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Rhaenyra knows what Jace is going to do before even he does.
It has always been this way. Rhaenyra loves all her children dearly, but Jace is her firstborn. It was with him in her womb that she had faced the birthing bed, which had terrified her so after her mother's misfortunes; it was with him on her hip that she maneuvered through the court's whispers of bastards and whores; it was with him by her side that she ventured into the trials and tribulations of motherhood. When Jace was born, Rhaenyra had suckled and washed and rocked him to sleep herself, even as her maids pleaded for her to rest. He was a special fragment of her heart, she had thought feverishly as she looked upon his sleeping face, an extension of the most precious and vulnerable parts of her. To allow anyone but herself to touch him would be akin to blasphemy.
And for that, there has always been a special bond between them, one that runs deep and hot and true. She could be on the other half of Westeros from Jace and still know exactly what he was feeling, simply from tugging at that bond.
As Jace grows up in the pit of vipers he calls home, Rhaenyra keeps a close eye on him, and finds that he and Helaena Targaryen take to each other like fish to water. Rhaenyra knows her half-sister is a lonely girl. Aegon teases her and then forgets about her. Aemond watches her from afar but does not approach. Luke is too young to pay her much mind at all. It is Jace who comes close to her and stays.
The maesters tell her that they often sit together during lessons, Helaena on one side of Jace and Luke on the other, swapping notes of scribbled drawings and nonsense stories that only make sense in the minds of children. When Jace is done with his training, he puts his wooden sword away and runs to be with Helaena. He squats with her in the dirt and observes her critters with his customary seriousness and severity, his brows furrowed as he listens intently to Helaena's ramblings. There has been many an evening where Rhaenyra toils to wipe the dirt and grime from Jace's face as he dutifully explains whatever mischief he and Helaena had wrecked upon the servants that day.
For her part, Helaena--though she hates the clang of swords, even wooden ones--ventures to the training yard to watch Jace spar, clapping delightedly when he wins and returning to the Keep when it is no longer his turn to display his skills. When the day comes for Rhaenyra and her family to depart to Dragonstone, Jace and Helaena clutch onto each other with the desperation of drowning men. Silent tears stream down Helaena's face. When Alicent reaches out a hand to comfort her, she slaps it away and scampers away from them.
At Dragonstone, Jace and Helaena exchange letters almost every day, for years upon years. Such frequent correspondence between a young lord and lady is not common, and thus the Maester of Ravens asks her if she would like to read their contents. Rhaenyra rebukes him. Let her son have his secrets, as she had hers.
Helaena's replies usually arrive as the family breaks their fast. Jace tears apart the letter with admirable enthusiasm each time, his food growing cold and forgotten in front of him as his eyes hungrily rake the parchment. Helaena's words, laid out in painstakingly neat script, bring out a soft glow in Jace in the way that only young love can.
And that's what this is, isn't it? Before Rhaenyra's eyes, Jace has grown from a boy to a man, and a childhood crush has grown into love.
It makes Rhaenyra's heart ache. How many times had she pled to Alicent to betroth her son to Helaena? She had argued that it would unite the realm, and when that had not worked, that it was an easy chance for their children to find happiness in a world that would gladly tear them to shreds. Even appealing to Alicent's motherly sensibilities had proved unsuccessful, and the green bitch had saved Helaena for Aegon--drunken, whoring, dreadful Aegon.
Helaena and Aegon's engagement is inevitable, but still Rhaenyra prays that it is not so. She does not want Helaena to be left to Aegon's cruel clutches. And she cannot bear to look at her son's face when he realizes the woman he loves--the only woman he has ever loved--is promised to another. She had known that pain well enough with Daemon and that Bronze Bitch in the mountains.
But, of course, the gods are not fond of answering Rhaenyra's prayers. When news of Helaena and Aegon's betrothal comes to Dragonstone, something shifts inside of Jace. No longer does he set upon his training and his tasks with his usual military precision, nor does he smirk and jest and tease his brothers to madness. A vacancy takes hold of him. He floats through conversations and dinners without saying a word, then abandons his duties to ride with Vermax from dawn to sunset. As he strokes the snout of his winded mount, he looks up to the open sky dreamily.
The day of the dreaded wedding, Rhaenyra is in her chambers. She opens a trunk she has not even glanced upon for a very long time. Inside is the cloak from her wedding to Laenor, as well as a thousand memories.
A white dress. Daemon's beautiful eyes. His hand had been ever so soft as it caressed her jaw. She could not imagine how she had sat in front of her father and said with a straight face that she wished to wed Laenor, not when Daemon stood across from her in all his silver, snarling glory. When Daemon abandoned her in Joffrey Lonmouth's blood, she had been so sure he had taken with him all the seams and strings that had held her together. Both she and Laenor had wept and screamed into each other's shoulders the night that they should have been consummating their marriage.
Rhaenyra surveys the wedding cloak. It's split in the middle, half of it a rich red and the other half a gentle blue. Half Targaryen, half Velaryon. It will suit Helaena quite nicely, she decides.
Bundling it carefully in her arms, she leaves her chambers and makes her way to Jace's rooms. If the servants are curious as to why their lady is carting around a marriage cloak, they make no indication of it. Perhaps they, like Rhaenyra, have their own suspicions.
She knocks lightly on Jace's door and slips inside when no protest arises. Jace is slumped on the bed, looking a true mess. He is suited in only half of his armor, the other half strewn on the ground, and his hair is sweaty and mussed from his fingers raking through it one too many times. At the sound of her, Jace jumps to his feet.
"Mother," he says ruefully. His eyes travel from her face downwards, to her arms and the treasure they carry within them. His jaw slackens. "That--is that--"
"My marriage cloak?" Rhaenyra says. "Yes."
Jace opens and shuts his mouth a few times, then resolves to say nothing at all.
Rhaenyra feels an overwhelming surge of fondness for him. "Oh, Jace, did you think I did not know what was going through your head these past three moons?" She smiles slightly. "How many times did you take Vermax to King's Landing, wondering if it would be worth it to fly back with Helaena in tow, only to return, alone, at the last moment?"
Jace lets out a huff. "Of course you knew. You always do."
"Not always, but often enough." She approaches him, placing the cloak carefully on the bed before bringing her hands to cup Jace's face. Jace's eyes slip shut, a tear leaking out as he leans into her warmth. Oh, my sweet son, she thinks. My beautiful, darling boy. How far you have fallen, and how high you shall still rise.
"What is your purpose here, Mother?" Jace says stiffly. "Did you come to taunt me with a wedding cloak, a reminder of all that I cannot have?"
Rhaenyra hums. "Did you know, on the night of my wedding, I asked Daemon to steal me away. Cut through my father's Kingsguard, I said. Take me to Dragonstone. Make me your wife."
Jace blinks. "Really?"
"Yes." Rhaenyra brushes aside a lock of Jace's hair. "He left me while the night was still young. For a long time I found myself unable to forgive him for that. I was lonely in the Keep, you see. My father was ill and it frightened me how deeply he fell into Alicent's influence. I could not confide in him. Ser Harwin was a dear friend, but a distance had to be kept to maintain appearances, and too often he was able to do naught but listen to my weeping from outside the door. Your lord father Ser Laenor lent me his ear, but only when he was not drunk or entertaining his squires or chasing glory somewhere in the Stepstones."
Jace's jaw locks, a familiar fire burning in his eyes. "Daemon should not have done that," he nearly spits. "He was a coward for it."
"It was a different time then. My claim was even more dubious than it is now. What lord would support a princess for the throne, let alone one who eloped on the night of her wedding like a common whore? It would have ended me." Rhaenyra traces circles around Jace's cheek, something softening in her. "Besides, I would not have you, or Luke, or Joffrey. What kind of life would that be? Fate has a funny way of leading us down the right path sometimes. I have made my peace with it, as should you."
"There is no peace at all to be found tonight."
"Indeed. I have come to peace with my fate, not Helaena's or yours. No, there is still much to be done for that." She takes his hands in hers as she continues, "If Daemon had the slightest suspicion that my husband was a drunk who would raise a hand against me, or that he would force himself upon me when I did not wish it so, nothing and no one could have stood in his way. He would have butchered the Kingsguard and half the lieges and lords in the castle to get me out."
"If he had the slightest suspicion your husband was like Aegon, you mean."
"Precisely so."
Jace abruptly pulls away from her. He stalks to his window, his back firmly to Rhaenyra. "It's not that simple." How very much like Jace, to brood and to burden himself while keeping mum to everyone else. He is truly her son.
"Tell me," Rhaenyra says. A command, but a gentle one.
A frustrated noise rises from the back of Jace's throat. "Don't you think it's been painful for me? If I had it my way, Helaen would have been here three moons ago. Each time I've taken Vermax to King's Landing, it has been with the intention of taking Helaena away from Aegon, and yet you see me every night for supper without her by my side. I've been putting on and taking off armor for hours, undecided of what I should do. If I should do anything at all."
"Do it. Why don't you?"
"Aegon will declare war, and if he doesn't, Otto Hightower will. He might even kill Grandsire to do it." Jace shakes his head. "What kind of man would I be, to start a war for a marriage? How will I lead my men to fight and die in battle knowing they are only there because I chose love over duty?"
"Oh, Jace." The truth she has kept hidden from her own eyes for so long: "War has been inevitable from the moment a boy slipped from Alicent's womb. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for ten years, but Viserys will die and bloodshed will follow. It is as sure as the fact that summer will fade into autumn and that winter will come at its heels." Rhaenyra twirls a ring around her finger. "Better first blood be shed for the sake of saving an innocent girl from a raper's grasp than for some petty slight or wounded pride."
Jace pivots to look at her, disbelief and hope warring in his eyes. "Do you mean that, Mother? Truly?"
Rhaenyra has kept the truth of their family's situation from her sons, she knows this. She wanted to protect them, so she let them believe there was a good chance Rhaenyra would be given the crown with no warfare and no infighting. It had been an easy job once she relocated to Dragonstone, away from her scheming court.
But Jace is a man now, about to take a woman to wife. Rhaenyra's heart pangs to think of it. He needs to hear and know the truth, and move forward accordingly.
"I swear." Rhaenyra approaches Jace, drawing a hand through his hair. There is trepidation in his eyes, but under her touch it hardens to cold determination. She presses a quick kiss to his forehead. "You are sure Helaena will agree to marry you?"
"Yes," Jace says immediately. "She may not have said it outright in her letters, but I know her, and I can read between the lines."
"Then do what Daemon could not," Rhaenyra tells her son. "Go to the Red Keep, steal Helaena away to Dragonstone, and make her your wife. Spare her from the life of loneliness I was subjected to. Save her from Aegon and his drunken, whoring ways. We shall have the wedding tonight, if you so wish."
Jace says, "I do wish, Mother," and that is that. Jace hurries into the rest of his armor, Rhaenyra helping him with the straps and ties. When finished, Jace straps his sword to his hip and throws an empty satchel over his shoulder. He kisses Rhaenyra's cheek, an unspoken promise.
"Be safe," she whispers.
"I will, Mother." Jace turns to stride out the door. Just before he crosses the threshold, he says abruptly, "White lilies. They are Helaena's favorite." And then he's gone, practically sprinting down the halls.
Rhaenyra draws absently closer to her marriage cloak on the bed. She forces herself out of her stupor just as her fingers begin to trail against the soft fabric. She has a wedding to plan. This is no time for reminiscing on memories that are not all that pleasant to begin with.
Daemon finds her as she begins organizing the servants. He stalks his way to her side. "Jace took Vermax again. Just before he departed, he said he was going to King's Landing for the last time . His exact words. Any clue what that was about?"
"He is only doing what you could not," Rhaenyra says tartly.
Understanding dawns on Daemon. A smirk plays on the edges of his lips. "Shall we have a wedding tonight?"
Rhaenyra tells a maid to fetch her best drapes and linens. "We shall, sweet husband."
"Best do it the Seven's way. Less chance of those Hightower cunts trying to annul it." They would know. After their Valyrian wedding, Otto Hightower fought tooth and nail to declare their marriage null and void.
"I was thinking the same." Daemon leans in to kiss Rhaenyra, and she entertains him for a few moments, pushing him away once his tongue begs for entrance into Rhaenyra's mouth. "Stop it. There is a wedding to be had in a matter of hours. And if you had any sense, you would go gather the Septon."
"Is there even a Septon on Dragonstone?" Daemon grumbles. A fair question; most of the island's inhabitants came this way when the Targaryens originally did, and follow the Valyrian religion.
"I'm sure you can find one in some village or another."
Daemon gives a deep, grand bow, kissing her hand as he turns to leave.
"I love you," she whispers after him. He squeezes her hand in response. Then he too is gone.
The hours pass quickly. Rhaenyra gathers Baela and Rhaena, who seem thrilled at the prospect of such an unexpected wedding, and puts them to work organizing the details of Helaena's dress. No doubt Alicent has her in one of her dreadful green dresses, but that seems in poor taste. A harried Luke trails after them, bolts of fabric and ribbons heaped in his arms as the sisters chatter excitedly. Even Joffrey joins in on the excitement, eagerly telling every passing servant that his big brother is to be wed.
The hours pass quickly and with great hustle and bustle. Soon Rhaenyra hears the rustle of dragon wings overhead, and she hurries to the Dragonpit to find Vermax landing on the rocky mountainside. On his back, Jace looks pale, but he sits straight and proud and relatively uninjured. Dreamfyre follows closely on Vermax's heels, a dazed looking Helaena sliding from her mount almost immediately.
Rhaenyra peers at her closely. Indeed, she wears a dress of palest green, which clashes terribly with the red maiden's cloak draped across her shoulders. It is torn and bloody in some places, but she seems mostly unscathed, not even a scratch upon her cheek. Helaena gazes at her surroundings with clear wonder. As Jace unmounts from Vermax, she draws closer to him almost instinctively. Jace's satchel clinks from what sounds to be the clutter of glass, and Rhaenyra recalls the little bugs and specimens Helaena would keep sealed tight in glass jars.
As soon as his feet touch the ground, Jace sinks to his knees, offering his hands to Helaena. Hesitantly, she places her hands in his. People have gathered around them--Daemon, Baela and Rhaena, Luke and Joff, even a few curious servants and guards--but Jace pays them little and less mind.
"Helaena," Jace starts, his voice echoing through the cavernous mountains. Still, he sounds so terribly young. "You know what I will ask of you. You don't have to agree if you don't wish to. If you say no, we will keep you here, safe from Aegon, and speak no more of it. But say yes, and I vow to be a faithful husband. I will love you to the very end and lay my life down for yours. I will never raise a hand against you and will kill any who try. Will you do me the honor of being my wife, Helaena?"
A smile tugs on Helaena's lips. It is small, but genuine. For as long as Rhaenyra can remember, Helaena has been withdrawn and melancholy, and her heart thrills to see such a change.
"Of course I will," Helaena says quietly, but with no small amount of conviction.
A grin splits across Jace's face. He rises to his feet on shaky legs as Luke and Joff rush to hug him. He ruffles their hair happily. Daemon approaches and claps a hand across Jace's back, wearing a look of smug pride. Baela and Rhana hurry to Helaena.
"You're going to be made a happy woman tonight," Baela says, grinning. "In more ways than one. I've grown up with Jace. He's a fine man and he'll make a fine husband. Congratulations, truly."
"Oh, let us be your ladies-of-honor," Rhaena begs. "We've never been to a Westerosi wedding. They sound fascinating."
"You were at my wedding," Rhaenyra reminds her as she approaches.
Rhaena's lip twists. "That doesn't count."
"Of course." Rhaenyra turns to Helaena, who looks upon her with a certain amount of trepidation. They have always been family, and yet not.
That ends tonight. "Welcome," Rhaenyra tells her warmly. "Not as a guest, for Dragonstone shall be your home now. And Baela is right--Jace will make a fine husband."
"Thank you," Helaena says. Her voice has a strange but pleasant dreaminess to it, but she says these words with a certain force, as if to make it known she truly means them. "And I will love to have my cousins as my ladies-of-honor. When will we be wed?"
"The preparations are mostly done," Baela assures her.
"You can be married tonight, if you wish," Rhaena adds delightedly.
"We don't have to wait for tonight," Jace protests from behind them. "We can be wed right now."
Rhaenyra turns. She surveys distastefully the grime and blood streaked on his armor, his windswept hair, the overexerted flush of his cheeks. "Not like that you will not."
Jace shakes his head. "Aegon or Aemond could be here any moment."
"Best not argue with your mother," Daemon says, smirking. "She's been looking forward to this moment for half your life."
"But--" Jace looks to Helaena, who nods. He softens."Fine."
Daemon and the boys whisk him off to do whatever men do to prepare for matrimony. Rhaenyra focuses her attentions upon Helaena. "Is there anything you would like to do beforehand, sweetling?"
Helaena frowns, plucking at her dress. "I don't like this dress. Green is a bad color, a bad omen. Of war and bells tolling. It is not what I'm meant to wear the day I am wed."
"We've already gotten the seamstresses to work on a dress, Helaena," Rhaena informs her. "It's really very pretty, and not a speck of green."
Baela: "We didn't have your precise measurements, but the maids will be able to stitch you into it well enough."
"We should head back, then," Rhaenyra says. Noticing that in their rush Helaena has not had a chance to don her slippers, Rhaenyra offers her arm. After a moment's hesitation, Helaena takes it and allows Rhaenyra to guide her over the rocky terrain and to the castle.
They make their way to Rhaenyra's chambers. Baela and Rhaena present the dress. "Isn't it beautiful?" Rhaena says proudly.
"It is," Helaena and Rhaenyra say in unison. They have taken one of Rhaenyra's silken white dresses and adjusted the fitting of it, snipping away at the hem to shorten it as well as widening and tightening various seams. The dress is made to hang loosely off the body, cascading down a woman's frame like the flow of water, and with her pale coloring and dreamy eyes, Helaena will look like a fae from a tale of old. They have also embellished it to make it suitable for a wedding; trails of lace run across the collars and sleeves, and someone has painstakingly embroidered pale gold patterns up the sleeves and down to the hem.
Women arrive and quickly get to work. The green dress is quickly stripped off and the white one is adjusted further to fit precisely to Helaena's frame, three seamstresses fretting at Helaena's side. The maids scrub the grime from Helaena's feet and tame her windswept hair. It falls down her back in neat waves, thin braids knotted at the back of her head.
When they are done, Helaena gives a little twirl before the mirror, laughing and clapping delightedly. Baela and Rhaena assure her she looks like the most beautiful maiden who ever lived.
"You best go change, girls," Rhaenyra tells them. "The sun is setting and the ceremony will surely begin soon." If Daemon managed to find a Septon, anyway.
Baela and Rhaena leave in a frenzy of chatter and Rhaenyra excuses the maids soon after. When they are alone, Helaena turns to look at her. There is a sort of wild happiness in her eyes, swept up in the joy of a love she never thought possible.
"Did anyone tell you what is to happen on your wedding night?" Rhaenyra asks her gently. At the shake of Helaena's head, Rhaenyra explains it as patiently and thoroughly as she can manage, the way she wishes had been explained to her. Her mother had passed before she could tell her, and her father had not thought it necessary after her dalliance with Criston.
Helaena listens intently. When Rhaenyra is done, she assures her, "You need not do this if you don't wish to, Helaena. Jace will not think any less of you. You can both go right to sleep after the feast and he will still be as happy as any man ever was." It would be best for the marriage if it was consummated quickly, in truth, but it's easy to fudge details like that. She and Laenor had managed it well enough.
"I don't mind," Helaena shrugs. "Jace has gentle hands. Gentler than Aegon's. I've heard the other girls talking about what it means to be a woman. It seems pleasant enough."
Rhaenyra's heart squeezes. "Yes."
Abruptly, "Will pregnancy be terribly painful?" Helaena turns those penetrating eyes to look out Rhaenyra's window. "I have dreamed of children. A pair of twins, one with dark hair and one with silver, the moon and the sun, a warrior and a poet. A boy and a girl. Tonight does not concern me nearly as much as the thought of delivering a babe. I recall my mother's screams when she birthed Daeron. The men fight, the women birth. Our lots in life."
An echo of Aemma's own words. Rhaenyra's heart twists awfully. "It will hurt something terrible," Rhaenyra tells her. "Not just the day of the birth, but for nine moons, strange types of discomfort and pain will befall you." She approaches Helaena and holds out her hands. Helaena puts her hands in Rhaenyra's, who squeezes them slightly. "But I shall be there to guide you for every step. I have carried five babes in me. I doubt there is a corner of pregnancy that I have yet to discover." Helaena smiles, but Rhaenyra is not done.
"I know Jace has already told you this," she continues lowly, "but hear it from my own lips. Jace is not a second Aegon lying in disguise. Never will he sink into his cups deep enough to raise a hand against you, nor will he refuse to leave your bed if you ask it, nor will he dishonor you with another woman. If I believed him capable of it, I would not call him my son. And if he does, you only need to tell me, and I shall geld him myself."
"I always liked you, sister," Helaena responds, eyes strangely wet. "You were never cruel to me."
"I was never kind to you, either." Rhaenyra plucks a roll of lint from Helaena's shoulder. "But I am your good-mother now. We will dine together as kin and break our fasts as kin. There's no need for family strife to pull us apart now."
Helaena nods, rubbing the silk of her dress between her fingers. She faces the mirror and twirls herself again, admiring the way the sunlight shines on the sheer fabric. She stills as Rhaenyra draped the red maiden cloak she came with over her shoulders.
"I should deposit you with Baela and Rhaena," Rhaenyra says. "They will tell you where to go. For now, I must see to Jace."
They do just that. To her relief, she finds that Jace has been groomed nearly to perfection. He's wearing his finest doublet and trousers and the servants have tamed his hair into sitting flat on his head. The sight of it makes unbidden tears stream down Rhaenyra's cheeks.
"Oh, Mother, don't cry," Jace says, looking faintly panicked. He pats her shoulder a bit awkwardly, only for Rhaenyra to draw him into a tight hug.
"My son is about to be wed," Rhaenyra says, voice muffled against Jace's shoulder, "I shall cry as much as I deem fit."
"Mother's crying?" Luke calls from inside his chambers. It takes a while for Rhaenyra to dry her tears, even after Daemon whispers into her ear all the truly despicable things he'll do to her tonight to ease the pain away, but she manages to collect herself.
They, except for Daemon, make their way to where the wedding will take place: the same rocky alcove she and Daemon were wed at. Candle after candle has been lit among the rocks, accompanied by wreathes of white lilies. Daemon has indeed managed to find a Septon, who fidgets nervously as his fingers trail through his worn holy book.
Though the smallfolk will be invited to the feast, the wedding ceremony itself is a small affair. Other than family, only the members of her council are there as witnesses. They have already arrived, and nod respectfully to Jace as he passes. Jace reaches the Septon and positions himself on what passes as a wedding altar. Rhaenyra and her sons stand behind him, Aegon bouncing on Luke's hip, Viserys in the arms of her handmaiden Elinda Massey. The wedding cloak grows heavy in Rhaenyra's arms.
They do not need to wait long before Helaena makes her way down the rocky sand, eyes glued to Jace. Against a backdrop of rolling waves and a bloodshot sunset, she looks even more divine than she had in Rhaenyra's chambers. For lack of a better figure, Daemon is the one who accompanies his niece down their makeshift aisle, Helaena's arm clutched tightly in his. Quick on their heels are Baela and Rhaena, holding bunches of white lilies in their hands and wearing matching blinding grins.
Even over the low whistle of the wind, Rhaenyra can hear Jace's breath hitch at the sight of her. The two refuse to tear their eyes from each other as Helaena makes her way to the altar. When Helaena stumbles as she climbs her way up the jagged rocks of the dais, too lost in the thrill of the night to properly watch her step, Jace quickly stoops down to right her. Hand firmly around her arm, he pulls her up to stand across from him. They clasp hands.
The Septon finds his voice, "Who comes to be wed on this day?"
"Princess Helaena of House Targaryen," Daemon says easily, "daughter of Viserys, sister of Rhaenyra." He does not bother to mention the green cunts.
"And who comes to claim the bride?"
"Jacaerys Velaryon of House Targaryen," Jace says, voice firm and unwavering, "Prince of Dragonstone, son of Rhaenyra and Laenor, brother of Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys."
"You may say your seven vows."
Jace bows his head. "Helaena Targaryen, if you shall have me, I will vow to protect you in the war to come. I vow to forsake all other women, to love you as long as my heart still beats and perhaps beyond that, and to cut the tongues of any who attempt to slander your name. If we are to be blessed with children, I vow that I will raise them to be honorable sons and fierce daughters. When you are Queen, I vow to treat you with all the respect the position deserves. I vow to fill your castles and keeps with only things that make you happy."
Helaena's eyes shine. "Jacaerys Targaryen," she says, the words leaving her in a breathy rush, "I vow that if anything happens to you in war, I will not turn to any other man. I vow to tell you of my dreams and the dangers they foretell, for you must be prepared for what lies ahead. I vow to love you for as long as either of us draw breath. We shall have children, and I vow to protect and love them as a good mother would, the way my own could not. I vow to watch after your youngest brothers when you are away leading your armies. If you request it, I vow to climb atop my dear Dreamfyre and burn with you."
Here, she hesitates, then forges forward with renewed confidence. "I vow to forsake my loyalty to my brothers and my mother's House, and instead pledge for you and your mother."
Rhaenyra's heart swells. She turns her head to hide her tears.
The Septon: "May the Father bless you with a fair union. May the Mother bless you with many children. May the Warrior bless you in the wars to come. May the Smith bless any strifes between you. May the Maiden bless the bride on the night to come. May the Crone bless you with wisdom in the coming years. May the Stranger only take you when you are old and weathered."
"May the Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, and Crone bless us, and may the Stranger only take us when we are old and weathered," Jace murmurs, though he seems to say his vows more to Helaena than any gods.
Helaena echoes, "May the Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, and Crone bless us, and may the Stranger only take us when we are old and weathered."
"Are there any who wish to challenge this union?" the Septon calls.
Only silence greets him.
"Then, under the eyes of the Gods, may the wedding cloaks be exchanged."
Daemon reaches to unclasp the maiden cloak from Helaena's shoulders. Jace turns to Rhaenyra and accepts the wedding cloak from her arms. Rhaenyra brushes her fingers against his, hoping to convey how desperately proud she is of him. From the tilt of his smile, he understands. Jace turns to Helaena and delicately clasps the wedding cloak around her, smoothing it over her shoulders a few times as though he cannot believe this is not a mirage, not some flight of fancy.
"With this kiss I pledge my love," Helaena says, "and take you to be my lord and husband."
"With this kiss I pledge my love," Jace says, "and take you to be my lady and wife."
Their lips press against each other, Jace's arms coming up to steady Helaena. Rhaenyra feels dangerously close to a sob.
"I declare you to be man and wife," the Septon booms, "one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."
Cheers ring through the air at his pronouncement. Daemon and Luke whoop loudly enough for ten men, Joffrey claps his hands together gleefully, and even little Viserys, who usually weeps at any small noise, only babbles happily as he is passed to Rhaenyra. Her councilors, always so dour and severe, clap enthusiastically, smiles toying at the edges of many of their lips.
Jace parts from his bride to receive the mob of hugs and affection that is his brothers. Rhaenyra skirts to Helaena, where Baela and Rhaena are in eager conversation with her. She passes little Viserys to Baela so she can offer Helaena her arms. Helaena sinks into her hug.
"Oh, sweetling," she murmurs into Helaena's shoulder, "I hope you are happy. I hope you are happy for the rest of your days." I hope you do not suffer ten long years of droll misery as I did .
"Fire and blood shall arrive at our doorstep," Helaena whispers back, "but the fire always burns out, and the soil becomes more fertile for it. We shall be happy, good-mother. Don't fret."
"Your husband is coming," Baela hisses, poking at Helaena. They part to find that Jace has finally managed to free himself of his brothers, his face sporting a dull flush from whatever terrible thing Daemon must have whispered to him about the coming night.
"The feast should be ready now," Jace says. "Are you ready to go, wife?" He cannot stop a smile from splitting across his face when he calls her that.
"Don't you worry I'll fall over the rocks again?" Helaena asks teasingly. "A broken leg on a wedding night must be a bad omen."
"You're right," Jace says. "What ever shall we do?"
"Perhaps you should carry me there."
Jace laughs and gathers Helaena into his arms in one fluid movement. "If my wife commands it."
The newlyweds lead the way to the wedding feast, further along the shore. Daemon comes to Rhaenyra quickly, offering his arm to her as they follow the wedding procession. It's not such a long walk, but every step is momentous.
"He's a proper man now," Rhaenyra says to Daemon, leaning further on his arm. "Oh, Gods, can you believe it? It feels like only yesterday when I was struggling to get Jace to suckle from my breast. They might have babes soon. Can you believe that, Daemon, my child having a child?"
Daemon laughs. "Now you know how I felt, going to and fro from the Red Keep and seeing you grow years in what felt like months. One visit, you would barely be able to count to ten in Valyrian. The next, you could argue useless politics with me."
That does offer some comfort. As life-stopping as today feels, the years always have a way of carrying on.
Tables have been hastily set up under one of Dragonstone's large gazebos, each one groaning under the weight of platters of food and ale. The cooks have truly undone themselves. Smallfolk have already begun milling about, dressed in their best clothes and helping themselves to confections, but they stop to bow to Jace and Helaena.
Jace, for his part, has not yet put down his bride. He carries her all the way to the head table, depositing her carefully into a chair. Helaena blushes prettily. Rhaenyra takes her seat on the other side of Jace, Daemon plopping himself down next to her.
The feast passes quickly, a haze of laughter and increasingly drunken conversation. Councilors and smallfolk alike arrive to give their congratulations. Helaena has not even heard of most of them and shrinks slightly under these strangers' enthusiastic accolades, but her smile seems genuine nevertheless. Jace takes lead of the conversation, and preens whenever someone refers to her as his wife.
And then Rhaenyra grows occupied by trying to stop Joffrey from running through the throngs of people while waving a torch with reckless abandon.
"Come, Joffrey, sit," Rhaenyra says, guiding him to her lap after she finally talks him into giving up the torch. "You've barely eaten all night, I don't know how you have the energy to run around like this. Especially with a torch , of all things."
Daemon roars with laughter. "He is a dragon, Rhaenyra. What else did you expect?"
"Perhaps for him to quell his baser instincts at his brother's wedding." She strokes Joff's hair.
The musicians, having been sequestered in the corner for the majority of the feast, grow bored and begin to play a jaunty tune. Jace rises quickly from his seat and offers his hand to Helaena, who takes it with grace and allows him to lead her to the dance floor, which is rapidly clearing so that the newlyweds can have the first dance.
Dragonstone is not the place for the slow, serious waltzes of King's Landing. Jace and Helaena begin swaying to some old Valyrian country dance, brought here by the smallfolk that followed Aenar to the island. They leap and twirl around each other, their smiles ringing true.
The first song ends; a second one follows quickly in its place. Daemon's hand brushes against hers. "Would you do me the honor of this dance, Princess?"
"I would." Smiling, Rhaenyra takes Daemon's hand and allows him to lead her to dance. He had taught her many a Valyrian folk dance when they were younger, the lively activity offering plenty of excuses for straying hands and brushes against the groin.
Jace and Helaena steal off fairly soon for their new chambers, both of them blushing under the roar of approval that rises up as they slip back into the keep.
Neither Rhaenyra nor Daemon are as energetic as they once were, but they dance through the dusk and the night regardless. Once they tire, they sway to the music, pressed closely together.
They get deep enough into their cups to begin pleasuring each other with long, lewd kisses, uncaring of the crowd that could be watching them, noble and smallfolk alike. Rhaenyra sinks herself into the familiar taste of Daemon's aching tongue. It seems impossible, amidst all the joy of the night, that a war may very well be declared the next day. Even the thought of it discomforts her, and she presses herself deeper into Daemon to distract herself, though it does little good.
"We might be at war in a day, or a sennight, or a month," Rhaenyra murmurs to him.
"And when the fighting comes, I will protect my lady wife and her children," Daemon says easily. "But you can think plenty on that in the morning. I may need to go to war soon. Let me spend a night beside you before that."
She nods against him, and he carries her in his arms back to the keep, both of them giggling like children. They don't even make it back to their rooms, Daemon ferrying her behind some dusty tapestry to thoroughly have his way with her.
The next morning, the family convenes to break their fast as they usually do, all except for Joff, Aegon, and Viserys sporting furious headaches from the past night's revelry. Jace and Helaena are conspicuously absent.
"Jace should make his way down soon," Rhaenyra says, unenthusiastically spreading butter on a thin slice of toast. "We need to draft our raven to the Red Keep. Perhaps words will get us out of this mess, if my father is feeling sentimental enough."
"Oh, let them have their fun." Daemon grins. "If I recall correctly, we did not emerge from our bedchambers for three days after being wed."
Rhaena and Baela groan loudly, and Luke makes a big show of clamping his hands over his ears. Joff pulls at Rhaenyra's sleeve, asking, "What does he mean, Muña ? Why were you sleeping for three days?"
Rhaenyra only rolls her eyes. A smile plays at the corner of her mouth.