Aegon personally helped Rogar to his feet and that very evening invited his Hand to stay and share supper.
At the banquet, the royal family gathered together. Amid the clinking of cups and bursts of laughter, every gaze in the hall drifted, almost as one, toward Lord Rogar, seated just below the Emperor.
Among them was Queen Dowager Alyssa, who caught the smile her lover sent her way.
"Has the Emperor already granted our marriage?"
In that instant, Alyssa's joy surged uncontrollably across her face.
As expected, Aegon, seated tall at the head of the table, raised his voice and declared before all assembled that the wedding of Hand of the King Rogar and Dowager Alyssa would be held in grand ceremony seventeen days hence.
The moment the words fell, the atmosphere soared to new heights. The royals lifted their goblets, offering their sincerest blessings to the couple—two twilight lovers who had weathered so many storms.
...
The next day, when the wedding date of the Hand and the Dowager was made public, the fervor in King's Landing—lingering still from the King's wedding—flared once more, burning even brighter.
Across the city, the gold decorations of the "Golden Wedding" were replaced with silver, preparing to welcome this new union, equally the subject of fascination.
Aegon's approval of a love that defied custom—between Rogar and Alyssa—sent ripples through the realm. The union of House Baratheon and House Velaryon, two of the foremost noble houses, became the talk of every street and square.
Alyssa came from the ancient, noble, and wealthy House Velaryon, whose members had all but inherited the office of Master of Ships throughout the history of the Targaryen dynasty.
House Baratheon, meanwhile, had long provided the realm's foremost commanders in war.
Their marriage instantly elevated Rogar's standing. As Hand of the King and now husband to Alyssa, he became the most powerful figure in the realm after Aegon himself—"second only to the Emperor, yet above all others."
Many lords, who had been readying themselves to depart for their own lands, now remained in King's Landing, compelled to attend the imminent wedding.
But amid the joy, tragedy struck.
The frail Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell, with his sons Walton and Alaric, had just attended the imperial wedding and set out for the long journey back north.
When word reached him that the Hand and the Dowager were also to be wed, the aging lord turned back at the Neck to return once more to King's Landing.
The punishing travel proved too much. On the road back to the capital, he fell gravely ill, his body too weakened to recover. He died before reaching the city.
His eldest son Walton later said the long travel had drained his father's strength. Frail as he was, he caught a chill that proved fatal.
The news of Lord Brandon's death shocked King's Landing.
To many common folk, the royal family was a sacred, untouchable symbol. For House Baratheon to seek marriage with one of royal blood was, in some eyes, an offense against the Seven. They whispered that "the lord's death" was a dire omen.
At this critical moment, Aegon himself intervened. By his authority and his sway over the Faith, he silenced the rumors.
Thanks to the deep-rooted belief in the Sevenstar Bible, which exalted the Emperor as the living Father, the people trusted his word absolutely.
In their eyes, he was heaven's incarnation on earth. Only by obeying him could one earn merit, achieve transcendence after death, and ascend to paradise. Otherwise, they would fail the Stranger's judgment and their souls would be scattered to nothing.
...
Seventeen days later, the wedding of the Hand and the Dowager was held as planned.
In sharp contrast to the lavish splendor of the Emperor's marriage, this ceremony was strikingly simple.
This was Rogar's wish. He knew well how exposed he stood in the eyes of the people and would not court trouble with needless display.
The ceremony took place in the solemn Hall of Conquest, presided over personally by Aegon.
The great lords of the realm filled the hall. Though foreign envoys petitioned to attend, Rogar politely refused them all.
This wedding bore little resemblance to any before.
In full view of all, Rogar and Alyssa knelt before the Emperor, performing solemn homage to show their gratitude for his blessing.
And more—before the Emperor, Rogar swore an oath:
That the succession of his sons would be determined by the Emperor's will, and that the title of Lord of House Baratheon would no longer pass strictly to the head of the house or the eldest son.
The words fell like a stone into still water, sending shockwaves through the hall.
The lords erupted in protest, urging Rogar to retract his vow.
But Rogar, glancing at the Emperor's smiling face, steeled himself. Despite the fear in his heart, he rejected their pleas and stood firm.
This was the first time royal authority had openly intervened in the internal affairs of a ducal house—and over something as vital as the succession of its title.
The lords present went pale, their faces hardening, eyes flashing with anger as they fixed their gaze on Rogar.
The Duke of the Vale was the most furious of all. Before the ceremony had even concluded, he stormed out, his cloak snapping behind him.
Yet for the great lords, there was nothing to be done. After all, it had been Rogar himself who offered up his family's rights. If even the "injured party" was willing to hand his authority into the Emperor's hands, what power did the others have to resist?
Still, at the wedding feast, they all understood—Aegon had begun to lay hands directly on their core privileges. To protect themselves, they began whispering together, quietly forming ties and searching for countermeasures.
At the banquet table, Rogar looked at the lords' cold and disdainful expressions. His face tightened with conflicting emotions, and he let out a long sigh.
At that moment, his younger brother Borys came to his side, handed him a cup of wine, and asked in a low voice:
"For the sake of one woman, is such a sacrifice truly worth it?"
Rogar, blue-eyed, dark-bearded, his body built like a bull, rolled his massive shoulders and sighed. "That is the power of love—it makes a man willing to give up everything."
He lifted the cup and drained it in a single swallow.
"Pay no heed to the whispers," Rogar said, the corners of his mouth curving into a confident smile. "I've always said true love cannot be ended by anything outside it."
He hugged the wine jar to his chest, his face softening into a foolish grin as he muttered, "Alyssa, my dearest… no one can keep me from you. You're like the soft wind of Westeros, drifting into my heart, leaving me drunk on you."
Though Dowager Alyssa was well into middle age, her beauty and allure endured.
Her reserved nature carried an air of innate dignity that only stirred Rogar's hunger to claim her. In his heart, Alyssa was unique—irreplaceable. He swore she would be his, for she was destined to belong to him.
"Her first night was long ago, given to Prince Aenys," Borys said with a grin. "You couldn't even consummate your marriage, brother. So, I bought you a few virgins from the finest brothel in Lys across the Narrow Sea—just to make up for it."
Rogar only shook his head, a tender smile on his face.
"No need. Alyssa is the most beautiful woman in the world. No one could ever take her place in my heart."
...
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