TRIGGER WARNING: Gore (After math of Criston attacking Joffrey) 

A Royal Wedding

 GAEL ARRIVED IN KING'S LANDING TO CHAOS. Despite the time royal weddings usually took, it seemed they were determined to get things put together as quickly as soon as possible. What rumors could put them in such a rush, she could not imagine.

She was surprised that they had even gone through with this at all, given their father's tendency to give up on any form of follow through. Gael had assumed Rhaenyra would simply harass him into allowing her to stay unmarried.

Merlon Smallwood took in the scene of King's Landing with awe. It had taken a good deal to convince him to come. Lord Wallace had been anxious about the idea of marrying into the royal family. Sure he had sent Merlon, but he had admitted to Gael that he had not expected him to actually be chosen. Princesses married into larger houses; high lords and wardens.

Gael had appreciated the honesty – it was a common habit of Wallace's, she would learn – but promised there would be nothing for him to fear.

"I am a princess, My Lord," she had assured him. "That means I do not have to care about status. Only if I like the man in front of me."

They were welcome at the harbor by the hand of the king and a group of guards.

The new hand of the king. At some point while Gael was gone, Lyonel Strong had replaced Otto Hightower at the post. He refused to tell Gael why this change had been made. His excuse was not speaking ill of his predecessor, but she suspected the reason went deeper than that.

For the respect Gael had for him, she did not push.

Viserys met the two in the throne room. It took on a glance for Gael to grow concerned. A sickly pallor had taken over her father's usual complexion. Even standing from the Iron Throne seemed to take effort, and his hobbling approach had driven him into a coughing fit. Still, once he recovered, he was quick to engulf Gael in a hug. He held her at arms length and studied her.

"By the Gods, you've grown!" Viserys cried. "It is good you returned when you did. Any longer and I fear I might not have recognized you."

Gael snorted. Viserys slapped her shoulder. Suddenly, it was as if all the tension from before she had left had been melted away by the sheer relief of seeing the other again. It was then that Gael remembered Merlon was there. She turned to see him staring with eyes the size of dinner plates.

Right. Gael was so used to speaking to Viserys as her father, she often forgot he was everyone else's king.

"Father, this is Merlon Smallwood, heir to Acorn Hall," Gael motioned to Merlon.

"Your Grace," Merlon quickly bowed. He looked close to fainting. "It is an honor."

"He does not bite, I assure you," Gael assured. Merlon only seemed to relax slightly. "As you know, you sent Rhaenyra and I out to tour the kingdom to find a husband. Which is why I have brought Merlon with me."

There were a few responses Gael expected. She had prepared for all of them. All of them except for her father to burst into laughter. He only stopped when he caught her unimpressed expression.

"You are serious?" Viserys looked between the two. "I...I am pleased."

"You did not expect me to actually choose a betrothed, did you?" Gael said.

"Well...you have always been a willful child, and after your sister..." Viserys shook his head. He held out a hand to Merlon. "Never the matter. It is a pleasure to meet you. If my daughter is willing, we must discuss this proposition."

The tone of his voice said it had very little to do with if Gael was willing or not. She gave him a forced smile and nodded. There were other things for her to look into.

˱ 𓈒 𓈊 ┈ 𓈒 ˲

MERLON SMALLWOOD WAS GOING TO BE EXECUTED. That was the only way this could go. The king was going to realize his ineptitude and have him killed for the offense of even presuming him worthy of his daughter.

He tried not to think that way — Mother assured him this would turn out well, and she had never told him wrong — but he could not stop it. He was a natural worrier, since he was a child if his parents were to believed. It was something Merlon had learned to live with well enough.

In normal circumstances, that is, and these were not normal circumstances.

"I must assure you, Your Grace, I am here entirely on the Princess's request," Merlon offered.

"So you are not interested in my daughter?" the king raised an eyebrow.

"No, no, in fact her presence has been wonderful," Merlon said quickly. He had been trying to avoid the king believing him a mindless upstart, only to insult his pride instead. "Gael is clever, and curious, and...rather stubborn."

To Merlon's surprise — and relief — Viserys laughed at his last word.

"Stubborn is an understatement. I assume Gael has told you how she gained that scar of hers?" the king said.

Merlon nodded. In fact, Gael had told him happily when he glanced at it too much. She had also, glowing with pride, shown off various scars along her arms and legs. Merlon remembered the relief that had washed over him then. He had been so worried about appearing perfect for the princess, so the pleasure she took in imperfections made it all seem much easier.

Which he explained, rather awkwardly, to the king. That yes, he understood exactly who Gael was. It was hard not to when she spent the entire visit mouthing off to everyone who dared challenge her and turning everything into a competition. More than once she had out right insulted him.

"But she also spent hours with my mother. I hardly know what all they spoke of, but I do know it meant the world to her. She loves to dance and sing, and even made my father laugh," Merlon said. He was rambling now, but it seemed to be working. "It is an accomplishment, Your Grace, believe me."

While not a cruel man, Wallace Smallwood was also not an expressive one. Merlon could only remember a handful of times he had given more than a faint smile, let alone a genuine laugh.

For a long time, the king was silent. He let out a sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"You are surprisingly verbose," Viserys finally said.

"So I've been told..." Merlon admitted. "I'm working on it."

As he often did, Merlon wished he could hear what people were thinking. Hardly anything showed on Viserys's face. He could only hope that nothing he had said had accidentally insulted the man. Maybe the he would be rejected politely, instead of being thrown out.

Finally, Viserys gave a tight smile.

"I send your father an invitation to the upcoming wedding. I will discuss it with him then," Viserys said. Merlon tried to keep his confusion from reaching his face, but he must have failed, as the king waved him off and added, "Yes, I am aware there may be better matches. Years ago, I might have searched for one. But after all this mess, I'm simply glad one of my daughters is marrying without a fight. For your sake, I pray you will never understand."

Merlon could do nothing but nod. Looking at the poor state the king was in, he had a similar hope. Knowing himself, Merlon doubted he would survive. His sanity certainly wouldn't.

˱ 𓈒 𓈊 ┈ 𓈒 ˲

GAEL RAPPED A PATTERN ON RHAENYRA'S DOOR. It was one the girls had used since they were young, so that they knew it was the other when they wished to see no one else.

As expected, Rhaenyra threw open her door. She practically dragged Gael into the room, and as quickly she slammed the door shut. By the time Gael had adjusted to the flurry of movement, her sister had sat down hard on the bed with a huff.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," Rhaenyra started. As she spoke she leapt up from her bed and began pacing the room. It seemed impossible for her to sit still. "King's Landing has been a hell since I returned."

"I can tell..." Gael raised an eyebrow. "There are a few things you failed to tell me of."

Rhaenyra ran her hand down her face. Once again she collapsed into her bed. This time Gael sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. Rhaenyra turned to her, and she could feel her stomach drop. Frustration was written evidently across her sister's face.

For a long time they sat like that. Rhaenyra stared hard down at the floor. A thousand questions flurried in Gael's head, and she had to gnaw the inside of her cheek to keep from spitting them out. Her sister didn't need words. Even Gael could tell that. She needed to know that someone was there. That, after everything had collapsed, she finally was not alone.

"He left me," Rhaenyra finally. Her voice trembled. "He ruined everything and then left again."

"He? Who is he?" Gael demanded.

He, Rhaenyra explained, was their uncle. Otto Hightower had – on the word of an informant – told their father she had slept with Daemon in a brothel. Though her sister did not say so, Gael could guess this was why Otto had been replaced as hand. Their father would never allow such a rumormonger at his side, especially not when it harmed his daughters.

"He never touched me, I swear it," Rhaenyra insisted. "We only went out to see a show in Flea Bottom, and nothing more, but of course Otto Hightower would take any chance to slander me. It's the only way to get his blood on the throne."

Gael stared hard at the wall across from her. A bubble of anger that had formed in her chest at her sister's distress, and it promptly burst. She shot to her feet. Her first instinct was to storm off to find someone — Daemon, Otto, anyone — before she realized that both were gone already. The most she could do was let out a frustrated cry and kick the post of Rhaenyra's bed (there was a crack, and Gael faintly hoped it was the bed and not her toe.)

"Damn him!" Gael seethed. She wheeled on Rhaenyra. "I told you he was a conniving cunt —"

"That is what you take from this?" Rhaenyra demanded.

"Daemon was attempting to take your inheritance just as much as Otto was, and you know it."

Gael paced in front of the bed. Daemon's status as heir benefited from Rhaenyra's removal just as much as Aegon and Maekar's did. Even if it did not, it was just like him to destroy her just out of spite. It was blatantly obvious to her. How could Rhaenyra be so blind?

Daemon had always preferred Rhaenyra of the two.

His air of superiority and aloofness was propped up by little more than smirking and snide remarks that were not as clever as he pretended they were. It collapsed the second Gael responded to him in kind – instead of brainless praise or anger that he could turn against her – and as such he often avoided her. The last thing Daemon needed was his ego bruised by being exposed for his lack of substance.

Rheanyra was different, however. She had always humored Daemon's behavior. Doing so, in Rhaenyra's mind, was the closest thing to rebellion she could ever achieve. Gael had always tried to warn her against it. To her frustration, her sister had never listened.

Now only Rhaenyra would suffer for it. At least Otto had been punished for his rumors. Daemon could galavant off without a care, off to ruin some other woman's life.

˱ 𓈒 𓈊 ┈ 𓈒 ˲

"ARE YOU CERTAIN I DON'T LOOK STRANGE?" Merlon whispered.

"I am certain," Gael insisted.

Merlon sighed. They turned to watch the train of people who entered the wedding feast. A servant announced each house, along with their various titles and achievements. Upbeat music floated through the room.

Gael had tried to convince Merlon to find a seat. She had reasoned that standing there would only make him grow anxious as more people arrived. Merlon insisted the opposite – standing would allow him to focus on something other than the crowd growing around him.

When the Smallwoods did arrive, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You have lovely tapestries," was the first thing Lady Marna said. "They're inspiring."

"I wouldn't know. I hardly look at them," Gael admitted.

As surprising as it seemed, given she had lived in the Red Keep her entire life, that was very much true. Perhaps that was why they disinterested her so. Gael had never cared for arts, except perhaps when she was making them, and so seeing the same tapestries over and over only bored her.

Gael meant to say more, but something caught her attention. Or someone caught her attention. Barra had entered with the Hightowers.

"Barra!" Gael shouted. The girl's head whipped around at the sound of her name and Gael threw up her arms. "Barra, I order you to get over here!"

Not that the ordering was needed. Barra let out a cry, excused herself from Laswell, and ran to Gael's side as quickly as she could manage. Gael practically tackled her into a hug. The two erupted into laughter. Though it had only been a year since they had seen each other, it felt like forever. 

Gael could have cried. Barra certainly did.

"Have you seen Laena?" Barra asked.

"I haven't," Gael said. "Is she here?"

"I don't know, I was hoping you would."

"Oh!" Gael grabbed Barra's hand and dragged her over to Merlon. "This is Merlon Smallwood. Merlon, this is Barra."

"Oh."

Barra seemed to get it without Gael saying a word. She raised her eyebrows at Gael and nodded towards Merlon. Gael rolled her eyes and lightly shoved her shoulder. 

Her friend had always been a romantic. More than once Gael had teased her for it, claiming that marriage was nothing more than a political arrangement, and more than once Barra had retorted that she would see. And while she would not have declared Merlon her true love, she was planning to marry him for his personality, so it was close enough Barra would declare it a win.

At once Barra turned her charm to their visitors.

"It is wonderful to see you!" she declared. At once she gave Lord Wallace her sweetest grin. "You must be Lord Smallwood?"

"I am," Lord Wallace gave Gael a curious, slightly accusatory, look. Likely he assumed she had told Barra who she was. "And you are, my Lady?"

"Barra Hightower. Gael is a friend of mine," Barra gave Gael a smile, then continued, "I take it you met her on her tour?"

"We did," Lord Wallace sighed. "My son Merlon was a suitor."

"Was he?"

Barra raised her eyebrows at Gael again. She gave an exasperated sigh.

"You know what? That's enough from you," Gael said. "Don't you have a husband to entertain?"

Barra glanced back, where the Hightowers had collected. She shook her head.

"Unfortunately, Laswell is not much of a dancer. Not that it matters. I will find a way to enjoy myself," Barra shrugged. She winked at Gael and added, "I will leave you to do the same."

With that, she turned to leave, twirling the skirt of her dress as she left. Gael rolled her eyes.

"You must forgive Barra," Gael said, "I told her I wished to remain unmarried, and she disagreed. It pleases her to have been right."

"Friends are hard to come by, and she seems like a good one. I think you'll find yourself grateful for her in the coming years," Lady Marna said. She glanced back at the high table. "I believe His Grace is waiting for you."

That was likely true. Gael held out her arm for Merlon to take and led him to sit with the rest of her family. She didn't know what Merlon had said to her father to gain his favor so quickly – not even he seemed certain – but it worked in her favor nonetheless. She was not one to question good favor.

To Gael's surprise, they weren't the last to arrive, despite their waiting. Alicent was still missing. Gael wondered if she was busy getting her children settled. They did seem to take most of her time these days.

As they waited, a few of the lords approached the high table. Most of them spoke with Viserys or congratulated Rhaenyra, so Gael ignored their conversations. It was only when Gerold Royce approached that she began to listen in.

Gerold was the cousin of Rhea Royce, Daemon's wife. Little Ryland stood next to him. The boy must have been ten now. Eleven? With how little he was mentioned, Gael could not remember when in the year he had been born. She had never seen him in person before. Ryland reminded her of a foal; lanky, with wide brown eyes.

One of the only things Gael had ever been told about Ryland was that the boy had Valyrian hair. That was the sole reason they had been able to tell he was Daemon's son. And Gael could tell his hair had once been the Valyrian silver-blonde, as the color peaked through at the roots, but the rest had been dyed a dark brown.

"Your Grace, Princess Rhaenyra, congratulations are in order," Gerold said.

"We are very honored to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold," Viserys said. "I must say, I was most distressed to hear of the Lady Rhea's tragic passing."

"Her passing?" Gael repeated, startled by the sudden news.

"Yes. A hunting accident..." Ser Gerold said.

Something about his voice said he did not believe his own words. From the way Ryland was glaring at the Targaryens, neither did he.

Gael had to admit, her mind had jumped to what she knew the two were thinking: Daemon. He had always despised his wife. But would he really be so cruel as to murder her, knowing she was the sole parent to his son?

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Viserys said. He looked to Ryland and added, "And I am most grateful for the care you have given my nephew. I know it cannot be easy."

"Lady Rhea was a unique character. Her kind..." Ser Gerold trailed off. "Is not soon to be seen again."

"If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce —" Rhaenyra started.

She was interrupted by drumming. House Velaryon had entered. The Royces left to take their seat and everyone rose to clap. Once they were fully entered, Laenor approached the high table, and Rhaenyra stood to meet him.

Gael resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew both well enough to know any romance was a farce on both their parts.

"I was not aware you had a cousin," Merlon whispered to Gael, hiding beneath another round of applause.

"You didn't miss it. We do not talk much," Gael assured, sensing the nervousness creeping into his voice. "My uncle was not fond of his mother, and so he has been relegated to the Vale. In fact, I have never met him myself."

"I'm sorry for the poor boy," Merlon said. His gaze drifted to Ryland and Gerold, and then where his parents sat. "I cannot imagine such a loss, let alone having to celebrate in that grief."

They silenced themselves as Viserys stood. He did not get to begin his speech, however.

As soon as he began to talk, the doors opened once more. Gasps were heard through the crowd as Daemon Targaryen entered. He approached the high table with a smirk. Gael glared at him as a man was moved so that he could take his seat. Once he was done, Viserys was finally able to begin.

"Be welcome, as we join together in celebration," Viserys said. "Tonight is only its beginning. We honor the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon. Reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the age of Dragons. With House Targaryen and Ho—"

Once again, Viserys was cut short. Gael turned to follow his gaze. Alicent had appeared at the entrance. Dressed in a long, flowing green dress, she approached the high table. Everyone stood in respect.

A tension filled the room. Gael was not sure what was happening, but she knew there was something. She could sense a change in Alicent. Everyone could.

"Congratulations, stepdaughter," Alicent said. Coldly.

Then she kissed Viserys cheek and took her seat beside her.

Stepdaughter?

Gael and Rhaenyra shared a look as everyone sat. It was not that Rheanyra wasn't her stepdaughter, only that she had always been Alicent's friend first. As such, the woman had never referred to either of them as stepdaughter. They had always been on equal footing.

Gael could only hope her expression was questioning enough for her sister to understand her intent. What had happened between her and Alicent for such a cold reception?

Viserys had a quick conversation with Lord Strong – likely to confirm no one else would be arriving late – and continued:

"With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros."

Applause erupted again. Merlon started to ask about Alicent, but Gael quickly shook her head. She knew as little about it as he did.

"And after tonight's small affair..." There was laughter at the king's words. This was hardly a 'small affair.' "Seven days of tournament and feasting. At the end of it all, a royal wedding between my daughter...my heir...your future queen...and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark."

Gael looked down the table at Laenor. Despite knowing he was about as interested in Rhaenyra as he was a rock, she still gave him a smile, which he returned. Though they were already family — her father his mother's cousin — Gael was fond of being able to call him Good Brother.

As a drum beat began, Rhaenyra and Laenor took to the dance floor. They performed a dance traditional to Valyrian weddings, meant to mimic the flight of two dragons. It was one of the few Valyrian traditions that had been translated into the new, Faith based weddings.

"Will I have to do that?" Merlon asked as the two finished.

"I suppose so. And...that as well," Gael watched as the dance floor filled with dancers, whose dance was just as practiced as the prior. "I would not worry, yourself. I have never been any good at such things, either, and there will be practices. Until then, we will wait until the free dancing begins. You will find I am much better at dancing without instructions."

Merlon shook his head. "Something tells me you're much better at most things without instructions."

"A fair observation."

Gael leaned on her elbow. Her words were true. All structured dancing had ever gotten was a lecture about stepping on toes. She intended to wait until people were looser and drunker, when she would fit in quite nicely.

Before that could happen, however, a shout erupted from the crowd. It was followed by violent screams. Gael leapt to her feet to try to see, but was blocked as people crushed together at the source. Not even Rhaenyra appeared through the crowd – at least until Harwin Strong swung her over his shoulder.

"Your Grace?" Merlon asked, his voice cutting sharply through Gael's fear. "Your Grace, are you alright?"

Gael turned to see him bent next to her father. Drops of blood had fallen onto the table, and Viserys held a tissue to his noise.

As the crowd dispersed, she could see what had caused the chaos in the first place.

Laenor was crouched on the floor by a crumpled body, wailing in despair. Without thinking Gael ran to his side. She couldn't bring herself to look at the bloodied pulp that remained of the man in front of her. Instead she grabbed Laenor's shoulders and pulled him into her grasp, squeezing her eyes shut.

Later, Gael would learn the man was Laenor's lover, beaten to death by Ser Criston Cole. It seemed Alicent had not been the only one to change. Hadn't Ser Criston been the one Rhaenyra had chosen to be her own personal protector? Now he was bludgeoning people to death without warning.

As Rhaenyra and Laenor were married in an impromptu wedding, Gael could not stop the sick feeling rising in her stomach. Something dark was growing in King's Landing. She just wished she knew what it was.

Author's note: Poor Merlon really spent the chapter like "haha, I'm in danger." He might be part of an established house now, but his social anxiety has not disappeared.