Chapter Text
107 AC
The morning sun bathed the towers of the Red Keep in hues of gold and crimson. After a year of travel, Rhaenyra and Robb finally saw the familiar outline of King’s Landing on the horizon. The heir’s tour had taken them to every corner of the realm — Riverrun, Winterfell, the Vale, the Iron Islands, the Westerlands, the Stormlands, and the Reach. Each stop had tested them, revealing the strength of their bond and the weight of their duties.
Now, they returned with new alliances forged and new understandings of what lay ahead.
Rhaenyra rode alongside Robb, her silver hair catching the light like strands of molten silver. The wind carried the faintest scent of the sea and city — a smell she had once called home, but now it felt distant and changed. Robb’s presence was a comfort, a steadying force amidst the waves of expectation crashing around her.
“Are you ready to be back?” Robb asked, his blue eyes filled with quiet understanding.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied, her voice composed. She glanced at the growing outline of the Red Keep, steeling herself. “We’ve done all we could. Now the real test begins.”
The gates opened, and the streets of King’s Landing welcomed them with a roar. Citizens lined the cobbled paths, waving banners that bore the Targaryen dragon entwined with the Stark direwolf. A symbol of fire and ice — a promise of unity.
-
The grandeur of the Red Keep had not changed, yet something in Rhaenyra had. As they dismounted in the courtyard, familiar faces awaited them. Her father, King Viserys, stood at the steps, a smile softening the lines of weariness on his face. Beside him stood Queen Alicent, her hands resting protectively over her son, Aegon, now nearly a year old and approaching his first nameday. The sight of Alicent holding the child stirred a storm of conflicting emotions in Rhaenyra — a reminder of the complex bond between them.
Viserys descended the steps and embraced Rhaenyra warmly. “Welcome home, my daughter.”
“Thank you, Father.” She smiled, though her eyes flickered to Alicent, who stood with a serene expression, Aegon nestled in her arms.
Aegon, now almost able to walk, reached out toward his half-sister as though sensing her arrival. Alicent smiled softly and lifted the child, guiding him toward Rhaenyra. “This is Aegon, your brother,” Alicent said, her voice laced with an unspoken tension but still kind.
Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her chest as she looked at the infant in Alicent’s arms. Aegon’s wide, curious eyes met hers, and despite the underlying complications of their family dynamics, a feeling of tenderness stirred within Rhaenyra. She bent down to the child, placing a hand gently on his soft hair.
“Aegon,” she whispered, offering him a smile that masked her conflicted emotions. “You’ve grown quickly.”
Aegon giggled and tugged at her finger with his tiny hand, a gesture of innocence that brought a bittersweet ache to Rhaenyra’s heart.
Viserys, watching the scene unfold, stepped forward with a proud smile. “He’s grown strong. Soon he’ll be walking on his own, and before long, he will share in the legacy of House Targaryen.”
Rhaenyra stood straight again, meeting her father's gaze. “He’s beautiful.”
Robb, ever observant, stepped closer to Rhaenyra’s side. His hand brushed hers subtly, offering a quiet reassurance.
Alicent, her expression carefully composed, gave a small nod. “He is. And soon, he’ll be ready to meet the realm as the firstborn son of the King.”
Rhaenyra’s thoughts flickered briefly to the history she knew, the rivalry between her own claim to the throne and Aegon’s. The path ahead would be one of delicate balance — family, politics, and destiny all tangled together.
Viserys cleared his throat gently, pulling them back into the present. “Come, there is much to discuss. Your wedding preparations must begin at once.”
Robb looked toward the King, nodding. “We are ready, Your Grace.”
As the family moved inside, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but cast one last glance at Aegon, the child who would one day grow into a figure of both alliance and competition. It was a reminder that the balance of power was never as simple as family.
The days that followed Rhaenyra and Robb's arrival in King's Landing were filled with the clamor of preparations. The halls of the Red Keep were adorned with tapestries and flowers in celebration of the union between House Targaryen and House Stark. Servants scurried through the corridors, bringing in silks and jewels, while seamstresses labored tirelessly to create the wedding gowns and robes that would reflect both the North and the Crown.
Rhaenyra found herself lost in the whirlwind of it all, yet amidst the bustle, moments of solitude with Robb became precious. The weight of what was to come settled in her chest, but she held it with grace, even as she found herself worrying about the future, the challenges, and the political maneuvering of those around them.
The fitting for Rhaenyra’s wedding dress was an event unto itself. The gown, designed to blend the silver and black of House Targaryen with the stark white and grey of House Stark, was a masterpiece. A delicate mixture of Northern furs and Targaryen silks, it would symbolize the merging of the two houses. The seamstress placed the gown before her, and Rhaenyra stepped into it, her reflection in the mirror showing a princess who was both regal and vulnerable.
As she stood there, adjusting the dress, Alicent entered the room with her son, Aegon, now toddling along the stone floors. The Queen’s eyes softened as she gazed at Rhaenyra, but her words were carefully measured.
“It is beautiful, my dear,” Alicent said, though Rhaenyra could sense the underlying weight of her words.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Rhaenyra replied, giving a slight smile, but her thoughts were far from the gown. She could feel the pressure of the entire kingdom upon her shoulders.
Aegon, noticing the attention on his half-sister, tugged at his mother’s skirts. Alicent lifted him and stepped closer to Rhaenyra, offering the child to her.
“Would you like to hold him?” Alicent asked, her tone neutral but warm.
Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment but nodded, taking Aegon gently into her arms. The child’s small hands grasped at her fingers, and for a fleeting moment, Rhaenyra felt the tenderness of a connection she hadn’t expected. She stared down at Aegon’s innocent face, the future rival who could one day sit upon the throne, a reminder of the complexities of her family’s dynamics.
Alicent watched them both, her expression unreadable, though there was something in her gaze that Rhaenyra could not quite place. “I trust you will be a good sister to him,” Alicent said, almost as a challenge, though her voice remained calm.
“I will,” Rhaenyra said firmly, her grip on the child tightening slightly. “I will protect him as I would my own.”
Robb entered the room at that moment, his presence immediately noticeable. He gave a small bow to Alicent, who acknowledged him with a nod, before he turned his attention to Rhaenyra.
“I see you’re already bonding with Aegon,” Robb remarked, his voice warm and teasing, yet there was an undercurrent of tension in his words.
Rhaenyra smiled faintly. “I suppose so,” she said softly. She handed Aegon back to his mother. “It’s not so difficult, is it?”
Alicent looked at her son, then back at Rhaenyra. “You will soon be a mother too.”
Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered toward the mirror again, catching her reflection. She knew the weight of this union extended far beyond the ceremony itself.
Later that evening, in the quiet chambers of the Red Keep, Rhaenyra and Robb shared a moment of reprieve. Robb sat at the window, looking out over the city of King's Landing as the evening sun painted the sky in shades of red and gold. Rhaenyra joined him, her hands folded in her lap.
"Do you ever wonder," Rhaenyra began, her voice soft and contemplative, "if everything we're doing is enough to keep the realm from falling apart?"
Robb turned to her, his expression serious. He could feel the weight of her concern, the unease she tried to hide. "What do you mean?" he asked gently.
Her gaze dropped to her hands. "Now that Aegon is here... I worry about what his birth means for the realm. Will we be able to keep the peace, or are we on the edge of something we can't stop?"
Robb’s mind raced. He knew the history — he knew the future that awaited them. The Dance of the Dragons, the battle between Rhaenyra and her half-brother Aegon II. But he could not bring himself to say it aloud. Not yet.
“We’ll find a way,” he said instead, his voice firm. “We have to.”
She met his gaze, her eyes searching his face for any hint of uncertainty. “Do you believe that? Truly?”
Robb hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes. I believe in us.”
But even as he spoke those words, a part of him knew that the events of the future could not be easily rewritten. He had seen what would come, and the choices before them were fraught with peril.
The next day, the Small Council convened to finalize the details of the wedding. The marriage between Rhaenyra Targaryen and Robb Stark had been decided, but now the task was to ensure every element was carefully arranged — how the union would be presented to the realm, who would be invited, and what the long-term consequences would be for the future of the throne.
Otto Hightower presided over the meeting, his eyes sharp, his voice steady. “The union of Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Stark is the most crucial political marriage of the realm.”
He paused, turning to look at the King, who sat slouched at the head of the table, his health visibly deteriorating with each passing day. Though the court whispered about his frailty, none dared speak of it too openly.
“The invitation list must reflect the importance of the occasion,” Otto continued. “The greatest lords of the realm must be in attendance. Their loyalty will be tested, but it will also be sealed by this marriage.”
King Viserys, though weary, nodded in agreement. His voice was raspy but firm. “We must be strategic in this. The marriage should be a declaration to the realm that Rhaenyra’s position is unassailable. No one should question her right to rule once we are gone.”
Otto’s gaze flickered briefly toward the queen, who remained silent. Alicent Hightower sat with a carefully composed expression, though the tension radiating from her was palpable. Her every movement seemed calculated, her focus always on protecting the future of her own children — particularly Aegon.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Otto continued. “Invitations should extend beyond the North and the Vale. The Stormlands, the Reach, and the Iron Islands must be included. This marriage must be seen as a symbol of strength, unity, and stability.”
Lord Corlys Velaryon leaned forward, his voice rich with experience. “The Reach and the Stormlands won’t be easily swayed. They will need assurances — alliances, promises of trade or protection. Lord Stark’s presence secures the North, but we need more to bring the other regions into confidence.”
Rhaenyra, who had been listening intently, finally spoke. Her voice was quiet but resolute. “We must ensure that those who are loyal are not overlooked. This wedding is more than a celebration; it is a statement of power.”
The council murmured in agreement. Otto glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Quite right, Princess. And the invitations will reflect that. We cannot afford any missteps.”
Her gaze shifted to Robb, who stood beside her, his face calm but his blue eyes holding the weight of the moment. This marriage — while a union of love and opportunity — was also a gamble. The realm’s future hung in the balance.
Otto’s voice grew softer, almost reverent. “The ceremony should take place in the Hall of the Red Keep. It is the proper venue for the marriage of the heir to the Iron Throne. The Faith of the Seven will still preside over the union, ensuring legitimacy and tradition.”
King Viserys nodded slowly. “Yes. The Hall of the Red Keep will serve as a sacred place for the ceremony. The people of Westeros hold the Faith close to their hearts. They must see this marriage as sanctioned by the gods.”
Rhaenyra inclined her head, her expression solemn. “The Faith’s blessing is essential. The realm must see that this marriage is not just about political gain, but also about duty, honor, and devotion.”
Otto’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Precisely, Princess. A traditional ceremony will reassure the realm. It will be a reminder that the old ways are being honored, even in this new alliance.”
Lord Corlys added, “We must ensure the most influential lords attend. They need to see that this marriage heralds a new era — one of stability.”
Rhaenyra turned to Corlys, determination flaring in her eyes. “I trust you to see to that, Lord Corlys. But this is also about unity. The Faith will be central, but the traditions of both the North and Old Valyria will not be forgotten.”
Robb spoke then, his voice measured and calm. “The invitations must reflect not only power but inclusivity. Great lords, smaller houses, and the voices of the common folk. All must feel they have a stake in this union.”
Otto gave him a sharp look, acknowledging the wisdom of his words. “True, Lord Stark. The realm’s future is not solely in the hands of the great houses. Loyalty must be earned from all corners of Westeros.”
“Rhaenyra,” The king said, his voice softer now, “make sure the invitations are sent with care. You know the importance of who attends.”
Rhaenyra nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I will, Father.”
As the meeting drew to a close, the council members began to filter out. The plans for the wedding were progressing, but there was still much to consider. Rhaenyra rose, her thoughts filled with the weight of the coming days. She caught Robb’s eye as they walked toward the door.
“It will be beautiful, won’t it?” she said softly, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.
Robb, ever calm, gave a reassuring smile. “Yes, it will. And we will make sure the realm knows exactly what it means.”
She nodded, the flicker of doubt in her eyes giving way to resolve. This marriage, held in the Hall of the Red Keep and blessed by the Faith of the Seven, would be a beacon of unity — a bridge between the traditions of the North and the power of the Targaryens. The Faith had long been a crucial influence in Westeros, and the people’s acceptance of Rhaenyra as queen would depend on more than just her Targaryen blood. The faith of the common folk in her marriage would help solidify her claim to the throne.
The days leading up to the wedding were filled with a whirlwind of preparations. Servants bustled about, arranging the grand hall, decorating with banners of both House Stark and House Targaryen, while seamstresses worked tirelessly on Rhaenyra’s gown. The dress was a masterpiece, a blend of Northern fur and Targaryen silk, symbolizing both Rhaenyra’s heritage and her union with Robb. It was said that the gown would be adorned with the most delicate of silver thread and crimson accents, echoing the strength of dragons and the loyalty of wolves.
Rhaenyra stood in front of the mirror, inspecting herself in the gown. The reflection that stared back at her was that of a future queen, poised to rule a realm united under her marriage to Lord Stark. She had never imagined a wedding like this—so grand, so public, yet so politically necessary. The weight of what was to come pressed upon her shoulders, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of doubt.
“Are you ready?” Robb’s voice broke through her thoughts.
She turned to him, the man she had chosen, the one who would stand by her side as husband and consort. His gaze was warm, his smile reassuring. Despite the weight of their responsibilities, he offered her a moment of peace.
“I’m ready,” she said, though the uncertainty lingered in her heart.
The preparations continued, and as the time for the wedding ceremony grew nearer, the invitations were sent across Westeros. Lords and ladies from all corners of the realm were summoned, and whispers of the union spread like wildfire. The eyes of the realm were upon them now, and the wedding would be the event of the century—an opportunity to unite the kingdom and solidify Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne.
But even as the details were finalized, Robb could not shake the nagging feeling that all was not well. He knew what history held, and the knowledge weighed heavily upon him. Aegon II, the son of Alicent, would one day challenge Rhaenyra’s rule, and Robb couldn’t help but wonder how he could alter the course of events. He would find a way. He had to.