[83] A Dragon’s Wedding

Chapter 83: A Dragon's Wedding

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Morning light spilled into my chambers, drenching the stone walls in gold. Beyond the balcony, King’s Landing was already stirring with life. Bells chimed across distant sept towers, mingling with the low hum of thousands of voices. An early breeze carried hints of roasted chestnuts and hot pies, and somewhere far below, a street minstrel’s lute plucked out a cheerful tune for passing smallfolk.

I stood on the balcony without a shirt, staring down at King’s Landing buzzing below like some kicked anthill.

Black and red Targaryen banners snapped in the wind beside the golden rose of House Tyrell and the grey direwolf of House Stark. I couldn’t help but smile. From begging in Pentos to this—arranging a double wedding that would tie two great houses straight to my throne.

It felt… good.

My memories as Viserys were very vivid now, so this victory felt much sweeter.

Down in the courtyard, workers rushed to hang fresh Targaryen banners over old Lannister ones, their red and gold clashing in vibrant layers. Guards in gleaming black armor paced every walkway. Even the pigeons seemed bolder, fluttering along the skies in search of stray crumbs from the wedding preparations.

A breeze brought the smell of fresh bread and excitement. Crowds lined the streets, their voices rising like waves against the Red Keep’s walls. They’d never seen anything like it—probably not since Aegon the Conqueror.

“Your Grace.” Kinvara’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. She had swept inside my bedroom wearing an ornate red-and-gold robe, her ruby necklace pulsing with that inner glow. “I trust you slept well. You’ll need all your strength for today's festivities, after all. Speaking of which, everything is ready for the ceremony.”

“Strength enough to carry two brides, you mean?” I asked with a smile, moving away from watching the city.

“I wonder if even dragons have stamina for such an arrangement. It has been a while since I comforted you, so memories are hazy on that subject. If the ceremony didn’t demand both of our presence, I might volunteer to test your... spiritual fortitude.”

I walked toward her and pulled her by the waist. Her soft waist pushed into my grip through the fabric of her clothes. “Don’t tempt me, Priestess. I might just delay the marriage for a few hours just to take you to your heaven.”

She giggled, but her eyes never left mine. “I’m afraid that would be unwise, Your Grace. The people say you’re insulting the Faith by letting me officiate—me, a red priestess. It would be outrageous to delay it on top of that.”

Her voice was warm and sultry as if she wanted me to delay it.

“The Faith bowed to Aegon the Conqueror,” I said, releasing her and grabbing a black silk shirt from my bed. “They must do the same for me. Like you have. If they don’t, I might change my mind about letting The Seven coexist with your Faith of Red. I’ll eliminate them all, and just keep you, who knows?”

I would not.

That’d be unwise.

Kinvara was too smart of a woman to allow her full religious control of this continent. I enjoyed her company, but I realized her threat all the same.

“Who knows, indeed… Regardless, some devout lords aren’t comfortable,” she said, following my movements. “Lord Tarly’s especially grumbly.”

I laughed. “They’ll deal. They’ll remember real power once Viserion’s flying overhead.”

The door opened, and Ros stepped in like a shadow. “Your Grace,” she said with a small bow, her eyes sharp. “The nobles are talking. They think two wives and a Red Priestess are too much all at once. Could stir trouble after today.”

I took a look at her—ogling her beautiful figure—while wondering about her words. “Today? Sure, increase the guards. Can’t take any risk. As for whatever comes after the marriage, it doesn’t worry me,” I said, as she moved closer to button my doublet. Gold dragons stitched along the front glinted in the morning sun. “Once they’re my wives, any protest is treason, plain and simple.”

I could already imagine it—Margaery and Sansa trying to outfox each other for the queen’s crown.

I was curious how Sansa would deal with that snake, Margaery. She wasn’t as jaded as she would have been if I had let all her torture unfold as canon. Let them. That’d keep them busy with each other instead of questioning me.

“By the way, about Lord Baelish…” Ros started, fidgeting with my collar. “He saw the poison coming and fled the city.”

“Pity,” I said. I had expected to eliminate him quietly since I didn’t have any more use for him, but he was a smart bastard. “I think I know where he’ll be, don’t worry I’ll pay him a visit later on.”

“I see…” Ros said, raising her head back to look into my eyes. Her eyes held… odd emotions that even I failed to understand. A hopeless romantic who’d thought a sweet, lovely marriage was possible between her and me—only for her to prepare my dress for my marriage with two noble ladies. I wonder how she felt.

“Your carriage is ready, Your Grace,” Kinvara said, staring down the window, and then moving toward the door to hold it open.

“Good,” I said and pulled Ros closer to kiss her on the forehead. She blinked, her cheeks going red, as a smile bloomed on her face. She cleared her throat, trying to hide it, but I shook my head.

“Don’t be like that,” I told her. “I’ll see you later.”

She stared at me, and let her smile return as she nodded.

I headed through the corridors, guards snapping to attention. In the courtyard, my personal carriage stood waiting—black with gold trim, pulled by four white horses. Meanwhile, my brides must be traveling separately.

The roar of the crowd got louder once I settled inside. Through the window, I saw smallfolk pressed against the guards, all craning to catch sight of their king.

My carriage rolled past rows of cheering townsfolk and vendors hawking ribbons dyed red for Targaryen luck. Some children ran alongside, laughing until the guards shooed them off.

Every face I saw—be it an old cloth merchant or a young baker’s apprentice—was lit with curiosity and maybe a glimmer of hope that this day would be etched into the city’s history.

The wheel had turned, and I traveled toward the start line to stabilize this realm for the millennia to come.

****

Carriage wheels clattered over the cobblestones as we neared the Dragonpit. The special marriage ceremony won’t be held in the sept, but rather in the courtyard of Viserion’s new home.

That ancient building had housed dragons for centuries and then stood empty—until my arrival. It was the place where Targaryen dragons rested. As I’d promised Viserion, I’d let her fly free after taking the realm, and I lived by it. She flew the skies whenever she wanted, and rested in the pit when she was tired or hungry.

Through the window, I spotted Viserion’s golden shape sprawled atop the dome, scales gleaming in the sun.

Banners snapped in the wind. Targaryen’s three-headed dragon, Tyrell’s golden rose, and Stark’s grey direwolf. I liked how they looked together—three big houses joined under my rule. The rest of the High Lords must be shaking in their boots.

Margaery’s carriage arrived first, a fancy green-and-gold showpiece. She stepped out looking like a spring blossom, her gown probably worth more than feeding half the city for a month.

“So beautiful...”

“Look at her dress!”

“The Reach’s finest...”

The crowd’s chatter carried to my ears. Margaery glided to her place, every move timed to grab attention. She was good at this.

One of the Tyrell cousins hugged her arm and said, “You outshine even the sun, cousin.”

Margaery let out a soft laugh. “Let’s hope our dragon king notices too. Now careful, I’d prefer only he wrinkles my dress.”

Sansa’s simpler carriage followed. She wore grey with touches of black and red—smart, showing Stark loyalty and a nod to Targaryen. She was quieter but still impressive.

“A prime Northern beauty.”

“Ice and fire mixed...”

“The wolf princess!”

I watched them from inside my carriage as I pulled up last. The moment I stepped out, the noise died instantly. Everyone turned to me—lords and peasants alike. That was power, no question, and it felt good to command it with my mere presence.

Both brides waited at the stairs. Margaery was all poise, Sansa calmer but not any less proud. Two totally different women, each lovely in her own way. The coming year would be entertaining as they vied for the queen’s crown.

Sansa curtsied first. “Your Grace,” she said softly. “I hope the ceremony pleases you... I... want to make you proud today.”

“Formal talk from my little wolf,” I teased, noticing her blush at the possessive nickname. “I thought you’d come to visit me before the fortnight, turns out you didn’t.”

“I… was shy. I apologize,” she said, lowering her face.

Margaery’s curtsy was perfectly measured. “Your Grace,” she said, voice bright as summer. “What a grand day for a dragon to spread its wings. Though I wonder if even our—uh, your stunning Viserion can outshine all this?”

I snorted. “Watch that flattery, my rose. Dragons aren’t big on sweet words, she might come to eat you.”

She flashed a daring smile. “I’m sure she won’t dare as long as I please you…” she said lightly, making a nearby septa gasp.

Robb Stark stood with his northern men, a small smile on his face. Lord Umber and Lord Karstark at his sides looked happy as well. They weren’t thrilled when they accepted this marriage deal, but since this was a special day, nobody looked stiff.

“Your Grace!” boomed Mace Tyrell, waddling over with forced cheer, still in mourning but trying to be festive. “What a blessed day! So wonderful! You look great.”

He stopped as Kinvara stepped up to the altar, draped in scarlet robes. She carried the symbol of R’hllor instead of a Seven-pointed star, and the crowd rippled with whispers.

“A foreign priestess officiating?”

“What about the Old Gods or the Seven?”

“This is so strange… the rumors were true.”

I could taste their tension, and I quite liked it. I took position, ready for a ceremony that would chain these two women to me and tie their Houses to my rule.

A few minutes later, a brazier’s flames danced in front of me, sending flickering light across the crowd. Kinvara stood behind it, arms lifted, her voice ringing clear.

“Lord of Light, watch us! Three flames become one, as the dragon’s blood binds these souls!” The fire leaped higher with each phrase. Overhead, Viserion soared, blotting out the sun for a moment as she roared, a perfect dramatic cue.

I felt Margaery and Sansa tense on either side. Margaery looked thrilled by the spectacle, Sansa more rigid but set on getting through it with her head high. That contrast amused me. I didn’t focus on them for long. I observed their Houses, instead.

Let them see—northerners, Reachmen, and everyone else—how a Targaryen rules under “God’s” command, claiming two brides as he pleases. This wasn’t just a wedding. It was a statement of who truly held the realm’s reins for such a thing hadn’t happened in a long, long time.

“Your Grace,” Kinvara said, drawing me back. “Before R’hllor’s sacred flame, do you pledge to take these two women under your dragon’s blood?”

“I do,” I said, letting my voice roll over the gathering. “By fire and blood, I claim them both beneath Targaryen rule.”

She turned to Margaery. “Do you, Margaery of House Tyrell, bind yourself to this union, to the flames of Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm?”

Margaery’s smile shone like a summer day. “I do, by… R’hllor’s light. May the rose and dragon bloom together, forever.”

Then she looked at Sansa. “Do you, Sansa of House Stark, bind yourself to this union, to the flames of Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm?”

Sansa’s answer was softer. “I do, under the eyes of gods old and new... and R’hllor’s fire. May we be together, forever.”

“Wonderful,” Kinvara smiled, and the crowd cheered like a wave of tsunami.

That proceeded with me giving each of them a ring—black diamonds and tiny rubies set in the Targaryen sigil. As I slid them onto their fingers, I caught Margaery’s sidelong glance at Sansa—assessing her competition—while Sansa stared at the ring in a mix of awe and worry.

We followed with the cloaking next. Margaery’s green silk draping over Sansa’s shoulders, and Stark grey settling over Margaery’s. I stood in black Targaryen garb, uniting three Houses in one scene.

“I pray this union brings peace. We don’t have to be enemies.” Sansa said softly, her voice low enough that only I and Margeary heard it.

Margaery revealed a polite but firm smile. “Peace, yes… though I hope you’re prepared for the year ahead, Lady Stark. Competition can be so... invigorating.”

“Now,” Kinvara said, clapping her hands, “show your bravery to R’hllor’s flame.”

Margaery held out her hand above the brazier first, biting back a flinch. Sansa hesitated but then thrust her hand out, earning soft approval from the northern crowd. I placed my hand, and at this distance, I barely felt anything. My Fire Resistance skill helped.

“By R’hllor’s power,” Kinvara announced, “I declare you wed in the eyes of the Lord of Light and the entire realm!”

Reactions crashed like a storm—cheers, hesitant applause, a handful of stony faces. Robb Stark clapped with a small smile, while his wife clapped louder. His mother was glaring at me, though...

Up above, Viserion dived lower, her scales flashing in the sun as she blew a burst of flame that lit the dais in fiery orange. Heat slammed over us. I felt the brides’ hands tighten on my arms.

“The dragon approves,” I told them, getting some good-natured laughter from the crowd.

I looked back and forth between Margaery, who looked as if she’d won, and Sansa, who seemed relieved it was finished. Then I remembered Aegon, who had two wives and united seven kingdoms.

I intended to achieve more than just that.

Starting with my sister.

It’d been a long year.

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Author Note: Who do you guys like more, Sansa or Margaery?