Chapter 4
25th March 278 AC
Hermione was staring at her as she entered the room.
Her best friend looked beautiful in her cerulean gown. The stolen gown was from the Regency era. The high waist and wide square neckline made Hermione seem taller and emphasized her chest.
To Hermione's displeasure, Alysanne Targaryen was even smaller standing at 164 cm. Margaret couldn't joke about it. Since, despite being the taller of the two, she had lost some centimeters as well.
"Are you wearing a hairnet?" Margaret couldn't contain her gleefulness.
Hermione's curls were a mix of shades of gold with some hints of silver. Ella Hightower's hair was a light blonde with hints of grey, but according to her, in her youth, that hair was the color of honey. The unruly curls came from the Dornish inheritance, something that Margaret shared, but thankfully were tamer.
The hairnet that somehow constricted her hair was made of silver thread, and from what she could see, decorated with pearls. The crescent-shaped headband was embellished with a blue thread the same shade as her dress and pearls.
"Do you like it?" Hermione asked, amused by her words.
"Now I want a French hood."
"You can get a hood tomorrow. We have other things to decide on," Shiera said, gesturing to the table.
The women in the room had been observing the sets of jewelry. Margaret had exhibited for them to pick, and it seemed that some were put aside already.
Mia protested at wearing extravagant jewelry. Margaret still remembered the argument the two of them got over the number of jewels Margaret had packed. Incredible, it wasn't from the pieces they own that she picked her accessories from, but from Shiera's collection. Simple but refine earrings, each with a pearl and an emerald. It brought the green in her eyes, and it went well with the simplicity but elegance she was projected.
Shiera was sitting comfortably in a pillowed settee, a glass of red wine in hand. Her pink gown embroidered with gold was cut in a much more revealing style, favored by the Lysine and the Old Blood of Volantis. Her large gold belt was made of interlinking snakes with small emerald eyes. It went very well with the massive gold bracelet shaped like a snake that enrolled around her wrist and a part of her arm. Her silver hair was free and curling down, hitting her small waist.
Margaret was pleased Shiera hadn't picked today to debut her red hair and wasn't wearing it either. Her silver-gold hair was pulled in a knotty half updo with golden jewelry, the other part felt down her on her left side.
Shiera looked more beautiful than breathtaking, and Margaret was very pleased with it. Call her petty, but she wanted everyone's eyes on her.
"How do we like the final project?"
"You look otherworldly," Shiera told her with a grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
Contrary to them, Margaret posed for them in a gown of pure white satin and silk.
There had been some protests, by Shiera, over her choice of wearing a gown, not of this world. Margaret had her decision made despite it.
The A-line gown could be considered simple, if not for the bodice. Fitted and laced to her figure, the craft was in the delicate embroidered: a flowery design with lace and seed pearls that shone with the help of little crystals.
Was this how she imagined her wedding to be? No. Not even the dress was right. While it was beautiful and fitted her frame perfectly, Margaret didn't get the feeling of it being that dress. ~
Something was missing.
Harry isn't here. Harry should be here.
"Have you decided on the jewels?"
"Not emeralds." She replied drily, eyeing her best friend and the woman who was slowly becoming a mentor figure.
Margaret approached the exposed jewels and looked between them.
"I wouldn't go with the sapphires," Shiera said, noticing how her eyes stayed in the diamond and sapphires. "You should go with rubies or garnet."
"No."
There would be no red at her wedding. Red was too much associated with Gryffindor to her. With blood.
"Pearls," Hermione suggested, pointing to the set next to her.
It was a delicate set of a necklace and earrings, with a flower motif, made of diamonds and pearls.
"It would look perfect with the dress," Margaret told Mia with a smile.
She got the box from the table and walked to the dressing vanity. Making sure her skirts were straightened she sat and put on the earrings.
Hermione was already behind her by the time she finished, necklace in hand. Margaret was pleased Hermione took the initiative, and even more when she asked Shiera for the veil.
She locked eyes with Mia. It had been the first time her friend helped her with silly wedding things. Both knew why.
Wedding veils were common in Dornish weddings and some Essosi as well, but hers from her world. Sheer organza, with a cathedral cut, the border was embroidered with white lilies and silver beading.
As Hermione followed Shiera's instructions on putting the veil, she felt it again. There was a vacancy in this day, one that she couldn't shake away as much as she tried.
Harry should be here.
Hermione squeezed her shoulder, and she realized she must have zoned off again.
Mia gave her an encouraging nod. Shiera must have seen it, but the women had made no comment on her red eyes when she came into their room this morning.
Hermione was the one who stayed up all night holding her as she broke down. There was no reason to explain the tears. Her best friend knew what caused them. Probably better than Margaret herself.
Did women usually cried before their marriage? She didn't know. Fleur and Bill's wedding was the only one she attended in her life. Her French friend had been a glowing bride, a bubble of happiness and love that couldn't be contained.
Margaret was sorrowful and slightly depressed.
"It is missing a tiara," Shiera said.
"I think I got a perfect one," Margaret said while her fingers trailed the necklace.
The woman in the mirror looked perfect. All she imagined a princess to look like on her wedding day. She forced her lips into a smile. It wasn't Fleur's smile, not even close. But it didn't look as heavy-hearted as she felt.
.
.
16th March 278
With his pallid complexion and weight loss, Prince Maegor looked frail and about to fall over his chair, but his eyes were still as sharp as ever.
The wheelchair Hermione commissioned for him allowed him to move about despite his condition, and the potions Severus bred kept him conscious.
At least for now.
Daemion Velaryon sat facing him. She had not been pleased by it. It forced her to sit in between them but slightly away. It wasn't something they did out of unkindness, which made their natural reaction to disregard her even more frustrating.
She masked her feeling in a pleasant smile and took her seat.
"There is much to discuss about the wedding." She announced.
There was much to discuss regarding their wedding day. Traditions she had to learn, invitations to be given, plans that need to be put in place.
Margaret was well aware they had probably been taking for some time now, so she didn't allow them to speak. She had a list of issues to go over with them and would not let this conversation be turned again to dowries or her lessons with Septa Leona.
The lessons were infuriating enough without having to speak about it.
After her first lesson with the pious woman, she spoke with Lady Ella Hightower.
House Hightower was known for its connections with the Faith of the Seven. Ella's uncle was a Septon, and so was her only brother. The pious lady, raided by religious members, refused to wed, opting to become a long-term mistress and maintain independence unknown to most in this land.
Ella Hightower was the best choice to introduce Hermione to the religion of Westeros.
The last thing Margaret needed was Mia attacking a Septa when they were supposed to be following the Faith of the Seven.
"Firstly, we need to speak about the ceremony itself."
"The Septon agreed to perform the ceremony in a temple. But we should have another ceremony in a true sept in Westeros. What more there is to speak of?" Her soon to be husband spoke and then offered her a charming smile. "Dressing and flower arrangements?"
Margaret hid her fisted hand amidst her skirts.
They argued back and forward about it. Margaret cared little for religion. However, she refused to bend to everything Daemion desired without having some of her traditions added.
There was no Sept despite having many different religions. They would wed in a temple of Old Valyria, the religion of their ancestors. Having the blood of formal dragonlords gave them prestige and allowed them many liberties in the city. Because of it, the wedding that was supposed to be simple became a show.
Smile and bear it.
They had found a traveling Septon to perform the rite, and one of the members of the Triarchy – the three ruling Magisters – would be present. The legal documents would bind their marriage. Margaret knew the vows to perfection by now.
"No," she said in a clear tone. "Certain customs. While I have many problems with the vows, they are not very different from those performed by the Christian church. I am well aware I cannot change those."
Daemion's usual charming gaze turned sterner. Still, he couldn't intimidate her. Raised under the Faith of the Seven, Daemion wanted a wedding according to it. He had expected it.
"There is nothing to change."
"I refuse to have you putting a cloak on me."
"No!"
"I am keeping my name, and our children will belong to both of our Houses."
It had been the argument in their previous meeting.
Prince Maegor made her promise to keep the Targaryen name and that her children would have it as well. Daemion had little opportunity of inheriting a title but was against it. He wanted sons to carry on his name.
Prince Maegor made her promise to keep the Targaryen name and that her children would have it as well. Daemion had little opportunity of inheriting a title but was against it. He wanted sons to carry on his name. The two men argued for too damn long, their patriarchic pride feeding their quarrel.
Margaret proposed a compromise.
To her, it was obvious: the children would carry both names. Of course, it resulted in another quarrel about which surname would go last. It had taken most of her patience to watch both of them coming up with arguments that would serve to fuel the patriarchal culture, and their control and male pride, and little to do with much else.
Prince Maegor won: Velaryon-Targaryen it would be.
"The cloak symbolizes the transition from being a daughter of a house to the husband of another. It shows that you will belong to me and not to your father."
Margaret would look back on that moment later on and be surprised she lasted this long without an outburst. Only Hermione heard her protest about misogyny, and because her best friend was the louder against it. Yet, Margaret never associated the marriage talks with it, or Mia would lose her mind or convince her from going through with the wedding.
"I belong to myself!" She jumped from her seat. Her fists pounded on the oak table. "I don't care what you previously believed. What you were taught. I care little for your families legacies or the country you wish to return to-"
She took a forbidding breath and turned her glare to Daemion. "I am marrying you because we want to go to Westeros. I am marrying you to protect myself and Hermione from being forced into situations that would force us to wed people who wouldn't understand our ways. I am marrying you to keep my money and my enterprise. I am marrying you because you allow me to keep doing my work as long as I allow you to fuck me from time to time."
"Rhaena," Prince Maegor protested, scandalized with her language and behavior.
"It is what this is about. You want to make sure you have grandchildren with your name. He wants to have heirs that are princes. But both of you keep in mind that you need this marriage much more than I do."
A heavy silence grew in the room after her snap.
"Fine. There will be no cloaking ceremony." Daemion snapped and was about to get up, but she stopped him.
"I am not finished."
"What else do you wish that will cause many to doubt our marriage?"
"Don't even try, Daemion. I read the Code of Law. Viserys the Second ruling on marriage legality made it clear that marriages are recognized when performed close to a religious site, in the presence of at least two witnesses, preferably a member of each family, and a legal binding document."
Hermione had read the Code of Law with the same passion she read Hogwarts, A History, and Margaret read it as well. For the first months, they used to discuss the laws before going to bed.
"You have 100 witnesses, a Septon, and a very legal document. With the consummation, no one will be able to annul it."
Maegor Targaryen's purple eyes glinted as she spoke. Her future husband conceded, despite his frustration.
Theirs wouldn't be an easy marriage.
Daemion would usually share an afternoon stroll with her and a lunch where they walked about what each wanted. Hermione called it a Victorian courtship. They talked about much and more. However, despite the clear attraction, Margaret could see cracks already forming.
"I re-read the marriage contract. There is something I wish to add."
"More you mean," Daemion spoke, his displeasure unmasked.
"Our children. I want it written that they will not be wed until the age of eighteen."
Margaret wanted them to never be made to wed unless they wished to. But she knew it would be a lost fight.
"Four-and-ten."
"Six-and-ten is considered the age of majority. Prince Maegor offered. He clearly was tired from the constant arguments.
Sixteen. At sixteen, Margaret Potter had lost most of those she considered family, fought against Death Eaters and was prepared to fight in a war. But most sixteen years old barely knew what they wished to do the next day, much less for their entire lives.
She had gone through the Targaryen family tree, but unfortunately, it was hard to find a Targaryen that wed later than sixteen. And they were all men.
"Seventeen. After a year of courtship."
"They likely will be betrothed at a young age. Courtship means little."
Our children will not be sold like cattle, she wanted to scream
"I won't have my children arranged to marry terrible people."
"I would never-"
"What if you have a daughter betrothed to a boy who turns to be cruel? I won't allow my children to be abuse by their partners."
"I give you my word that I will never allow our children married to people like that. They can wed at seventeen, after a year of courtship, but if needed, they will be bothered at a younger age."
"I agree. But, I want it stipulated they won't be bothered to people with more than ten years their age."
Ten years.
A decade.
She imagined a petite seventeen-year-old girl and a man of twenty-seven. It made something turn in her stomach.
The two men seemed to be exchanging looks between them.
"I won't discuss the age. Is take it or leave it." Her voice was stern enough to have them agree.
After they finished the contract, Margaret spent an hour alone, first in meditation. When that didn't calm her, she turned to yoga. Eventually, Mia found her sleep in the room.
.
.
25th March 278 AC
Margaret was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't see the man enter the room, much less the doorknob.
Severus seemed shocked at seeing her, but his expression was quickly masked. Shiera whispered something at him, and Margaret took that time to look at him.
Shiera had picked his clothes. Instead of his robes, he was clad in a sleeveless overcoat made of the darkest of dark green. Beneath, he wore calf-high black boots, tight-fitting trousers of the same color, and a black damask coat with a stand-up collar that was decorated with beadwork in dark green and silver that remembered snake snakes.
"We should go," Shiera told Mia.
Her friend gave her one last searching look, only leaving when Margaret nodded her agreement.
The two of them stood in uncomfortable silence.
Prince Maegor's health deteriorated. He could barely stand. Severus brew some potions so he could attend the marriage of his daughter to his formal squire. But he was physically unable to take her to the aisle.
Maegor had asked his "old friend" Ser Brynden to take his place. Margaret had suggested it to the prince, embarrassed to ask the professor herself.
Somehow, he agreed. Magaret tried not to be too pleased about it, but she had to confess to herself that she rather have him than Prince Maegor.
Unable to get through this situation with a clear mind, Margaret walked to the drinking table. Margaret poured them some whiskey. The bottle was barely open, for the three women were celebrating with some fine champagne before.
It wasn't the time for champagne. Margaret offered Severus a glass.
"To my unexpected wedding." They cheered with little joy.
"Mis- Margaret," his voice deepened when he called her name. "There is still time to cancel."
She drank it all up. "No, there isn't. I thank you for your words all the same."
He took a step closer to her and seemed to be searching for something in her expression. She was a pile of nerves, but she tried to show him that nothing would change her mind.
"If you wish to go through with it. I will not stop you."
With his words, she found the courage to ask, "Do you think my mother would be disappointed with me for this?"
His dark gaze soften.
"She would prefer you married for love, but this situation doesn't allow it. She would be reluctant, but Lily would embrace your decision."
"I know things like this are common in the pureblood society." He nodded. "Tell me of some couple that worked it out."
All I can think about Theo's father and his mother. The woman had died of illness, but Theo had made it very clear that his father was to blame. He never specified, but Theo had been the one who found her body.
"Narcissa and Lucius."
She was pleased when the man didn't raise an eyebrow at the second glass. He just tilted his cup in her direction.
"They knew each other from youth. But Lucius had wondering eyes and a reputation before they wed. Narcissa wasn't even supposed to be the one marrying him."
"Really?"
She remembered the poised, perfect couple. In truth, it was hard to imagine them married to other people.
"Andromeda was promised to Lucius. But when she ran away to wed Ted Tonks, Narcissa took her place. She wasn't happy."
Narcissa Malfoy didn't seem the type of woman be pleased with being the second choice, even more, when the first pick was her sister.
"They eventually worked it out. How?"
"Time, companionship. The first decade of their marriage wasn't easy. Narcissa had trouble birthing a son. Then there was the war. But their troubles and pains brought them together."
"Speaking of troubles birthing. Do you have the potion?"
From a hidden pocket, her former professor took a vile with a colorless potion.
"I still don't know how I agree to bred this."
"Because I would brew it myself if you didn't. And my experience in brewing fertility potions is none."
"It might not work." He still seemed uncertain.
"I will take it until it works." She looked at the vile and imagined little children laughing. She didn't know how she felt about it, except the breathlessness. "I need to do this. I rather have it now."
I can't deal with Daemion trying to have a child every night. The Velaryon knight was in all likelihood the handsome man she met, and her body wanted him, but her heart -
I should be Theo. My Theo. No! No tears!
Margaret Potter could have married Theodore Nott. But Rhaena Targaryen was going to marry Daemion Velaryon.
Severus gave her the vile, she took it with shaking hands, raising her skirts she placed it in the pocket in her hidden holster, next to her dagger.
Margaret took a deep breath, pulled herself and her clothes, together and linked her arms with Severus Snape.
"Let's get me married," she said, getting her bouquet of lilies.
.
.
Margaret forced herself to smile at something someone had said. She barely kept herself together during the event. According to tradition, Hermione's place was not next to her, but Prince Maegor, making the wedding party even more difficult.
The ceremony, she barely remembered. For some seconds, she would forget it, but in her hand was the evidence of it. The only tradition she was allowed to have from her previous life. A wedding band.
Not simple ones, for she was a princess. It was Daemion who chose or Shiera's most likely. There were two rings in one: a floral themed gold ring with an oval-shaped ruby surrounded by diamonds and a small gold band with leaf shapes set with diamonds.
Daemion's ring was a bishop shaped gold with a ruby.
A more Grynffindor set of rings wasn't possible.
You're a Ravenclaw, a voice whispered. She pushed down those thoughts, feeling her hand heavy.
A musician whispered something, but when she noticed his presence, it was too late to listen. However, it didn't take a genius to realize what it was.
"Shall we take the first dance, husband?" She tried her best at being seductive yet virginal.
She let Daemion guide her. Margaret's experience with dance wasn't the best. Unlike, Hermione who had classic ballet lessons as a child, she learned from Theo in hidden classrooms.
"I apologize beforehand if I steep on your foot."
"The Lady Shiera told me you weren't as bad as you said," Daemion spoke. For this first time in this day, he sounded less tense.
Margaret managed her first dance with her husband without making a joke of herself. As the harpist played the accords of the second one, couples joined them in the ballroom. Daemion's movements were as graceful as they were in the fighting yard, and soon she found herself forgetting the people surrounding her.
After the fourth dance, the silence that at first was comfortable was growing heavier. The tension grew with each twirl.
Looking around for a distraction, she was pleased when she found Hermione. Her movements much fluid than hers, but her partner was unknown to her.
"Magister Maegyr youngest son," Daemion whispered, and she turned to him.
His eyes were the color of lilacs, something she never pictured as possible, but that was incredibly beautiful.
Feeling a tightness in her lower abdomen, she turned to her best friend. Even with couples between them, Margaret could see that Mia was having a pleasant conversation with her dancing partner.
"They seem to be getting along."
"He is a scholar. He studied law and ancient history on The Old College of Volantis."
"The Maegyrs have been trying to court us since we began our dealings with the Widow."
"They aren't pleased that scions of old Valyrian are working with an old freed slave woman instead of another scion of Old Valyria."
"I refuse to work with slavers. The Widow will direct the operations in Volantis. Her crew of freed slaves is trustworthy, unlike these fancy-dressed slavers."
It was an old argument, one she wasn't pleased to be speaking on her wedding day.
"Still, a large fraction of the council isn't pleased."
"The Widow has support too."
Daemion twirled her around. His voice lowered, "Not everyone is so happy with Volantis currently ruling class. Not even people on the inside."
"Not our problem," She whispered and soon found herself exchanging partners and forcing herself to smile as the man with blue eyes appeared in front of her.
The last thing she needed was to piss off the Archon's brother.
"You look magnificent, my princess," His accent was much better than most who tried to speak the common tongue of Westeros.
"Thank you, your grace. Are you finding Volantis to your liking?"
She spent the next three minutes regretting that question. Tyrosh was still not happy with losing the last war. The War of the Stepstones ended in 260 AC to the Westerosi, but the Free Cities battled for another six years. Tyrosh was the last to fall. Much like Germany after the Great War, the state-city made to pay for the bill. They wouldn't recover soon. Daemion believed that there would be war in two decades. She agreed.
Another reason to leave this place.
From the corner of her eyes, she was surprised to see Severus dancing with Shiera.
.
.
"Princess, you look beautiful."
Dhalia, her maid, had been a Tyrosh prostitute. She was sold to a slaver's ship to serve the men there.
Margaret's ship crossed paths with the slavers when they were on their way to Volantis. They had killed the slavers and freed the people. Unfortunately, most had no opportunities to return home, so Margaret and Mia offered them work and were instructing the younger ones.
Dhalia was one of them. She was beginning to show her pregnancy at the time, and her little boy - Daario - had been born in Volantis. Dhalia gave him her last name. He would grow in their household, and despite her temper and dislike for most people, Dhalia was loyal to a fault because of it.
"Thank you. Did you enjoy the feast?"
Because her marriage turned into a political gathering, the people they worked with couldn't be invited. Ella Hightower hosted a feast for them in the mansion in their stead. The place that soon would belong to the famed Widower of the Waterfront, to the distaste of the pureblood slavers in this rotten city.
"Finer food I ate," Dhalia spoke as she helped Margaret out of her dress. "Is princess worried about bedding?"
No. This princess is no maid. "I've been instructed in what to do."
Dhalia scoffed. "Well-bread ladies aren't taught a thing."
"That I agree with you. Fortunately, I learned from better sources," she spoke with a grin as the gown fell onto the floor.
Dhalia seemed to be surprised with what she was wearing underneath. A sly glint shone in her dark eyes as she saw the knife strapped around her thigh. The satin slip barely covered her bottom. The virginal white was embroidered at the neckline with golden lace.
"Well taught indeed."
After saying her goodbyes to Dhalia, Margaret allowed herself a moment to herself.
She sat in the vanity and stared at the mirror. It still felt strange to stare back at a reflection that was different from her own. Her old one, she reminded herself.
"You need to do this."
She held the vail between her fingers. With a deep breath and shaking hands, she quickly opened it and swallowed it.
"Margaret is no more. You will enter that room as Rhaena Targaryen." She said to the mirror. "A married princess, ready to do her duty and all that crap."
Rhaena Targaryen. Rhaena Targaryen.
Names were important. Hers was a popular Targaryen name. Rhaena Targaryen. It sounded nice. Rhaena was the name of the first grandchild of the Conqueror. Who had a fucking terrible life. The other two Rhaena's were a perfect little princess. One did what her kings commanded and appropriately supported the family. Not like her twin Baela who yielded a sword and did not hide her opinions about anything. The last Rhaena became a nun. Well, Septa.
Well behaved women those last two.
If I have a daughter, I'm calling her Rhaenyra.
"Who are you, Rhaena Targaryen?" She asked the figure in front of her. "You are not a Septa, nor a modest princess. You're the daughter of a Maegor, not his wife. Thankfully. Are you another queen-who-never-was? I guess we will have time to find out."
.
.
She walked through the chamber into the door that would get her to Daemion's suit. She knocked and entered with a confident stride that a maiden wouldn't have.
The room was lighted with candles, giving it a romantic glow. The gilded details of the painted walls shone bright gold. The double mirror doors were slightly opened, allowing a soft breeze to enter the room.
Her husband turned to see her and froze by the bed.
She contained her grin from appearing as she walked to him. Apparently, Daemion wasn't used to seeing highborn ladies with her self-assurance. His eyes tracked her with a lustful gaze. As she stopped inches from him, she let her eyes appreciate the view in front of her. Daemion was stupidly handsome, a towering presence with broad-shoulders and a slender figure. With only his breeches one, she could appreciate his toned torso.
Margaret hadn't seen such an attractive man since –well, diary Tom Riddle.
Tom Riddler's confidence was in his magical power, the certainty that he was above all others. Daemion's came from his lording upbringing. The Velaryon was also aware of the attraction he caused women and wasn't unafraid to use it.
"By the Gods, Rhaena. You're the most beautiful woman I've seen." He whispered, his tone hoarse.
His arms went around her waist to pull her into his hot body.
"Did women in your land wear things like these?"
"Some." She let her hands traveled through his square chin. She tilted her head. "Do you like it?"
"Hum." He replied and then pulled her into a kiss.
It wasn't the romantic kisses Theo gave her, but ardent, full of lust and passion. His lips went from her lips, to her earlobe, to her throat, and back to her mouth. His hands were everywhere too, trying to control their movements.
Rhaena bit his lip hard.
"Ouch!"
Taking opportunity of his distraction, Rhaena pushed him onto the bed. She climbed it with a grin as he blinked at her.
"You'll be the death of me, Rhaena Targaryen."
Author's Note:
Lione des bois: Thank you.
angel897: You're welcome, and thank you for your words.
Beloved Daughter: I couldn't leave Mel behind, but this time she is Shiera Seastar.