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114: The Son of Ice and Fire, The Wedding
🕑 Added 2025-03-21 19:55:03 +0000 UTCViserys looked at the stack of parchment before him and let out a long, tired sigh.
He was the Hand of the King.
It was supposed to be for a few monthsâa temporary post, a favor for his nephew.
Those few months had turned into two years.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples, then picked up the first report in the pile.
âGrain yields in the Riverlands continue to exceed projections. Ser Ramsey attributes this to the new irrigation methods promoted by the royal decreeâŠâ
Good. That was something, at least.
The next parchment was⊠considerably less pleasant.
âIncident in Silverhill, Westerlands. A group of villagers discovered performing strange rites beneath an abandoned sept. Symbols consistent with Other-worship, as described in earlier Ravenâs Tower reportsâŠâ
Viserys frowned and picked up another document, only to realize it was a continuation of the same report. The same cult.
âGods,â he muttered under his breath.
This was the fourth such report, which meant it was no coincidence.
He set the parchment down, noticing the faint trembling in his hands. Whether from exhaustion or dread, he wasnât sure.
Next came a letter from Highgarden. The steward, left in charge since the castle came under royal administration, was complaining about unruly servants, possible sabotage, and suspicions of seditious talk among the household staff. There were also more reports of this Other-worship.
âOh. Itâs the same bloody thing,â Viserys muttered. âThe cult again. Same signs, same rhetoric.â
With a frustrated grunt, he shoved the parchment aside and stood up.
He wasnât in the mood to work anymore.
Not today. Not with the wedding tomorrow.
His sister was to be married.
She was marrying an already-married man, becoming the Second Wife to the King.
There had been a time when that would have offended him. Insulted him, even.
But not anymore. Not when he saw how deeply Daenerys loved Maekarâand how fiercely Maekar loved her.
Viserys stepped out from his solar, the heavy oak door creaking shut behind him.
Ser Robar Royce straightened from where he leaned against the wall.
âLeaving already, my Lord Hand?â Royce asked.
âYes. I am in no mood to work. Letâs go somewhere that isnât covered in ink and sealed with a wax stamp,â Viserys replied dryly, already striding down the corridor.
Royce fell in step beside him. The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet at this hour, the late afternoon light filtering through narrow windows, casting long golden slashes across the crimson carpets and pale marble.
He made his way toward Daenerysâs chambers. As he arrived, he knocked and announced his presence.
A soft voice answered from within. âCome in.â
He pushed the door open and stepped into the warm, lively room. Inside, Daenerys sat on a cushioned bench, her silver hair loose around her shoulders. Beside her was his wife, Allyria. Nearby, Rhaenys and Margaery sat with cups of tea, laughing softly, while Maegaryâs son, little Maekar, darted across the floor, giggling as Rhaella chased him, the two-year-old boy shrieking with joy.
Viserysâs gaze lingered on the boyâon Maekar. The childâs silver-gold hair glinted in the light, his eyes bright with life. Aegonâs son. Aegon the Trueborn. In another world, the boy might have been hailed as the rightful king. And once, that thought might have filled Viserys with unease.
But now⊠after all that had happenedâafter the truth of the Others, of the Second Long Night, of the prophecies and portentsâthe fear had vanished. No longer was he concerned as Maekar was now hailed as the savior of the world. No one would challenge him now.
âBrother,â Daenerys greeted him, looking up from her seat with a soft smile.
Viserys smiled back and gave a short bow of his head. âLadies,â he greeted the room before turning his eyes back to his sister. âI came to check on you. I know how you areâalways putting too much on yourself, especially before something as grand as tomorrow.â
Daenerys rolled her eyes with a huff. âIâm not a child anymore, Viserys.â
âYouâre not,â he agreed, stepping farther into the room, âbut youâre still my little sister. That wonât change.â
âI donât know why we have to have such festivities,â said Daenerys.
Across the room, Margaery clapped her hands together lightly. âHow could you say that, Princess? Youâre marrying the King. Youâre going to be Queen! This should be the grandest event in years.â
Rhaenys smirked over her teacup. âOne of his queens.â
Maegary, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, nodded. âYes, and yet itâs already beginning to resemble the wedding of a minor lord in some distant holdfast. You canât justââ
âI can,â Daenerys cut in, her voice firmer. âAnd I will. When in a yearâs time people might be struggling to feed their children, I donât want a thousand golden roses or silk banners flown for me, wasting a large amount of food on a grand feast.â
A silence followed.
Viserys cleared his throat and walked over, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
âNo such talk,â he said gently. âLet tomorrow be about joy, Daenerys. About hope. The people need that, too.â
Daenerys looked up at him, her expression unreadable for a momentâthen she smiled.
Viserys lingered in Daenerysâs chambers a while longer. As he had predicted, the pressure of the coming ceremony eventually began to wear on her. She tried to hide it, but he knew her too well.
Good thing he was there.
Eventually, he took his leave, walking back through the Red Keepâs winding corridors accompanied by Allyria and Margaery. Little Maekar was nestled in Margaeryâs arms, his head resting against her shoulder, already half-asleep from a long day of excitement.
As they passed through a hall bathed in the red-orange light of sunset, Viserys glanced toward Margaery and asked, âIsnât your brother here? Lord Willas?â
âYes, my lord Hand,â she replied with a slight tilt of her head, bouncing Maekar gently. âHe arrived yesterday.â
Viserys nodded. âGood. Could you send word for him to meet me in my solar? Iâd like to speak with him.â
Margaery raised a brow. âIs something wrong?â
Viserys gave her a faint smile. âNo, nothing of the sort. But I believe he may be able to help me with something.â
She gave a graceful nod. âOf course, my lord. Iâll see to it.â
At the next fork, the trio parted ways. Allyria leaned in to kiss his cheek and said, âDonât be late,â before walking off with a reluctant Rhaella, the girl turning to glance at Viserys over her shoulder until Allyria gently nudged her along.
Viserys continued alone to his solar. It was quiet when he arrived, the fire crackling gently in the hearth. He poured himself a cup of wine and stood by the window, staring out at the city draped in gold and shadow.
It wasnât long before the knock came.
âEnter,â he called.
The door creaked open, and Lord Willas Tyrell stepped inside.
He wore long, flowing robes of deep green embroidered with silver vines, a cloak draped over his shoulders. His face was covered by a finely crafted mask of polished steel shaped to resemble his featuresâan idealized echo of the face he once had. The mask gave his voice a low, metallic echo.
His face had been burned during the final battle of the war. The Tyrells still possessed a massive amount of wealth even after being stripped of most of heir lands and highgarden; Willasâs elaborate attire and mask were proof of that.
âMy lord Hand,â Willas greeted, inclining his head. âYou wished to see me?â
âLord Willas,â Viserys said, motioning to the chair across from him. âPlease, sit.â
Willas moved with surprising grace despite his injuries, settling into the seat with practiced ease.
Viserys poured a second cup of wine and slid it toward him. âThereâs something strange happening in Highgardenâno, all over the Reach and the Westerlands,â he said after a moment, fixing his gaze on the masked man. âAnd I believe you may be the best man to help me make sense of it.â
.
.
.
Viserys stood waiting in the Sept of Baelor, the great domed ceiling arching high above him, sunlight filtering through the colored glass windows to bathe the marble floors in hues of gold, crimson, and sapphire. The scent of incenseâmyrrh and lavenderâhung in the air, curling in pale tendrils toward the vaulted rafters. The Sept was filled with nobles of the heartlands, all gathered to witness Maekar and Daenerysâs wedding.
Soon, Daenerys appeared. She walked gracefully toward him in a wedding gown of ivory white, embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like moonlight with every step. The dress hugged her figure before falling into a soft cascade to the floor, its train trailing behind her like mist. Draped around her shoulders was the traditional maidenâs cloak of House Targaryen, black with a red three-headed dragon.
Viserys stepped forward to meet her halfway. He offered his arm, and she took it.
âYou look beautiful,â he said quietly.
Daenerys smiled, nervous but radiant. âThank you.â
Together, they walked down the central aisle of the Sept. A choir of septas stood on either side, their voices rising in delicate harmony, singing an old hymn of the Sevenâa melody of unity, peace, and divine love.
At the altar stood Maekar, solemn and wearing the Conquerorâs crown. He wore robes of deep crimson and black, embroidered with dragons wrought in golden thread, and a sword at his sideâBlackfyreâsheathed in black leather. To his left stood Rhaenys, resplendent in her own finery.
The High Septon stood between them, holding a book of the Seven bound in silver.
Viserys guided Daenerys to the altar, then stepped aside, taking his place at her left.
The High Septon raised his voice, his tone steady and commanding, echoing through the Sept.
âIn the sight of gods and men, we gather to witness the union of two souls, joined in love and duty. Let the Seven bear witness to this bond.â
He extended his arms, invoking each aspect of the Seven:
âThe Father, to grant wisdom and judgment in ruling.
âThe Mother, to bless fertility, love, and compassion.
âThe Warrior, to protect their bodies and their realm.
âThe Maiden, to keep innocence and joy in their hearts.
âThe Smith, to strengthen their bond and forge their future.
âThe Crone, to lend them the wisdom of ages.
And the Stranger, to remind them always of deathâs presence, so they may cherish each day.â
He then began several rituals and soon turned to Viserys with a subtle nod.
Viserys stepped forward, removing Daenerysâs maidenâs cloak. Then Maekar stepped forward and placed a new cloak around her shoulders, adorned with Maekarâs own sigil: a white three-headed dragon with red eyes, encircled by weirwoods.
Viserys couldnât help but muse silently, Same house, same bloodâŠwhy do we even do the cloak swap? But he said nothing.
Maekar and Daenerys turned to face each other, eyes locked.
âWith this kiss, I pledge my love,â Maekar said, his voice low and steady, âand take you for my lady and wife.â
Daenerys smiled, her eyes shining. âWith this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.â
They leaned in and kissed. The Sept erupted into thunderous applause, cheers echoing under the great dome.
The High Septon raised his hands once more.
âLet it be known, in the sight of gods and men, that these two are now one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.â
Viserys clapped along with the rest, his hands striking together with more force than anyone elseâs. He did not know what the future heldâwar, winter, death perhapsâbut he hoped they would all survive. He hoped to see his sister happy, with children of her own playing alongside his. He hoped to see them grow up in a world where light still triumphed over the dark.
They had to survive.
They had to.
