A/N: Thanks to all those who left reviews for the last chapter. It really meant a lot to me. They helped push the muse to get this chapter out so quickly. I want to also thank Hapanzi and MulatoMaranhense over on The Citadel on Reddit. They offered me some feedback on my first draft suggestions for an ironborn wedding.

Farwynd & Fire

By Spectre4hire

18: The Wedding

"What about the feast?"

Dany had been surprised when after he presented the crown to her brother, Dagon led her out of the manse. She had heard sounds from the guests coming from the great hall, showing the feast had already started. They were walking across a ground covered with tile mosaics, beautifully done and finely detailed. They depicted battles, myths, family legends, and other glorious adventures, ancient, and recent.

She just walked past one where she noticed the ships were bearing Dagon's personal banner. And they were sailing away from sinking ships, whose sails all had the same image. A harpy, which had a woman's torso, bat's wings instead of arms, an eagle's legs and a scorpion's tail. In its talons they clutched a chain with open manacles.

He was leading her to the beach. "It'll be fine."

"But we're late."

"Good," he sounded pleased. "We're expected to be."

"Expected?" Daenerys wondered if she'd ever figure out these ironborn.

He nodded. "We'll make our grand entrance after the ales have flowed freely and the skalds have molded our guests into a very joyous mood." He then looked at her for the first time since they left the manse. "Your beauty and bravery will inspire my skalds with many new songs, Dany."

Bravery? S he didn't feel brave. She wanted to marry him. Daenerys wanted to be with him. There was nothing to be brave about. He seemed to be able to read her: my face, my thoughts, my heart.

"You do yourself an unkindness, Dany. You lived a hard life," a touch of sympathy in his tone. "A life that would've worn down others, grinding them into dust. I can think of lords and knights, and countless other men throughout my travels, who would've perished having to live with such uncertainty, hunger, and fear."

She was already shaking her head, to stop him. Dany felt this need to deny it, deny his words, because it just couldn't be. She couldn't be this person he was describing. No, she found herself thinking, not letting those dismal thoughts a place to purchase. They were from who she used to be, but she couldn't be that anymore. She was different now. A path had been shown to her, letting her feel bold for the first time, letting her feel strong, to be strong, and she'd not return to who she once was. "Thank you," she said softly, still feeling a bit strange at such a compliment. I was told I was pretty; she received those countless times. I was never told I was strong or brave.

He nodded and smiled. "My mother once said there was none braver than a bride. A woman who marches into a stranger's castle, into a stranger's arms, and yet she bears no steel nor wears any to defend herself. She comes only armed with her will, wits, and her womb ," there was a reflective hue in his eyes, making his smile wistful. "She said an ironborn woman was a better conqueror than any reaver. She makes the castle hers. She makes the men hers. She then secures it for her and her future children, and the only blood she spilt was that of her maidenhead."

Dany hadn't thought of marriage in such a way. Nor of the bravery of those nameless and faceless brides, who had no choice in their castle and groom, whether they be old men or faraway lands. They left and then they ruled. "Your mother sounds like a strong woman," she had heard only a few stories about Lady Farwynd, most of them from when he was younger since he hadn't been home for many years.

"She is," He agreed. "And she'll think the same of you, Dany."

She smiled, hoping he was right.

The next mosaic they walked over was of a beautiful mermaid, red hair, sea blue eyes, with her tail covered in green scales. Her gaze made it seem that her eyes were following Dany. In one hand she was holding a weapon, a wide, flat club that had serrated shark teeth along both its edges. And with her other hand she was holding onto a man's hand, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Dagon.

"The Grey King with his mermaid bride." He said, giving a name to what she was looking at.

She had heard of the Grey King and his many stories and accomplishments. "He looks like you."

"Yes, he does," he looked from the mosaic mermaid and then back to her. "The artist wanted to flatter his patron. He's hardly the first," he shrugged. "I'm sure Magister Ilyrio has mosaics depicting himself doing great feats and deeds that are attributed to Pentoshi heroes and gods." He gestured for them to continue. She took his offered hand, leaving the mosaics behind to tread on grass and stone steps carved to resemble different creatures that dotted along their path.

They had walked over a sea eagle, an albatross, and a kraken before he spoke again. "I had promised you that I'd introduce you to my oldest friend."

Her feet sunk into the warm sands of the beach. "You did," remembering that conversation and his promise. Back when I thought he was speaking of a person, a woman, not a- her thought trailed off when she saw the grey fin emerge from the Bay. He led her in. She couldn't think of the cool water nipping at her shins before rising, or of her new dress and how it stuck to her. All she could focus on was that great fin and how it was rushing to meet them.

This shark had been there that night feeding on those ironborn traitors. It looked large from a distance, she remembered, and getting closer has only made it look larger. "How long?" It wasn't until after; she realized her question could mean two completely different things.

"She's about twenty-seven feet," Dagon answered mildly, as if sharks were expected to grow so long. He had gone a bit deeper than her. "She's been with me since I was a boy."

Daenerys knew she was safe, but she couldn't ignore the trepidation grazing down her back like a cold finger. Her feet were in sliding sands, but the urge to flee still flickered through her mind. She shivered, but it wasn't because of the cool water. She had seen this creature rip apart a man as easily as a cat killing a rat.

"Dany," the warmth in his voice brought immediate comfort to her as if draping a cloak over her shoulders to stem away a nightly chill.

"Yes?" Her voice was clear. The primal trepidation slid away, and into the sea.

"This is Rhaenys," he was treating this introduction between his soon to be wife and his oldest friend as if they were at the feast, and his oldest friend had come to speak with them at their table. The idea and the image it conjured nearly made her laugh.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting for the shark's name, but it was certainly not a Targaryen name. "Rhaenys?"

"The Queen-Who-Never-Was."

This Rhaenys cruised around them. The shark passed her very slowly. Daenerys thought it was done purposefully, as if Rhaenys was showing off just how big she really was. The conical snout was first, then her mouth, slacked and smiling, filled with rows upon rows of sharp, serrated teeth. And then it was her black eye, holding Dany's stare with a knowing sheen. She nearly turned to Dagon, but the creature's presence was too captivating to look anywhere else. She could feel the change of water as the pectoral fin swam past. Then there was the towering fin that seemed more fitting on a small boat than a shark.

She heard his voice, his permission. He sounded so far away, but she listened to it. Her feet were the first to move and they moved closer, and then it was her hand. She was reaching out, touching nothing. Dany was dimly aware of what she was doing, almost as if she was watching someone else move, but then she was touching her.

The skin was cold and hard, but she didn't move away. Her fingertips glided over the shark's flesh as it made the rest of its pass. On and on, it swam past her, her fingers taking in its rough hide until finally, she drew her hand away and stepped back for the shark's long scythe tail which swept side to side, and then Daenerys felt water. Dagon laughed, and she realized why. That was on purpose.

She found herself smiling too. "Well met, Rhaenys."

"She likes you."

Dany used the back of her arm to wipe the water off her face. "I would hope so."

"Should we go in?"

She shook her head. "It's like you said, they're not expecting us." She felt him smiling at her while she was watching Rhaenys. "How did you meet her?"

And he told her.

The day of his wedding found Dagon floating on his back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his bare skin. He kept a blindfold over his eyes to shield them, but open or closed he could always see.

See beyond, those were his family words and words he lived by. Dagon had seen what others couldn't, wouldn't. He loved his father, but the west wasn't the answer. They had tried that once, he pushed the memory down, never again. It was to Westeros, the green lands where he turned, where he forged friendships with different houses, helping to make his fortunes and reputation. I even tried to join them. Those brides-to-be flickered and faded because he had no regrets on the path he had been put on.

Rhaenys was swimming around him in lazy circles before shifting her body and moving right at him. It was a game they played, and one they both enjoyed. He felt the wake she left behind, gently carrying him as the water rose before returning to its calm motion. She had come close, and to anyone else it would look as if she had hit him, but she never did. She'd return to circling him before repeating the charge, going left or right, or sometimes she'd try to swim completely under him.

He was letting her win on this warm morning. Dagon's thoughts were elsewhere. In a few hours he'd be married. Half a world away from home, he thought, and I'll be marrying a Targaryen princess. He smiled, and when his thoughts lingered on her, so did his smile. He had desired Daenerys before he ever saw her because of what she meant to him, his ambitions, and his legacy. That desire only grew the more he got to know her. Daenerys Targaryen was not what he was expecting. This princess who loved the sea. The way she seemed to glow aboard the ship, taking in the sea and all its wonders. She knew sailing, he'd not forget how quickly she gave the orders for Inevitable's crew. She put them through their paces and didn't make a single mistake. She impressed him.

Dagon knew he was there before he heard his spymaster's call.

She sensed him too. She pressed against the edges of Dagon's mind. Soon, she obeyed, her tail slicing the water in agitation as she returned to her position near him. He held up his hand to his spymaster as the signal to proceed.

It was time for the sacrifice.

The goat took tentative steps into the bay, being led on a line by Ramsay. It bleated in protest as the water got higher. It senses us. He didn't need to urge her. He just had to let her go. She surged, jaws open, she struck hard and fast. The goat was screaming and thrashing. Momentum carried her even further than she intended, missing a grinning Ramsay, who cheered her. The goat clutched in her jaws, in its last painful throes, crushed between her teeth. Pieces of flesh and blood were already spilling into her throat in hungry spasms and down into her gullet…

Dagon pushed out a breath and removed his blindfold. Blinking in the sunlight, he turned over and started to swim. She had retreated to deeper waters. In a few strokes he was there. A mangled goat leg was left behind, floating. He picked it up and casually tossed it deeper into the bay. The water was warm with swirls of red with bits of flesh. Shallow enough for him to stand which he did, standing in the middle of her kill.

"Captain?"

"That'll be all."

Ramsay said his prayers and left him to his.

Dagon cupped the bloody frothy water and poured it over him. He felt the warm streaks of blood and brine run down his cheeks. Again and again, he bathed himself in the gore, while he prayed. They were prayers of gratitude, guidance, to the Drowned God, who had given him everything and was still offering him more.

You who have blessed me with my gifts, my glories. The coppery taste of blood on his lips. And my bride.

The sun was shining bright and warm the day of her wedding.

T'was a good sign, she had been told. Ironborn don't marry when it rains and believe a cloudy sky is a poor omen. A miserable marriage, they had said, A Storm God curse. Daenerys thought it made sense that they didn't marry when it rained without considering the gods since the ironborn held their weddings outside. They married on the beach, to be close to their god, to receive His blessing instead of His rival's. She had never thought about this faraway land and their people until a week ago. And now they are to be my people. And those lands will be my home.

A single senight, she thought, that was all it took to change her life. A bold stranger who had come to her brother, seeking her hand, and in exchange he'd help her brother finally get his crown. It sounded like a story out of one of her favorite songs. The handsome hero who set out to marry the princess. And very soon, she told herself, it'll all be true. Daenerys would've said she smiled as the thought passed through her, but the truth was she hadn't stopped smiling on this day. And she saw no reason to stop.

This morning, she left Illyrio's manse as a bride, but neither for her brother or some Khal, like Viserys had wanted for her. I'll not be my brother's Queen and broodmare, she thought, I'll not be sold off to a horselord. She had her own future, a better future. The Lady of the Iron Islands. To her, it was an easy choice. Instead of being tethered to Viserys and his whims, she'll be free with Dagon. They'd sail the seas, seeing new lands and people, seeking out new adventures and creatures. Even when we returned, she knew nothing would change. I'll still be free of him. Now and forever, he'll live in the capital and her in her new home surrounded by her people-these ironborn.

She wore the dress of an ironborn bride. It was white as seafoam. Made so it could slip on and off easily. It opened like a robe that cinched at the waist. The sheer silk showed she was bare underneath, wearing no smallclothes. It will be easier, he had said. The ironborn brides that came before her hadn't balked at these traditions, their traditions. And now they were mine. She thought. I'm blood of the dragon, she told herself, their ways wouldn't frighten her.

Did they wear silk like me? She thought of other ironborn brides, or was it rough wool or cotton? She tried to picture these women, her people. Were their dresses paid in iron or gold? Hers was gold. The dress had been presented after the feast yesterday. She had taken it back with her, examining it, and thinking even in its simplicity, it was still special. She doubted it could've been commissioned so quickly if her marriage to Dagon had been so uncertain like her brother believed it was. They had always had it, she realized, because they always knew.

This is a farce, sister. Her brother had told her on the first day. And he was right, remembering how adamant Doreah had been during the courtship that the marriage would happen even when her brother said nothing. But he was wrong about who was playing who. The farce wasn't her and Viserys entertaining Dagon's offer. It was them entertaining her brother.

Besides the rich material, it was an unremarkable dress. The only other aspect of it was of her family's standard sewn onto it, a single patch of color. Her dress was shamefully bare. It was missing ornamentation. It was tradition for the ironborn bride's dress to be decorated by the baubles and trinkets from her family's past. They'd adorn her garb to display the family's vaunted history and their trophies. Both gold and iron were to be expected. Though the bride was leaving her house to join another, it was important to show the strength of hers and the glories her family had earned. The more they had, the more prestigious their house.

Daenerys had nothing. We lost it all to the Usurper. Their gold, their home, and everything else they called theirs. She knew if she had that great wealth to choose from then she'd glitter as bright as a star. She was the blood of the Dragon, of the Conqueror. It was her ancestors who took the Seven Kingdoms. All that gold and glory would have been more than any ironborn bride who came before her or any who'd come after her.

And it will be ours again. Looking back after her brother ascends the Iron Throne, after all the Seven Kingdoms bow once more to her family. All will know their journey back began here. It begins with my wedding.

Daenerys Targaryen didn't recognize most of the guests at her wedding.

The sands of the beach were so white they shone in the afternoon sun. The sands were hot from baking in the sun, but she walked barefoot across them without crying out or flinching. She liked the heat. Daenerys was the blood of the dragon.

She could feel Dagon's eyes on her body, admiring what he saw, and he could see everything. She enjoyed how he looked at her. At how he dragged his gaze across her body, leaving a feverish tinge beneath her skin, warming her blood with his dark green eyes.

He wore loose clothes in the colors of his house. His tunic was a dark red and bright orange. His buttons were in the shape of shark teeth. His trousers were loose and dark.

Then it was time. She left her brother's side, leaving him behind and stepped towards Dagon, all but gliding to him, putting herself on a new path, a new life. The wet sands sunk beneath her feet. They stood in its shallows, the tide a steady ebb and flow, lapping her feet. She recognized the priest who stood between them. It was Sharkey. He still had those strands of seaweed through his white hair and beard. He looked from her and then to Dagon, smiling, and it was time to begin.

She felt the salty tang of the sea on her lips when she pressed the waterskin to her mouth. She tilted her head back and drank all of it. The sharp salty taste stung her tongue, filled her mouth with its foulness, but she didn't cough it up. She swallowed it all, and smiled while it burned its way down her throat.

The ceremony had passed in a blur for Daenerys Targaryen. The priest had spoken of the Drowned God, speaking of his blessings, reminding them that they were made in His image. The sea was life and death, and his words had brought her strange sense of peace and security. It was reassuring to know of its continuity. The sea was here before them, and it would be here long after them.

The skalds had followed the drowned priest. They sang one after another, first of her history and then of his. Until the end, where their voices intertwined perfectly in complete harmony as they sang new verses of the joining of their house, their promising future, filled with glories and triumphs, and of their children.

And then it was time for the vows. Holding hands, the priest bound them with rope. Her skin had been practically humming, thrumming with excitement, but she still managed to speak clearly when she pledged herself to him. He had watched her with those color changing eyes. They had captivated her since the first time she saw them. The first time he saw her.

As he had said his vows, his eyes were bright blue, gleaming with desire. She felt it too, twisting and coiling in her belly. And when it had been time to drink the seawater, not even that could douse the smoldering flame she felt churning inside her.

The priest's closing words brought her back to the present, expecting them and what they'd unleash. "To the sea we belong, and to the sea we return."

Let it be said that Daenerys Targaryen didn't flinch when the guests descended on her. She didn't tremble when their hands touched her skin, when their fingers grabbed at her dress, and her flesh. They laughed at their bawdy jokes and shouted their compliments of her beauty, touching and admiring her wherever they could reach. The crowd was smothering her, but she weathered the storm.

I am the blood of the dragon. She told herself in the few seconds that this all came to pass. Daenerys felt the water on her feet, its touch cool and calm, compared to their rough groping. She ignored her brother's voice that tried to reach her, to remind her what they were doing. She then heard him hiss in what sounded like pain, but she didn't look to see. And then it was done. The dress came off quickly, pooling around her feet, where it soaked in water and the sand.

The crowd parted, and she was free. She felt the wind on her face, the sun on her skin, and she breathed deep. She turned to see Dagon was as bare as her.

Their respite lasted barely a few heartbeats because at the priest's urging, the guests chased the bride and groom into the sea to make their final pledge. The surf was gentle in its greeting, splashing her as she ran into the sea, spraying herself and him. Dany had done her hair up in a braid so it wouldn't fall over her face when it got wet.

Her strides were graceful, and the waves were not strong enough to make her stumble. She knew the guests had stopped in their pursuit, all of them standing on the beach, cheering and hollering for her and Dagon, shouting their encouragement. She started to move more slowly as the water rose over her hips.

She had heard him beside her, the whole way, making larger and louder splashes, but she didn't turn to him until the water had risen to between her waist and chest. Dagon looked to have dove in headfirst. His black hair was wet and tousled. He gave her such a smile, that she nearly flushed and turned away, but she didn't. He's now my husband. Taller than her, the water didn't come up as high on him as it did for her. Her heart quickened at what she saw and admired. His muscles glistened in the sunlight. Water droplets caught her attention, watching them trail down from his chest to his flat stomach before falling into the sea. Desire flared inside her, hot and writhing, threatening to devour her. She swallowed.

She forced her gaze upwards, noticing a few scars here and there, but it was the one on his shoulder that made her stare. An ugly wound that peppered his skin in a pattern that no weapon could make.

"An eel bite," he said. He was then wrapping his arms around her. "Are you ready?"

She was and she nodded. It was time to seal their marriage. To make him my husband, and me his wife. Their kiss was wet and salty, but to her it was perfect.

"Wife," he murmured against her lips.

She shuddered. A delightful thrill fluttered through her body. Distantly, she could hear the guests celebrating their kiss, but the sounds of the bay muffled their cheers. In the Bay of Pentos, in the arms of her husband, Daenerys Targaryen was finally happy. She was finally free.

She looked good in his colors.

Their colors.

Like the first ironborn, Dagon and his bride ascended from the bay, their hands clasped, returning to the beach, to thunderous cheers. They had entered the waters as two, and emerged from it as one, remade and blessed by Him. He would later be told: That they came out of the sea looking like glistening gods, glorious in all aspects and worthy of worship. That he couldn't say, but he did know that the sacred sea had cleansed them. He had felt it, and looking at her, he knew she had to.

Before he had put his bride in her new dress, in her new colors, he first had to dry her off. An intimate and important ritual, that had the guests singing and the priest praying. Some lords balked at this tradition, and had their thralls or salt wives do it, instead of them, but not Dagon.

His awareness had shrunk to just him and her, husband and wife. Her violet eyes burned with lust watching him while he carefully, and gently used the towel to not only dry her, but to appreciate every contour of her beautiful and bare body. Bare himself, he couldn't hide his own mounting desire for her, not that he'd even want to. Let her know how much I want her. Let her see and she did, and she smiled. Her pale skin was warm beneath his fingers, heat seemed to pool from her pores. He watched her reaction, noting where his touches elicited soft sighs and moans. At one spot, she bit her lip and slipped her toes deeper into the sands and he smiled. Dagon wanted her to feel good. He wanted to give her a glimpse of the pleasure he had planned for her when it came time to consummate their union.

All too quickly, he was facing her brother, after having helped Dany into her dress, and then her helping to first dry him off and then putting on his clothes.

Viserys Targaryen presented him with a silver pin bearing the three headed dragons of the royal house, with rubies fixed for their eyes. Wordlessly, he pinned the shiny bauble onto Dagon's chest. It was not just a gift, but a reminder that he and Daenerys' children will descend from two great houses. That they may not take their mother's name, but their mother's blood flows just as strongly as that of the father. In the Iron Islands, it was expected to respect both families, because both sides had storied histories filled with great warriors and renowned rulers.

This was the man Dagon would make a king. With his newly made wife beside him, and the future ahead of them, he considered it a fair trade. The guests then hoisted them up, first Dany and then him. They sang a ribald tune, as they carried the bride and groom to the feast. Dagon put aside his future ambitions, because in this moment, it was time to celebrate.

Part One: 'The Courtship of the Princess' is complete.

Part Two: 'The Princess of the Tides' begins with chapter 19.

A/N: This is my take on what an ironborn wedding could possibly look like. I just made it up. This is an AU world, and I took advantage of that.

All that being said, I still took some shortcuts in showing all the actual details, but I did warn you all going into this story, I'd take those here and there. I did try to include more, but I just felt like I was spinning my wheels, and it would end up taking this chapter and the rest of the story hostage, so I moved on. I may go back at some point and try again, but until that day, you're sadly stuck with what little I gave you. Sorry about that.

I'm not really sure the shark scenes with Dagon and Dany or the one with the goat logically work, but I also don't care. This isn't that sort of story.

I try to stay away from using anachronistic words. However, for this story I'll be using them a bit more because ASOIAF's knowledge on animals/sealife is rather subpar and this story includes a lot of animals and animal interactions. In an effort not to confuse the reader, I thought it would just be best to slip in the modern words or knowledge here and there. That being said, I'll try not to use them too much. Thanks for understanding.

I didn't come up with "See Beyond" for House Farwynd of the Lonely Light. The credit goes solely to 'goodqueenaly' on tumblr. I really liked it and thought it fit. It was part of Good Queen Alysanne's House Words Wednesdays and they've done them for various houses and they're quite good.

Despite my shortcomings in this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. And if you did, I hope you consider leaving a review. It would really mean a lot, b/c this chapter was a challenge, one of the hardest I've written so far for this story.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire

I want to thank WearyBlues on AO3. They were kind enough to listen to my ironborn wedding ideas. I appreciate your patience for my ramblings, and your feedback on them. I'd also suggest their awesome story on AO3: "Sow the tide, Reap the Storm,"