Chapter 83 - The Sun and the Dragons

Two Days Ago - Jaehaerys

"It cannot be done, Your Grace," the High Septon declared. "The Faith teaches that a man takes one wife, and one wife only. This has been our doctrine since the Andals first brought the Seven to Westeros."

"And yet," Jaehaerys replied calmly, "my ancestor Aegon the Conqueror wed both his sisters, and the Faith raised no objection then."

"A different time," the High Septon countered, his multiple chins quivering with indignation. "The Faith was... accommodating... out of necessity."

"As it should be now," Jaehaerys suggested, the softness of his tone belying the steel beneath.

He reeks of fear beneath all that scented oil, Jaehaerys thought. And ambition, too. Every man has his price—even holy ones.

"Your Grace, you ask the impossible. To bless a union between one man and two women would undermine the very teachings we have upheld for thousands of years."

Jaehaerys moved to the statue of the Warrior, running his fingers along the marble sword. "The Doctrine of Exceptionalism, established by Jaehaerys the First, acknowledges that Targaryens are not like other men. Our blood is the blood of Old Valyria. Our customs, different."

"Customs are one thing, Your Grace. Sacred vows before the Seven are quite another."

"Is it the Seven you fear to offend?" Jaehaerys asked, turning back to face the man. "Or is it the more earthly lords whose approval you covet?"

The High Septon's face flushed red. "I fear only the gods, Your Grace."

"As do we all," Jaehaerys agreed smoothly. "Though I wonder—did the gods speak directly to forbid such unions? Or did men interpret their will to suit the needs of their time?"

This dance grows tedious, he thought. Perhaps it's time for a more... direct approach.

The High Septon drew himself up to his full, if unimpressive, height. "The Seven Pointed Star is clear on this matter."

"I have read the Seven Pointed Star," Jaehaerys replied. "And nowhere does it explicitly forbid a king from taking two wives. It speaks against lust and fornication, yes—but my unions with Princess Arianne and Queen Daenerys are political as much as personal."

Through the high windows, a shadow briefly darkened the sept as something massive passed overhead. The High Septon flinched visibly.

"Your dragon seems restless today," he observed, voice wavering slightly.

"Rhaenix enjoys flying over the city," Jaehaerys remarked casually. "As does Cannibal. The smallfolk have grown quite accustomed to their presence." He tilted his head. "Though I imagine it must be unsettling for those unaccustomed to dragons."

Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold exchanged the barest glance behind him, their faces remaining impassive.

"Your Grace," the High Septon began again, more conciliatory now, "perhaps there is a way to... acknowledge both unions separately, without explicitly—"

"No half measures," Jaehaerys interrupted firmly. "I will wed both Arianne Martell and Daenerys Targaryen in one ceremony, blessed by the Faith, or..." He left the threat unspoken.

The High Septon's eyes narrowed. "Or what, Your Grace? Would you threaten the Faith itself? I remind you that I could call upon the Faith Militant—"

"The Faith Militant?" Jaehaerys laughed, though there was no humor in it. "I believe my ancestor Maegor settled that particular issue quite definitively. Would you truly wish to resurrect that conflict?"

"The people would—"

"The people," Jaehaerys cut in, "have just endured years of war and starvation. They now have peace and food. Do you believe they would support armed septons against dragons?" He stepped closer. "The Faith Militant will never see the light of day again. That is one blessing we can all thank Maegor for, bloody as his reign was."

A heavy silence fell between them. Finally, Jaehaerys continued in a softer tone.

"I offer you something better than conflict. The crown will donate enough gold to rebuild every sept damaged in the recent wars. New septries will be established in regions that lack them. The Faith's coffers will overflow with royal generosity."

Every man has his price, Jaehaerys thought again. Even this one, wrapped in crystal and self-righteousness.

The High Septon's expression wavered between religious outrage and practical calculation. "And in return?"

"You perform the ceremony. You acknowledge the Doctrine of Exceptionalism applies to my marriages. And we continue the fruitful relationship between crown and Faith that has served the realm well for three centuries."

Another shadow passed overhead—larger this time. Cannibal, Jaehaerys knew without looking.

The High Septon swallowed hard. "The Targaryens have always been... different from other houses," he acknowledged reluctantly. "Perhaps the Doctrine of Exceptionalism does apply in this... unusual circumstance."

"I'm pleased we understand each other," Jaehaerys said with a satisfied nod.

"I shall need time to prepare the proper ceremonies," the High Septon added, grasping for some measure of control. "Ancient Targaryen wedding rites must be researched—"

"Three days," Jaehaerys stated flatly. "That is when the wedding will take place."

"As you wish, Your Grace," the High Septon conceded, bowing low.

As Jaehaerys departed with his Kingsguard, the High Septon stared at the seven altars before him, his face a mask of conflicted emotion.

The dragons have returned, he thought grimly, and with them, the old bargain—bend or burn. He fingered his crystal crown thoughtfully. But perhaps this bending will preserve more than it sacrifices. The Faith endures, even as kings rise and fall.

Outside, Rhaenix's roar echoed across the city, as if in answer to his unspoken thoughts.

House Tyrell - Now

The summer sun beat down on the gilded carriage as it rolled through the King's Gate, the wooden wheels clacking against the cobblestones of King's Landing. Inside, Lady Olenna Tyrell fanned herself vigorously, her sharp eyes taking in the transformed city through the open window. Targaryen banners—crimson and black—hung from every building, the three-headed dragon snarling down at them from each one.

"It appears we've arrived just in time to witness history repeat itself," she remarked dryly. "Dragons once more ruling over us all. How terribly predictable."

Her son, Mace Tyrell, puffed out his chest. "We've secured an excellent position, Mother. The King has promised Willas a seat on his small council, and Margaery's betrothal to Randyll Tarly's son ensures our influence in the Reach remains—"

"Oh, do be quiet, Mace," Olenna cut him off. "You're speaking as though we've won something, when we've merely avoided complete disaster." Seven help me, he's as perceptive as a turnip and half as useful.

Across from her, Margaery Tyrell sat with perfect posture as always. Next to her, Loras stared out the window, his face seemed less handsome right now, the anger was clear as day. Willas was looking at the city outside, he was leaning upwards as if trying to see something he could not quite see well.

Beyond the city walls, the unmistakable shapes of two massive dragons could be seen resting on a hillside—one crimson with black wings, the other completely black and significantly larger.

"I wonder if I might get a closer look at Cannibal," Willas mused aloud, leaning toward the window. "King Jaehaerys allowed me to approach Rhaenix when he visited Highgarden."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Margaery replied. "Cannibal doesn't appear as... accommodating as Rhaenix. His name rather gives away his temperament, don't you think?"

Olenna snorted. "And to think, just five months ago the boy was Jon Sand, bastard son of Oberyn Martell. Now he's Jaehaerys Targaryen, Third of His Name, and we're all scrambling to pretend we knew it all along." And we nearly had him for Margaery before he revealed himself. The girl could have been queen instead of the lady of Horn Hill.

"He was never Jon Sand," Loras muttered darkly. "He was always plotting, always deceiving. And now Renly is dead because of him."

"Renly is dead because he chose to ally with Tywin Lannister against dragons," Olenna stated bluntly. "A foolish decision that you would have shared had we not removed you from Harrenhal."

Loras's face flushed red. "You kidnapped me! While Renly was—"

"While Renly was making the worst mistake of his brief life," Olenna finished for him. "Our soldiers saved you from joining him in that mistake. Would you rather be a charred corpse or a living knight with hurt feelings?"

"Our family could have sent the Reach armies to help," Loras persisted, his voice dropping dangerously low. "That dragon bitch would never have—"

Olenna's cane thumped the carriage floor, startling everyone into silence. "Not another word," she hissed. "Unless you wish to be sent to the Wall—or worse. The stones have ears in this city, and unlike roses, dragons don't wilt when touched."

The carriage rattled into the main thoroughfare, revealing streets bustling with commerce. Vendors hawked their wares beneath freshly painted signs, and the smell of baking bread wafted from the bakeries. The citizens looked well-fed, a stark contrast to the gaunt faces that had haunted these same streets during the Lannister embargo.

"The smallfolk seem happy enough with their new king," Willas observed.

"Peasants are simple creatures," Mace declared pompously. "Give them bread and they'll cheer for anyone."

"The king has secured grain shipments from Essos," Margaery noted. "And he's reduced taxes on the smallfolk while increasing them on the nobility."

"Indeed," Willas agreed. "And with three dragons now in Westeros—"

"Three?" Mace interrupted, confused.

"Yes, Father. King Jaehaerys's mount, Queen Daenerys's Cannibal, and now Prince Viserys apparently has one as well, though it's still small," Willas explained patiently.

"The Targaryens have consolidated power more efficiently than anyone could have predicted," Margaery added, smoothing her skirts. "Two marriages and three dragons. The Iron Throne is secure for generations."

"Which is precisely why you'll smile prettily at this wedding, Loras," Olenna commanded. "And why you'll find it in your heart to be gracious about your betrothal, Margaery."

"Dickon Tarly is a fine match," Margaery replied with a diplomatic smile. "Father of dragons or not, I doubt life with Jaehaerys Targaryen would have been simple."

The carriage came to a stop in the courtyard of the Red Keep. As servants rushed to attend them, Olenna cast one final glance at her grandchildren.

We've been outplayed, she thought grimly. The Targaryen boy turned out to be more dragon than anyone expected, and smarter than all the great lords combined. Gods help Westeros if he has his grandfather's temperament beneath those pretty manners.

"Come along," she said aloud. "Let's go pay our respects to the dragon, his two brides, and whatever's left of our dignity."

The Stark procession wound its way through the streets of King's Landing, attracting curious stares from the smallfolk. Unlike House Tyrell's ornate carriages, the Northerners rode on horseback, except for Lady Catelyn, who was inside a carriage with Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon.

Theon Greyjoy rode alongside Robb, his cocky smile directed at every pretty face they passed.

Following the Starks came the Tully contingent led by the Blackfish and Edmure, and behind them, the dignified procession of the Vale lords, with Bronze Yohn Royce's imposing figure at their head.

"I still can't believe it," Sansa sighed dreamily inside the carriage, the window open so Ned could hear what she was saying. "To think that Jon Sand—I mean, King Jaehaerys—is actually our cousin. And now he's to marry two princesses."

"You're not still thinking you could have been queen, are you?" Arya asked with a snort.

Sansa's cheeks colored. "I'm merely saying that had circumstances been different, a match between our houses would have made political sense."

Arya rolled her eyes dramatically. "He's our cousin, Sansa. And he grew up in Dorne. I doubt he was pining for a Northern bride he barely knew."

"Do you think Alyanna will be here?" Bran interjected, changing the subject. "I liked her. She knew all those stories about the stars."

"I expect so," Ned replied over his shoulder. "She is the King's cousin as well, after all."

"And your daughter," Catelyn added quietly, without a trace of bitterness. The revelation of Alyanna's existence had been a shock years ago, but time—and the fact that Ashara Dayne had raised the girl far from Winterfell—had dulled any resentment.

Ahead, the Red Keep loomed closer, its red stone made it seem like it was made of blood.

"Two wives," Theon mused to Robb, keeping his voice low. "The man's living the dream, wouldn't you say? A Dornish beauty and the Dragon Queen herself."

"Mind your tongue," Robb warned, though a smile tugged at his lips. "That's my cousin and our king you're speaking of."

"Still," Theon persisted, "one has to admire his... diplomacy." He grinned wickedly. "Perhaps Princess Daenerys might be impressed by what the Iron Islands have to offer."

Robb laughed outright. "Planning to seduce the Dragon Queen, are you? I'd be more worried about her dragon than her royal guard."

"Worth the risk," Theon replied, eyeing a group of ladies watching their procession from a balcony.

As they approached the castle gates, a familiar figure stepped out to meet them—tall and lean, with long dark hair partially braided in the Northern style. Lady Dacey Mormont, heir to Bear Island, wore a green dress that did little to hide her warrior's physique.

"Lord Stark," she greeted with a bow. "Lady Stark. Welcome to King's Landing."

"Lady Dacey," Ned returned with a nod. "I didn't expect to see you here already."

"We sailed directly from Bear Island," Dacey explained. "Mother thought it best to arrive early and... take the measure of things."

As the Starks dismounted, Dacey fell into step beside Catelyn. "The capital has changed dramatically since the King's arrival," she remarked. "The smallfolk seem happier, at least."

"And how do you find His Grace?" Catelyn inquired carefully, aware of the rumors that had once linked the Bear Island heir to Jon Sand during his visit to Winterfell.

A faint smile crossed Dacey's lips. "Changed as well, my lady. He wears the crown as if born to it—which I suppose he was."

Later, as the Northern lords gathered in one of the courtyard's quieter corners, Dacey found herself surrounded by curious questions.

"Is it true the King favored you during his time in the North?" Lord Cerwyn asked bluntly.

Dacey's expression remained perfectly composed. "His Grace was courteous to all during his stay at Winterfell," she replied evenly. "Though none of us knew his true identity then."

"You spent considerable time alone with him," Rickard Karstark pressed.

"We hunted together," Dacey acknowledged. "He wished to learn Northern tracking methods. Nothing more."

Only Maege Mormont, watching from a few paces away, recognized the subtle tightening around her daughter's eyes—the only tell that Dacey was omitting certain details of those "hunting trips."

"I'm genuinely happy for His Grace," Dacey continued, her voice warm. "Both Princess Arianne and Queen Daenerys are remarkable women. They'll make formidable queens."

"Three dragons ruling again," Lord Umber grumbled. "Let's hope these ones aren't mad."

"The King is more wolf than dragon in temperament," Ned Stark interjected firmly, ending that line of conversation.

Servants appeared, directing the noble guests toward their quarters. As the crowd dispersed, Lord Stark caught the eye of his goodbrother, Lord Tully, along with Bronze Yohn Royce and the Blackfish.

"My lords," he said quietly. "Once you've settled, perhaps we might speak privately. There are matters requiring discussion before the festivities begin."

As the Stark children were led away, attended by their mother, Dacey Mormont found herself momentarily alone with Lord Stark.

"He's going to be a good king, isn't he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ned studied her face, recognizing the question beneath the question. "I believe so, Lady Dacey. He has a good heart—something rare in kings."

"Yes," she agreed, a flash of genuine affection crossing her features. "That's something I discovered as well."

With a respectful nod, she departed, leaving Ned to contemplate how thoroughly his sister's son had entangled himself with the powerful houses of the realm—whether by design or happy accident, he couldn't be sure.

Later

Ned Stark stood by the window, his discomfort plain on his long face as he gazed out at the sprawling city below. The Red Keep brought back memories he'd rather forget—the Mad King's court, the Sack, the blood-soaked throne room where Jaime Lannister had stood over Aerys's body.

Sixteen years, and this place still smells of death beneath the perfumes, he thought grimly. Though I suppose that's true of most places where power changes hands.

Behind him, three men had arranged themselves around the table—Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, his weathered face set in its permanent half-scowl; Edmure Tully, looking far more comfortable in his fine clothes than Ned felt in his; and Bronze Yohn Royce.

"Well, Stark," Lord Royce began without preamble, "It seems your nephew has restored the dragon banners faster than anyone expected."

"Not my doing," Ned replied, turning from the window. "Jaehaerys kept his own counsel on matters of conquest."

"And conquered he has," the Blackfish remarked dryly. "Three weeks since Lord Tywin and Littlefinger's execution, and already the realm feels different."

Lord Royce's face darkened at the mention of Baelish. "I only wish I'd been present to watch that mockingbird burn. The damage he did to the Vale..." He shook his head in disgust.

"How proceeds the transition of power?" Ned asked, taking a seat at the table. "I understand your son Andar is to be named Lord Paramount of the Vale."

Pride flickered across Royce's stern features. "Indeed. The king has confirmed it. Andar is preparing to take residence in the Eyrie once the wedding festivities conclude. A sound choice, if I may say so myself."

At least someone is pleased with their new position, Ned thought. I can't wait to return to Winterfell, away from this snake pit of a capital.

"And what of Lysa?" Edmure asked hesitantly. "Has there been word from the Silent Sisters?"

The Blackfish's expression grew stony. "None, nor do I expect any. The Silent Sisters take their vows seriously—certainly more seriously than Lysa took her marriage vows."

Edmure flinched at his uncle's harsh tone. "Uncle, she wasn't well—"

"She was well enough to poison Jon Arryn and claim her bastard was his trueborn heir," the Blackfish cut in sharply. "She brought shame upon House Tully that will take generations to wash away. She killed her own father." Blackfish said with disgust, and Ned was a little taken aback. He knew Hoster Tully died last month, but he never thought...

"Hoster Tully had been sick for almost a year, Blackfish, maybe it was just..."

"My brother was suffering I know that, but the day I told him what his daughter had done, the same night he died. I know the news killed him." Blackfish said with anger in his voice, and Ned was sure he saw Edmure looking like he wanted to say something, but instead he closed his mouth.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Ned remembered Lord Hoster Tully, his goodfather—a proud man who valued family and honor above all else.

"The boy—Robin Stone," Ned said, changing the subject slightly. "How does he fare?"

Lord Royce sighed. "As well as can be expected. He's fostered with House Redfort now. A sickly child, still, but improving without his mother's... excessive attentions. He'll never rule the Vale, but he may yet grow into a decent man despite his parentage."

"And the Wall?" Royce asked, turning to Ned. "I am sure they are surprised to have the likes of Robert and Stannis there."

A hint of a smile touched Ned's lips. "Aye. I figure Robert has already broken three practice swords and bellows at the new recruits like he was born to it. Stannis, meanwhile, has taken charge of castle repairs with his usual... thoroughness."

Robert always did prefer commanding to being commanded, Ned thought with unexpected fondness. And Stannis could organize the seven hells if given the authority.

"Seems the Watch gained more than it bargained for," the Blackfish said with a small smile, but it was brief.

"The wildlings won't know what hit them," Edmure added.

Lord Royce leaned forward. "And what of the capital? The smallfolk seem pleased with their new king."

"The Tyrells' grain shipments arrived yesterday," the Blackfish confirmed. "And Dornish wine flows freely. Nothing wins loyalty like full bellies."

"And the fear of dragons," Edmure added quietly.

Ned frowned. "Jaehaerys understands that fear alone won't maintain peace. He was raised by Oberyn Martell—a different education than most princes receive."

"Speaking of peace," Lord Royce said thoughtfully, "this is the first time in my memory that all Seven Kingdoms stand truly united under one crown, without rebellion brewing in some corner."

"Don't tempt the gods, Royce," the Blackfish warned.

"No, he's right," Ned found himself saying. "With the strength of Dragons, Dorne and the North aligned through blood ties, and the other kingdoms either grateful or cowed... we might actually see the peace the realm has needed."

And my children might grow up without knowing war, he thought, surprising himself with the sudden hope.

"To peace, then," Edmure proposed, raising an imaginary cup.

"To peace," the others echoed, even the Blackfish, though his voice carried the wariness of a man who had seen too many promises broken.

House Martell

The Dornish procession wound through the King's Gate like a serpent of silk and spice, bringing the heat and colors of the south to the capital. Inside one of the carriages was Prince Doran Martell. Despite the pain that constantly haunted his joints, his face showed only dignity and pride as he surveyed the city that would soon see his daughter crowned queen.

Beside him was his wife Mellario, returned from Norvos after seventeen years of self-imposed exile. Her beauty remained, though lines of discontent had settled around her mouth. Behind them came their sons: quiet, bookish Quentyn and young Trystane, whose eyes widened at the sight of the Red Keep looming above the city.

Arianne rode slightly ahead, her black hair adorned with golden ornaments that chimed softly with each movement of her mount. She sat tall in her saddle, every inch the future queen, her gaze fixed on the palace where her betrothed awaited.

"King's Landing smells better than I expected," Trystane remarked, wrinkling his nose. "Father always said it stank like a fishmonger's armpit in summer."

"Mind your tongue," Mellario chided. "Such talk is beneath a prince."

"But accurate nonetheless," Doran noted. "It seems our nephew-turned-king has improved the sewers along with everything else."

Mellario's lips thinned at the mention of Jaehaerys. "Still strange to think of the boy as king. He was raised as your brother's bastard, and now he takes two wives, including our daughter."

"A Targaryen custom," Doran replied evenly. "One that elevates our Arianne to the highest position in the realm."

"Half of the highest position," Mellario corrected sharply.

Arianne, hearing this, turned in her saddle. "Mother, please. This was my choice as much as His Grace's. Daenerys and I understand each other perfectly well."

"No woman understands sharing her husband perfectly well," Mellario muttered, though only Doran heard her.

The procession halted at the Red Keep's gates, where guardsmen in Targaryen livery stood at attention. As they dismounted—servants rushing to assist Doran to a wheeled chair—a familiar voice called out from the courtyard.

"Brother! Right on time for the wine, as always!"

Oberyn Martell strode toward them, resplendent in copper and gold, Ellaria Sand on his arm and his daughters—the infamous Sand Snakes—trailing behind like a deadly retinue.

"Oberyn," Doran greeted warmly. "I see court life hasn't dulled your spirits."

"Court life? Me? I merely advise our young king when he asks, which is rarely." Oberyn embraced his brother, then bowed over Mellario's hand with exaggerated gallantry. "My lady, the years away have only enhanced your beauty."

"And the years here have only enhanced your flattery," she replied.

Ellaria embraced Arianne warmly. "Soon-to-be Queen," she murmured. "Your mother was exactly as radiant when she was your age."

Mellario stiffened slightly at this, but said nothing.

Oberyn's daughters surrounded Arianne with embraces and excited chatter. Obara, the eldest, clapped her on the shoulder.

"Where is the king?" Quentyn asked, looking around the courtyard.

"Meeting with the council," Oberyn replied. "He'll greet you properly at tonight's feast. In the meantime, I'm to play host."

As servants began transferring their belongings, Mellario drew Arianne aside, her voice dropping to ensure privacy.

"Are you certain about this arrangement, daughter? Sharing the throne—and a husband—with another woman?"

Arianne's eyes softened. "Mother, I know this seems strange to you. But Daenerys and I have reached an understanding. We each bring different strengths to this union—I know the politics of Westeros, while she brings dragons and the loyalty of the East."

"And your heart? What of that?"

"My heart belongs to Jaehaerys," Arianne replied simply. "As does hers. There is enough of him for both of us."

Across the courtyard, Doran and Oberyn observed them with knowing eyes.

"Your wife still harbors her old grievances," Oberyn noted quietly.

"Seventeen years apart doesn't heal wounds, only numbs them," Doran replied. "But she loves Arianne enough to be here."

"And you? How does it feel to have your daughter become a queen?"

Doran's gaze turned contemplative. "Proud. Concerned. Hopeful. The Targaryens bring fire, brother. I pray our daughter brings the temperance needed to control it."

"Jaehaerys is not Aerys," Oberyn assured him. "I raised him better than that."

"You did," Doran acknowledged. "Though I wonder if you trained him too well in Dornish passions."

Oberyn laughed. "Two wives would suggest so!"

The Throne Room

The Great Hall of the Red Keep echoed with the sound of lords and ladies of Westeros, all awaiting their future King to speak.

At the far end, the Iron Throne loomed. Jaehaerys Targaryen sat upon it, crowned but not yet formally coronated. The throne had been modified subtly, with two smaller seats positioned just below it on the dais—one currently occupied by Daenerys Targaryen in a gown of black and crimson.

A hush fell over the assembled nobility as the great doors swung open. The herald's voice rang out: "Prince Doran Martell of Sunspear, Princess Mellario of Norvos, Prince Quentyn and Prince Trystane of House Martell, and Princess Arianne Martell, betrothed to His Grace, King Jaehaerys, Third of His Name!"

The Dornish procession entered holding their heads high—Doran in his wheeled chair, pushed by a servant; Mellario walking beside him, her eyes found Jae, and he was sure she was trying to read his mind; their sons following, and finally Arianne, resplendent in gold-threaded orange silk that left one shoulder bare in the Dornish fashion.

Jaehaerys saw many ladies looking scandalized when they saw what Arianne was wearing, some starting whispering at one another, but Arianne didn't seem to care and her eyes were only on him.

Jaehaerys rose from the Iron Throne, descending the steps. Daenerys joined him at the bottom of the dais.

"Prince Doran," Jaehaerys greeted, his voice carrying through the hall. "Princess Mellario. Welcome to King's Landing."

Doran inclined his head. "Your Grace. It seems you've made some changes since we last spoke in Sunspear."

A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the crowd at the understatement.

"A few," Jaehaerys acknowledged with a smile, before turning to Arianne. He took her hand, raising it to his lips. "Princess."

"Your Grace," she responded, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I believe you promised me a crown."

"Tomorrow," he assured her, his eyes warm. "Though you wear royalty as if born to it already."

Daenerys stepped forward, embracing Arianne with genuine warmth. "Sister," she said, loud enough for the court to hear.

The significance of the greeting was lost on no one—the Dragon Queen publicly acknowledging her shared future with the Dornish Princess. Several lords exchanged glances.

"It seems our nephew has inherited your silver tongue along with his father's looks," Doran remarked quietly to Oberyn, who had appeared at his side.

"And neither of our tendencies toward restraint," Oberyn replied with a grin.

The formalities concluded, the gathering became more fluid as wine flowed and musicians played. Lords and ladies approached the royal trio to pay respects, offer gifts, or simply position themselves within view of the new power structure.

A stir at the hall's entrance drew everyone's attention. A slender young man with silver-gold hair entered, his purple eyes marking him unmistakably as a Targaryen. On his shoulder perched a creature no larger than a cat—a dragon with scales the color of twilight, its wings folded neatly against its back.

"Viserys," Daenerys called, her face lighting with genuine pleasure.

The young man approached, bowing first to Jaehaerys, then embracing his sister warmly. The small dragon chirped, eliciting gasps from nearby nobles who hadn't yet seen the newest addition to the Targaryen menagerie.

Many looked at the small dragon that was resting on Prince Viserys's shoulder.

"Three dragons," Lord Tarly remarked from nearby. "The realm hasn't seen such a sight in generations."

Across the hall, Ned Stark observed the exchange with his customary reserve. "The boy handles the court well," he commented to the Blackfish. "Better than his grandfather ever did."

"High praise from the quiet wolf," the Blackfish remarked. "But I agree. He has Rhaegar's charm without his melancholy."

Meanwhile, Arianne and Daenerys had withdrawn slightly from the main gathering, their heads bent in conversation.

"Your mother seems concerned," Daenerys observed quietly.

Arianne sighed. "She fears I'm making a mistake. That no woman can truly share power—or a husband."

"And what do you believe?"

"I believe in us," Arianne replied, meeting Daenerys's gaze directly. "Three dragons ruled Westeros once before. They can do so again, well, two dragons and one snake."

Daenerys smiled. "Different, but the same."

As the evening progressed, Jaehaerys moved through the gathering, addressing concerns, offering reassurances, and building bridges between houses that had recently been at war.

Finally, when the hour grew late, Jaehaerys called for the hall's attention, raising a goblet of Dornish wine.

"My lords and ladies," he began, his voice strong and clear. "Tomorrow, the realm enters a new era. I will wed Princess Arianne Martell and Queen Daenerys Targaryen, binding together the blood of Old Valyria with that of Nymeria's Rhoynar. The dragon returns, not to conquer, but to unite. To build a realm where all houses prosper under peace."

He raised his cup higher. "To tomorrow, and to the future of the Seven Kingdoms."

"To tomorrow!" the gathering echoed, cups and voices raised in unison.

Later

The night had grown late, the revelry in the Great Hall diminishing as lords and ladies retreated to their chambers in anticipation of tomorrow's historic ceremony. Jaehaerys found himself in one of the Red Keep's smaller courtyards. The silver light of a waxing moon cast long shadows across the stone paths and illuminated the face of the woman who had requested this private audience.

Mellario of Norvos stood with the rigid posture of her homeland, her dark eyes evaluating him. Despite the years of separation from Dorne, she retained the subtle marks of her adopted culture in the patterns embroidered along her sleeves and the golden pins securing her dark hair.

"Your Grace," she began, "I thank you for agreeing to speak with me at such a late hour."

"Princess Mellario," Jaehaerys replied. "Any request from my future goodmother merits attention, regardless of the hour."

A smile touched Arianne's lips as she stood slightly apart from them, her fingers tracing the petals of a night rose. She had insisted on being present for this conversation, though she remained silent for now, allowing her mother this moment.

"Goodmother," Mellario repeated, testing the word as though it were a foreign fruit she wasn't certain she wished to taste. "Strange to think I will be goodmother to a king. Stranger still to think my daughter will share that king with another queen."

Jaehaerys met her gaze steadily. "Customs differ from Houses to Houses, I understand."

"Indeed." Mellario moved toward a stone bench nestled beneath a flowering arbor. "In Norvos, men take one wife, and women expect their husband's undivided devotion. Even in Dorne, where paramours are accepted, marriage itself remains sacred between two people."

"Mother," Arianne began, but Mellario raised a hand to silence her.

"I haven't crossed the Narrow Sea after seventeen years away to dance around what concerns me," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I would speak plainly, Your Grace, if you permit it."

"I welcome plain speech," he responded, joining her on the bench. "The court has enough falsehoods without adding more in private conversation."

Mellario studied him, her gaze falling to the Targaryen sigil emblazoned on his tunic. "When I first learned my daughter was to marry Oberyn Martell's bastard son, I was... concerned. When I later heard that bastard was actually Rhaegar Targaryen's trueborn heir, my concern only deepened." Her eyes flicked briefly to Arianne. "And when I discovered this union would include another queen, I began to question the nature of your feelings for my daughter."

"Mother—" Arianne started again, stepping forward.

"Let her speak," Jaehaerys said softly. "These are questions that deserve answers."

"Do you love my daughter, Your Grace?" Mellario asked directly. "Not her title, not her beauty, not her body—though the gods know Arianne has been blessed with all three. Do you love her?"

Jaehaerys felt Arianne's hand on his, and he grasped her warm hand, he felt better as if he was holding the sun with him.

"I've known Arianne since I have known myself," he began. "I've seen her lead and negotiate, laugh and weep, scheme and surrender. I know how she furrows her brow when deep in thought, how she taps her right foot when impatient, how she catches her lower lip between her teeth when she's trying not to smile."

He turned back to Mellario. "Before I was a king, before I had a crown or even my true name, when I was just Jon Sand with nothing to offer but myself, she chose me. And I chose her." His violet eyes held Mellario's unflinchingly. "That choice hasn't changed because circumstances have."

"And yet you also chose another," Mellario pointed out.

"Daenerys is my blood, and our union strengthens the Targaryen line," Jaehaerys acknowledged. "There is affection between us, yes. But what Arianne and I share was built over years, not months."

"Mother, this arrangement was as much my decision as his. I understand the power of being Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I understand the political necessity of uniting the Targaryen bloodline. And I understand my own heart."

Mellario reached for her daughter's hand, squeezing it gently. "Politics and crowns have a way of overshadowing hearts, my love. I would not see you suffer as I did."

"I understand you and father didn't have the best marriage, but mine is a choice, made with clear eyes and full knowledge," Arianne replied softly.

"I thought the same, until Doran became a stranger in my bed." she said, her eyes red.

"Princess Mellario," he said, drawing her attention back to him, "I cannot promise there won't be challenges in this arrangement. But I can promise that Arianne will never be secondary in my affections or in her position."

"Words come easily to Kings and Queens," Mellario observed.

"Then judge me not by words but by actions," Jaehaerys replied. "Watch how I honor her tomorrow, and in the days that follow."

Mellario was silent for a long moment, her eyes traveling between them. Finally, she released a soft sigh. "You speak well, Your Grace. Better than most men twice your age. I can see why my daughter was captivated." She stood, smoothing her gown. "I will watch, as you suggest. And should I see Arianne diminished in any way—"

"You'll have me to answer to before you even reach him," Arianne interjected with a flash of the steel that had always run beneath her charm.

Mellario's laugh was unexpected, a bright sound in the quiet garden. "There's my daughter." She turned back to Jaehaerys. "Very well, Your Grace. You have my blessing, for whatever a mother's blessing may be worth to a king."

"It is worth more than you know," Jaehaerys replied, rising to his feet. "For I never knew my own mother's blessing, and have often wondered what it might have felt like."

Something shifted in Mellario's expression—a softening, a recognition of the orphaned boy beneath the crown. She inclined her head slightly. "Then consider it given, though conditionally. Prove my concerns unfounded, and it shall become unconditional."

"I look forward to earning that honor," Jaehaerys said with genuine warmth.

As Mellario took her leave, Arianne moved to stand beside Jaehaerys. "She has always been protective, even from across the Narrow Sea," she murmured.

"As any mother should be," Jaehaerys replied, watching Mellario's retreating figure. "And tomorrow, she'll see that her journey home was not in vain."

Tomorrow

The Great Sept of Baelor stood resplendent in the morning light. Inside, the seven-sided sanctuary had been transformed for perhaps the most significant royal wedding in a century. Garlands of crimson and gold flowers twined around the towering statues of the Seven, while Targaryen banners hung alongside the sun-and-spear of House Martell. The scent of incense perfumed the air, mingling with the fragrance of exotic Dornish blooms that had been brought north specifically for this occasion.

Jaehaerys Targaryen stood before the altar of the Father and Mother, attempting to maintain the serene composure expected of a king while his heart hammered against his ribs. He wore a tunic of deep indigo, almost black in shadow. Silver thread embroidered the three-headed dragon across his chest, and a slender circlet of Valyrian steel rested upon his brow. His dark hair had been pulled back in a style reminiscent of how his father, Rhaegar, had once worn his.

My father stood in a godswood, not a sept, when he wed my mother, Jaehaerys thought. And no one was there to witness their union. This is... different in every way possible.

The Great Sept was filled to capacity, with the noble houses of Westeros arranged according to rank and allegiance. In the front stood House Martell—Doran in his wheeled chair, his expression a mixture of pride and circumspection; Oberyn beside him, barely containing his satisfaction at seeing his "son" ascend to such heights; Oberyn's daughters ranged behind them, their dark eyes glittering with familial pride.

On the opposite side stood the Stark contingent, led by Lord Eddard, his eyes held a certain wistfulness when they met Jaehaerys's. Nearby, Jaehaerys noticed his cousin Sansa engaged in quiet conversation with Willas Tyrell, her cheeks flushed with more than just the heat of the crowded sept.

At least someone else finds joy today, he thought with an inward smile.

His gaze drifted to another figure standing slightly apart from the Stark family—Alyanna Stark-Dayne, her dark hair streaked with silvery strands, beside her was Lady Ashara Dayne. Their eyes met briefly. Jae could see the affection in her eyes.

The High Septon stood before Jaehaerys. Though his countenance maintained proper solemnity, there was a tightness around his mouth that betrayed his reluctance to perform this unprecedented ceremony.

"Your Grace," the High Septon murmured, low enough that only Jaehaerys could hear, "the processions are ready to begin. Are you prepared to receive your..." he hesitated almost imperceptibly, "...brides?"

"I am," Jaehaerys replied firmly, emphasizing the final word with quiet authority.

At his acknowledgment, the septry bells began to toll. The assembled nobility rose as one, turning toward the great doors as they swung open to reveal the first procession.

Daenerys Targaryen entered on Viserys's arm, her gown was black silk that shimmered with threads of red and silver when she moved, creating the illusion of dragonfire dancing across her form. Her silver-gold hair had been arranged in an intricate style that incorporated both Valyrian tradition and contemporary Westerosi elegance, adorned with a delicate tiara fashioned from dragonglass and rubies. Her brother wore Targaryen colors that complemented hers.

As Daenerys reached the midpoint of the sept, the doors opened once more. Arianne Martell entered on her mother's arm, Princess Mellario's face a composition of pride and protective devotion.

Arianne's gown was flowing silk in deep orange and gold that clung to her curves before billowing out behind her in a train adorned with thousands of tiny crystals that caught the light like drops of sun. Her black hair had been partially braided with golden thread and adorned with fresh flowers, while the rest fell in glossy waves down her back.

Seven save me, Jaehaerys thought, momentarily forgetting the solemn occasion as he watched Arianne's approach. The years they had spent together in Sunspear, the political partnership that had blossomed into genuine affection—all culminated in this moment. Prince Doran watched from his wheeled chair in the front row, his eyes shining with emotion he rarely displayed so openly.

The two processions converged at the altar steps, where both women would be given away. Viserys and Mellario exchanged a meaningful glance—a silent acknowledgment between the representatives of two ancient houses now being bound together through this unprecedented union.

"Who comes before the gods this day?" the High Septon intoned, his voice echoing through the sept.

"Daenerys of House Targaryen," Viserys replied, his voice clear and strong. "A woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth. She comes to beg the blessing of the Seven on her union."

"And who comes to claim her?" the High Septon continued.

"I do," Jaehaerys responded. "Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, Third of My Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. I claim her by right of blood and crown."

The ritual words were repeated for Arianne, with Mellario's voice carrying the subtle accent of Norvos as she presented her daughter.

Then came the unprecedented part of the ceremony, the moment the High Septon had so strenuously objected to. Rather than proceeding with a single wedding, he was required to join both unions simultaneously. To his credit, he performed his duty, though Jaehaerys noted the slight tremor in his hands as he bound first one set of hands with the sacred ribbon, then the other.

As the ritual progressed, Jaehaerys became aware of various reactions throughout the sept. The Sand Snakes watched with undisguised delight, occasionally exchanging whispers that made him glad he couldn't hear their commentary. House Stark were talking amongst each other.

The exchange of cloaks came next. First, Viserys removed the black-and-red Targaryen cloak from Daenerys's shoulders, temporarily leaving her in only her wedding gown. Then Mellario, removed the orange-and-red Martell cloak from Arianne. Jaehaerys stepped forward, carrying two cloaks of identical design—black with the three-headed dragon of his house, but each subtly incorporating elements of the bride's original house. Daenerys's featured rubies for eyes in the dragons, while Arianne's had golden sunbursts worked into the border.

As he draped first one cloak, then the other, around his brides' shoulders, a sudden shadow passed over the crystal dome above, followed by another. The distinctive screech of dragons echoed through the sept, causing several guests to gasp or clutch at their companions.

Rhaenix and Cannibal, Jaehaerys thought with a surge of pride. Even they come to witness this union.

The High Septon cleared his throat, visibly discomfited by the draconic interruption, but continued with the ceremony. "Let it be known that Daenerys of House Targaryen and Arianne of House Martell are now queens of the Seven Kingdoms, united in marriage to Jaehaerys, the Third of His Name. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

The final blessing came, sprinkling of oils and invocation of the Seven. Then the pronouncement that Jaehaerys had waited for:

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Jaehaerys declared, first to Daenerys, then to Arianne.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," each responded in turn.

The kisses were brief but genuine—first with Daenerys, her lips cool and soft against his; then with Arianne, whose familiar warmth sent a different kind of thrill through him. The sept erupted in applause, though Jaehaerys noted it was more polite than enthusiastic from certain quarters.

Before they turned to face the assembled nobility as a wedded trio, Jaehaerys took one of each woman's hands in his own, forming a circle that symbolized their shared future. It was not part of the traditional ceremony, but a gesture he had insisted upon.

"Together," he said softly.

"Together," they echoed, their fingers tightening around his.

Outside, the dragons roared in triumphant harmony as Jaehaerys led his queens down the sept's central aisle. Sunshine spilled through the open doors ahead, illuminating their path forward into a future that, for all its uncertainty, promised to reshape the Seven Kingdoms in ways none could fully predict.

Wedding Feast

Jaehaerys surveyed the celebration from his seat. Beside him, Daenerys conversed amiably with Prince Doran. On his other side, Arianne laughed at something Viserys had said, her hand resting casually on Jaehaerys's arm..

"A most successful ceremony, Your Grace," came Oberyn's voice as the Dornish prince approached the high table, goblet in hand. "Though I suspect the High Septon may require a fortnight of prayer to recover from the shock of joining one man to two women."

"He performed his duty admirably," Jaehaerys replied with a slight smile. "As did you, in keeping your daughters' more colorful observations to a minimum during the sacred moments."

"I made no promises about their behavior at the feast," Oberyn remarked, his eyes dancing with mischief as he glanced toward where the Sand Snakes were regaling a group of young knights with tales that made their cheeks flush crimson.

The musicians struck up a new melody, and Jaehaerys rose, extending his hand first to Daenerys. "The floor awaits us, my queen."

She took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the center of the hall where space had been cleared for dancing. The assembled nobility watched with rapt attention as king and queen moved through the steps of a traditional Valyrian dance.

When the first dance concluded, Jaehaerys escorted Daenerys back to the high table before offering his hand to Arianne. Their dance could not have been more different—a Dornish rhythm that allowed for closer embraces.

"You've practiced," Arianne murmured against his ear as he guided her through a particularly intricate turn.

"I wouldn't embarrass my Dornish queen before her countrymen," he replied, his hand pressing slightly firmer against the small of her back.

As the evening progressed, Jaehaerys circulated among his guests, fulfilling the diplomatic obligations that even wedding feasts could not escape. He found Alyanna Stark-Dayne standing near a colonnade, her distinctive silver-streaked dark hair marking her as clearly as any banner could have.

"I feared you might have departed after the ceremony," he said, joining her in the relative quiet of the alcove.

"And miss seeing you struggle through a Dornish three-step?" she replied, a ghost of their old familiarity in her smile. "Never."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the revelry.

"I've been considering the Small Council," Jaehaerys said finally. "There are positions yet to be filled."

Alyanna's eyes, so like her father Ned's despite their Dayne coloring, studied him carefully. "The Master of Whisperers, perhaps?"

"The realm needs ears more than it needs spies," he replied. "Someone who understands both North and South. Someone with... particular talents for hearing what others miss."

A flicker of understanding crossed her features. Few knew of her skinchanging abilities—the gift that allowed her to see through the eyes of birds and beasts. "An interesting proposition," she said neutrally.

"Consider it," he offered.

Across the hall, Sansa Stark was once again speaking with Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden leaning on his cane as he listened with evident fascination to whatever she described. Ned Stark watched this development with a father's mixture of pride and concern, his conversation with the Blackfish momentarily forgotten.

"Did you ever imagine this day, when you carried him from that tower?" Catelyn asked quietly at her husband's side.

Ned's solemn face softened briefly. "Never. I thought only of keeping him alive, keeping my promise." His eyes moved to where Jaehaerys now stood with both his queens, receiving congratulations from various lords. "Lyanna would scarcely believe it."

Near the Dornish contingent, Mellario and Doran sat in rare proximity, their usual distance bridged by their shared focus on their daughter.

"She looks happy," Mellario conceded, her initial reservations momentarily set aside.

"She does," Doran agreed. "And powerful. The influence of Dorne will flow through her to the throne."

"Always the prince, even now," Mellario said.

"Always the father, first," Doran corrected gently, surprising them both.

Meanwhile, Viserys Targaryen had gathered an admiring circle of ladies around him, the small purple dragon perched on his shoulder adding exotic allure to his silver-haired handsomeness.

"Rhaellara grows stronger each day," he was explaining, allowing one particularly bold maiden to stroke the dragon's neck. "Though her appetite for uncooked meat has made me rather unpopular with the royal falconers."

As the night deepened, Daenerys and Arianne found themselves momentarily together without Jaehaerys, watching as he spoke with Lord Tyrell about grain shipments even on his wedding night.

"Does he ever truly rest?" Daenerys wondered aloud.

"Rarely," Arianne replied with knowing affection. "Though I have my methods of ensuring he does."

Daenerys laughed. "As do I. Perhaps between us, we shall manage to give the realm a king who occasionally sleeps."

"An alliance I can fully support," Arianne agreed, raising her goblet in a private toast that Daenerys matched.

As the hour grew late, the time came for the bedding ceremony, and Jae could see many lords and ladies quite eager. He would not let that happen; he was the King, and he would not allow anyone else to touch his queens. Thankfully, Ser Arthur Dayne was there to make sure no one tried anything stupid instead of removing their clothes.

Lords and Ladies formed a tunnel for them to walk through while shouting the most vile things. Lords were shouting about Princess Arianne and Princess Daenerys, some shouting how lucky Jaehaerys was.

And many ladies were saying how lucky the two Queens were. Eventually, Jaehaerys found himself in the bedchamber, which he would share with Arianne and Daenerys for the rest of his days.

The Dragon's Bed

The heavy oak door to the royal bedchamber closed with a thud, leaving the newly wedded trio alone for the first time since the ceremony. The sounds of revelry from the ongoing feast were now mercifully muffled, replaced by the intimate crackling of the hearth fire and their own quickened breathing.

King Jaehaerys stood before his two queens, his purple eyes gleaming in the candlelight as he surveyed them. Despite their previous encounters, tonight felt different—sacred even, in its own carnal way.

"Finally," Arianne breathed, already reaching behind her neck to loosen the first of her gown's fastenings. Her full lips curled into a provocative smile. "I thought those drunken lords would never let us leave."

"Some of them looked ready to volunteer for the bedding ceremony," Daenerys added with a silvery laugh, her delicate fingers working to remove the elaborate dragon hairpins that secured her platinum tresses. Each one she pulled free sent a cascade of silver hair tumbling further down her back. "I saw Lord Redwyne practically drooling when you announced we would be departing."

Jae moved toward them. His hands stopped Daenerys's work with the hairpins. "Allow me, my queen," he murmured, his voice already deepening with desire. "Tonight, I want to unwrap my gifts myself."

Gods, the way he looks at me still makes my knees weak, Daenerys thought, dropping her hands to her sides in acquiescence. Nephew, husband, king... and soon to be inside me again.

Arianne approached from behind Jae, her experienced hands moving to the elaborate clasps of his ceremonial cape. "And we shall unwrap ours," she purred against his ear, pressing her large breasts against his back while her fingers worked. The heavy black and red material fell away, pooling at his feet like a shadow.

Jae's skilled fingers delicately extracted each dragon hairpin from Daenerys's elaborate hairstyle, setting them carefully on a nearby table. With each pin removed, more of her silver hair cascaded down, until it flowed freely past her shoulders like liquid moonlight. He ran his fingers through it, savoring its silken texture.

"So beautiful," he whispered, bending to place a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "My dragon queen."

Daenerys shivered at the contact, her body already responding to his proximity. Between her thighs, she felt the first dampness beginning to gather.

Meanwhile, Arianne continued her methodical disrobing of the king, unfastening the ornate doublet with practiced ease. "I've been thinking about this all day," she confessed, her Dornish accent more pronounced with her arousal. "Watching you play the solemn king while knowing what awaited us here." The doublet joined the cape on the floor.

Jae turned his attention to Daenerys's gown, his fingers finding the intricate laces that ran down her back. As he worked them loose, he maintained eye contact with her, the intensity of his gaze making her breath catch. "Did you enjoy watching me dance with our Dornish queen?" he asked, his voice low.

"I enjoyed imagining what would follow," Daenerys replied, her own hands not idle as she began unfastening the ties of his formal shirt.

The top of Daenerys's gown loosened, revealing the pale skin of her upper back and shoulders. Jae traced the newly exposed flesh with his fingertips, causing her to shudder visibly.

Arianne, never one to wait patiently, moved to stand beside Daenerys. With a playful smile, she reached out to help draw the loosened fabric down further, exposing the tops of Daenerys's small breasts.

"Shall we show our husband how queens please each other, sweet Dany?" Arianne suggested, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

Without waiting for a verbal response, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Daenerys's in a soft, exploratory kiss. The Targaryen queen responded immediately, her lips parting to allow Arianne's tongue to slip inside. Their kiss deepened as Jae watched, his arousal evident in the growing bulge beneath his fitted trousers.

Seven hells, I'll never tire of seeing them together, he thought, working his own shirt off while they kissed. The firelight played across his muscled chest and abdomen, highlighting the definition that years of martial training had sculpted.

The two queens separated, a thin strand of saliva briefly connecting their lips before breaking. Arianne turned her attention to Jae, her hungry gaze traveling over his exposed upper body.

"Look at our king, Dany," she said, running her hand appreciatively over Jae's chest. "A true dragon."

Daenerys's gown now hung loosely from her shoulders, requiring only a gentle push to send it sliding down her body. Jae obliged, using both hands to guide the fabric down over her breasts, past her narrow waist, and finally over the gentle curve of her hips until it pooled at her feet like a puddle of cream and crimson.

She stood before them in only a sheer silk shift that did little to conceal her pink nipples or the silver-blonde triangle between her thighs.

"Your turn," Jae said to Arianne, turning his full attention to the Dornish princess.

Arianne's wedding attire was more complex—a series of interconnected panels in orange and gold silk that wrapped around her voluptuous figure in a manner both modest and scandalously revealing. Jae began with the golden clasp at her shoulder, his fingers working deliberately as he unfastened it.

"So many layers," he commented, a hungry edge to his voice. "Like unwrapping an exotic gift."

"The best treasures require patience, my king," Arianne replied, her breath catching as his knuckles brushed against the swell of her breast.

As the first layer of fabric fell away, more of her olive skin was revealed—the upper curves of her large breasts, the gentle slope of her shoulders. Daenerys moved behind Arianne to help, her pale fingers contrasting beautifully with Arianne's darker skin as she worked at the fastenings along the Dornish woman's spine.

Together, Jae and Daenerys unwrapped their Dornish queen, panel by panel, until she stood before them in only a thin band of gold-embroidered silk around her hips and another that barely contained her large breasts. Her dark nipples were visible through the translucent material, already hardened with arousal.

"Now you," both women said almost in unison, turning their attention to Jae's remaining garments.

Daenerys knelt gracefully to remove his boots while Arianne worked at the laces of his trousers. The sight of both his queens on their knees before him sent a surge of heat through Jae's body, his already substantial erection straining painfully against the confines of his clothing.

As Daenerys set aside his second boot, Arianne succeeded in loosening his trousers. With deliberate slowness, she pulled them down, freeing his massive cock, which sprang forth like a released weapon. Both women made appreciative sounds at the sight.

"Nine glorious inches," Arianne murmured, wrapping her hand around his thick shaft. "The gods were generous with you, my dragon king."

"Very generous," Daenerys agreed, rising to her feet to discard her shift, leaving her completely nude. Her pale, perfect body seemed to glow in the firelight, from her small, firm breasts with their rose-pink nipples to the silver-blonde curls between her thighs.

Not to be outdone, Arianne removed her remaining garments with practiced sensuality, revealing her lush body in all its glory. Her large breasts swayed enticingly as she moved, her dark nipples prominent and her rounded hips leading the eye to the neatly trimmed patch of black curls at the apex of her thighs.

Jae stepped out of his pooled trousers, now as naked as his queens. His powerful body, despite his youth, was a testament to his dedication to training—broad shoulders, defined chest, flat stomach, and strong thighs. His magnificent cock jutted proudly from its nest of dark curls, the head already glistening with a bead of precum.

"Where shall we begin?" he asked, his voice rough with desire as his gaze moved between the two beautiful women.

Arianne's eyes gleamed with mischief. "I believe a king should first taste his queens," she suggested, moving toward the massive bed that dominated the chamber. She positioned herself against the pillows, spreading her legs invitingly to reveal her already glistening sex. "What say you, Dany? Shall we let our dragon feast before he fucks?"

Daenerys nodded, her cheeks flushed with desire. "A wise suggestion." She joined Arianne on the bed, arranging herself similarly. "Come, Jae. Show your queens how that royal tongue serves the realm."

Jae approached the bed with a hungry smile. "As my queens command."

He climbed onto the mattress, positioning himself between Daenerys's spread thighs first. Looking up the length of her body, he maintained eye contact as he lowered his head. The first broad stroke of his tongue against her sex made Daenerys gasp and arch her back.

"Oh, yes," she breathed, one hand moving to tangle in his dark hair.

Jae worked his tongue with practiced skill, starting with long, flat strokes that covered her entire sex before focusing on the sensitive bud at its apex. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, applying just the right pressure to make her thighs tremble.

Gods, he's gotten even better at this, Daenerys thought, her fingers tightening in his hair. So good... so fucking good...

Arianne, not content to merely watch, moved closer to kiss Daenerys deeply while caressing her small, perfect breasts. She captured one of Dany's nipples between her fingers, rolling and pinching it gently as their tongues danced together.

Jae's technique grew more focused, his tongue flicking rapidly over Daenerys's clit while he slid two fingers inside her wet channel. He curled them upward, finding the sensitive spot within her that he knew drove her wild.

"Fuck!" Daenerys broke her kiss with Arianne to cry out. "Right there, Jae... right there!"

Her hips began to move against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction. Jae responded by increasing his pace, his fingers pumping in and out while his tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit.

It didn't take long before Daenerys was teetering on the edge. "I'm going to cum," she gasped, her thighs clamping around Jae's head. "Oh gods, I'm cumming!"

Her entire body tensed and then shuddered as pleasure crashed through her. Jae didn't let up, continuing to lick and finger her through her orgasm until she weakly pushed at his head, oversensitive.

He lifted his face, his lips and chin glistening with her essence. "One queen satisfied," he said with a satisfied grin. "One to go."

He turned his attention to Arianne, who had been watching the end of Daenerys's orgasm with hungry eyes. As Jae moved between her thighs, she spread herself wider for him, revealing the pink, wet folds of her sex.

"Show me what the dragon king can do," she challenged, her Dornish accent thicker with desire.

Jae didn't waste time, diving into her sex with enthusiasm. His approach with Arianne differed from how he'd pleasured Daenerys—he knew the Dornish princess preferred a firmer touch, more pressure, and direct stimulation. He sucked her clit between his lips, flicking it rapidly with his tongue while grinding his face against her wetness.

"Fuck, yes!" Arianne cried out, her large breasts heaving as her breathing quickened. "Just like that, my king, just like that!"

Daenerys, recovering from her own orgasm, moved to straddle Arianne's face. "My turn to taste," she said, lowering her still-sensitive sex to the Dornish woman's mouth.

Arianne eagerly accepted, her tongue immediately seeking out Daenerys's clit. The silver-haired queen gasped and began to rock gently against Arianne's face while reaching up to cup her own small breasts, pinching and tugging at her nipples.

The sight of Daenerys pleasuring herself while riding Arianne's face spurred Jae to even greater efforts. He slid three fingers into Arianne's dripping cunt, stretching her as he continued to suck and lick at her clit. Her taste was different from Daenerys's—spicier somehow, reflecting her Dornish heritage.

So fucking wet for me, Jae thought, feeling Arianne's inner walls clench around his fingers. Both my queens, so eager for their king.

Arianne's moans were muffled by Daenerys's sex, but the vibrations only enhanced the silver queen's pleasure. Dany rode Arianne's face more actively now, grinding down as her second orgasm approached.

"Oh gods, Arianne!" she cried out. "Your tongue... fuck... I'm close again!"

Below her, Arianne was approaching her own climax under Jae's skilled ministrations. Her thighs began to shake, her stomach muscles tightening as pleasure built within her. Her hands gripped Daenerys's thighs, holding the younger woman firmly against her mouth as she worked her tongue faster.

Almost simultaneously, both queens reached their peak. Daenerys came first, her back arching beautifully as she shuddered through her orgasm, crying out Arianne's name. Seconds later, Arianne followed, her release washing over her in powerful waves that left her gasping against Daenerys's sex.

As the women recovered, Jae rose to his knees, his massive cock standing proudly. The sight of his two queens, flushed and satisfied from oral pleasure, only made him harder.

"Now," he said, his voice commanding, "I want to feel my aunt's throat around my cock while my Dornish queen sucks my balls."

The directness of his demand sent fresh waves of desire through both women. Daenerys moved first, positioning herself on all fours before him. She licked her lips, looking up at him with desire in her violet eyes. Arianne moved beside her, lying on her stomach with her face level with Jae's heavy testicles.

Jae took himself in hand, guiding the massive head of his cock to Daenerys's waiting lips. She opened for him eagerly, taking the first few inches into her warm, wet mouth. Arianne extended her tongue, lapping at his balls as they hung heavy above her face.

"Fuck, that's good," Jae groaned, one hand tangling in Daenerys's silver hair to guide her movements. "Take more, Dany. I know you can."

Daenerys relaxed her throat, allowing him to push deeper. Inch by inch, his thick shaft disappeared between her lips until her nose pressed against the dark curls at the base. She held him there, her throat working around his length as tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

Below, Arianne was thoroughly worshipping his balls, sucking one entirely into her mouth before releasing it to give the other the same treatment. Her large breasts pressed against the bed, her dark nipples hardening against the sheets.

Jae began to move, pulling back until only the head remained in Daenerys's mouth before thrusting forward again. Each thrust was powerful but controlled, fucking her face. Daenerys took it all, her hands gripping his thighs for stability as he used her throat.

"Such a good queen," he praised her, watching his cock disappear repeatedly into her mouth. "Taking your king so well."

Arianne continued her attention to his balls, occasionally running her tongue along the base of his shaft when he pulled back from Daenerys's mouth. The dual sensation was incredible—Daenerys's hot, tight throat around his length and Arianne's clever tongue on his most sensitive skin.

After several minutes of this exquisite torture, Jae pulled back, his cock leaving Daenerys's mouth with an audible pop. A string of saliva connected the tip to her swollen lips as she gasped for breath.

"I want to watch you two pleasure each other again," Jae commanded, stroking himself as he moved back slightly. "Dany, on your hands and knees. Arianne, beneath her."

The women complied eagerly, Daenerys positioning herself on all fours while Arianne slid beneath her in a sixty-nine position. Without prompting, Daenerys lowered her face to Arianne's sex, beginning to lick and suck at the Dornish woman's clit. Arianne reciprocated, her tongue finding Daenerys's sensitive folds.

Jae moved behind Daenerys, admiring the view of her perfect ass raised in the air, her pink sex glistening with arousal as Arianne worked her tongue against it. He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the massive head of his cock through her folds to gather her wetness.

"Ready for your king, aunt?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.

"Yes," Daenerys managed to gasp against Arianne's sex. "Fuck me, Nephew. Hard."

He obliged, pushing forward in one powerful thrust that buried him to the hilt inside her. Daenerys cried out against Arianne's cunt, the feeling of being so completely filled overwhelming her momentarily.

Gods, she's still so tight, Jae thought, holding still for a moment to let her adjust. Like she was made for my cock.

He began to move, establishing a rhythm of deep, powerful thrusts that shook Daenerys's entire body. The force of his movements pushed her face harder against Arianne's sex, intensifying her oral ministrations to the Dornish princess.

"Yes, fuck her harder," Arianne encouraged, briefly abandoning her own oral duties to watch Jae's thick shaft disappearing into Daenerys. "Make her scream for you."

Jae increased his pace, his hands gripping Daenerys's hips with bruising force as he pounded into her. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the chamber, along with Daenerys's increasingly vocal responses.

"Fuck! Jae! So deep... so fucking deep!" she cried out, lifting her face from Arianne's sex as the pleasure became too intense to focus on anything else. "Your cock... gods... so big inside me!"

Arianne, deprived of Daenerys's tongue, slid from beneath the silver queen to kneel beside them. She leaned in to kiss Jae deeply, her tongue exploring his mouth as he continued to thrust into Daenerys. When they broke apart, she moved to where Daenerys could see her, cupping her own large breasts.

"Look at me, sweet Dany," she purred. "Watch me play with my tits while our king fucks you."

Daenerys raised her head, her violet eyes glazed with pleasure as she watched Arianne squeeze and massage her own breasts. The Dornish woman pinched her dark nipples, rolling them between her fingers and moaning theatrically.

The visual stimulation, combined with Jae's relentless thrusting, pushed Daenerys toward another orgasm. "I'm close," she gasped. "Fuck, I'm so close!"

"Cum on my cock," Jae demanded, one hand leaving her hip to reach around and find her clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub in tight circles, timing his touch with his thrusts. "Let me feel you cum around me."

It was all Daenerys needed. With a hoarse scream, she climaxed, her internal muscles clamping down on Jae's length as waves of pleasure washed through her. Jae continued to pound into her through her orgasm, prolonging her pleasure until she collapsed forward onto the bed, trembling.

He withdrew from her, his cock glistening with her release but still rock hard. Arianne immediately moved into position, pushing Daenerys gently to the side so Dany's head was resting near the foot of their bed.

"My turn to ride the queen while you fuck me," she said to Jae, lowering her sex to Daenerys's mouth.

Despite her exhaustion, Daenerys eagerly began to lick at Arianne's folds, her hands coming up to grasp the Dornish woman's thighs. Arianne moaned, rotating her hips slightly to get Daenerys's tongue exactly where she wanted it, her back facing Jae.

Jae positioned himself behind Arianne, admiring the way her full ass jiggled as she ground against Daenerys's face. He ran his hands over the smooth globes, spreading them slightly to reveal her glistening sex and the tight pucker of her asshole.

"Which hole, my Dornish queen?" he asked, teasing both entrances with the head of his cock.

"My cunt first," Arianne replied breathlessly. "I want to feel you stretch me open."

Jae guided himself to her entrance and pushed forward, groaning as her wet heat enveloped him. Despite her experience, Arianne was still deliciously tight, her inner walls gripping his length like a vise.

"Fuck, Arianne," he hissed. "So tight for me."

He began to move, establishing a rhythm different from how he'd fucked Daenerys. With Arianne, he used long, deliberate strokes, pulling almost completely out before slowly pushing back in, making her feel every inch of his considerable length.

Arianne's large breasts swayed with each thrust, Jae reached around to cup them. He captured her nipples between his fingers, pinching and tugging at the sensitive peaks as he continued to fuck her.

"Yes, yes," Arianne moaned, momentarily lifting her face from Daenerys's ministrations. "Pull my nipples harder, my king. I like it rough."

Jae obliged, increasing the pressure on her nipples while simultaneously speeding up his thrusts. The combination had Arianne crying out, her body shuddering as a small orgasm rippled through her.

"More," she demanded. "I want more."

"Greedy queen," Jae said with a chuckle, but his tone was appreciative. He withdrew from her cunt, positioning the head of his cock at her other entrance. "Ready for me here?"

"Always," Arianne purred, reaching back to spread her ass cheeks wider for him. "Take my ass, my king. Make me feel it tomorrow when I sit on my throne beside you."

Daenerys, still beneath Arianne, reached up to spread the Dornish woman's ass further, giving Jae a perfect view of his target. Her tongue continued to work at Arianne's clit, providing pleasure to distract from the initial discomfort of anal penetration.

Jae pressed the head of his cock against Arianne's tight pucker, applying steady pressure. The ring of muscle resisted momentarily before giving way, allowing the head to pop inside. Arianne gasped, her body tensing at the intrusion.

"Relax," Jae soothed, holding still to let her adjust. "That's it, open for me."

Slowly, carefully, he pushed deeper, watching in fascination as her asshole stretched around his thick shaft. Inch by inch, he worked himself inside her until he was buried to the hilt, his hips pressed against her full buttocks.

"Gods, you're huge," Arianne groaned, her face pressed against Daenerys's thigh as she adjusted to the feeling of fullness. "So fucking big in my ass."

Jae began to move, shallow thrusts at first that gradually increased in depth and force. Arianne's discomfort quickly transformed to pleasure, her moans growing louder with each thrust.

Daenerys continued her oral attentions, her tongue circling Arianne's clit as Jae fucked her ass. The dual stimulation had the Dornish princess trembling, her large breasts heaving as her breathing quickened.

"I'm getting close," she gasped. "Don't stop... either of you... don't fucking stop!"

Jae increased his pace, his hands firmly gripping Arianne's hips as he pounded into her ass. The sight of his thick shaft disappearing into her tight hole, combined with Daenerys's eager tongue working at her clit, created a tableau of pure erotic pleasure.

"Cum for us," Jae commanded. "Cum with my cock in your ass and your queen's tongue on your clit."

As if his words were a spell, Arianne's orgasm crashed through her. She screamed, her entire body convulsing as pleasure more intense than anything she'd experienced before washed over her. Her asshole clenched rhythmically around Jae's length, almost painful in its grip.

Jae continued to thrust through her orgasm, drawing out her pleasure until she begged him to stop, her body oversensitive and trembling. Only then did he withdraw, his cock still rock hard and glistening.

"My turn," he said, his voice rough with need as he helped Arianne collapse to the side. "I need to finish."

Daenerys, her face slick with Arianne's juices, moved to all fours beside the still-trembling Dornish woman. "Use me, Jae," she offered, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Finish inside me."

It was an offer he couldn't resist. He positioned himself behind her again, sliding into her wet heat with a groan of satisfaction. After the tightness of Arianne's ass, Daenerys's cunt felt different but equally pleasurable—hot, wet, and welcoming.

The sound of his hips slapping against Daenerys's ass filled the chamber, punctuated by her cries and his grunts.

Arianne, recovering somewhat, moved to slide beneath Daenerys again, this time facing upward to take one of the silver queen's small breasts into her mouth. She sucked and licked at the sensitive peak while reaching between Daenerys's legs to rub her clit.

The additional stimulation had Daenerys building rapidly toward another orgasm. "Fuck, I'm going to cum again," she gasped. "Jae, Arianne, I'm cumming!"

Her internal muscles clamped down on Jae's length as she shattered, her third orgasm of the night washing through her with surprising intensity. The pulsing of her cunt around his cock was Jae's undoing. With a roar worthy of his Targaryen ancestry, he buried himself to the hilt and began to cum, pumping rope after rope of his seed deep inside her.

"Yes, fill me," Daenerys encouraged, pushing back against him to take him as deep as possible. "Give me every drop."

Jae's orgasm seemed to last forever, his body jerking with each powerful pulse of his release.

Slowly, carefully, he withdrew from her, watching with satisfaction as a trickle of his seed escaped her well-used sex. He fell to the bed beside his queens, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

The three lay in a tangle of limbs, sweat-slicked and satisfied, the scent of sex heavy in the air around them. Arianne was the first to speak, her voice lazy with post-orgasmic contentment.

"If that's how you consummate a royal marriage, my king, I foresee a very happy union indeed."

Daenerys laughed, curling against Jae's side while reaching out to stroke Arianne's hair. "And we have many nights ahead to practice."

Jae pulled both women closer, one on each side, their bodies warm against his cooling skin. "Practice makes perfect," he agreed, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads.

As they lay in the afterglow of their previous exertions, Arianne's recovery was quickest. The Dornish princess propped herself up on one elbow, her dark eyes traveling appreciatively over Jae's muscled form. Despite having already spent himself inside Daenerys, his magnificent cock was beginning to stir again—the legendary Targaryen stamina proving itself true even at his young age.

"Not finished yet, are you, my dragon king?" Arianne purred, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his semi-hard length. With a few skilled strokes, she had him fully erect once more.

"It seems not," Jae replied with a lazy smirk, watching as Arianne rose to her knees, her large breasts swaying enticingly with the movement.

"Good," she said, throwing one leg over his hips to straddle him. "Because I want you inside,"

Daenerys, watching from beside them, smiled languidly. "Greedy Dornish queen," she teased, but her eyes were dark with renewed desire.

Arianne positioned herself above Jae's cock, reaching between her legs to guide him to her entrance. She began to sink down, taking him inch by glorious inch.

"Ohhhhh," she moaned, her head falling back as his thickness stretched her. "By the gods, Jae... ahhhhh!"

Her olive skin gleamed in the firelight as she took him fully inside, her lush ass coming to rest against his thighs. She rolled her hips experimentally, adjusting to his size.

"Mmmmm, so fucking deep," she groaned, placing her hands on his chest for leverage. "So good inside me."

Jae's hands moved to grip her wide hips, guiding her into a rhythm that had her bouncing on his cock. "That's it," he encouraged, watching her large breasts bounce with each movement. "Ride your king."

"Yes! Oh fuck, yes!" Arianne cried out, finding her pace. She lifted herself until only the head remained inside before dropping back down, impaling herself fully on his length. "Ahhhhh! So big! So fucking big!"

Daenerys moved closer, drawn by Arianne's passionate cries. Her small hands reaching to cup the underside of Arianne's heavy breasts.

"Let us taste these magnificent tits," Daenerys whispered against Arianne's ear, causing the older woman to shiver despite the heat of her exertions.

Jae lifted his head from the pillow, his mouth capturing Arianne's right nipple as Daenerys leaned closer to take the left. Both Targaryens suckled hungrily at the Dornish woman's breasts, their tongues circling the dark areolas before their teeth gently grazed the sensitive peaks.

"Fuuuuuuuck!" Arianne wailed, her rhythm faltering as the dual sensations overwhelmed her. "Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods!"

She resumed her movements with increased fervor, bouncing frantically on Jae's cock while the two Targaryens feasted on her breasts. The wet sounds of their mouths mixed with the slapping of flesh against flesh and Arianne's continuous stream of vocalizations.

"Yes! Suck them! Suck my tits! Ahhhh! Harder! Bite them harder!" she demanded, her accent growing thicker with her arousal. "Fuck me, Jae! Fuck me with that royal cock! Unnnngh!"

Jae released her nipple long enough to grasp her hips more firmly, driving upward to meet her downward motions. The force of his thrusts had Arianne's entire body shaking, her breasts bouncing wildly despite Daenerys's attempts to hold one steady in her mouth.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Fucking hells!" Arianne cried out, her internal muscles beginning to clench around his length. "I'm going to cum! I'm going to cum on your cock!"

Jae's teeth closed more firmly around her nipple, tugging at the sensitive peak as his thrusts became more powerful. Daenerys mirrored his actions on the other breast, creating a perfect symmetry of pleasure-pain that pushed Arianne toward the edge.

"Breed me!" Arianne suddenly begged, the words tumbling from her lips as her orgasm approached. "Fill me with your seed! Ohhhhhh! I want your children, Jae! I want to feel your Targaryen seed take root in my womb! Ahhhhh!"

The unexpectedness of her plea, combined with the erotic image it conjured, spurred Jae to even greater efforts. He released her breast to growl up at her.

"You want my child growing in your belly?" he demanded, his voice rough with lust. "You want me to fill you with royal seed?"

"Yes! Gods, yes!" Arianne moaned, grinding herself down on his cock. "Give me your children! Mmmmmm! Let me bear dragons for you! Ohhhhhh!"

"Then take it," Jae commanded, his hands tightening on her hips as he drove upward. "Take every fucking drop!"

"Yes! Yes! Yessssss!" Arianne screamed as her orgasm crashed through her. "I'm cumming! Fuck! I'm cumming on your cock! Ahhhhhhhhh!"

Her inner walls pulsed and clenched around him, milking his length as she shuddered above him. The intensity of her climax triggered Jae's own release. With a roar, he thrust upward one final time, holding her firmly against him as his seed erupted deep inside her.

"Take it, Arianne! Take my seed!" he groaned, his body jerking with each powerful pulse. "Every... fucking... drop!"

"I feel it!" she gasped, her body still trembling with aftershocks. "So hot inside me! Mmmmm! So much... filling me up... ohhhhhh!"

Daenerys released Arianne's breast to kiss her deeply, swallowing her continued moans as Jae's release flooded her womb. When they broke apart, Arianne's eyes were glazed with satisfaction, her lips curved in a satiated smile.

"Perhaps tonight, a prince or princess of both dragon and sun will be conceived," she murmured, collapsing forward onto Jae's chest, his still-hard cock buried inside her. "Wouldn't that be a fitting end to our wedding day?"

"The first of many royal children, I hope," Daenerys added, stroking Arianne's sweat-dampened hair with affection.

Jae wrapped his arms around Arianne, holding her close as his breathing slowly returned to normal. "If not tonight, we have plenty of opportunities to try again," he promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Arianne hummed in contentment, feeling his seed warm inside her as the three monarchs drifted toward sleep.

Tomorrow

The morning sun streamed through the crystal dome of the Great Sept of Baelor with an intensity that seemed almost divine providence—though Jaehaerys suspected the High Septon would claim as much regardless of the weather. He stood once more before the altar of the Father, though today felt markedly different from yesterday's wedding ceremony. Where marriage had been a joining of hearts and houses, coronation was something altogether more different: the claiming of dominion over millions of souls he would likely never meet.

Yesterday I was merely a husband, he thought, adjusting the simple circlet he still wore. In moments, I shall be their king in truth, not merely by conquest but by sacred right.

The same nobles who had witnessed his wedding filled the sept again, though their expressions carried a different quality now—less celebration, more calculation. Kings died, after all, but crowns endured. Jaehaerys could practically see them measuring distances between themselves and the throne, wondering what favors might be gained or lost in the transition from Robert's reign to his own.

Upon the altar rested three crowns. His was fashioned of Valyrian steel, dark as midnight with rubies set into the metal like drops of dragon's blood. It was neither as massive as Aegon's crown nor as delicate as later monarchs had favored.

Beside it lay two smaller crowns for his queens. Daenerys's crown echoed the Targaryen aesthetic—silver and gold intertwined with amethysts and pearls, the three dragon heads forming the circlet's most prominent feature. Arianne's crown bore the sun-and-spear of Martell worked in gold, with topaz and garnet stones.

Three crowns for three heads of the dragon, Jaehaerys mused, remembering the ancient prophecy. Though I suspect the original meaning was somewhat different than this arrangement.

The High Septon approached, bearing the sacred oils in their crystal vials. His reluctance from yesterday had transformed into something resembling resigned acceptance—or perhaps simple pragmatism. Dragons, after all, made persuasive theologians.

"Kneel, Jaehaerys of House Targaryen," he intoned, his voice echoing in the vast space.

Jaehaerys lowered himself to one knee, feeling the cold marble through his ceremonial robes. The oils came first—forehead for wisdom, lips for just speech, hands for strength in battle, heart for courage. Each touch of blessed oil carried with it the weight of centuries of tradition, the accumulated authority of every king who had knelt in this same position.

"Rise, Jaehaerys, Third of His Name," the High Septon commanded, lifting the crown from the altar.

The Valyrian steel felt heavier than Jaehaerys had expected, though whether from its actual weight or the responsibility it represented, he could not say. As the crown settled upon his brow, a familiar roar echoed from beyond the crystal dome—Rhaenix, announcing to the world that her rider had claimed his birthright. A moment later, Cannibal's deeper voice joined hers, and even little Rhaellara added her piping call to the draconic chorus.

Even my dragons understand ceremony, he thought with amusement. Or perhaps they simply enjoy making noise at dramatic moments.

"Rise, Jaehaerys Targaryen, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!" the High Septon declared, his voice carrying to every corner of the sept.

But they were not finished. Jaehaerys gestured for Daenerys and Arianne to join him at the altar, both rising from where they had knelt during his anointing.

Daenerys approached first. The High Septon's hands trembled only slightly as he anointed her with the same oils, though Jaehaerys noticed the man avoided meeting her violet eyes directly.

"Rise, Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," he declared, placing her crown upon her head with reverent care.

She inclined her head graciously, every inch the queen she had always been in spirit.

Arianne's coronation followed, her warm brown eyes holding Jaehaerys's as she knelt. The crown of Martell gold suited her perfectly.

"Rise, Arianne Martell, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," the High Septon proclaimed, though Jaehaerys detected a note of relief in his voice—as if he were glad to have survived the theological complications of crowning two queens.

The three rulers stood together before the altar, their crowns glittering like stars on their heads as the sunlight bathed them in light and glory.

"Let all who would serve this realm in peace and honor come forward," Jaehaerys declared, raising his voice above the dragons' calls. "Let all who would prosper under just rule pledge their loyalty not to the crown alone, but to the kingdom it represents."

Led by Ned Stark—the assembled nobility dropped to one knee in a rustle of silk and clink of armor. Lords and ladies who had fought wars over the right to rule now acknowledged the dragon's supremacy with whatever grace they could muster.

And so it is done, Jaehaerys thought, surveying the sea of bowed heads. Three dragons, three crowns, one kingdom. May the gods help us all.

The High Septon's voice rose one final time: "Long live the King! Long live the Queens! Long live House Targaryen!"

"Long live the King!" came the answering roar, echoing from every throat in the sept and rolling out through the open doors to where the smallfolk of King's Landing waited to acclaim their new rulers.

As they processed from the sept into the morning sunshine, crowns glinting and dragons wheeling overhead, Jaehaerys allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The wheel had turned full circle—the dragons had returned to rule, and this time, perhaps, they might do it right.