Chapter Text
Daenerys smiles into the silvered mirror, admiring the intricate golden embroidery made by the finest dress maker in Oldtown. As nervous as she might be for her wedding day to a man she barely knows, at least she can be confident in her appearance, her silver falling down her shoulders in intricate braids and her eyes standing out in contrast to the purple silk of her dress.
Her best friend, niece, and lady-for-the-day, Rhaenys, assures her as much as she helps prepare her, pining back one final braid with a sharp jab of a golden pin. “Jon’s always been quiet, but I think you might well render him mute today, Dany.”
Rhaenys’ smile is mischievous as she pokes fun at her youngest brother. Rhaenys is the only daughters of Dany’s eldest brother; all three girls are princesses of the realm. They expected to marry great men when they were younger, giggling beneath the sheets of Rhaenys’ bed late into the night of handsome squires or daring knights who they were temporarily besotted with after seeing them in court or in the training yards. Between their whispered words were scarier thoughts, that King Rhaegar would follow the Valyrian tradition of his predecessors and marry them off to their brothers: Rhaenys to Aegon, the heir to the kingdom, and Dany to Viserys, her second brother.
In none of those conversations did Daenerys think she would marry her nephew, Jonnel Targaryen, the Prince of Summerhall.
“I only look this way because you managed to convince Rhaegar to let me come to use your seamstress.” Dany jokes back, once again admiring Rhaenys’ work on her hair. King’s Landing has been empty and lonely the last four years, ever since Rhaenys was married to Baelon Hightower’s son and heir, Dorian. Someday, Rhaenys will be Lady of Oldtown, wife of one of the richest lords in the realm. Her marriage sent a message, too, one directed at the upstart Tyrell family who had presumptuously declared their daughter Margaery “The Rose of Westeros” in an attempt to make her the future queen.
“It’s his own fault for telling us as girls that his only daughter and only sister deserved the best Westeros has to offer.” Rhaenys shrugs. “The best just happened to be in the city where I could help you plan every detail.”
Suddenly, Dany looks at Rhaenys and her lip quivers. She bites back the awkward sob threatening to spill from her mouth.
“Oh Dany, what’s wrong?” Her friend asks, more older sister than niece as she puts her arms carefully around Dany and pulls her in for a gentle hug. Dany wants to bury her face in the crook of Rhaenys’ arm, but worries about mussing her hair and carefully-done makeup. “Will I ever see you again?” She asks, feeling like a petulant child.
“Of course, why would you ever think differently?”
“Because Jon never comes to court, I’ve heard he never leaves his palace. Will he let me leave, to visit you or see my friends?” Dany blinks back her tears, feeling like a child. “I barely know him, not like I know you or Aegon.”
“Jon was a good boy and he’s turned into a wonderful man. There’s more wolf in him than dragon, but he’ll love you all the same.” Rhaenys pushes back an errant hair, tucking it into Dany’s silvery braid.
Unlike Dany, Rhaenys has met her half-brother Jon. Dany spent her first years at Dragonstone with her brother Viserys and her mother, Dowager Queen Rhaella. By the time it was time for Viserys to serve as a squire to Ser Barristan Selmy in King’s Landing, the five-year-old Jon had already been sent to foster with his mother’s family in the far reaches of the North.
“I always thought I would know my husband, at least for a little while before the wedding.” Dany smiles sadly, trying to trick herself into confidence. “I understand why Rhaegar wants to go forward with this wedding, but couldn’t it wait a year or two while we got to know each other?”
“The Stormlords are proud people.” Rhaenys says. “You know how they reacted when Lyanna eloped with my mother and father.”
“Yes.” Dany nods. Prince Jonnel was born of a politically tenuous situation, when Rhaegar and his wife, Elia Martell, together fell in love with Lyanna Stark, who was betrothed to the hot-headed Lord of Storm’s End, Robert Baratheon. Complicating matters, Rhaegar had encouraged that marriage in his pursuit of a united realm, since Robert was Dany and Rhaegar’s cousin. The three eloped to Dorne together and returned only when the stormlords, North, and Vale had marched on the capital in search of Robert’s lost bride. Dany hadn’t even been born then, her father only recently dead in the Defiance at Duskendale and she still in her mother’s belly. The servants in the Red Keep still whispered of the oddity of that battle and the resulting bargains and realm-changing that happened afterward. “But what has that to do with my marriage?”
“They felt slighted when construction began on Summerhall. Lord Tarth said it was like having a second overlord.” Rhaenys explains, her mind for details heard years ago impressive as ever. “But then they got offended all over again when Jon never left the palace or socialized with them or advocated for the Stormlands to our father. The Master of Whispers says that he’s called the Bastard Prince in some circles, because they think he’s as useless as a king’s bastard in politics.”
“But king’s bastard’s have done plenty in politics.” Dany argues, brow furrowing. Rhaenys’ loved politics, but Dany was drawn more to the history of her house in their lessons. She begins rattling off the names of the Great Bastards, who shaped the realm for years. Rhaenys laughs loudly and holds up a hand.
“Yes, but Jon isn’t. Your marriage shows that Rhaegar fully thinks of him as his own son, for all that Jon isn’t involved in politics and the kingdom, and puts in a good show of faith to the stormlords.” Glancing around, Rhaenys leans in. “And there’s been whispers of Robert asking for you to marry his son Gendry, but Father doesn’t want any of marrying into the houses of the lords paramount. It gives them ideas.”
It’s a valid claim and Rhaenys is likely to know as much, with her focus on the realm and the many couples she has connected across the nobility. When Rhaegar insisted that all the young royals take up projects to the betterment of the realm, Dany had focused on the minute management of King’s Landing and conducted research with a maester to determine what would better the lives of the city folk. But Rhaenys had asked to sit in on Small Council until she found a realm-wide project. Eventually, she settled on a two-fold project: surveying the roads of the realm to determine where they needed to be improved and match-making among the many families she met during those travels. The small council meetings gave her an insight Dany wishes she had thought to request.
Besides’ Dany’s marriage today and Rhaenys’ marriage to Dorian Hightower, the other two non-heir young royals are married to nobility, but not of the Great Houses. Viserys found a surprisingly happy marriage with Wynafryd Manderly, the future Lady of White Harbor, and Visenya, Jon’s younger full-sister, is betrothed to eventually marry Lord Mooton’s son. Aegon is the exception, with his betrothal to the someday-queen, Myrcella Lannister.
“I’m just nervous. I can’t stop dreaming of dragons and I don’t know what that means.” Dany admits with a heavy sigh, glancing at the hurried knock on the door. It must be time. “But perhaps it’s nothing but a union of dragons.”
“Perhaps.” Rhaenys says, stepping back and re-adjusting some of the braids that have fallen out of place. “And who knows, I think you’ll be good for each other. You can pull Jon out of his shell and he could show you more of life outside the Red Keep.” Rhaenys sets one more twisted braid back in Dany’s hair and presses a kiss to her cheek. “There. Let’s go see if your groom faints when he sees how lovely you look.”