On the 13th day of the 7th moon, 288 AC, in the land that was unknown to the world, a myth, a talk of legends, the Targaryen household, their dragons, and their servants all gathered under the cloudy sky on a breezy morning, the air carrying the faint, salty tang of distant seas mingled with the earthy scent of dew-kissed grass.
Between the magical beasts, whose backs were to the hills, and the servants, whose backs were to the manse, Azaerys Targaryen, the First of his Name, stood in front of one of the most beautiful ladies the world had ever seen.
Both were wearing ornate gowns, one purple, and the other black and red, adorned in beautiful gems, and their long hair fluttered under the wind, cascading over their smiles from time to time, the silk of their fabrics whispering softly with each gust.
"The blood of your blood, the fire of your fire. The life, the death, the judgement, your bond shall be forged in fire and blood," Viserys Targaryen spoke in High Valyrian and handed the Valyrian steel dagger that he was holding in his hands to the Young King.
It was black and red, the colour of their house, same as Viserys' Honour, and it belonged to Azaerys, who had named it Promise. And this was the first ceremony that was being held with this dagger.
The dragonlord carefully kissed the edge of the tip of the blade, which split his lower lip, the metallic tang of blood blooming on his tongue, and then he handed the blade to Ashara, who did the same to her lower lip. She then returned the dagger to the Targaryen who was officiating their marriage.
"You are mine, I am yours, from this day, until the end of times." They both recited their vow in ancient Valyrian, which Azaerys had taught her, and then they both stepped forward.
Ashara placed her hands in his hands, and Azaerys leaned in and kissed her lips, which made her wince, but soon a strange flame burned inside their blood, and the pain was gone, replaced by a warm, tingling surge that spread through their veins like liquid fire.
The dragons roared to the sky, breathing their flames, almost as if announcing to the gods who were watching that they had witnessed the union, the heat of their breaths washing over the gathering in waves, carrying the acrid scent of smoke and brimstone.
Viserys was the first to kneel, followed by Allyria, Rhaenys, Aegon, Rhaemon, and little Daenerys.
After them, everyone who was present there knelt to their lord, their king, and his queen, the rustle of fabrics and the soft thuds of knees on grass creating a hushed symphony of reverence.
Azaerys and Ashara shared the kiss for a while, smiling against each other's lips, the faint coppery taste of their mingled blood lingering like a sacred seal, and when they separated, the cuts had healed, only the marks remained, which would stay there for a few weeks.
His queen bit her lower lip in agitation, her purple eyes gleaming as she stared at his handsome face. A face that she knew no man in the world could compete against.
In her mind, she recalled the day he was born, how he had grown up with her, in her care, and how he now stood taller than her, bigger than her, and had always provided her with a sense of security.
She recalled the day she had promised herself to him, and over time, she really had become smitten with him. Now, the one her heart always yearned for was finally her husband, and the happiness she felt deep inside was not something that could be put into words.
A dragon's roar brightened the smiles on their faces, the deep, resonant vibration rumbling through the ground beneath their feet, and even though they were wearing their wedding gowns, both turned to look toward Aerylyx and Starfyre. Just one look at them, and they knew what these beautiful creatures were asking for.
Azaerys gently squeezed her hand and led her to their dragons.
Starfyre was only a few weeks shy of its first nameday, but it was already big enough to take its master to the skies.
She had ridden on Rhaelyx before, but flying with the dragon you were bonded with was a completely different experience. Something she had fallen helplessly in love with, the rush of wind against her skin and the thrill of freedom high above the world.
Azaerys slowly climbed on the tail of Aerylyx, walked up on its back, and then carefully sat down between the shoulders of his beautiful dragon, at the base of its neck, the scales warm and slightly rough under his palms.
There were wide grins on the faces of the Targaryens, who watched the two dragons take off and fly towards the clouds, taking their masters along with them, the powerful beats of their wings stirring gusts that whipped through the crowd's hair and garments, and knowing well that they would not be returning anytime soon, Viserys announced the start of the wedding feast.
The wedding celebrations, even without the groom and the bride, were in full swing, continuing late into the afternoon, the air filled with the savoury aromas of roasted meats, spiced wines, and fresh-baked breads, laughter and music echoing across the grounds, and when they both finally returned, the celebrations started anew.
Azaerys did not like drinking, but he drank on this day as everyone toasted him one cup after another, the rich, fruity warmth of the wine spreading through his chest.
They were being mischievous to him, but he entertained their playfulness on his happy day.
At some point, the ladies and princesses of his household took Ashara out of the hall, and half an hour later, his Kingsguards, Arthur and Gerold, approached him. They unceremoniously picked him up on their shoulders, and then led him out of the hall under everyone's cheers, the boisterous shouts and clapping ringing in his ears like a triumphant fanfare.
"Forgive us, Your Grace," The White Bull mischievously said when they stopped outside his chambers, and as soon as they opened the door, they pushed him inside and closed it, not too dissimilar to the manner in which prisoners were thrown inside their cells, the heavy wood thudding shut with a finality that echoed in the dimly lit room.
He heard the melodious laugh of his wife, who had thoroughly enjoyed the scene that she had just witnessed, her voice like a cascade of silver bells in the quiet space, and the moment he laid eyes on her, he stopped.
The ladies had worked her out of the wedding gown, and now, she was wearing a snow-white chemise, sitting on their wedding bed, which was covered in black satin sheets with rose petals all over it, their delicate fragrance perfuming the air with a subtle, romantic sweetness.
She was not the one to shy away. It was just not her, so she stood up and approached him to help him take off his clothes, her fingers brushing his skin with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down his spine.
"I never said this before, but you should know that I was hurt when I learned that you had bedded Elia." She told him, and he gently smiled at her.
"Why now?"
"Now..." She pulled him down by grabbing his collar. "You are my husband."
There was a hint of possessiveness in her voice, which amused him, and he did not keep her waiting.
The lips met again, and the tongues mingled, their breaths intertwining in a dance of shared warmth and desire, tasting of wine and unspoken promises. Their hands worked each other out of the confines of the clothes, fabrics rustling and pooling at their feet like discarded veils, and once they were naked as the day they were born, both stopped and took a good look at each other, the candlelight flickering across their skin, casting golden shadows that accentuated every curve and plane.
Their hearts started racing, and where it was lust and love that ruled his mind now, for Ashara, there were hints of fear as well, a subtle tremor in her breath that spoke of vulnerability amid the anticipation.
Nonetheless, she never said anything to stop him. Not when he picked her up and led her to the bed, her body light and yielding in his arms, not when he dropped her on the soft sheets, the satin cool and smooth against her heated skin, not when he climbed over her and started laying kisses all over her body, his lips trailing fire along her collarbone, her breasts, her stomach, each touch eliciting soft gasps that filled the room like whispered secrets, but she did stop him when his face descended between her legs.
However, he simply pushed her hand away and provided her with an experience that she would never forget in her life, his tongue exploring her most intimate folds with a reverence that made her arch and moan, her fingers tangling in his hair as waves of pleasure built like a gathering storm, the scent of her arousal mingling with the roses, her cries echoing softly off the stone walls.
She unhesitantly kissed him when he climbed over her again, not minding the taste in his mouth, and just when she debated if she should return the favour, she felt his hardness touch her, a firm, insistent pressure that sent a thrill through her core.
Ashara steeled her heart, cupped his cheeks with her hands, and looked right into his haunting purple eyes, where she found her own reflection, the depth of his gaze holding her captive like an endless amethyst sea.
He was gentle with her as he broke her open, entering her slowly, inch by inch, the initial stretch a exquisite blend of discomfort and fulfilment, even gave her a moment to breathe when he reached her maidenhead, his breath warm against her neck, but then brutally thrust hard into her, tearing her innocence and sheathing himself as far as she could take him, the sharp pain blooming like a fleeting firework before subsiding into a deeper, throbbing connection.
The pain made her groan and writhe under him, and her tears uncontrollably leaked out of her eyes, tracing warm paths down her cheeks.
"You hurt me..." She complained to him, and when he brought his hand close to her cheek, she grabbed it and bit hard on his palm, her teeth sinking in just sky of drawing the blood.
Azaerys winced at the pain but then laughed at her antics. He lowered his head to capture her lips and simply lost himself to her taste, the kiss deep and consuming, a balm to the intensity of the moment.
She was unbearably tight around him, warm and fleshly cushioned, her inner walls enveloping him like velvet heated by fire, that he had to exercise all his self-control to not move and to allow her the time to relax, his muscles taut with restraint, the air between them thick with the mingled scents of their sweat and desire.
It took a while, which had felt like an eternity to him, but then she finally urged him to move, guilty as she saw how hard it was for him to hold himself back, her hands sliding down his back in encouragement.
Ashara bore the burning sensation as he started moving, rubbing against her sensitive and hurt walls, each thrust a careful exploration that gradually transformed pain into a building ecstasy, and even though she was not expecting any pleasure out of it, Azaerys held on long enough for the pain to go away.
Or maybe her mind had simply started focusing on the rising pleasure instead, her body responding with instinctive arches and sighs, and it was the start of a crazy battle that left her filled with his seed and utterly spent, their union a symphony of gasps, moans, and the rhythmic creak of the bedframe, culminating in a shared release that washed over them like a tidal wave, leaving her trembling in his arms, her skin slick and flushed, the room hazy with the afterglow.
The queen did not even know when and how she fell asleep, but she knew his warmth, and she knew that it was the most comfortable feeling in the world, his steady heartbeat a soothing lullaby against her ear.
Azaerys, even though he needed and wanted more, exercised control, and held her to sleep for the rest of the night, the cool night air drifting through the window to caress their entwined forms.
When he woke up early the next morning, the first thing he saw was a pair of beautiful purple eyes, looking back at him, and smiling. Realising that she was caught staring, her cheeks burned up in a blush, a soft rose tint spreading across her skin.
"How long have you been awake?" He whispered, almost as if fearing someone was sleeping close by, and she giggled at his behaviour.
"A while." She whispered back.
"And what have you been doing?" He asked, to which she smiled. "Watching you," she replied.
"Like what you see?"
"No." She denied.
"Is that so?" He chuckled and leaned in to capture her lips.
"I love you," Ashara said to him as soon as their lips separated, and even though it was not the first time she had said these words to him, he could tell that she was a little anxious.
Her eyes searchingly looked into his eyes for an answer, and he gently cupped her cheek, stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, the touch tender and reassuring, and smiled at how cute she looked right now.
"I love you, my dragon queen," said Azaerys in High Valyrian, and she jumped on him, capturing his lips, and just initiated a battle that she was doomed not to win, their bodies entwining once more in the soft dawn light, the sheets tangling around them like silken bonds.