Chapter 31: Last Day of the Single Man

I stood in my quarters, the quarters that were mine and mine alone, for the very last time. At least, the last time that they would be mine. A married couple could hardly be expected to live in what had been a child's quarters. 

It was for the best, really, but I had gotten rather attached to my room. It was cramped, much of the floor space taken up by a bed and a series of massive chests that contained most of my worldly belongings, but it was still my room.

Servants would soon arrive to dress me for my wedding, and there were things that had to be done before then. Well, one thing.

A sheaf of papers sat on the desk before me, each page covered in meticulous notes in Common Tongue of Westeros. Further down the stack, I knew, were pages filled with the more esoteric scrawling of Old Valyria. Jagged runes, each clause in each sentence formed of linked symbols. It was a language that was easier to speak than to write.

This stack of scrawlings was my heresy.

A theogony that linked the many gods of Westeros into one pantheon, each character a descendant of the Fourteen of Old Valyrian. Each subservient to the eldest children of the eldest gods of the Fourteen: The Valyrians.

Its acceptance would require the deception of millions for what I had considered the benefit of my family. if people accepted it, it would draw generations into religious warfare that would span a continent. To keep it would invite discovery, would invite questions that would sunder my marriage. Its completion would require deceiving the woman who was to be my wife, to betray what had brought us together. To betray all I had done to help my sisters.

The fires of the hearth, long reduced to mere embers, flared up once again as new fuel was added to it. I stared at the blackening pages as the flames took to the dry paper, the edges curling almost immediately. In mere seconds, I knew, the pages furthest down would have been reduced to ash, crumbling to become one with the coals. The entire stack quickly followed suit, and I calmly witnessed the destruction of what I had once foolishly considered would be my greatest work.

When the servants arrived, I was still staring at the smoldering remnants of the fire.

I pushed all thoughts of the years of wasted effort to the side as I was dressed for my big day.

Mother and Father had been the ones to plan the wedding. Granted, they had planned three royal weddings before this one, not counting their own first secret wedding on Dragonstone, so they had plenty of experience. From the guest list to the seating arrangements to the courses, they had decided everything, though I had suggested some reputable singers. Naturally, this had also meant that they had decided on my outfit.

As it turned out, the white scabbard for my sword had just been the beginning.

White hose, white boots, white doublet, all was the same immaculate white that would show off every spill and stain. It was the kind of outfit that would either highlight my clumsiness or my grace. When I had first seen the servants bring forth the outfit, I had been concerned about the whole affair seeming bland and colorless.

Luckily, that concern had faded as soon as I saw the front of the doublet. Small studs shaped like dragons lined it in rows, alternating between coal-black and sky-blue so that each was surrounded by four of each color. Blue and black, Dreamfyre and the Cannibal.

Oh, I liked that.

Speaking of which, the two dragons were getting along slightly better. Well, the Cannibal stopped growling at Dreamfyre when she ate outside of his lair, which was progress.

My new sword belt was tied around my waist, the weapon on clear display, as a cape was draped across my shoulders. Made of black silk, it contrasted vividly with the rest of my wardrobe. 

No doubt the three-headed dragon of my house was proudly on display in vivid red on the back. It was held in place with a silver clasp displaying two dragons circling one another, one black and one blue. A second clasp was pressed into my hands, identical to the one that held my cape in place.

The symbolism was a bit heavy-handed for my liking, but sometimes subtlety was lost on even the most well-educated audience.

One of the servants hefted a full-length mirror into place, and I had to admit I looked like… something. The outfit was a bit pale, emphasizing what little color was present. Color in the dragons, in my silver-gold hair, in my dark purple eyes. Eyes that seemed all the more intense given the lack of other purples in my pale outfit.

But I looked good.

"You have my thanks," I told the servants. I was most certainly capable of getting dressed on my own, but it never hurt to be appreciative. Besides, the help probably kept my dress free of creases and wrinkles. And I did like looking good.

The servants made deferential noises, none of them daring to meet my eyes. It was disappointing, really. Well, somewhat. A deferential lower class made rebellions slightly less common, which was a blessing, but it did deprive the upper classes of valuable advisors. And it meant the nobles did not have much of a check on their ambition beyond their own vassals.

With my cape fluttering behind me, I made to leave my apartments for the last time as a bachelor. One of my father's knights fell in by my side, Ser Ryam if his silhouette was any indication, as I made my way to the castle sept.

It was there that I would wait for the ceremony to begin.

I knew the path to the sept by heart. Were it not for the existence of a spike-filled moat, I would have trusted my ability to find my way there blindfolded. Thanks to Maegor's rampant madness, however, I relied on my eyes to guide me there.

A broad hallway stretched from the center of the keep towards the Great Hall. Tapestries covered the walls, detailing the great accomplishments of House Targaryen stretching back to before the Doom of Valyria. From the creation of the Freehold to the fall of Old Ghis to the destruction of Houses Gardener and Hoare, my family's glory was front and center.

From the Great Hall, a smaller side passage brought us to one of the baileys. A carefully manicured garden, filled with no shortage of flowers from across the Seven Kingdoms, filled this bailey, with a rainbow of roses leading the way to castle sept.

Inside… inside it was far more beautiful than it had been in the meager light of dawn, the voices of the choir filling the air with heartfelt praises of the Seven Who Are One.

Each statue of the Seven, now fully illuminated and deprived of their mysterious and unknowable tinge, wore a garland of many-colored flowers around their necks. Rainbows of ribbons decorated the walls and the seats that filled the sept itself. And above my head hung a massive crystal, the daylight hitting it through the high windows and filling the interior with yet more rainbows.

If nothing else, this wedding would more than pay homage to the Seven.

Down the aisle I walked, ignoring the packed rows of seats and alone but for my white shadow, towards the figure standing in front of the Father, facing the door. Simultaneously Hand of the King, Septon, and quite possibly the leading non-Targaryen expert on the topic of dragons, Barth.

I barely knew anything of the man beyond those vague descriptors. Perhaps a bit surprising, given just how much time and effort I had invested in the religion for which he was a priest. The most powerful priest, really, in terms of temporal power, given that he was the Hand of the King.

Then again, he was my father's man first and foremost. Not one of my mentors. Not one of my teachers. I was no councilor to the king, why would I be close to the most prominent councilor of them all?

"Your Grace," the septon's voice was soft, in stark contrast to his rough lowborn features. His robes were plain, lacking the cloth-of-gold and cloth-of-silver that was frighteningly common with so many of his less humble colleagues but still made of fine white wool. But as was so often the case, it was not what robes a man wore that mattered so much as how he wore them. "I trust you are ready?"

"Can a man ever be ready for his own wedding?" I asked, my apprehension taking that moment to make itself felt. A shaking that I could not suppress began to take hold inside, but my hands were still. My body was as still as it always did, but my voice, that shook. My voice trembled like the boy of five and ten that I was.

"That is not a question I can answer, Your Grace," Barth answered easily, offering me a bundle of black wool, though I could make out some red markings on its front. A wedding cloak, I knew. "Keep your Faith and all will be well."

Well, I really should have seen that one coming.

I turned from the septon to face the assembled guests. The front row was, unsurprisingly, taken up by my family. To the right of the aisle were my younger sisters. Daella had a broad smile on her face, the very picture of innocent joy. Saera, sadly, looked far less interested, her focus largely drawn to the choir. Viserra, still so young, looked even more bored than Saera. Baelon, to my surprise, had chosen to sit with the younger children, his smile even broader than Daella's.

Across the aisle sat Alyssa, carrying little Viserys. The new mother looked almost as happy as her husband, though the chubby babe in her arms had thankfully dozed off. I had no desire to have a crying child interrupt a wedding.

Mother, seated immediately next to Alyssa, might not have been as outwardly joyous as her children, but the signs were there. The wrinkles around her eyes were deeper than usual, her smile was just a touch broader than the one she showed at court, and there was a slight dampness to her eyes.

She may well have been happier than the rest of my family, but a lifetime at court had taught her well.

Luckily, she had left her newest child with the nursemaids. That was likely for the best. Little Aelys was still fragile, though the Grand Maester said he was expected to grow stronger in the coming weeks. Who knew that publicly announcing that the fragile babe was named after the most beloved queen in the history of the Seven Kingdoms would motivate the Grand Maester to do his job properly?

There were countless other faces in the crowd that I recognized. Lord and Lady Tyrell, seated in the second row with the rest of the Small Council. Corlys Velaryon, seated closer to the front than most of the rest of the court, no doubt a result of his higher status, while my not yet knighted friends were near the back.

Smiles were everywhere I looked, from childish Daella to amused yet encouraging Alyssa to clearly exciting Corlys. It was a day of celebration and my friends and loved ones were there to celebrate at my side. They cared for me, not simply for hedonism or for self-advancement, but because they were happy for me.

The nervous tension inside me boiled away, replaced by satisfaction. This- this was what victory felt like. It was success and seeing people happy for your success without a hint of envy to be seen.

It was a feeling that persisted until Maegelle walked into the sept.

The light shifted as the doorway was occupied by a new combination of figures, revealing four figures. One was my father, His Grace King Jaehaerys, the first of his name, dressed in his finest court dress, proudly displaying the colors of his house. 

With his crown of seven-colored stones on his brow and Blackfyre at his side, he looked every inch the fusion of diplomat and warrior that he wished the realm to know him as, greatly overshadowing the white-armored guards that stood next to him and the person next to him.

But even he paled in comparison to the woman at his side.

Maegelle Targaryen wore the white dress that society expected her to wear, but to call it a mere dress would have been a gross insult. Brilliant white from the hem to the collar, silver thread had been used to add small three-headed dragons to the dress, flashing brilliantly as the light hit them. Combined with her silver-gold hair and pale violet eyes, she seemed a ghost among men, pale and ephemeral.

That image was spoiled slightly by the black cloak around her shoulders. The maiden's cloak, symbolizing her father's protection. Our father's protection. A cloak identical to one I held in my own hands.

Our father delivered Maegelle to the shrine, removing the cloak from her shoulders with the practiced ease of a man who had done this before. He folded up the cloak gently, as though it were a treasured relic of a long-gone age, offering us a gentle smile. Not his courtly smile, though. This time, his smile hid nothing.

Our father was happy. Unashamedly happy.

And Maegelle?

All the smiles that filled the sept paled before her own.

I could work with this, I realized, and would gladly do so.

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And that's the wedding done. I am... a bit apprehensive about not showing the full ceremony and feast afterwards, since that would be a great way of not only getting some more worldbuilding done but also giving the supporting cast more time to shine. But that would have been a boring 2k words to write and more importantly to read.

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Hey guys I really need you to throw some power stones to elevate the ranking Since this is a new story :)

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