315 AC - Uruk - Third Person POV
The morning sun cast a gentle glow over Uruk's western quarter, where a small courtyard bloomed with magical vines, their purple flowers fragrant in the summer air. A modest pavilion, draped in white linen and adorned with wildflowers, stood ready for the wedding of Viserys Targaryen and Lira, a cook whose rough demeanor hid a tender heart. The ceremony, as befit a commoner's means, was simple yet heartfelt, attended by Viserys's fellow soldiers, Lira's kin from Uruk's kitchens, and a few neighbors who'd grown fond of the reformed Targaryen.
Viserys, thirty but lean from soldiering, stood beneath the pavilion in a gray tunic trimmed with silver, his cropped silver hair catching the light, his violet eyes soft with joy. His Valyrian steel dagger, a relic of his past, hung at his hip, but today it was merely ornament. Lira approached, her dark curls pinned with a single flower, her cream dress plain but glowing against her tanned skin. Her brown eyes met Viserys's, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Don't faint, Targaryen," she muttered, loud enough for the crowd to chuckle.
The officiant, a wise woman of Naath named Ysmeine, bound their hands with a woven cord, her voice warm. "In the sight of Uruk's earth and sky, Viserys and Lira pledge their lives. May your bond grow as the vines, strong and enduring." Viserys's voice was steady, his eyes locked on Lira's. "I vow to stand by you, Lira, to share your burdens and your joys, till my last breath." Lira's voice was gruff, her cheeks pink. "And I'll keep you fed and honest, Viserys, long as you don't vex me." Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Ysmeine pronounced them wed, the cord tied.
The feast followed in the courtyard, tables laden with Lira's own recipes—spiced lamb, honeyed bread, and fresh figs. Soldiers strummed lutes, children danced, and neighbors toasted the couple with barley ale. Viserys and Lira sat together, her hand on his, his smile brighter than any crown he'd once craved. "Happy, love?" he asked softly. She snorted, her voice teasing. "Ask me after you wash the dishes, Targaryen." But her squeeze of his hand said more than words.
As stars emerged, Domonic stood, his voice cutting through the revelry. "A toast to Viserys and Lira—may your love endure, your days be joyful!" The crowd cheered, goblets raised, Hazel shouting, "To Uncle and Lira!" Viserys smiled, his arm around Lira, her voice muttering, "Fancy speeches, eh?"
Domonic's tone grew solemn, his voice carrying. "Viserys, Lira, I've a gift for your union. Pentos, a city under Uruk's banner, needs a just ruler. I name you, Viserys, Prince of Pentos, and your line to govern it, sworn to Uruk's peace. Lead with the heart you've shown here."
The courtyard fell silent, soldiers gaping, children pausing mid-chase. Viserys's face drained, his voice firm but pained. "Domonic, your trust humbles me, but I can't accept. I'm no prince, no king—I'm a soldier, free of crowns and their curses. Pentos deserves a ruler untainted by my past madness."
Daenerys's hand gripped his, her voice low. "Hear him out, Brother, before you say no."
Daenerys rose, her voice soft but compelling. "Brother, I know you've forsaken titles, and I'm proud of the man you are—humble, steady. But this isn't just for you. Think of Lira, of the children you'll have. Pentos offers them a future—safety, schools, a home where they'll thrive. Accept it for them, not for glory."
Missandei's voice was calm, her eyes kind. "Uruk asks for a leader, Viserys, not a conqueror. You've proven your worth in Uruk's fields, its walls. Pentos needs that man, not the Beggar King."
Hazel piped up, her voice confused. "Uncle, why don't you wanna be a prince? You'd be nice to people!" Viserys smiled sadly, his voice gentle. "It's heavy, Hazel, like carrying a storm. I'm happy without it." Julius frowned, his voice earnest. "But you're strong, Uncle. You could help lots of people, like Father does." Alexander nodded, his voice shy. "You'd be a good prince, Uncle. I'd visit you."
Lira's eyes met Viserys's, her voice blunt. "You heard the kids, Targaryen. I married a soldier, not a lord, but if this means our babes grow up safe, with full bellies, take it. Just don't start preening like a peacock."
Viserys exhaled, his voice wavering, turning to Domonic. "For Lira, for our children—born or unborn—and for these little ones," he nodded at Julius, Alexander, and Hazel, "I accept, Your Grace. I'll serve Pentos as Uruk's prince, with honor, not pride. Thank you—for this, for saving me, for giving me a family again."
Domonic clasped his hand, his voice warm. "It's nothing, Viserys. Everything's for family." Daenerys hugged him, her voice a whisper. "You'll shine, brother." Missandei nodded, her vines blooming brighter, a silent blessing. Hazel cheered, her voice shrill. "Uncle's a prince!" Julius and Alexander clapped, Julius shouting, "Can we live in Pentos, Uncle?" Viserys laughed, his voice light. "Visit anytime, lad."
The crowd erupted, toasting "Prince Viserys and Princess Lira!" Lira muttered, her voice dry. "Princess? I'll gut the first fool who curtsies." Viserys grinned, his voice soft. "Stay you, love—that's enough."
The celebration surged anew, bonfires roaring, music swelling. Viserys and Lira danced, her laughter ringing as he spun her, soldiers joining in raucous circles. Julius and Alexander dragged Viserys back to the floor, their voices pleading. "Dance with us, Uncle!" He obliged, dancing with Hazel, her giggles infectious. "Faster, Uncle!" she squealed, and he spun, Lira shaking her head, her voice fond. "You'll spoil her, soldier."
Domonic shared ale with Thalor, Daenerys taught Lira a Braavosi step, and Missandei wove glowing vines for the children, who wore them as crowns. Hazel thrust one at Lira, her voice bossy. "You're a princess now, wear it!" Lira sighed, donning it, her voice gruff. "Only for you, troublemaker." Alexander gave Viserys a vine-bracelet, his voice shy. "For luck, Uncle." Viserys ruffled his hair, his voice warm. "I'll treasure it, lad."
As midnight neared, the royals prepared to depart. Julius hugged Viserys, his voice earnest. "Be the best prince, Uncle!" Alexander clung to him, his voice soft. "Come back soon, okay?" Hazel kissed his cheek, her voice commanding. "Don't forget us, Uncle!" Viserys knelt, his voice thick. "Never, my dears. You're my knights and queen."
Domonic, Daenerys, and Missandei bid farewell, their children trailing. Viserys and Lira stood arm-in-arm, the crowd thinning, stars blazing above. "Prince of Pentos," Lira muttered, her voice teasing. "Don't let it swell your head, or I'll knock it off." Viserys laughed, his voice soft. "With you beside me, love, I'll stay grounded."
The wedding's joy lingered in Uruk's tales, a commoner's love crowned by royalty's grace. Viserys, now Prince of Pentos, vowed to rule not as the Beggar King, but as a man redeemed, for Lira, their future children, and the family—blood and chosen—that had restored him. Pentos adopted a sigil: a silver dragon entwined with vines, symbolizing their union under Uruk's banner.