The Eve of the Wedding

Just as Jon predicted, things moved fast. Rhaegar wanted a swift wedding and the Tyrells were more than willing to oblige him, moving almost the whole of Highgarden with them on the journey back to King’s Landing. Jon was visited frequently during the nights by Loras, the Knight Of Flowers proving himself almost intoxicated by Jon, who could not deny that the feeling was beginning to be mutual. Discretion was paramount, but Jon strongly suspected that the whole of the Tyrell household not only knew about his dalliance, but actively worked to aid it.

When they entered King’s Landing they were greeted with a magnificent welcome as the local population worked hard to cheer and chant the Dragon and Rose. Jon was already popular with the common folk for his friendly manner and work to fight the bandit problem in the area, and Lady Margaery was seen as a beautiful and worthy bride for their beloved prince. Jon rode through the streets feeling as though the whole world was his, and by the time they entered the Red Keep he already counted the day as one of his best.

King Rhaegar sat on his throne, looking worn and weary, but with enough strength to maintain a regal bearing as he watched them enter. Prince Aegon stood by his father’s side, a near copy of his father, with perhaps shorter hair and a darker complexion from his Dornish blood. Both men smiled as their kinsman returned to them, with a betrothed in hand and the full support of the Reach.

“My boy,” Rhaegar greeted, illness doing little to dull the strength of his voice as it echoed through the Great Hall. “It gladdens my heart to see you here, and with such a lovely bride.”

Jon smiled at his father, proud filling his chest. “Thank you, Father. I have found the most beautiful and kind hearted wife a man could hope for,” he gestured to his betrothed, “Lady Margaery.”

“Welcome my dear,” Rhaegar smiled at the woman fondly, “I am so glad that I have lived to see my youngest son find love. I have already made preparations for what I am sure will be the grandest wedding in memory.”

“Where are Rhaenys and Elia?” Jon quirked his head about the packed room, but unable to find his sister and stepmother.

It was Aegon who answered, smiling apologetically at his brother. “My uncle Doran is not well and the Maesters have said he may not last much longer,” he explained briefly looking saddened, “they were already well into Dorne when we received word from you, so alas they shall be absent. They send their love.”

Jon nodded thoughtfully. “ I have my father, my brother...and now my wife,” he smiled at Margaery, “I shall endure without them.”

The King nodded, looking visibly tired from all the effort, but putting up enough of an effort to maintain some form of dignified regality. Aegon looked concerned for a moment, and was about to call for an end of the meeting when Jon spoke up again.

“I shall not burden you much longer father, but a thought has come to mind,” he said, carefully. “ I have heard that Ser Jonothor has passed and that the Kingsguard has a vacant position.”

Rhaegar nodded distantly, rubbing his head. “Aye, that is so.”

“During my time at Highgarden I was witness to the talent and strength of arms displayed by Ser Loras,” he gestured to the Knight Of Flowers. “If I might make one request, Father, I would ask that you appoint Ser Loras to the White Cloaks, where he would faithfully serve as my wife’s sworn shield.”

The King looked at the knight, looked at Margaery, and nodded. “It shall be done,” he **** a smile as he eased himself out of his throne, “now if you’ll forgive me, we have a wedding to prepare for and I am in urgent need of rest.”

For the next two days things settled into a quiet sense of stillness with preparations rapidly being worked while Jon tried to ease himself back into his courtly life. He supped with his father and brother, but also made a point to lunch with Margaery, to take her on walks about the Keep that would be her future home and quickly found himself getting restless at the thought of finally taking her to bed.

On the eve of his wedding he found himself drinking with his brother late at night, the two of them sharing wine and stories as they steadily grew more and more drunk. Aegon had always been Jon’s closest friend, ever since they were boys and he was glad that at least he would be there for him on the day of his wedding.

“I’m telling you little brother,” Aegon began to pour himself another cup of Dornish red, yet his mouth never stopped, “It’s been complete madness out in the Riverlands these last few turns of the moon. The bastards just won’t stop their attacks.”

Jon took a mouthful of his wine, considering. “Surely Ser Arthur has been able to keep control of the situation? He’s had experience with Outlaws before.”

“Even he can see that it’s different this time,” Aegon said, sitting back down beside Jon, “ these people are too well supplied, both in weapons and in recruits. I seriously think they are being supported by someone with a considerable purse.”

“The Blackfyres?” Jon suggested, “They’ve been drumming up support out East, this smells of their plots.”

Aegon nodded. “I was thinking that, though Gods forbid if it’s someone like Tywin Lannister providing the coin.” He waved the thought away. “Enough of that, tell me about your new bride. She’s quite a beauty.”

“That she is,” Jon laughed, “the woman knows exactly what she wants too. I’m a lucky man...though it is an...interesting family they have.”

Aegon shrugged. “No family is without its quirks,” he knocked back the last of his wine, “ and this poor lass is about to join ours. I suggest you get to bed Brother, tomorrow is going to be a big day.”