Shireen Baratheon
The following day, The Godswood - beyond the Wall
Shireen stood still, feeling the weight of every gaze upon her. Before her stood the man she was about to marry, and at her side, steadfast as ever, was Davos Seaworth. That morning, she had asked him if he would give her away. He had smiled, his eyes crinkling with warmth, and accepted without hesitation.
Now, she stood draped in a gown of white, embroidered with black stags, her House's sigil stitched into the fabric beneath thick furs, behind her maiden cloak of yellow and black, made from the previous flag of the army.
The snow fell all around. It seemed winter waited for no one, not even a wedding. The chill bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. Soon, Aemon would be her husband. Something she had once thought impossible. A few weeks ago, she had feared she might never find love. But now, she knew she had.
"Are you ready for this, Princess? And soon, my Queen?" Davos asked gently, pulling her from her thoughts.
She turned to him with a smile. "I'm ready to be wed."
"As you say," he smirked, offering his arm. "Let's get you married."
With that, they stepped forward together.
On either side, their allies stood, a gathering of those who had vowed to fight for her and Aemon to stand against the coming darkness and set the realm to rights. Their presence was a silent promise of the battles yet to come, but today, for this moment, there was only the godswood, heartree, and the man waiting for her.
Then, she saw him.
Aemon stood cloaked in Stark grey, the colors of his mother's House. For now, he would wed her under Stark's name, yet she and Aemon had spoken of it, that they wanted to remarry under Hearttree in Winterfell after they had taken it back. So he could cloak her under his true family name. Even though Rickon had firmly insisted on that name or not, Aemon would always be a Stark.
As they drew closer, a flutter of nervousness stirred in her chest, but it was a good kind of nervousness the thrill of stepping into something new.
Shireen Baratheon, the lonely, previously greyscale-marked daughter of the late Lord of Storm's End and Dragonstone, was about to wed Aemon of House Targaryen. She was very hopeful it would close the dark chapter of bad blood between their houses.
As they reached the front, Aemon smiled at her a kind, warm smile, the same one that had first made him seem both kind and handsome in her eyes. To his right, Rickon stood with a bright, happy grin, while at the center of it all, Howland Reed waited with a solemn nod.
When he spoke, his voice carried through the godswood, marking the moment that would soon bind them forever.
"Who comes before the gods this night?" Howland asked.
"Shireen Baratheon," Davos Seaworth answered for her. "A woman grown, trueborn, and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"
"Jon, of House Stark, King of the North, and regent to Lord of Winterfell Rickon Stark. Who gives her?" Aemon replied. At his words, Shireen's heart swelled, and warmth spread through her cheeks. Behind her, she caught the murmurs of those gathered, whispers rippling through the crowd at the announcement.
"I do," Davos said. "Davos Seaworth, Lord of the Rainwood, her guardian, and former Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon."
Davos turned to her then, his expression gentle. "Princess Shireen, do you take this man?"
She took a steadying breath before answering. "I do." Her voice wavered slightly, but she smiled.
Aemon took her hand, his grip warm and reassuring, and together they knelt before the heart tree. As they bowed their heads in prayer, he leaned in just slightly and whispered, "You look beautiful, Shireen."
Her blush deepened, and she had to fight the urge to giggle.
For a moment, they prayed. She prayed for happiness, for love, for the life that lay ahead with her husband. Her husband. The thought sent a quiet thrill through her.
When they rose, Aemon reached behind her and carefully removed her maiden's cloak, handing it to Davos. Then he accepted the bridal cloak, a thick woolen piece adorned with the grey direwolf of House Stark. With steady hands, he draped it over her shoulders, claiming her as his own.
Then, at last, they turned to face each other.
Before the heart tree, beneath the old gods, they kissed.
Applause erupted around them, cheers and calls filling the air. As they turned to face the gathered lords and ladies, Howland Reed's voice rang out over the godswood.
"My lords, my ladies, and all those gathered. I give you King Jon Stark and Queen Shireen Stark!" In across the wall, two dragons roared in approval.
Tormund Giants Bane
Shieldhall
Tormund sighed happily, feeling the warmth of the sour goat's milk drink as it burned down his throat. He leaned back in his seat, his gaze sweeping over the shield hall, a hall filled with flickering torchlight and the murmur of voices. This feeling of hope for the future had long been gone, yet tonight it seemed to burn bright in most hearts. His eyes settled on the high table, where his friend sat beside his young bride, her hair as black as a raven's wings.
Who could have thought that the little crow who had walked into Mance's tent almost two years ago would not only save the Free Folk but rise to be their King?
King Crow. King Flame Walker. Dragon King. Wolf King. The names swirled like wind-driven snow, whispered in awe and fear. Jon Snow, Aemon, Jon Stark, whatever name he claimed, he was the man who would lead them through the Long Night. Tormund was sure off it.
Tormund exhaled, shaking his head before taking another swig from his drinking horn. "Ah, choppy man," he murmured absently as he glanced to his side.
Davos Seaworth arched a brow, his weathered face creased in confusion. "Excuse me?"
Tormund gestured loosely toward Davos's missing fingers. "Bah, because of your fingers. Lost in fight or frostbite? We got many of those after that cunt Stannis chopped our army to bits." His voice softened slightly, and he added, with a sad smile, "Good fok died that day."
Davos studied his cup before answering. "No, Stannis hacked them off after I saved him, with my onions." He lifted his hand slightly, displaying the missing fingers as if they still pained him. "Said a good deed doesn't wash out the bad."
Tormund snorted, taking another drink. "Pff, the man was a cunt. You saved him. And what good did it do? The man burned some of my people, and I thought he burned my King." His gaze flickered toward Jon at the high table. "Hells, technically, it happened twice, now that King Crow leads us. Yet that man, your Stannis, burned his own blood." His voice darkened. "What worse crime can there be?"
Davos followed his gaze toward the high table, where Queen Shireen sat beside Jon, her cheeks flushed with laughter at something her husband had whispered to her. Davos exhaled slowly. "Fanatics are never good. The man became what he fought against. Now he has to live with it. All because of the Red Woman, Melisandre. But we make our own choices, and Stannis made his when he aligned with her. We all paid for it." His fingers tightened around his cup before he drained it dry.
Tormund leaned forward, pouring generously from his drinking skin into Davos's empty cup. "Here. Best drink you'll ever have."
Davos eyed the thick, cloudy liquid warily before he drank heavily. The moment as it seemed, the drink hit the man's throat. He coughed roughly, his eyes watering. "Gods be good, that's strong."
Tormund roared with laughter, clapping Davos on the back hard enough to nearly knock the smaller man forward. "Nothing better!"
Davos wiped his mouth and shook his head. "So," he rasped, still clearing his throat, "What do you know of this Jon Stark? I haven't learned much about him, only that he was known as Jon Snow, the bastard of Eddard Stark. That my Queen adores him. That he tamed a dragon. And that he was dead once and walked out of a flaming pyre." He shot a glance back at the high table, watching Jon and Shireen exchange quiet words.
Tormund leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "Jon is brave, strong, determined. Smart. Loyal to his friends. He could've let us all die beyond the Wall. No one would've blamed him for it. Yet he pushed past the past and led the Free Folk through. I'd be dead if it weren't for him." He took another drink and smirked. "And don't you worry about Shireen. If anyone is protective of her, it's him. That little crow will tear apart anyone who tries to hurt her."
Davos exhaled slowly, something like relief settling in his chest. He raised his cup. "Cheers to them, then."
"To Crow King and Black Queen." Tormund echoed, lifting his own drink before they both drank deeply.
Davos coughed again, shaking his head as the drink burned through him. "Damn,"
Before Tormund could respond, another voice cut in. "I knew I heard a dead man choking."
Davos turned to see Eddison Tollett standing beside them, a grin on his face. "I see you're still trying to kill people with that drink."
Tormund grinned. "If it kills them, they were too weak to live."
Edd raised an eyebrow. "That explains why you're still breathing."
Tormund grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "Ah, sorrow from your new command. Lord commander."
Edd sighed heavily and turned to Davos. "This, is what I fought beside, when Jon was killed. Was his and Val's idea of making the traitors suffer in the ice cells? "
He let out a grunt. "They the deserved the cunts. They will be quite useful as cropses." As offered the drinking skin to Edd.
Edd sighed and sniffed the offered skin once before taking the smallest possible sip. His face twisted immediately. "By the gods," he muttered. "This isn't drink. It's a punishment."
Davos chuckled, and all three men stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the feast around them.
Jon and Shireen were smiling, conversing with one of the Skagosi lords. The hall was filled with warmth, both from the roaring fires and the people within. Warriors and friends, old enemies turned allies, all gathered under one roof, bound together by hardship and something even stronger: hope for the future.
Tormund exhaled deeply, watching Jon with something almost resembling pride. "He'll lead us through what's to come," he said quietly. "The little crow. He always does."
Edd hummed in agreement. "Aye. Poor bastard." Davos lifted his cup, his voice low but sure. "To the King Jon and Queen Shireen."
Tormund and Edd exchanged a glance before clinking their cups together. "To Jon and Shireen," Edd said. "To Jon, Shireen," Tormund echoed, grinning. "And to more drink." Edd groaned. "Gods save us all."
Shireen Stark/Targaryen/Baratheon
Shieldhall
Shireen watched the Shieldhall, with people of all sorts of life in happy merry ment. Beside her sat her husband, who had just finished speaking with Lord Muldin. Seeing him talk made her happy. She felt truly happy.
It had been a long time since she felt this happy. The last time probably was during her eleventh nameday before her father became King. Everything went to shit after. Although it also helped she a little drunk. She mused as happily as she drained her cup.
"Another cup, my dear. Tonight, we can set things right after it's time," Aemon asked, interrupting her musing.
"Hmm, the Nightwatch ale grows on you." She replied as she tried to order, yet Aemon interrupted her. "It does, yet my wife, I would wish for a dance. I may have been a bastard growing up, but I got my lessons," Aemon asked as he extended his hand to her, a small, teasing smirk on his lips.
Shireen eyed him warily, her fingers grazing his palm before she allowed him to guide her onto the cleared space where others were already swaying to the music. "We'll see if you've learned anything, then." She added with a smirk.
The musicians struck up a lively tune, and Aemon moved with confidence, his steps steady and sure. He led her in a measured rhythm, his grip firm but gentle, guiding her with ease. Shireen, hesitant at first, found herself following along, her feet lighter than she expected.
Aemon spun her, and she laughed softly, the sound surprising even her. It wasn't the nervous, uncertain laughter of a girl surrounded by whispers. It was real, unguarded. Aemon caught her easily as she returned to him, his dark eyes watching her with quiet pride.
"You're enjoying yourself," he noted as the song came to a close.
She tilted her head, a small, knowing smile curving her lips. "I am."
"Good, maybe this makes it better," Aemon replied with a smirk before pressing her closer and kissing softly on the lips. Shireen blushed hard. He kissed right in the middle of the hall. The hall cheered. "To King Crow and the Black Queen," Tormund exclaimed happily.
"To Queen Shireen," Aemon added as he hugged her closed. She blushed hard, but she was happy.
"Hmm, wife, shall we retire, or do you wish to stay," Aemon asked softly after a while as they continued to dance.
Her heart pounded in her chest at the question. "I wish to go." She replied softly, blushing at the implications.
"Hmm, as you wish, my dear. I have to carry you, though." He replied with a grin. She looked confused yet before she could saying anything he scooped her her up. "Thank you, all, for being here tonight. You are all friends and loyal allies. Be happy, be merry, and drink to your desire, as for me and my lovely wife. We shall retire." Aemon proclaimed to cheers.
Kingstower
As Aemon opened the door, his breath came in strained, heavy bursts, but his grip around Shireen remained firm. She had lost count of how many times she had protested, half-heartedly at that, for him to put her down, but he refused. Yet Aemon was as stubborn as ever.
"You've proven your strength, my King," she teased against his ear. "Now, set me down before you collapse on top of me."
"I'm King of the Freefolk. I have now technically stolen you." He proclaimed as he set her down gently on her feet, and she giggled. "Fool, but you are my fool." She said as she kissed him. Then, a set of delighted cries from the far side of the room stopped their kiss.
Ghost lay curled in the corner, his thick white fur nearly blending with the furs beneath him, save for the piercing red eyes that lazily flickered open to regard them. Resting atop him, nestled close like hatchlings seeking warmth, were two baby dragons, small but strong, their scales gleaming in the dim candlelight. Goldwing, bright as gold, Rhaenax was a deep, rich purple.
Shireen smiled at the scene. "The dragons and the Direwolves, still making look at them in awe," she murmured. Aemon chuckled. "Aye, same for me."
The dragons chirped, one of them flaring its tiny wings before tucking itself back against Ghost's warm fur.
Shireen knelt, reaching out to stroke the bronze one's snout. It leaned into her touch, its eyes slipping half-closed. "They trust him," she said softly.
"Ghost?" Aemon smirked. "Of course they do. I hope I'm that patient when we have children." She shot him a look of delight and crashed into his arms. "You think about that stuff." She asked softly.
Aemon wrapped his arms around her waist. The heat of his body seeped into her, chasing away the chill of the evening air. "Aye, I ever since you said yes to marrying me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Maybe we have our own little ones playing with Ghost."
Shireen's breath caught at his words, "That sounds nice." She replied, smiling.
Then Aemon kissed her, slow and deep, and she melted into him, letting the world beyond their chamber fade away.
Hello everyone!
If you've enjoyed my stories and would like to support my work, consider joining my community. Your support means the world to me and helps me continue creating the content you and I love.
By becoming a Patreon, you'll get access to exclusive benefits like:
- Early access to new chapters (Up to Four months ahead)
- Writing and story updates.
- Access to concept art for the stories.
- And, of course, you will support me.
- And much more!
Join now and be part of a community that loves and supports creativity. Your contribution makes a huge difference and allows me to keep bringing you exciting new stories.
If you want to join, go to Patreon. Copy this link : www.patreon.com/HeroDut1998
Thank you for all your support!