Lucerys and Rhaena married beneath a clear sky.
After everything required to reach that morning, I regarded the weather as an unexpected act of mercy. No storm rolled in from Blackwater Bay, no summer rain threatened the procession, and the wind remained gentle enough that the banners hanging from the Red Keep moved rather than snapped.
Even the dragons seemed willing to cooperate. Arrax had spent dawn circling above the bay before settling beyond the city walls, while Vhalalor, Tyraxes, Vermax, and the others remained sufficiently distant that the horses arriving with noble guests did not spend the morning attempting to flee.
Six months had passed since Jace and Sara exchanged their vows. The court had therefore recovered enough enthusiasm to celebrate another marriage. Whether the treasury had recovered was another question.
Lyman Beesbury assured Rhaenyra that it had, although the expression he wore whenever another expense appeared suggested that his definition of recovery differed from everyone else’s.
Tyland had made the mistake of observing that Velaryon wealth could reasonably contribute to the ceremony. Rhaenys agreed immediately and then proceeded to spend enough of Driftmark’s coin that Tyland began insisting he had only meant the suggestion in principle.
Luke had wanted something smaller. He lost that argument before the invitations were written.
Rhaena did not demand extravagance, but she understood better than Luke that the marriage represented more than two people who had known one another since childhood. Driftmark had lost Corlys and Baela during the war.
Addam now ruled as Lord of the Tides, Alyn commanded much of its naval strength, and Rhaenys remained one of the most respected surviving figures within the royal family. The wedding allowed House Velaryon to stand before the realm not as a house diminished by tragedy, but as one still bound tightly to the crown.
That mattered to her. Luke eventually stopped resisting.
The ceremony took place within the great hall rather than beneath the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra had developed an understandable dislike for allowing that chair to dominate every important family moment. Red and black remained throughout the decorations, though silver, sea-green, and pale blue had been worked among them until the hall belonged as much to Driftmark as King’s Landing.
Luke waited near the front with Jace beside him.
He was sixteen and looked uncomfortable in ceremonial clothing despite having spent weeks insisting that the tailoring should remain simple. Rhaena had apparently convinced him that simple did not require looking as though he intended to attend a council meeting immediately afterwards.
Jace leaned towards him while we waited. I was near enough to hear.
"You have adjusted your sleeve four times since we entered," he said. "Father gave me the same warning about my clasp before my wedding. I ignored him, but he was unfortunately correct."
Luke stopped touching the embroidery. "You were considerably more nervous than I am."
"I was marrying someone capable of returning to Winterfell if I embarrassed her badly enough. Rhaena has known your faults for years and still arrived."
"That is meant to reassure me?"
"It should. Sara says familiarity is the strongest evidence that a marriage is voluntary."
Luke glanced towards Sara, who was seated beside Rhaenyra.
Her pregnancy had become impossible to conceal beneath clothing, though she carried it well. The maesters believed the birth remained several months away. Jace had become slightly less inclined to treat every discomfort as a medical emergency, mostly because Sara threatened to send him from the chamber if he summoned another maester because she had fallen asleep after midday.
Luke turned back towards his brother. "If I begin behaving like you when Rhaena becomes pregnant, remind me of this conversation."
Jace smiled. "I will preserve it carefully."
Their exchange ended when the music began. Rhaena entered beside Rhaenys. The sight struck me harder than expected.
For years I had imagined Daemon walking his daughter towards this moment. He should have been there, probably looking dissatisfied with every knight assigned to the hall and pretending that giving Rhaena away was merely another ceremony. Baela should have stood nearby, perhaps already married to Jace, impatient for her sister to finish the procession so the feast could begin. Neither was there.
Rhaenys carried their absence without allowing it to diminish Rhaena’s day. She wore deep red beneath a black cloak fastened by silver. Rhaena walked beside her in a gown of sea-silver, the colour Luke had eventually chosen months earlier when he claimed every other shade looked identical. Fine black embroidery followed the sleeves, while small red stones had been placed through her hair beside silver seahorses.
Luke forgot whatever nervousness remained when he saw her. Rhaenys noticed. A faint smile crossed her face before she returned her attention to the ceremony. They reached the septon without incident, which after several years of royal gatherings felt worthy of gratitude.
Rhaenys placed Rhaena’s hand into Luke’s but did not release it immediately.
"You have known her most of your life, Lucerys," she said. Her voice remained quiet enough to feel personal without excluding those standing closest. "That gives you an advantage many husbands do not receive. It also removes the excuse of claiming later that you did not understand the woman you married."
Luke met her gaze. "I understand enough to know that there will always be more to learn. I would rather spend the years learning beside her than assume I already know everything."
Rhaenys studied him for a moment longer. "That answer will serve."
She released Rhaena’s hand.
The septon began the prayers. I found myself watching Rhaena more than the ceremony itself. There was grief in her, though it did not dominate her expression. She had chosen not to make the day another memorial for Baela. No empty place had been reserved. No black ribbon marked the sister who should have been present. Rhaena had told Rhaenys that Baela belonged in her memory without needing to be displayed to the court.
It was a decision I respected.
When the vows came, Luke spoke first.
"I receive Rhaena willingly, not because our families once intended this marriage, but because the years since have given me every opportunity to reconsider and none have given me reason to want another life. I promise to honour her family as part of mine, to hear her judgement before believing my own position makes it wiser, and to treat the household we build as something belonging to both of us."
Rhaena’s expression softened before she answered.
"I receive Lucerys willingly because I know the man beneath the promises made for us when we were young. I have seen his courage and his uncertainty, and I know that he does not mistake one for the absence of the other. I promise to stand beside him without pretending agreement where none exists, to protect what we build together, and to remember that duty is strongest when it is chosen rather than merely inherited."
Their dialogue had never needed elaborate poetry.
That suited them. They had grown together long before either understood marriage. Their vows sounded like two people confirming a decision already tested through distance, war, grief, and years of expectation.
The septon bound their hands and completed the blessing. When he proclaimed them husband and wife, the hall erupted. Velaryon captains struck fists against tables. Crownland knights shouted Luke’s name. Somewhere behind us, Aerion attempted to begin a chant and was silenced by Rhaenyra before it could become embarrassing.
Outside, Arrax answered the bells with a roar. Rhaena looked towards the ceiling.
Luke smiled. "He approves."
"He is probably complaining that he was excluded."
"Those are often the same thing with Arrax."
Their kiss was brief and sufficiently proper to disappoint half the younger courtiers.
I watched Rhaenys afterwards. For the first time that morning, her composure weakened. She embraced Rhaena and held her longer than ceremony required. Luke waited without interfering.
When Rhaenys finally released her granddaughter, she placed one hand against Luke’s shoulder. "Bring her back to Driftmark often. Marriage into the royal family does not mean the sea stops belonging to her."
Luke answered with more seriousness than the request required. "You will see enough of us that you may eventually complain we visit too frequently."
"I doubt that."
I understood her certainty. There were never enough visits once one had buried children. The feast lasted until well after midnight. I escaped before the final musicians did.
For several weeks afterwards, the Red Keep felt strangely empty despite containing nearly the same number of people. Luke and Rhaena spent part of their first month upon Dragonstone before travelling to Driftmark. Jace and Sara remained closer to King’s Landing as her pregnancy advanced. The younger children returned to lessons, dragon training, and their usual competition over matters that seemed absurd enough to reassure me that life had become normal.
The realm continued healing outside the walls.
No urgent raven came from the Shadow Tower. Magnar and Hilvi remained north of the Wall, fighting a war that still belonged to them. Daeron wrote from Oldtown that the city had completed its first full season beneath his rule without serious unrest. Vaeron remained divided between the Small Council and the Arbor, complaining that vineyards somehow produced more legal disputes than armies.
Summer moved forward. Sara grew larger. Jace grew more anxious.
He attempted to conceal it in public, but by the final month he could barely leave her apartments without asking three times whether she needed anything. Sara tolerated him with surprising patience until one evening when he asked whether she should climb a staircase she had already climbed every day for months.
She looked at him across supper. "If you ask me whether walking is safe once more, I will demonstrate that I remain capable of walking by leaving this room and sleeping somewhere you cannot supervise me."
Jace had enough sense to understand the warning. When he later complained to me, I offered little sympathy. "You are fortunate she warned you before throwing something."
"Mother never threw things at you."
"Your mother had other methods."
Rhaenyra, seated beside us, looked up from her book. "I am still in the room."
"That was included in the calculation."
Jace stared between us. "Neither of you is useful."
"You are going to become a father," I said. "Feeling useless is preparation."
The child came during a summer storm. Rain struck the Red Keep through most of the night, running from roofs and turning the courtyards below into shining black stone. I was woken shortly after midnight by a servant informing us that Sara’s labour had begun.
Rhaenyra was out of bed before he finished speaking. I followed more slowly, mainly because neither of us could contribute anything useful by reaching the chambers thirty heartbeats earlier.
Jace waited outside. Sara had permitted him to remain during the early labour, but the midwives eventually expelled him when his concern began making their work more difficult. He paced the corridor beneath the watch of two guards who had discovered that protecting the heir apparently included surviving several hours of nervous movement.
"How long?" I asked.
"Almost six hours."
"You have been walking for all six?"
"Not continuously."
One guard looked towards the floor.
I suspected otherwise. Rhaenyra placed both hands upon Jace’s shoulders. "The midwives know what they are doing. Sara is strong, and there has been no message suggesting anything is wrong. Your fear will not make the birth safer."
"I know that. Knowing does not seem to help."
"No. It rarely does."
We waited with him. Hours passed.
Helaena joined us near dawn, followed later by Rhaena, who had been staying in the Red Keep while Luke attended business at Dragonstone. Luke arrived on Arrax shortly after sunrise once a raven reached him, entering the corridor still wearing riding clothes and apologising for being late to an event over which he possessed no influence.
By then, Jace had stopped pacing. He sat with his elbows upon his knees and both hands clasped together, staring at the chamber doors. A cry finally came from within. Not Sara’s. A child’s. Jace stood so quickly that the chair struck the wall behind him.
The door opened several moments later. One of the midwives emerged smiling despite visible exhaustion. "Mother and child are both well. The princess has delivered a healthy boy."
Jace closed his eyes. For several heartbeats he simply stood there. Then he laughed. It was not the controlled laugh of court or the relief he showed after surviving battle. It came from somewhere deeper, almost disbelieving.
Rhaenyra embraced him first. I waited until she released him before pulling him close. "You have a son."
"I have a son."
This time the repeated words did not annoy me. Some sentences deserved repetition. Sara allowed us inside later that morning. She looked exhausted, pale, and deeply satisfied with herself. Jace sat beside the bed, his attention fixed almost entirely upon the bundle resting against her chest.
The child had dark hair. That was the first detail I noticed. The second was how small he looked compared with everything already being placed upon him by birth. A future prince. Jace’s heir. Rhaenyra’s first grandchild. Another branch of a dynasty that had nearly destroyed itself over who should inherit. To him, none of it mattered. He slept.
Rhaenyra sat beside Sara and carefully touched the child’s cheek. "Have you chosen the name?"
Sara looked towards Jace. "We argued over several."
"We discussed them," Jace corrected.
"You rejected mine and called it discussion."
"I rejected one."
"You rejected three."
He smiled. "We agreed eventually."
Sara shifted the blankets enough that I could see the child’s face more clearly. "Gaemon."
Rhaenyra’s eyes lifted towards them. "Gaemon Targaryen."
Jace nodded. "Gaemon Targaryen."
I looked at my grandson. The name belonged to old Valyria and to Targaryens long dead, but this Gaemon inherited none of their choices. His life had begun after the war rather than inside it.
I offered one finger. His tiny hand closed around it. For reasons I could not explain, that nearly undid me. I had killed a king, burned armies, watched dragons die, and crossed worlds before ever imagining this moment. Somewhere along the way, survival had become marriage, children, and now a grandson gripping my finger without knowing who I was.
Rhaenyra looked towards me and smiled. No one spoke of succession. Not yet. For that morning he was not an heir, a political reassurance, or proof that Rhaenyra’s line would continue.
He was simply Gaemon.
Our first grandchild had arrived safely into a realm that, for once, was more interested in welcoming a child than deciding which side of a war he belonged upon.