Blood of Dragons

In the Queen’s Ballroom of Maegor’s Holdfast, beneath golden torchlight and gleaming mirrors, the wedding feast of Princess Elaena Targaryen and Lord Ossifer Plumm unfolded with all the pomp and lavish excess of a royal celebration. Courtiers in their finest silks and satins toasted, danced, and dined on honey-glazed capon, saffron rice, and sweets that flowed as freely as the Arbor gold. Above it all, the royal family presided: the bride radiant, the groom grinning, and King Aegon IV seated in high spirits beside Queen Naerys, their children, and siblings: Princes Aemon and Daeron, Princess Mariah, and the bride’s sisters, Daena and Rhaena.

What began in good cheer ended in infamy.

Late into the evening, King Aegon, deep in his cups, called for the bedding. The room fell still with shock. Rarely, if ever, had a royal bride been subjected to the full and rowdy ritual reserved for lesser lords. Princess Daena leapt to her feet in fury, Rhaena flinched in silent horror, and even Queen Naerys attempted to intercede—but the King brushed them aside with drunken laughter. Despite her own protests, Elaena was borne off by drunken courtiers, stripped of dignity by hands more merry than mannered. Though she halted the worst with a firm command, what had already been taken could not be restored. Prince Aemon nearly stormed from the hall in fury, only calmed by his brother Daeron’s steady intervention.

The groom followed, carried more than escorted. And the King remained outside the bridal chamber, flagon in hand, surrounded by a clutch of laughing sycophants, recounting crude jests as the doors closed. Shortly after, a fresh offense emerged. Several young knights staggered from the bridal suite, one holding aloft Princess Elaena’s torn shift like a trophy. The gesture sent Ser Jon Roxton, heir to the Ring who had nearly won the wedding tourney, into a black fury. He surged forward, roaring that the Princess had forbidden such disrespect, threatening to take the knight’s hand for his insolence. His voice rang through the corridor like a sword drawn in court.

What might have become bloodshed was diffused through swift action. Ser Otho Royce placed a firm hand on Roxton’s shoulder, reminding all present of their vows. Ser Alfryn Plumm added his voice in command, demanding peace for the sake of his brother’s name. And Lady Lenora Lannister, with poise and grace, claimed the garment with quiet authority. Roxton relented at last, but not without a final warning to the knight who dared defy a princess. With tension crackling in the air, Lady Beranda Sarsfield led the musicians back into the ballroom with a fresh tune. The music, rowdy and infectious, drew the revelers away from scandal toward celebration once more—though some laughter rang a little hollow.

Unnoticed by the revelers, there was a commotion behind the bridal doors. The King rose from his bench and entered the chamber himself, and is said to have remained inside for a time. When he emerged, his mirth had fled. A maester was summoned, entered, and exited alone. King Aegon returned to the ballroom at last, raised a hand, and quieted the room. Face flushed from drink, his voice grave but for the occasional slurring, he delivered the news: Lord Ossifer Plumm had died in the bridal bed, shortly after consummating his union with the princess.

Thus ended the feast. The merriment turned to murmurs, the music to memory. And in the midst of courtly revel, another shadow fell upon the crown.