It was not the royal wedding either of them had imagined, but it was. Seven days and seven nights had passed since they besieged Meereen, and in the eyes of the Seven, they were both blessed to do so. "If nothing separates you in these seven days, then the Seven have blessed and approved your union," Septa Lemore explained every time they asked her.
They were not in the Great Sept of Baelor, nor in any other place that worshiped the Seven, but rather under the setting sun of Essos. The main hall of the Great Pyramid had been decorated for the occasion, with the colors of their houses displayed everywhere, their banners welcoming the guests, and candles illuminating the ceremony, which had been attended by more people than expected. Dothraki, freedmen, mercenaries, Unsullied—everyone gathered for the union of the dragons. However, they also knew that outside the pyramid, in the plaza, the rest of their followers were having a feast in their honor.
Aemond wore an elegant black wool doublet with gold embroidery. A burgundy cloak, adorned with small black dragons, fell from one of his shoulders. In front of him, with a determined look, stood Dany, who had avoided wearing the attire given to her in Essos for the occasion. Instead, she wore a beautiful red linen dress with a black leather belt that tightened her abdomen but accentuated her slender figure. Her hair had been braided by her maidens, who also hung small golden bells in each braid, each representing her recent victories. She was covered with a mantle in the colors of her house, which flowed from her shoulders to the floor.
The kings stared at each other intently; that was the tradition. Their hands were joined in front of them, entwined with a white cloth. Those present watched them with amazement, nodding at the idea that only those with Valyrian blood could be so beautiful. Their violet eyes shimmered with the last rays of the sun that hid behind them through one of the windows. If they didn't know it was merely a political arrangement, they would have said it was the most beautiful and poetic wedding they had ever attended. But it was just that—a political arrangement.
"In the presence of the Seven," Lemore began, looking with appreciation at the two young people before her, "I hereby bind these two souls. Joining them for eternity." She lovingly patted the couple's shoulders and said, "Look at each other and say the words."
"Father, smith, warrior," they said in unison, so serenely that their voices sounded like sweet melodies sung by a romantic at some ostentatious wedding in Westeros. "Mother, maiden, crone, stranger," they named all the gods, which Aemond had practiced day and night with Lemore, as he always forgot one. "I am hers, and she is mine," the septa reinforced the union of their hands by pulling on the white cloth. "From this day until the last of my days."
Their voices stopped, as did everything in that moment. Everyone held their breath, Jon and Barristan exchanged glances to see if they had made the right decision in uniting these two bloodlines, or if perhaps they had tempted fate by playing with an untamable fire. All they knew was that everyone would burn in their wake. "Two dragons, the last two dragons," Ser Jon thought, watching as they united in a brief kiss, separated in the same second they touched.
They were the ones who would save the world from the cold, warming it with their burning fire. An Aemond and a Daenerys was, from the beginning, a vague dream, a youthful whim, an impossible love, a painful loss that extended with their names a hundred years later. The first Aemond and the first Daenerys loved each other as much as King Daeron allowed, until they were separated. What would become of these two? The song of ice and fire? The prince that was promised? Fire and blood? Yes, the blood spilled from their ancestors, the same blood that watered the Seven Kingdoms, was what united them in history. The names that lay in memory had generated that inexplicable hatred they still felt for each other, but their duty, their throne, their realm, their crown was what kept them together because, as night fell, a dragon had to be seated on the Iron Throne.
"United as one heart, one soul, one body, Daenerys Stormborn and Aemond Black will be guided by the wisdom of the Father and the patience of the Mother," Lemore turned them towards the onlookers, who bowed before making their pledge of loyalty to their new monarchs.
Subsequently, the newlyweds left the hall, still joined by the white cloth. If they followed the old Valyrian traditions, their palms would have been cut, and from them, the blood would have been used to decorate their foreheads with Valyrian fire and blood. But those old marital customs had been forgotten over time, especially since all the members of their society had converted to the Faith of the Seven, including them.
They walked along the stone floor that led them from the throne room to the entrance. Behind them followed the entourage that participated in the wedding, ensuring they arrived safely at the small route they had arranged with their other followers outside the pyramid. They had hardly spoken since they met, perhaps because they weren't interested, or because they thought it was too insulting to marry each other to even speak. But appearances aside, they were the perfect marriage in the eyes of others.
At the entrance of the pyramid awaited their two horses: Silver and Shadow. Aemond had to help Daenerys mount, wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her with minimal effort. He mounted in one leap, urging the stallion to start a gentle walk.
"It's done," Aemond said in High Valyrian, hoping only she would hear him.
"It's the first step," Dany responded, gripping the reins of her silver steed.
Slowly, the crowds gathered around them. There were those who cheered, shouted, and clapped, even throwing flowers at their feet, while others looked at them with suspicion and resentment, expecting the worst for the blood traitors. But still, the presentation had to be carried out before their people.
It took nearly an hour to traverse the celebration of their followers in the city. It was an immense feast that neither of them could believe. However, the parade ended when they returned to the pyramid, ready to start the banquet inside.
Night had fallen, but in the throne room, it seemed like only midday. There were so many different customs gathered in one place that it was almost comical. A band had been hired to entertain the space, requested to play different rhythms every few minutes. The few Dothraki present had befriended the mercenaries, so they began drinking fermented milk and wine together, with Herrath and Rylon among them, laughing and getting drunk as usual.
The dancing had begun some time ago. The Dothraki impressed the other guests with their strange carnal customs when dancing, while the nobles of Meereen tried to maintain a basic choreography, and the mercenaries mocked both scenarios.
The newlyweds, on the other hand, sat at their table, delighted by the show their guests provided at all times. Daenerys occasionally looked at Aemond and studied him without his noticing. He was a man who sometimes could be as rough as Drogo, but was complemented by the manners and Western education he had received. His demeanor was calm until Ser Jon said something that made him laugh. He had hardly spoken to her, but she did not feel abandoned by his side. He refilled her wine glass, ensured the servants attended to her, and occasionally glanced at her to check how she was. She admitted that her second wedding was better than the first.
Aemond paid no attention to what was happening around him. He watched amused as his mercenaries tried to imitate Dothraki customs but ended up exhausted. Jon made comments about it, and he couldn't help but laugh. Out of courtesy, he attended to Daenerys, focusing on her needs and well-being, as these would be some of his priorities from that day on. He didn't know what topics to discuss with her outside of war and the Seven Kingdoms, and frankly, he wasn't inclined to talk about it at that moment, much less if it sparked a conversation about who would sit on the throne. However, what worried him most were the mercenaries who were not enjoying the evening. Jon constantly told him it was nothing to worry about and that they would soon get used to it, but he couldn't stop wondering if he was doing the right thing.
"It's time for the gifts, Your Majesties," Ser Jorah explained as several of the guests began to line up in front of them.
"I'm sure this time they won't be giving you dragon eggs," Aemond whispered to his new wife.
"Never lose hope," she replied, smiling at the person presenting the gifts.
The first in line were their blood riders. Aggo had laid at their feet a black leather vest with gold and copper inlays, Rakharo gave Aemond a whip ending in silver shards, and Jhogo gifted the khaleesi seven golden bells. "One for each realm of Westeros, blood of my blood," he said. The following gifts varied: slippers, jewels, silver rings for hair, belts with medallions, dyed vests, soft furs, silks, perfume bottles, brooches, feathers, wines, books, fabrics, instruments, and accessories that neither of them would ever use.
When the last guest placed their gift in the servants' hands, Aemond and Daenerys exchanged a glance, and he discreetly indicated that it was time to go. They moved from the main table to the side of the pyramid, where a corridor had been arranged, leading to their room. It was decorated with candles and rose petals, and as they walked through it, they felt the weight of the day's events lifted. It had been an exhausting day, but it had been worth it, as they were not just married but also established themselves as the rulers of Essos.
When they entered their chamber, they were greeted by their personal servants. With almost mechanical precision, they prepared the room for the night. The servants retreated, leaving the couple alone in their private sanctuary. The room had been prepared with every comfort in mind, from the plush bed to the elegant drapes. Their personal belongings had been neatly arranged, and the aroma of roses filled the air.
"Your Majesty," Daenerys began, a hint of teasing in her voice, "should we have a conversation about what comes next?"
Aemond smirked, "Or should we let our actions speak for us?"
He stepped closer to her, and she met him halfway. In that moment, the weight of their union, the responsibilities, and the expectations of their people seemed to melt away. It was just the two of them, newlyweds in a grand, unfamiliar land, but ready to face whatever came their way together.
And as they embraced, the sounds of the celebration below seemed like a distant memory. All that mattered now was the beginning of their life together as rulers of the known world.
