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Today, in this moment, the shadows of the past no longer haunted Daenerys.
She had no time for old tragedies and no interest in the strange, terrifying curses from her dreams.
Those things were gone, left behind outside the feast hall.
Black dragons and golden knights, white-clad youths and twisted beasts, scorching heat and biting cold—all of it stayed in the past.
Right now she lived fully in the present, because the present was simply too good.
The bride sat on the carved throne to her brother's right, happiness plain on her face.
Today had surpassed her wildest fantasies and every innocent girlhood dream.
For the first time in five hundred years, a daughter of the dragonlords had married in the old, honored way.
She sat beside the man she loved, wearing her mother's crown, ready to celebrate it all… and to dream sweetly of what came next.
The great feast hall held more tables than any other room in the Triarchs' palace.
Only this hall could seat so many guests at once.
The places of highest honor stood on the raised platform. Besides the two of them, the most important people sat there as well.
Viserys would rule the celebration from here, and she would watch every moment unfold.
The hall was packed with Volantis's lords and ladies, the knights and captains of the Targaryen army.
At the call of their Triarch and their prince, they had come to share his wedding joy.
Fourteen long, sturdy tables stood ready. A steady line of slaves moved between them with trays and wine bottles.
The food was already set before every guest, yet no one had touched a bite.
The feast would begin only after the first and most important toasts.
Until then the guests could only stare hungrily at the cooks' masterpieces.
Speeches and gifts would alternate as planned.
An old-blood noble, then a Black Knight. A lord, then an exile.
Only the two fellow Triarchs received special treatment.
Because of their rank, Dorya and Renigar would speak first.
By seniority, Menyx rose first.
He stood with surprising grace for a man of his size, cleared his throat, and began.
"Lord Viserys, Lady Daenerys, the world has never seen a more perfect match!"
Menyx never even touched his cup. Clearly he planned to speak for a while.
"Fate, the gods, even the Doom itself have not always been kind to you.
Because of men's greed and cowardice you lost your home and were forced into exile.
Hardship and danger walked beside you every step. You endured things no other dragonlord blood could imagine…"
Today those memories felt far away to the girl. She only smiled softly.
Thinking back on the running through Free Cities streets and the wandering life with sellswords felt easier, and far more pleasant, from the safety of her own palace throne.
"But the twists of fate and the blows of the gods never broke you.
On the contrary, you proved that the dragonlord heirs of Valyria truly stand equal to the gods themselves…"
The elephant-party lord kept going, clearly enjoying every word.
Of course he was!
He got to be the first to raise a cup at this solemn moment.
"You came to the First Daughter, guardians of the ancient ways, last defenders of the great Freehold's memory.
You brought us not only freedom from the eastern savages' invasion,
not only rescue from the greed of unworthy rulers.
You brought the heirs of Valyria new hope!
Hope for a better tomorrow, hope for a new age!
And we, the brave Volantenes, the new generation of Valyrians, must repay you!"
A ripple of excited whispers ran between the tables as the doors opened.
Viserys's slaves carried in the first gifts. More waited behind them.
A massive golden cup set with gems stood beside a delicate, slender crown that looked almost like a toy in comparison.
The only real ornament on the crown was a single emerald—the largest Daenerys had ever seen.
The gem glowed with rich, even light that drew every eye in the hall, especially the ladies'.
"Lord Viserys, you are as strong as Aelion himself. I offer you this cup."
Menyx gestured to the huge vessel with a kingly flourish.
"May your life overflow with happiness forever."
"I accept your gift with pleasure and my heartfelt thanks."
"Lady Daenerys, you are as beautiful as Syrax herself. I offer you this crown. It once graced the brow of an empress of the Yi Ti Sea Dynasty."
Viserys could barely keep the grin off his face. He knew his own gift would be hard to top.
"Though this ornament cannot match your mother's crown in beauty or fineness, I hope you will accept it."
"I thank you for the gift…"
Daenerys answered, stunned by the generosity.
It was extraordinary.
A crown like this could feed a noble house for generations. It was worth more than many castles back in Westeros combined.
And Menyx had given it away so lightly.
Renigar's duty was done. He sat back with obvious relief.
Next rose Weymond, wearing a red-and-black cloak in honor of House Targaryen.
In the last few weeks that color combination had become fashionable across all of Volantis. No one could argue with it.
Young nobles and learned elders, craftsmen and merchants, scribes and freedmen alike now used the dragonlords' colors to decorate themselves and their homes—
even those who had once sneered at the very name Targaryen.
"Lord Viserys, Lady Daenerys, on this most meaningful day—for you and for all Volantis—I am deeply honored to offer my congratulations."
His voice was rough and hard.
Anyone could tell this young man was not used to persuasion, obedience, or compromise.
"Since the Doom, a daughter of the dragonlords rules the children of Aelion for the first time!
Since the Doom, the night has once again echoed with the music of dragons…
and the wails of our terrified enemies.
Those who sense their own doom approaching, who sense that we will be reborn in flame and blood!
And we, the Volantenes, descendants of legendary heroes, welcome that rebirth!"
The Black Knights answered at once with cheers and applause.
Most of the old-blood nobles joined in, though their enthusiasm was noticeably cooler.
When Weymond raised a fist for silence, many of them visibly relaxed.
"Today we celebrate more than the union of husband and wife." Weymond continued as his slaves carried in a fresh batch of gifts. "We also celebrate the long-awaited awakening of Valyria's heirs. My gift, Lord Viserys, Lady Daenerys, belongs to both of you."
Daenerys felt a sudden flutter of nerves.
Local custom allowed shared gifts… but only when the item was truly extraordinary.
Unique. Incredibly precious.
Fourteen ancient-looking scrolls came in, remarkably well-preserved for their age.
"As the first dragonlord heirs," Weymond raised his voice, "you deserve your birthright… and the reward for bringing dragons back into the world.
Please accept these ancient scrolls. They were written in the wisdom of Valar, the wisest Triarch the Freehold ever knew.
They speak of the lost art of dragon-riding, of making dragon saddles and dragon armor, of commands… of the deeds of the Freehold's greatest warriors.
I have no doubt you will surpass their achievements a thousandfold!"
Daenerys held her breath.
Dragons…
The art of dragon-riding?
About her children?
About her Aeksion, Rhaellys, and Sōnarys?
Weymond!
Daenerys forced herself to sit perfectly still, but the smile had already spread from ear to ear.
She had lost the power of speech and was already imagining herself studying the dusty manuscripts at first light tomorrow.
"We accept your gift with pleasure and our heartfelt thanks."
Viserys's thanks were completely sincere.
Now that the two fellow Triarchs had spoken, it was Lady Elyn Longsword's turn.
Her wet nurse. Her governess and teacher. The woman who had helped Viserys protect and raise her.
In private she had already said a thousand of the sweetest, warmest things. Now she would speak before hundreds of eyes…
But Daenerys felt strangely certain the woman would do just fine.
"For me, standing here today to witness this greatest celebration I have ever seen and to honor you both is the highest honor…"
She spoke clearly and steadily, yet Daenerys saw the tension in those loving eyes.
No wonder. Elyn had probably never imagined she would stand witness to a spectacle like this.
Only the gods knew what the woman felt in this moment.
"Watching the husband and wife I raised from childhood grow and achieve greatness—you have done great things. Your names will live forever in the glorious, ancient history of Volantis."
In exile this woman had seen much, endured much, and grown used to much.
Yet when they returned from the temple with living dragons, she had fainted from sheer exhaustion.
She had spent the entire ritual night on her knees, praying to the Seven for mercy and aid.
Afterward she had barely left Daenerys's side for two full days.
"But, my prince, your true greatness lies across the Narrow Sea.
Your rightful people groan under the yoke of usurpers and the vile thieves who stole your crown… and they cannot even choose a new leader among themselves."
Steel rang in Elyn's voice now.
"My prince, my princess, greater work still lies ahead!
Return!
Free your kingdom from usurpers and tyrants. Punish the traitors. Take the throne that is yours by right!
Let the Seven Kingdoms hear words that will shake the walls of Storm's End, Casterly Rock, and Winterfell—we have come home!"
Her speech won the loudest approval from the Black Knights.
Most of them came from Westeros. Their hunger to go home was every bit as strong as their princess's.
Those born in the Free Cities streets, the eastern sands, or the Ghiscari fighting pits dreamed instead of new and better lives.
They saw themselves as lords, masters of castles and villages, rulers of men rather than servants.
No wonder the table where they sat answered Elyn with thunderous applause.
The old-blood nobles clapped too… and they clapped hard and eagerly, as if urging Viserys to heed her words.
They were already imagining the wealth this campaign would bring—gold, silver, copper, iron, timber, furs, grain, cloth.
Traditionally Volantis traded with both east and west.
Now, under Viserys, they could expand their reach and become the strongest city in the world.
So many reasons to rejoice.
"But every victory," Elyn said as slaves hurried in with a silk banner, "must be forged in flame and blood.
My princess, please accept this modest gift. It will ride with you on the campaign.
Your own banner!"
The gift struck Daenerys even harder than the crown.
A banner?
Her own?
In the past only the most accomplished princes received the right to bear a new banner, to stand apart from the rest.
Did she truly deserve this honor?