had him thrown out. Viserys gave him a courteous smile, though inside, he thought the man a fool.
"Your presence is always such a pleasure, Lord Jason," Rhaenyra said, her words dripping with false politeness to dismiss him.
"Princess... Your Grace," Jason knew better than to linger.
Viserys and Rhaenyra exchanged a look. "Such a damn fool," Rhaenyra whispered to her father.
Viserys chuckled. "Be careful, don't let yourself be heard saying that."
The Hightower lord and his family were about to greet the king and princess when a man in armor stepped before them.
"Your Grace, Princess Rhaenyra—congratulations are in order," the man said.
"We are very honored to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold," Viserys greeted him warmly, recognizing the man. "I must say, I was most distressed to hear of Lady Rhea's tragic passing. I'm very sorry for your loss."
Ser Gerold Royce's face twisted in pain at the mention of his cousin. "Lady Rhea was a unique character. Her kind... is not soon to be seen again."
"If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce—"
His words—and the chatter of the room—halted as the doors swung open with a pompous procession, accompanied by music and drums.
Harrold announced the newcomers in a booming voice: "Lord Corlys of House Velaryon—Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark. And his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. And their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort."
Applause erupted like wildfire through the room. The Velaryons advanced with regal grace, bowing before the high table. Then Laenor stepped forward until he stood face-to-face with his soon-to-be wife.
"My betrothed," Rhaenyra smiled, extending her hand.
"My betrothed," Laenor replied, kissing her knuckles.
Applause rang out again before the guests began taking their seats.
Then, an unexpected guest appeared—Daemon Targaryen, striding through the throne room with confidence, indifferent to the varied looks sent his way.
Viserys regarded his brother as if he'd tasted something foul, not expecting him to appear so soon before his sight again. Rhaenyra's eyes shone as she watched her uncle, the man who'd taken her purity, her hand drifting softly to her belly.
Daemon stood beside the high table, smiling at Viserys and Rhaenyra. The king stared at him silently for a moment before gesturing for a servant to bring a chair. Daemon smirked at his brother and took his seat at the far right end of the table, beside the Hand of the King, Lyonel Strong.
Once the room settled, Viserys scratched his cheek, looked around, and then wore a wide smile. "Okay," he murmured.
"Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning."
"We honor the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon—reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons."
"With House Targaryen and H—"
Viserys's speech faltered as his gaze snapped to the throne room's entrance. There, in the open doors, stood his wife, Alicent, dressed entirely in green. The guests, noticing the king's pause, turned to see the queen descending the stairs, her chin held high amid the silence. Behind her stood Criston Cole, her now Queensguard.
Rhaenyra's expression darkened slightly at the sight.
Alicent lifted the front of her dress as she walked toward the high table.
Some guests murmured among themselves as the queen advanced. Harwin Strong whispered to his brother Larys: "The King will not be happy. Right in the midst of his speech."
Larys, instead of replying, asked, "The beacon on the Hightower—do you know what color it glows when Oldtown calls its banners to war?"
"Green," Harwin answered confidently.
Larys nodded, a smile playing on his lips. He looked intrigued, amused—even expectant—as his eyes lingered on Alicent.
Alicent reached her seat beside Viserys and turned to Rhaenyra. "Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you," she said, her tone lacking genuine warmth. She kissed Viserys's cheek with a stoic expression before facing the guests.
Rhaenyra remained silent, puzzled by Alicent's demeanor. Viserys, too, was at a loss for words. He addressed the room: "Please, be seated."
As order resumed, he cleared his throat and glanced at his Hand. "Where was I?"
"The joining of the two houses, Your Grace."
"Ah, yes." He cleared his throat again. "With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros."
The crowd applauded and cheered.
"And after tonight's small affair..." Viserys smiled.
The guests laughed again.
"Seven days of tournament and feasting."
The applause grew louder.
"And at the end of it all... a royal wedding... between my daughter, my heir... your future queen... and Ser Laenor Velaryon, heir to Driftmark."
After the king finished, the crowd applauded one last time before drums and music filled the hall. The betrothed pair walked to the center and began to dance.
"I was never much of a dancer," Rhaenyra smiled at Laenor.
"It's not much different from combat."
"Hm. I shall hope for a different outcome."
....
As the festivities progressed, Daemon watched his niece dance, his eyes gleaming with interest—despite his brother's murderous glare. His gaze then shifted to Laena Velaryon, Corlys's daughter, at the other far end of the table, who was also looking at him with a shy smile.
At one point, Laena stood, exchanged a look with Daemon, and wove through the dancing crowd. Daemon followed.
He grinned as he danced with her. "Has anyone ever told you you're nearly as pretty as your brother?"
"Well, you flatter me, my Prince," Laena smiled softly. "I was sorry to hear about your lady wife."
"Don't be. I wasn't." He shrugged. "My lady was never very kind to me."
"Ah... what a strange occurrence." Laena eyed him skeptically. "A Targaryen prince, a dashing knight, and a dragonrider. You seem to be every young maiden's dream."
"That's only because you don't know me yet."
"You said... yet," Laena bit her lower lip suggestively.
The music shifted in rhythm, and partners changed. Daemon left Laena and approached Rhaenyra. "May I, Ser Harwin?"
"Of course, my Prince."
Daemon and Rhaenyra moved to the center of the dance floor.
"Is this what you want?" Daemon asked in High Valyrian.
"I was not aware that what I wanted mattered to you," Rhaenyra sneered.
"This isn't for you. Laenor is a good man and a fine knight, but he will bore you senseless."
"Marriage is only a political arrangement, I hear." She scoffed. "Who was the one who said that before running away?"
"You know I had no choice. Besides, mine was recently dissolved."
"So take me, then. Now you have a chance. Has this not been your purpose? I am not yet married." Hope flickered in her eyes. "But the hours pass swiftly."
"You are surely armed—cut through my father's Kingsguard. Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife. For us... and for our child." She pressed his hand to her belly. "Can you feel it?"
Daemon stood speechless, his eyes wide. After a while, without a word, he removed his hand from her soft belly as he turned and left.
"Are you running away, uncle? Don't you want us?" she called after him.
Daemon didn't look back.
"Damn you," she cursed, watching him go. "I don't need you. Nor him."
The feast continued without further incident.
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The Targaryens and Velaryons stood before the High Septon, who was about to marry Rhaenyra and Laenor.
"The love of the Seven is holy and eternal. The source of life and love."
"We stand here tonight in thanks and praise to join two souls as one."
"Father... Mother... Warrior... Smith... Maiden... Crone... Stranger."
"Hear now their vows."
"I am yours, and you are mine. Whatever may come," Rhaenyra said, her voice tinged with sadness—for herself, for her child, abandoned by Daemon without a second thought.
Laenor tried to cheer her, smiling as he repeated, "I am yours, and you are mine. Whatever may come."
"Here, in the presence of gods and men, I proclaim... Laenor of House Velaryon and Rhaenyra of House Targaryen... to be man and wife."
"One flesh... one heart... one soul... now and forever."