Wedding

Aerion stood on the dais of the Grand Sept, sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows in shafts of vibrant colour—reds, purples, and golds casting an almost ethereal glow across the cold stone. 

The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of incense and oils. Around him, lords and ladies stood draped in their finest silks, eyes fixed on him with eager curiosity, waiting to see what this marriage would truly mean for the realm.

The rich black silk of Aerion's clothes clung to him, embroidered with crimson and violet. A red ribbon, Rhaenyras favour from years passed, was wrapped gently around his sword hilt. 

A soft creak cut through the silence, and Aerion's gaze snapped to the main doors. His breath stilled as Viserys walked beside her.

Rhaenyra. 

She was radiant, her platinum hair adorned with rubies that shimmered like fire, each step she took drawing her closer, her white dress a contrast to the turmoil that stirred within him.

As she approached, Aerion's heartbeat quickened. He shifted slightly on his feet, the familiar rush of her presence overwhelming everything else. 

His eyes locked onto hers, lilac meeting dark purple, and the world around them blurred, the whispers of the sept, the murmurs of nobles, all faded into a distant hum.

The statues of the Seven loomed over them. The Warrior glared with stern resolve, while The Mother, softer, seemed to gaze down with a blessing. The gods watched. So did the realm. But all Aerion could see was her.

"Holy Mother, we stand here tonight in thanks and praise to join two souls, as one" The High Septon announced to the hall at large.

The words reverberated through the hall, but it was her presence—her warmth—that echoed louder in his chest.

"Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, hear now, their vows." The High Septon announced loudly, his words echoing through the hall.

His hands clasped in front of him, trembled faintly despite the confidence he tried to project. He locked eyes with her, and for a moment, there was nothing else—no lords, no gods, just the two of them. 

"I am yours," his voice, though soft, carried through the hall. "You are mine," he continued, each word heavy with emotion. "Whatever may come."

His heart pounded in his chest as Rhaenyra met his gaze, her own voice steady, but her eyes betraying the same emotions stirring within. 

"I am yours, you are mine," she repeated, her voice a quiet promise. "Whatever may come."

In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside, the expectations, the politics—everything faded as their vows hung between them like a tether. 

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers.

Their kiss wasn't just formality, it was raw, intimate and a promise that they would stand together, whatever may come. 

The High Septon's proclamation felt distant, almost unreal, as if spoken from another world. "Here, in the eyes of Gods and Men, I proclaim Aerion of House Brightflame, and Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, to be man and wife"

The hall erupted in polite applause, murmurs and whispers filling the hall as the realm watched, yet all Aerion could feel was her. 

—-

The hall echoed with loud, joyous laughter, the sound filling the space like the crackle of a warm fire. Aerion sat with a grin on his face, his eyes wandering across the room, taking in the revelry. 

The clinking of goblets, the rich smells of roasted meats and spiced wine, the glow of candlelight reflecting off golden goblets—all of it swirled together in a heady mix of celebration.

To his right, at the very centre of the high table, sat Rhaenyra, her radiant smile matching the glimmer of the rubies in her hair. To her right was King Viserys, his face flushed with wine. 

The Queen, sat beside the King though smiling, seemed more reserved, her green eyes darting now and then toward Rhaenyra and Aerion with a faint trace of unease.

At the far end of the table, Daemon Targaryen lounged in his seat, his smirk as sharp as his reputation, eyes glinting as he eyed the feast, his gaze occasionally flicking to Rhaenyra and Aerion. 

On Aerion's left, his Uncle Garth Bracken sat, his expression warm and proud. Beside Garth sat Lord Bracken, the two men having swapped seats so Aerion could speak more easily with his uncle.

"So, whose favour was it you wore at that first jousting tourney?" Garth asked quietly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement as he eyed his nephew. "Was it hers?" His eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Aerion leaned back in his chair, offering only a small, knowing grin. That was answer enough for Garth, who shook his head in disbelief, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"So, you've always had her eye," Garth laughed softly, resuming his meal, still shaking his head.

"She's always had mine" Aerion replied with ease, sipping his wine. As the noise of the festivities swirled around him, his gaze found Rhaenyra—his wife.

The thought almost made him laugh. He was married, not only that, but to the Crown Princess. As Rhaenyra turned her head, their eyes met, and for a moment, he was lost in the warmth of her smile. His gaze lingered, transfixed by her presence.

His reverie shattered when measured footsteps approached the high table, drawing his attention away from her. A man wearing a cloak of raven feathers stepped forward, his dark eyes locking onto Aerion's with a barely concealed hostility.

Lord Blackwood.

"I must say, congratulations, Prince Aerion," the man said, his tone even, but his eyes revealed a different story.

"Thank you, Lord Blackwood," Aerion replied, his voice steady, though his uncle Garth and Lord Bracken watched the exchange with sharp, narrowed gazes.

Lord Blackwood lingered a moment longer, his eyes burning into Aerion's. "Of course, now…I'm afraid I have some dark news." His voice dropped slightly, heavy with implication.

Aerion's grip tightened around his cup, bracing himself as confusion ran through him. 

"We've found the body of Garon Blackwood" The Lord said heavily, as his eyes dropped to the table. Aerions grip around the goblet tightened further as his knuckles whitened.

Garon Blackwood.

The man he'd scarred at his first tourney, the man he had killed at Oldstones. The man whose body was dumped in the moat of the destroyed castle, but clearly they somehow found him. 

Or was this a trick? Why was Lord Blackwood even asking him about it…unless he had a suspicion. 

"Garon?" Aerion asked, his voice steady, not betraying his unease as he shifted in his seat. 

"Yes, he disappeared just over two years ago" Lord Blackwood said "Though, I knew you two were familiar with one another, I just thought I'd let you know about his passing Prince Aerion" he said as he bowed his head, turning on his heel as he made his way back to the mingling lords and ladies. 

Aerion's gaze narrowed slightly on the man's back; they both knew he and Garon had never been familiar. The Blackwood had hated him, and rightfully so. His eyes flicked to Rhaenyra, who had been watching the interaction intently. Now, though, she regarded him with curiosity.

He shrugged, hiding his unease behind a sip of the sweet, expensive wine. As he turned his attention back to Lord Blackwood, he noticed the man had seamlessly vanished into the crowd.

The reminder of Garon made Aerion click his tongue in frustration as he shifted in his chair. His gaze returned to Rhaenyra, who was now engaged in quiet conversation with Viserys.

But the memory lingered—the vision. It had been a whole moon, yet he couldn't shake the image from his mind. Her mangled body sprawled across the ground, her arm—He took another sip of the wine, as if hoping to drown the thought.

He sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. His dreams as of late had been…intense. Seemingly random scenes—a forest fire, the ruins of a crumbling castle.

It all pointed to something, he knew it did.

His eyes flicked back to Rhaenyra, a smile lighting up her face as she bit into a piece of lemon cake. Aerion clenched his jaw, anxiety knotting in his stomach. He could only hope—pray—that whatever these dreams foretold did not lead to her death.

As the laughter and revelry continued around them, Aerion's mind remained clouded with unease, the spectre of Garon Blackwood looming in his thoughts.

Yet, as the night wore on and the festivities faded into the background, he felt Rhaenyra's presence draw him in like a moth to flame.

Their eyes met once more, and he saw her gaze soften, filled with warmth. The noise of the hall dulled, the laughter fading into a distant echo. As the final toasts were made, Aerion leaned over. 

"Are you ready to retire, Princess?" He asked quietly.

Rhaenyra nodded, her smile mischievous as she rose from her seat, taking his hand in hers. Together, they slipped away from the noise of the celebration, making their way toward the private chambers prepared for them.

Once inside, the door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them away from the prying eyes of the court.

The air felt charged, electric with anticipation. Aerion stepped closer, his heart pounding as he took in the sight of Rhaenyra—her platinum hair, her lilac eyes alight in excitement.

Without thinking, he reached for her, pulling her against him, their lips crashing together in a fervent kiss. They stumbled toward the bed, and he fell atop her, a tangle of limbs and laughter as she ran her fingers through his hair.

The world outside faded entirely as they surrendered to the moment.

—-

I felt this chapter was very underwhelming sorry, but I honestly just couldn't get my mind going here so I forced it. 

Anyway, timeskip coming up!