A dinner to celebrate your sister and her family’s arrival back to King’s Landing wasn’t such a bad idea. Well, it wouldn’t have been a bad idea had there been no tensions between the self-made factions of House Targaryen.

You were seated beside your brother-husband and your nephew, hands tracing the ornate carvings of the gold goblet before you. You paid no mind to what Aegon was telling Jacaerys, something about satisfying his betrothed properly. You said nothing until your family began making toasts, you, always one to speak your mind, stood up with your goblet raised. You made a celebratory toast to Baela and Rhaena, congratulating them on their betrothal to your nephews. You told them that marriage wasn’t so bad, save for when your husband was drunk.

You sat back down giggling, Aegon grumbling silently next to you. It didn’t take long for you to zone out again, staring ahead at the tapestries that framed the hall’s walls. You heard the sound of a chair shuffling, and a person cleared their throat. You noticed Jacaerys standing behind your chair, a hand outstretched to you, a silent invitation to dance.