Women are supposed to be soft-spoken proper and homemakers and Rhaella Lopez was everything but she was fierce, loud, blunt and deadly. Her family had never been able to accept her but the FBI loved her it was her home, the only place other than the...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Six months later, Daenerys smirked as a report made its way onto her desk the next morning. Several lords and ladies who had opposed her rule had unfortunately passed, each in different, untraceable ways, ensuring no suspicion fell upon her. She touched her stomach with a smile—another child on the way would secure her line for the future.
Margery Tyrell was pregnant, and it was confirmed that she would not survive the birth. Daenerys couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as the future of her dynasty seemed more secure than ever. Today, however, was significant for another reason: it was the wedding of Jon and Arya.
Rising to her feet, Daenerys took a moment to glance at her reflection. She was only four months pregnant, and Drogo had just returned from Meereen, his face plastered with a pleased expression. She knew exactly why—he had dealt with a group of rebels in Essos, slaughtering them swiftly before returning for his sister's wedding. Daenerys remembered how shocked Arya had been when Drogo had first called her "sister." Now, the time had come for Arya to be wed, and the entire khalasar was pleased.
Arya had agreed to a Dothraki-style wedding after the two in Westeros, but today they would marry before the Old Gods in a ceremony rooted in tradition. Daenerys wrapped herself in a heavy coat and made her way to the wedding ceremony. As the head of Jon's household, she would be officiating. She had memorised the words needed to be spoken and accepted the honour with pride.
The Godswood was breathtaking at night, the air crisp with the scent of pine and earth. Daenerys walked toward the sacred weirwood tree, dressed in the colours of House Targaryen and a winter gown. She looked up as Arya appeared at the end of the path, lanterns lining either side. Arya's gown of white and silver shimmered in the soft light, and the tiara with dire wolves upon her head made her look every bit the noble bride. She smiled brightly, the weight of the occasion settling over her.
Lord Stark held Arya's hand as he guided her up to the heart tree. Jon stood at the front, waiting for her, his eyes gleaming as he smiled at his bride. Daenerys spoke, her voice ringing out with the power of the Old Gods behind her.
"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" she asked, watching as Lord Stark answered.
"Arya, of House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"
Jon stepped forward, his face full of pride. "Aegon, of House Targaryen, Lord of Driftmark."
Daenerys turned to Lord Stark, who stepped forward with a smile. "Eddard, of House Stark, who is her father."
Daenerys took a deep breath and turned to Arya, the young girl who had once been so wild and untamed, but had grown into a woman of great strength and courage. "Lady Arya, do you take this man?"
Arya seemed to ponder for a moment, her eyes flicking to Daenerys with a smile. Then, with a graceful nod, she answered, "I take this man."
Jon grinned, his eyes lighting up. He glanced at Daenerys, who smiled widely before nodding her approval. The bride and groom joined hands and knelt before the heart tree, their union witnessed by the Old Gods.
