In order to bring your families together your sister and mother propose you marry the future king, the man you'd been taught to hate. The both of you struggle to make the marriage work, while dealing with your decaying family.
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"They will be married under the Seven," your mother growled, hands planted on the table.
You sat at her side, watching the discussion. You knew your voice would play no contributing factor in these decisions. Your opinion did not matter to anyone in this room, at least when it came to the topic of your wedding.
Rhaenyra sighed, rubbing her temples, "If we are to use the excuse that Targaryen marriage can be annulled under the Seven, then, we cannot marry them under the Seven Alicent. You cannot have both."
Your mother sighed, relaxing into her seat a little, face in her hands. You could hear her take a breath before you saw her face again, "Fine."
You were surprised she gave in so easily. Your mother had only been insufferable about it for about ten minutes before she gave up. It seemed that her faith was leaving. The stars she installed in the Keep coming down, the marriage she forced being annulled, and her unmarried daughter, not allowed to marry in her faith. The pieces she'd so desperatley held onto were crashing down.
Rhaenyra's lips were pursed, not seeming pleased by your mother's upset, "If you'd like we could have a small one here," your sister offered, "It would not be official, and we could have no one but our family there, for the sake of Helaena and Aegon, but if it matters so much to you, then will make it happen."
Your mother looked surprised, a grateful smile decorating her face,"I would love that. I know that you see my faith as blind devotion, but it has given me something to hang onto all these years," she confessed.
You knew that. Yet, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Her faith had ripped her personality away. It gave her an excuse to operate under her father, an excuse to torture the four of you. You were not born to be under the Geven, those were not your gods, yet your mother did not like that excuse. To her, to her that was the ultimate excuse. That if she raised you to be a Targaryen you'd be punished, you'd be cruel and you'd be treated cruelly in the afterlife. Yet, you and your siblings often wished for death in this life, wanting to escape to whatever lays after.
The Queen nodded, "I know, and that's why I'm offering you this. I'm sorry I can't offer you more."
You resisted the urge to scoff. Offering your mother something. Giving into your mother when you sat there without a say. You would not be the one to decide if you'd have one wedding or two. If it were up to you, you'd have none. Especially not one under the Seven, you do not believe in your mother's Gods, and you do not want a second wedding, a second commitment to your cruel fate.
