Ceryse and the Prince of Dragonstone

Oldtown

"Ceryse," her uncle, the High Septon, begins with gravity, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "I have a task of utmost importance for you."

"Yes, Your Holiness?"

"The king intends to secure a marriage for his second son, Prince Maegor. He wishes to forge a stronger bond between House Targaryen and the Faith, and I have agreed to his proposal after consulting the Most Devout."

"…Yes?" Ceryse isn't sure what this has to do with her. She is, after all, merely a novice septa. Perhaps the prince is to wed in the Starry Sept and her uncle wants her help arranging it?

"You—" The High Septon glances at her, an excited grin forming on his lips, "You will marry Prince Maegor."

Ceryse blinks.

"What?"

—

Half an hour later…

"So," Ceryse begins with a furrowed brow, "The king wants to, uh, 'Marry his son to the Faith' because there are no Valyrian girls left suitable for Prince Maegor."

"Actually, there's Prince Aenys' newborn daughter," the High Septon corrects her, "But the king believes it's wiser to wait for a son to be born from Prince Aenys rather than betrothing the princess to her uncle. A decision with which I wholeheartedly agree."

You agree with anything the king says, Ceryse thinks, rolling her eyes internally. Her uncle worships the king as much as the Seven, believing that he is the Maiden's chosen and nothing can convince him otherwise. His unwavering devotion to King Aegon has shaped much of Westeros' perception of the Targaryens, but Ceryse is old enough to remember days before Aegon, and she remains skeptical. Of course, she knows better than to voice her dissent.

"Anyway," she continues with a resigned sigh, "King Aegon believes that the ideal match for Prince Maegor is a woman of the Faith—a septa. Which explains my summons here, I presume?"

"Why, of course!" the High Septon exclaims, "There's no house in Westeros more devout than House Hightower, and your dedication to the Seven-Pointed Star is unparalleled. Your marriage to the prince will serve the Faith admirably," he grins wildly, his enthusiasm infectious, "The wedding will be in Oldtown, in this Sept, then you'll go to Dragonstone to live with the prince, observing how the Faith and the Valyrians coexist in harmony… oh, I almost fell in the trap of envying you just thinking about it!"

How about YOU marry the prince then? Ceryse thinks, biting her lips. "But, Your Holiness, The prince is a Valyrian and I'm… not. I couldn't possibly fulfil a wife's duty towards him, even if I'm fertile." Which she isn't. It's because her parents learned that she's barren that they sent her to the Faith. They have even sought Valyrian magic beforehand, just to see if she could be cured, but alas she's not fated to bear children.

…Not that she minds a lot about marrying and producing children, but knowing that she isn't whole still stings a little.

"No matter! The king and I aren't expecting children from this match, but the unity of the Faith and House Targaryen. As long as you stay by the prince's side as his wife, you have fulfilled your duty." The High Septon claps his hands together happily, as if everything is solved, "Now, the Prince will arrive for the wedding in a week, so you should start preparing for it."

"A— a week?!" Ceryse's mouth drops wide open. "That's… that's not possible! I can barely be prepared for a wedding in a month!"

"Fret not, my dear Ceryse," her uncle reassures her, winking, "I've arranged everything, including a wedding dress tailored to your size six months ago. All that's left is for you to play your part."

He never intented to give me a chance to refuse, Ceryse thinks, groaning inwardly.

—

A week later

"May I introduce to you, Ceryse Hightower, our most promising septa in training," the High Septon announces proudly, gesturing for Ceryse to step forward.

With a resigned sigh, Ceryse complies, bowing deeply before the Targaryens. "Your Graces, Septa-in-training Ceryse Hightower, at your service."

As she straightens, she finds a pair of massive violet eyes, staring at her unwaveringly. "I'm Maegor Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone. As I understand it, you are to be my bride."

"…Yes." Ceryse answers, her discomfort grows as Maegor's intense stare pierces through her. Targaryens, she had heard, were meant to be charming and lively, not unsettling…How is it that Maegor manages to unnerve her despite needing to stand on top of a table and a pile of books to reach her height?

"Oh Maegor, ease up," his father, King Aegon, interjects from atop his dragon Balerion, hovering dangerously close to the Sept's ceiling, "Can't you see that you're scaring her? That's not how you woo a bride, son. Show some of that Targaryen charm!"

Slowly, Maegor diverts his attention from Ceryse and turns to his mother, Queen Visenya, who observes the scene with silent disapproval, her dragon Vhagar resting on the table and glancing at the scene boredly. Catching her son's gaze, she sighs and concedes, "Your father is correct... this time."

"I'm always correct," Aegon immediately asserts. Everyone but the High Septon (and Balerion, who is nodding heavily and almost throwing Aegon off his back) chooses to ignore him, as Maegor turns back to Ceryse, his face twisting… until his expression settles into a sweet, saccharine smile.

"Forgive me if I startled you, Ceryse! It was not my intention. I truly hope we can build a strong relationship as husband and wife. Will you forgive me?" Even his voice is sweet too, dipped in sugar, when previously his voice was flat and emotionless.

Naturally, Ceryse is horrified. "O-of course…" She fails to keep the shivering out of her voice, nor does she manage to stop herself from taking a step back.

"You overdid it, Maegor," Aegon comments, shaking his head disappointedly, combined with a dramatic sigh, "This is why Aenys is my heir and not you. You lack the finesse to charm properly."

"Aegon, can you not?" Visenya snaps, then quickly redirects her attention to Ceryse with a reassuring smile, "Don't be alarmed, dear. Maegor might have overdid it, but his intentions are genuine. He's a good, honest boy, only wanting to do his best."

"Uh…" Ceryse stammers. What in the Seven Hells did her uncle get her into? "I… alright. Prince Maegor, I too wish for us to establish a positive relationship."

"Then we shall!" Maegor beams, his smile now less disconcerting. Ceryse manages to return his smile, even offering him her hands. After a brief hesitation, Maegor steps onto her palms, smiling warmly at her.

He must still be able to feel her trembling, Ceryse knows, but if Maegor can maintain his friendly facade, so can she. As her uncle has instructed, she carefully lifts Maegor towards her shoulders.

"If you may, my prince," she says.

"I would be honored," he replies softly— because he worries his voice will scare her when he's so close to her ears, Ceryse realises— and he settles onto her shoulders.

The High Septon nods approvingly, while Balerion growls contentedly, and King Aegon applauds. "Behold, our happy couple!"

At that moment, Ceryse feels Maegor shift on her shoulders, and a faint, disdainful sneer reaches her ears.

"Ha! As if."

In that moment, Ceryse can't help but agree silently. As if they could ever be a truly happy couple.