After everyone had taken their seats or found a place to stand, the guards assumed their positions, and those involved in the tournament prepared themselves around the field. Emotions ran high everywhere.
"It's time," Aegon said, observing that all was ready.
Aerion, hearing his son, knew the moment had come. He relished the crowd's cheers and called for a servant beside them, sending the man to signal the fanfare trumpeters to announce the start of the lists.
"How do you feel, my love?" Visenya asked, smiling as she looked at her son. She knew her husband would soon address the crowd before the opening of the lists. The warmth of being called his wife openly—her love for him on full display—excited her.
"Excited," Rhaegon replied, gazing at his mother. "I want the world to know of my lovely, growing family—the one I cherish so deeply. My beautiful wives and life partners."
Visenya's smile widened as she pressed closer, kissing his lips for a lingering moment before they parted, a silver thread connecting them. Her face flushed softly, arousal coloring her cheeks. After all, she was in the age of the wolf, her desires demanding release.
At that moment, the trumpets blared across the tournament grounds, drowning out all other sound. The fanfare swelled, then ceased, leaving the crowd in hushed anticipation.
Aerion rose from his seat and stepped to the railing of their booth, preparing to address the assembled people. The Herald of the house followed, standing a little farther back—ready to translate his lord's Valyrian words into the common tongue for those who needed it.
The crowd erupted in cheers at Aerion's appearance. With a smile, he raised a hand, and the noise settled. He surveyed the sea of faces before speaking in Valyrian—not High Valyrian, but the tongue spoken in Dragonstone and all the territories of House Targaryen and their subjects since the time of being part of the Valyrian Freehold.
"Good people of Dragonstone and honored guests from near and far," Aerion called, his voice carrying across the grounds. "Tenants and masters, subjects and friends—men who guard our cliffs, till our lands, and sail our seas; women who warm our homes and nurture our families—welcome. You have filled the streets and every corner with your presence, blessing the young lords of my house on their wedding day."
"For this, I am truly grateful. Your support and joy for the heirs of House Targaryen—your lords—honors us. But they are more than lords; they carry the future of our house and the hope of a better life for all of you, our people. A harmonious bond between my house and its subjects is a blessing, and we should rejoice in it."
Aerion paused as the Herald began translating into the common tongue.
"You have witnessed the changes across Dragonstone and all our territories in recent years. These changes exist because of our house's wisdom and grace, our commitment to a better life for our people—a commitment that will only grow stronger, so you may live freely and without fear of any kind under our rule."
The crowd roared in approval, their cheers echoing. Though some of the more learned among them pondered the deeper implications of his words, Aerion's speech rang true—even if there was more beneath the surface than met the ear.
"Targaryen!""Lord Aerion!""Long live House Targaryen!""Long live our lords!"
Aerion smiled and raised his hand again, silencing the uproar. When the crowd settled, he continued:
"Today, you have come for sport and entertainment, for bread, for fortune, for glory, or to test your mettle—whether with lance, steel, or the feast of our house. For your loyalty, we gift you meat, wine, and coin. Keep the peace of the lists, let the blows be clean, and may the best man stand when the dust settles."
He let the brief cheer rise and fall before turning his head in a dramatic arc, beckoning with two fingers. "And before the tilt and melee begin, let the lord of this day speak." His gaze fixed on Rhaegon like the point of a spear.
The crowd erupted anew as Rhaegon stood—a tall and handsome young lord beloved by the people of Dragonstone. His mother, Visenya, had spent years laboring for their welfare, and Rhaegon himself had played a part in those efforts. Most of all, they remembered how he had discovered the cure for the plague that once ravaged their shores, saving countless lives, and the feats of stories that have been passed down since birth surrounding their young lord that was claimed as a "genius and blessed by the Gods" that acts like a young adult than a little boy.
Inside the castle, they don't treat him as a simple kid but like a young man when speaking with him, because otherwise, they would be at a loss interacting with him and making a fool of themselves. In the port city was the same when people came into contact with him. So most of the people in Dragonstone knew of him by now, by rumors or after having dealings with him, of how weird it was their young lord was; they considered that the rumors of him being blessed by the Gods being a truth.
Rhaegon stepped forward with deliberate ease, his calm smile betraying the confidence of a man long accustomed to the weight of many eyes upon him. As he came to a stop, he stood beside the railing amid the cheers.
Aerion clapped his grandson's shoulder with a proud smile before returning to sit beside his wife.
"A beautiful speech, dear," Valaena praised, her own face alight with joy.
"I set the stage," Aerion replied with a smirk and wink, lifting a chalice of wine to his lips. "Now let's see what the boy does with it."
Rhaegon stood before the crowd, waving to all sides as the ovation washed over him. Then, at a signal, the trumpets sounded again, quieting the masses.
"People of Dragonstone and honored guests who have come to this land to celebrate my marriage and this tournament," Rhaegon began, his voice clear and sharp as a honed blade. "I salute you and welcome you with open arms. Enjoy the blessings and festivities of this day and the days to come."
The people cheered, their blessings ringing out.
As the Herald translated, Rhaegon glanced back at his sisters and beckoned them forward with a wave.
Vaenya and Rhaenya saw their brother signaling for them, blushing and flustered under the sudden attention, hesitated. Visenya watched their nervousness with a knowing smile. "Go to your husband, my daughters. You are dragons, like your brother—fear nothing. Hold your heads high, for he will always stand before you, shielding you from all harm."
"Mom…" the sisters murmured, exchanging wry smiles before stepping forward. Their beautiful looks with otherworldly beauty and noble, colorful dresses drew every eye and breath away as they joined their brother Rhaegon at the railing.
The trio presented before the masses drew every eye to them as the crowd sighed at the beautiful union of the three—a dragon among men and his two dragonesses of the same kind.
The three were, at this time, ten name days old, yet something strange lingered in their appearance; for though their age suggested youth, their looks seemed closer to those of fifteen name days.
Rhaegon stood tall at 1.75 meters, his straight and toned physique hinting at the power concealed beneath his clothes. His skin was white and pristine, his body muscular yet lean, exuding a menace that commanded respect. Yet, there was also a gentle, charismatic air about him—an aura of honesty, reliability, bravery, and firm lordship.
Vaenya and Rhaenya stood close beside their brother, waving to the masses in greeting. At 1.68 meters, they carried the youthful allure of young girls—lively, beautiful, and utterly captivating. Their eyes were seductive and watery, like a fox's, drowning any who met their gaze. Their otherworldly Valyrian beauty—pale as snow, with violet eyes and silver-gold hair—ignited desire in all who beheld them. Delicate yet noble, their features were adorned with growing assets: breasts and buttocks that promised further blossoming, already a tantalizing sight. Their long, shapely legs only added to the allure, making them appear as young goddesses—both untouchable and irresistibly desirable, like the moon itself.
The girls were a feast of beauty and noble grace, stirring primal hunger in the men and boys around them, who growled like wolves at the sight.
The Herald finished translating just as the cheers swelled again. Rhaegon took each sister's hand, his touch steadying their trembling hearts.
"They look so sweet," Rhaenys remarked to Visenya.
"Yes, they do," she agreed.
Aegon beamed, watching his children with unbridled pride. Valaena, seeing the joy in her son's face, smiled unconsciously. "How do you feel, my beautiful boy?"
Aegon's voice was rough with emotion. "Like a proud father, watching his children spread their wings."
"They're growing so fast," Valaena whispered, a tear glinting at the corner of her eye.
"Good kids," Aerion murmured, drinking deeply—his own expression a mix of melancholy and happiness.
Then Rhaegon spoke again in Valyrian:
"Today, we celebrate more than kinship. Last night, by the laws and customs of our house and those that govern every one of our Targaryen territories and allied houses and territories, my sisters, Vaenya and Rhaenya bound themselves to me in marriage vows in the marriage ceremony passed down since the ancient era of our ancestors back during the Valyrian Freehold. Their oaths unite us as family and as a house, and for this, we rejoice." His voice brimmed with warmth and pride, as though he had already won life's greatest prize simply by marrying them.
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I'll stop here, as I got a little bored trying to brainstorm this chapter. My storytelling and writing skills are limited, but I'm doing as much as I can. Don't despair for those who like this fic; this fanfic will continue, though it's progressing slowly. That's because I'm trying to imagine what to put as content, and the scenes and events. Since I'm not the most skilled author, my pace is slow, and I only work on it in my free time.
I just found out that House Sunglass was also a sworn house to the Targaryens—alongside the Velaryons and the Celtigars—pre-Conquest. Though they aren't of Valyrian origin, it's interesting that they're based in Blackwater Bay, in the Crownlands. I'll add them to the previous chapter as a mention of allied nobles being present. Maybe I could even use them as a spearhead for something later on.