Under a sky of golden rain, Tywin and his bride spoke their vows, received blessings, exchanged promises, while sacred songs soared.
Rhaegar noticed that inside the sept the crimson lion of House Lannister hung high—yet today the banners showed a pair of lions, a lion and lioness facing each other in tender regard.
To honor the king, Tywin had further paired the lions with many dragon banners, gold and crimson mirrored perfectly.
Dazzling scarlet answered the golden lion; Rhaegar saw young men and women, all fair-haired and blue-eyed, young and in their prime. The newly-weds were keen as razors yet bright as the new moon.
Every guest was arrayed in eye-catching finery, famed for splendor, intricacy, and excess.
More than that, Rhaegar spied guests from across the narrow sea—Braavosi, Tyroshi, Pentoshi, Lysene; none wished to miss the chance to curry favor with the iron throne's golden boy and heir to Casterly Rock, and to gauge the throne's strength.
Today Rhaegar too was a courtly prince of King's Landing, arriving in brocade. He wore a doublet of black velvet dotted with rubies and diamonds that formed a three-headed dragon, blood and fire as one, gleaming.
Rhaegar had wanted no such grandeur, but the great Lords reveled in rivalry; only magnificence could awe the realm, and folk nursed deep grievance over rank. Besides, the Old King had entrusted him with a special task.
Rhaegar sat in the front row, watching the Queen drape the bride's cloak upon Lady Joanna while Ser Tywin received the groom's cloak from King Jaehaerys and fastened it about his bride.
Rhaegar saw Tywin kiss his bride with deep affection—the girl he had loved since his teens, my love. One flesh, one heart, one soul.
Applause surged again and again like the tide.
Below the dais women began to weep; the couple were so happy it hurt to watch.
"Our brother shines today, yet Mother cannot see. Since she died Father barely troubles with us," young Tyggett murmured, downcast. Kevan quickly hushed him.
Rhaegar glanced at the golden-haired boy—The Laughing Lion had left Tywin brothers loyal and able, content to live in their great brother's shadow, faithful yet resigned.
Great houses never reckon kin too many: the eldest becomes lord, the younger brothers may serve as councillors or knightly captains, marry or be wed for alliances; there is always a place. The risk is quarrels and feuds, but that beats swift extinction.
Speaking of failing lines, Rhaegar saw Lady Arryn dab her eyes; if a high lady breeds few sons, whispers will fly. Lord Arryn remained stern.
The dragons too were short of heirs; something would have to be done, Rhaegar mused. Father Aerys seemed spent, unlikely to rise again.
Presently Grand Maester Cesar slipped to Rhaegar's side and passed him a folded note.
"the sparrow is caught!" Without a flicker Rhaegar read the words and burned the paper.
Gold and night must wield violence to keep the peace.
Rhaegar saw the chatter boil like a pot; the rite was all but done.
The wedding ended; all now looked to the evening ball.
Tywin's brothers donned lion-helmets and armor, red cloaks over white, and with the White Knights in white scale escorted the couple away.
King Jaehaerys II and his queen led, Rhaegar beside the Old King; next Lord and Lady Baratheon, Lord and Lady Arryn, Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella, the Princess of Dorne on the Blackfish's arm—he looked uncomfortable—then Ser Steffon and his wife.
Outside the crowds roared like surf, commoners shouting the names of bride, groom, and king. Some who spied the golden prince pressed forward for a touch of luck, only to be hauled back by the Gold Cloaks.
Rhaegar saw faces of every sort, mostly in plain wool, thin of muscle and cheek. Water bears the boat yet can also overturn it; fed, they are gentle, starved they riot. King's Landing must be provisioned—he must feed the city, not rely on Lannister and Tyrell alone.
The commons love peace and spectacle; Lannister sweetmeats, cakes, smoked meats, loaves, and roast fowl had won their hearts. A full belly makes for loud cheers.
Rhaegar took the royal couple's hands, feeling how Jaehaerirs had labored to honor Tywin.
Gold Cloaks held the outer ring, within them two hundred Baratheon men and two hundred Lannister, all under Ser Kevan, while the White Knights ringed the king.
Tywin and his bride descended with the king and queen to receive cheers, then retired to Casterly Rock's manse for the evening feast.
"Will you join the bedding, Aerys?" Ser Steffon asked Prince Aerys quietly.
Rhaegar thought the foul custom universal.
He glanced back: Aerys's eyes darted, Queen Rhaella's violet ones flared—Aerys had turned her lady into a whore. King Jaehaerys and his queen turned too. "No—wine brings me headaches," Aerys said at once.
"Very well, I'll look in. Lucky my little stags are behaving." Steffon clapped Aerys on the shoulder. In the throne room torches blazed for the night.
Perfume drifted, heady as wine; tonight roast meats, fresh bread, and free ale flowed.
Rhaegar found King's Landing tolerable save for the cloying food—he would found a private kitchen.
Guests poured in, smiles wide; in their eyes Rhaegar read envy, jealousy, hunger.
Courtyard tables were laid for the commons, fare and drink far humbler.
A tide of silk, satin, velvet, and jeweled chains surged around him, scented with rose and peony.
Musicians crowded the gallery—drummers, pipers, fiddlers, horn-blowers, harpers, and skin-bag blowers playing full-tilt.
The throne room had become a moving feast.
Lords and ladies proudly announced their names and styles to heralds and swept to their seats; to dine at a royal wedding was honor itself. Pages in royal livery guided them.
Rhaegar sat before the king; Prince Aerys and Uncle Ser Steffon served as chief heralds, free to court every lord and rich merchant.
"Rhaegar, the turn is yours," King Jaehaerys II said, smiling at his grandson.
"Gladly." Rank bred confidence; he was tempered by blood and title.
"Fill the cups! First to my lady wife—though I dare not drink too deep tonight." Ser Tywin raised the royal dragon-headed cup, its ruby eyes priceless, and toasted Lady Joanna.
"Long live King Jaehaerys II!" "Hail the union of Ser Tywin and Lady Joanna!" The hall thundered; cups rang as thousands clashed together—wine need not intoxicate when pride did.
Rhaegar lifted his own cup and sipped milk. A royal wedding set the standard; now for his part.
"Next, a small gift," King Jaehaerys II declared, and the hall fell hush.
"Prince Rhaegar will play for the happiness of Ser Tywin and Lady Joanna." The king gestured to his grandson, small of years yet seeming two seasons older. dragon-blood is costly; only Dragonlords could lavish such care on their heirs.
Guests applauded; Ser Tywin's eyes shone.
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