My Father's Son

by Longclaw_1_6

Summary:

Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is living a lie. Lying to the world about his father's fitness to rule. Lying to his family over his desires. Lying to himself of what he truly wants. But as his father descends into the ever increasing grip of madness, Rhaegar is looped into a scheme. Forced to marry the daughter of Lord Stark of Winterfell. A Nightmare soon becomes a dream as Lyanna Stark comes into his life, not only bringing love and warmth to the once brooding Prince, but breathing new life into his strained relationship with his wife Princess Elia Martell. Becoming the three heads of the dragon as told by prophecy. But such happiness is fleeting, and soon the Prince will be forced to confront the lies he has told himself from the very beginning.
For both Lyanna and Elia fans. Dany and Sansa fans.

Chapter 1: The King's Will

Notes:

Well hello everybody, Longclaw1-6 here! I know I know, I have a ton of outstanding stories already, but I couldn't let this one idea out of my head.

I've read a bunch of "Prince Jon" stories written out there, but not as many as I would have hoped. And most ended up being set either when he takes the throne or soon before. In my quest for my own unique take, I was thinking. I've written Jonerys a ton, and while I can't seriously write a GoT fic without that pairing (let's be real, that's the true pairing of the show; it's in the freaking title, A Song of ICE and FIRE), why don't I expand my horizons a bit. There's a whole cast of characters in the older generation. Rhaegar, Lyanna, young Ned, young Robert, etc... They would be fun to write about, lol.

To make a long story short, this story was born! It's part of a series that focuses on the Iron Throne and the succession to it, though most of it will be fun romance and drama. We start off before all the hulabaloo of Robert's Rebellion, with Aerys on the throne and Rhaegar married to Elia Martell.

Big big shoutout to danielsantiago4545 for his help in brainstorming and planning the story. Couldn't have done it without you, my friend :D

Cover image by naomimakesart

Please comment, kudos, and bookmark!

 

"Atten-shun!" At the command from Captain Thorne, officer on duty for the day, the Household Guard for House Targaryen clicked their heels together. Metal-tipped boots smacking as they stood ramrod straight. Spears pointing high to herald the arrival of both the large carriage train approaching the main gate and the two solitary figures racing out of Maegor's Holdfast. One clad in the grey and purple armor of the Kingsguard, sword clipped at the hip who's tip clinked against the plate of the shins. The other sporting a simple red dress of little finery, yet still resplendent with fair Valyrian beauty.

Beauty twisted in barely contained apprehension. "The gate is opening," Queen Rhaella Targaryen said to herself. Her fingers played with each other, a nervous habit.

Normally silent, the Kingsguards on duty to the Queen or Crown Prince were nevertheless allowed to speak their minds. While the recently knighted and newest sworn brother Jaime Lannister had his many secrets, he did appreciate the ability. "His Grace is lucky that their ship hadn't departed yet for Dragonstone, my Queen."

"Indeed. Would have been nigh impossible to reach them by raven." As it stood, the dispatch rider sent by Thorne already took a precious hour to both reach the dock and secure the royal party. Rhaella shuddered, fear clouding her features an unwelcome one for the Lion knight of Casterly Rock. "I hesitate to think what the King would do if he had to wait a few days."

"Gods are kind to us, today." There was no response, as the hornblowers warbled the arrival of the princely procession.

Three-headed dragon banners fluttering in the wind, the initial procession of riders gave way to the Crown Prince himself. Loyal guards Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy trailing behind, Rhaegar Targaryen was a sight to behold. His normal armor plate was foregone for a soft tunic and cloak that nevertheless magnified his sleek yet muscular physique. Flowing silver hair let down, sparkling rather than dull like his father. Clipped to his waist was Blackfyre, the ancestral sword of Aegon the Conqueror, recently reclaimed with the defeat of Maelys Blackfyre.

Given the King's… condition, it was unopposed that the Crown Prince receive the sword.

Rhaella couldn't help but smile at her strapping son, all of twenty and two, swinging off his horse like an expert Dothraki bloodrider. Catching his mother's gaze, he nodded with a small smile of his own, but stepped past Arthur and Barristan to reach the carriage at the van of the procession. Many royals or lords would simply let servants handle such matters, but the down to earth Rhaegar found no indignity in opening the carriage door for his wife and children. I raised a perfect son.

As if a harsh gale on the cliffs of Dragonstone, a blur of wavy black curls raced from the carriage and slammed into Rhaella's legs. "Grandmomma!"

Laughing merrily, Rhaella leaned down to pick up her beloved granddaughter. "Ooof, Rhae. You're getting heavy."

"I's big girl now," giggled the Princess Rhaenys, all of two years old. Purple eyes of Old Valyria contrasted with the tan of Dornish nobility - Rhaella had no clue whether her rambunctiousness was of the fearsome dragon or the sultry spear and snake. Either way, I pity poor Rhaegar when she comes of age. "Missed you, grandmomma." Rhaenys needed no prodding to bury her head in the Queen's chest.

Beaming, Rhaella dropped a kiss to the raven locks when an apologetic Rhaegar strode up to her. "Apologies, mother." He looked genuinely sorry, sometimes too kind for his own good. "She knows she saw you just this morning."

"Any time away from my beloved grandchildren is too much," Rhaella cooed, coaxing giggled from the Princess as she lavished her face with kisses. Gently putting her onto the ground to run back to her father, Rhaella approached the willowy Crown Princess. "Elia, welcome back to the Red Keep." A gentle finger moved to stroke the bundle carried in her arms.

Elia Martell gave a wan smile, though the same apprehension shone in her dark eyes. "Glad to see you again, goodmother. I hope… we are not imposing." The lengthy gap belied the seriousness of what was happening, the gravity of which was lost only on the excited, bouncing Rhaenys and the sleeping Prince Aegon - all of two months of age. "Do you know how… long our ship should be waiting in port? The docks are quite busy." All seemingly harmless chit chat. One never knew where the spider placed his birds.

Sighing, Rhaella kissed her grandson's cheek. "You are not imposing, and as to your second question, I'm not sure. Dragonstone may have to wait without its prince and princess for a while, now." Another flash of fear on Elia's face, one Rhaella understood. The King… wasn't fond of the Dornish. Their armies and taxes yes, but not as a people. Rhaegar and Elia were clearly hoping for a quick stay for the newborn Prince's baptismal at the Great Sept of Baelor - white marble and limestone facade visible across the city - before heading back to Rhaegar's domain of Dragonstone.

The Royal Directive overruled all such plans.

"My dear," offered Rhaegar, scooping Rhaenys in his arms and handing her to Ser Arthur. "Head back to your rooms with the children. I'll have Arthur and Barristan escort you."

"Of course, my Prince." A perfunctory kiss on the cheek and the lithe, tanned princess was off with the future of House Targaryen. Gods, I wish he had been able to marry for love. Rhaella felt for her son, denied the opportunity to find someone for himself, not just for politics. And yet she had been married for politics… such was the life of a royal of House Targaryen. At least he and Elia are friends. It helped, not that Rhaella would know.

Free of having to put a facade for Rhaenys' sake, Rhaegar fell into lockstep beside his mother, leaned in so that only she could hear his whispers - not even for Ser Jaime, trailing behind them. "What is this all about, mother?"

"I don't know, my son," she shot back, equally quiet. "You weren't gone for twenty minutes before Connington told me to greet you back here on the King's orders. And you know your father isn't always… predictable these days."

The fluttering banners dotting the courtyard whipped in the wind blowing out from the bay, cloudless blue sky only making the red sandstone and brick that formed the walls of the Red Keep all the more blatant and bright. "He seemed practically decent the last week. Even agreed to cancel the latest excise tax." Even Rhaegar had been shocked, the King merely nodding at the request. "I suppose it was too good to be true."

Reaching the steps up to the colonnaded hall outside the throne room, Rhaella looped her arm in the crook of Rhaegar's. "He hasn't been in one of his rages since weeks before you, Elia, and the children arrived. Just… quiet. Calm, sitting on the throne for hours on end and brooding." Rhaegar brooded as well, though his was a silent contemplation, while the King would burn holes in the walls with his fiery violet eyes in spite of not a sound leaving his mouth. "I'm concerned he's planning something quite dangerous."

Outside the great bronze-lined oaken doors of the throne room, Ser Gerold Hightower and Prince Lewyn Martell stood guard. Eyes darting to the figure of their Crown Prince from behind their helmets. "My Prince, his Grace is waiting for you inside," ser Gerold stated, hand drifting to the door.

"Why are you here and not the household guard?" Rhaegar knew it couldn't be good.

"Our King wishes to be alone with the prince and the Master of Whisperers."

Rhaella stiffened next to him. "Viserys…" The King was an absent father… till he wasn't. A bead of sweat falling down her forehead, she embraced Rhaegar. "Good luck, my son."

He returned the embrace. "I love you mother." A wry smirk formed on his lips in spite of everything. "Don't worry, fire cannot kill a dragon." Kingsguard opening the doors just wide enough, Rhaegar disappeared into the dark throne room, leaving Rhaella alone in the cavernous hallway.

---

High coffered ceiling arched in intricate ribbed vaulting, light pouring through the stained glass of the windows, the Throne Room of the Red Keep had been the pinnacle of architecture during the reign of Maegor I. While the more recent innovations of Braavos, Lannisport, and the castles of the Reach were said to far surpass anything from that era, Crown Prince Rhaegar never ceased to have his breath taken away at the majesty of the seat of House Targaryen. And all of this will be mine someday. Many would think this with lust, but for Rhaegar it was sobering - Rhaella had raised him well.

Normally, for the events and audiences held here, it would be completely packed with guards, courtiers, and brownnosing nobles trying to get in good with the crown. However, at the moment there was nothing but a foreboding darkness. Polished tile and colonnaded halls deserted - dragon skulls whitewashed and staring ahead with unseeing eye sockets. Rhaegar had memorized them. Caraxes, Sunfyre, Silverwing, Vermithor… All reminders of House Targaryen's glorious past… past. Only the weight of Blackfyre clinking against his armor remained of that era.

Will I ever be worthy of their legacy? Could I ever truly lead our House to the glory of Aegon and his sister-wives? A question Rhaegar had grappled with for years, brooding hours into the night. Faced with both greatness and the vile scum that had ruled under his name, he couldn't help but feel… truly unworthy of the mantle.

At the head of the room, overlooked by the great seal of House Targaryen atop the window and the skull of Balerion the Black Dread atop that, was the seat of honor. The Iron Throne, forged by dragonfire out of scores of swords of Aegon's enemies. A symbol of power. Of strength. Of corruption and bloodlust. And seated upon it, clad in loose robes of black and dull burgundy, was the King himself. Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name. Rhaegar's father, barely in his forties but already covered in wrinkles and a pale pallor. The Defiance of Duskendale hadn't been good to him, aging him considerably.

But his eyes still retained the sharpness of his youth. Lighting up as he recounted the stories of the great dragonlords to the five year old boy perched by his side on the throne. "See, my son, that great skull there was the mighty Vhagar - mount to Queen Visenya Targaryen."

"The mother of Maegor, right?" chirped young Prince Viserys. Slightly gaunt and willowy, he nevertheless bore the Valyrian beauty and inquisitive gaze of a proper Prince. One that would serve the realm well… had he not idolized his father the King, hanging on his every word.

Aerys ruffled the boy's hair. Probably the only affection he had given him in the last month. "Yes, my son. You have learned your lessons well." Viserys beamed at the praise. "Riding Balerion aside his mother on Vhagar before her death, Maegor made sure to give the Faith Militant and other rebelling zealots their comeuppance. With fire and blood - never forget, traitors only deserve fire and blood." A lesson Viserys was clearly absorbing.

There was little light in the Throne Room even with the windows, illuminated only by two candelabras flanking the throne. Stepping out of the darkness, Rhaegar cleared his throat. Interrupting the horrid little history lesson. Two sets of purple eyes darting to him, Viserys let out a happy squeal. "Rhaegar!" Much as Rhaenys had done to her grandmother, so too did Viserys leap out of his perch on the Iron Throne and run over to his older brother. Arms wrapping around his waist. "I thought you left."

The boy's exuberance coaxed a chuckle out of Rhaegar despite himself. "Father said I needed to come back to discuss something important with him. Do you mind going with mother outside?"

Viserys looked back at their father. Whatever smile he had on his face disappeared leaving only a scowl of indifference. "Go, Viserys. Listen to your brother."

"Yes, poppa." Hugging Rhaegar one last time, he was off. Sandals scuffing along the tile.

Alone finally with his father, Rhaegar stepped to the base of the Iron Throne and drew Blackfyre. Keeling before the King. "I am at your service, your Grace."

Fealty was always required by Aerys - he could always be flattered or annoyed by it, depending on his mood. "Get up, son. I didn't summon you here to bloody kneel." So he was in that kind of mood. "I trust your journey was well?"

"It was. Short, but well."

Aerys snickered. "Bothered your weak wife, didn't it? Probably worried about all her pretty clothes and pretty hair getting the fishmarket reek - as if it could be more pungent than her Dornish stink." The King shuddered. "Gods, your son has the Targaryen hair and eyes and he still smells as Dornish as your firstborn brat. Martells ruin everything they touch."

Then why did you have me marry one? Rhaegar knew the answer. Politics. Such brought an undoubtedly beautiful Dornish maiden to his marriage bed in spite of neither holding love for the other. A liking developed, but one devoid of the lifeblood of a truly happy marriage. And Rhaegar put up with it over politics, though not having any true intimacy did drive him further into his brooding. "She is settling in the Holdfast, father, and mother escorted me here. Something about an important matter to discuss?"

Nodding, Aerys motioned into the shadows. "Varys, get out here!" Rhaegar turned to watch a stealthy figure dressed in the finest silks of Myr step out from the shadows. Lord Varys, the young Master of Whisperers - his father's spymaster. This is not going to be good at all. "I hope you don't mind my spider here. He's absolutely indispensable at the moment." Aerys' face was generally calm, hair perfectly straightened rather than the unkempt mane he let wild under his crown.

I don't have a choice in the matter, father. "Of course," said the Crown Prince, bowing again. "It is good to see you, Lord Varys."

"Likewise, my Prince," replied the eunuch. Voice politic and impassive. "Your council is needed in these trying times."

"'Trying times.' Heh, that's an understatement," scoffed the King. "Tywin Lannister is plotting against the realm."

Rhaegar's eyes widened. Now this was news. "Are you sure, father?"

Aerys scoffed. "Of course. You can see it in his beady little lion cub eyes." He has no evidence. "Why do you think he fled to Casterly Rock after you rejected his bitch daughter? Why do you think I replaced him with Connington instead of beg him to come back. He's turned traitor, the cunt."

"Father, I highly doubt the Warden of the West would plot against his childhood best friend." Tywin isn't that stupid.

"Don't be a fool, my son," Aerys wheezed, coughing into his hand. "Fucking draft." He brought the cup of wine to his lips, sipping at it. Sighing as the chilled liquid soothed his throat. "Tywin… he's a shifty little cunt. Keeps all his emotions as clenched inside him as the gold he shits." A laugh left the King, both Rhaegar and Varys simply standing there, forced to listen. "Did you know he's massing his armies."

"Are you sure about that, father?" Rhaegar made sure his voice sounded sincerely questioning rather than a mocking dismissal as he was wont to use.

Clearing his throat, it was Varys who answered. "My birds sing songs about overflowing armories in Lannisport. Of young westerman training within the walls of Crakehall and Casterly Rock. Of castles fortified with added battlements."

"There's an innocuous explanation for this." Tywin wasn't his favorite person by far - the man irked him, and his daughter's obvious longing to marry the Crown Prince rubbed Rhaegar off the wrong way - but the man that made sure to get royal approval to destroy the Reynes and Tarbecks was not someone who'd revolt for the hells of it. "Balon Greyjoy's younger brother is said to be back to raiding and raping. Could be that."

Fists clenched, the King glanced up at the rafters. At the skull of Balerion the Black Dread hanging above the Iron throne itself before glancing back at his son. "You know he's planning it." Voice both soft and hoarse - a seductive whisper of conspiracy. "Preparing for it within the walls of his outhouse of a castle."

Rhaegar leaned in, listening intently to his father. "What is it, father? Perhaps I can call the banners and lead our armies against him?"

A sharp, barking laugh left Aerys' lips. "You can't call the banners on the Doom of Valyria!" More laughter.

"Doom of Valyria?"

"Tywin's planning it, the little shit. Why else would he resign his commission as Hand? Why else would he shut himself up back in the Westerlands? Why else would he remove his damn slut of a daughter from court? The sky will fall! And the city will burn under the hellsfires at his doing! Mark my words…!"

The Crown Prince fought the urge to slap the madness out of his father. He's starting to fall apart. His and his mother's prayers to delay this day hadn't come true. Beside him, the svelte eunuch was as emotionless as usual. "I'm not sure that even Tywin Lannister has the money to buy the needed sorcerers to achieve that goal, your Grace." It felt ridiculous to patronize such insanity, but the man was the King… and his own father. "Do you honestly feel that a war with the Westerlands would be wise?" As much as Tywin is hated, I doubt any other Kingdom would hate him as much to destroy the peace.

There was silence for several seconds before Aerys' lips began to curl upward. A slow, steady grin forming till it stretched across nearly his entire face. "Oh, my beloved son. You seem to underestimate your dear old father." He leaned back, proud of himself. "Our House's words are Fire and Blood, but that doesn't mean I understand diplomacy and it's advantages. Such was how Daeron the Good secured Dorne into our domain."

"Alright…" Rhaegar didn't know whether to be glad war was not in the offering, or to dread what in all honesty his father would be eminently proud of devising. "I am at your disposal, my King."

"Good." Aerys slapped his thigh, grin almost manic. Purple eyes glistening - Rhaegar resisted taking a step back, the madness apparent. His own father. If he hadn't hardened his heart long ago, it would have killed him inside. "We will not fight Tywin. We will surround him with the might of our powerful loins."

Blinking, the crown prince's eyes shifted to Varys, who wore a look of half-passivity, half… apology. They shifted back to his father, and Rhaegar sighed. "Care to tell me more about such an illustrious plan, father?"

"Some very crafty and auspicious marriage alliances are ripe for the taking. I know that fat oaf Mace Tyrell has an infant daughter back in Highgarden… he doesn't shut up about her. Viserys would be perfect for her when she flowers."

In all honesty… that wasn't such a bad plan. It would buy the Reach's loyalty and end the annoying begging of the Master of Coin - as much as Rhaegar's own experiences soured him to the idea of bartering children, such was the way of Westerosi highborns. But that only secures one kingdom. "You… you mentioned surrounding Tywin.?"

Aerys laughed, clapping merrily. "That's the best part, my son. The stupidity of my older brother left us without enough children but providence has fallen into our lap to stave off the Second Doom! We can buy off three Kingdoms for one maiden daughter!" He motioned to the eunuch. "Varys, tell him before I cut your balls off… oh wait, someone already fucking beat me too it, tee hee!"

Pursing his lips, after a poignant silence Varys only nodded. "There exists one house for which the loyalty of three kingdoms hinges on." Aerys was grinning like mad, while Rhaegar listened intently - he wasn't liking how this was going, but the politics of it all did fascinate him. "House Stark."

"House Stark?" That was one noble house that wasn't often talked about. Most southerners felt it just a frozen wasteland that Aegon the Conqueror should have let starve. "How does House Stark have anything to do with this? They're worse about keeping within the blood than us."

If anyone would know, it was Varys. The eunuch had his fingers everywhere. Knew everything, with the attention to detail of an archmaester. "Lord Rickard Stark has been trying to branch out and secure alliances with other houses outside the North. Expand House Stark's influence. His heir Brandon has been betrothed to Catelyn Tully and his younger son Eddard has been the devoted ward to Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale. A union with House Stark would serve to bind the North, Riverlands, and Vale to the crown."

Whooping, Aerys stabbed his hand into the air. "Three senior houses involved, Rhaegar. Three! Hear that Dunk, you dumb fucker! I'm cleaning up the mess you made!" When the King did descend into manic delusions, his deceased older brother Duncan was an oft participant. "And the old wolf has a daughter too. A maiden I heard."

Devious. Downright genius the more Rhaegar thought about it, but… "Who do you plan to betroth this maiden daughter to?" Gods, don't let another poor girl be drawn into his schemes. "We have no more Targaryen sons, unless you wish to find a Blackfyre bastard somewhere?"

"Pish, Aegon the Conqueror didn't worry about the fact that he was already married to taking another bride. Why should the rest of us?"

Eyes widened in realization. "You wish to marry the daughter of Rickard Stark?" Rhaegar's blood boiled at the affront to his mother.

"Oh please." Aerys looked disgusted. "As if I would sully my cock with the cunt of a northern wildling." His grin returned, as if he was enjoying this… no he clearly was enjoying this. "You are to marry the daughter of Rickard Stark."

Rhaegar Targaryen staggered out of the Throne Room only minutes later - his father's words still ringing in his head. The voices of the Kingsguards reached his ears, but the Crown Prince paid them no heed. It was as if the skull of Balerion or Vhagar had come to life and slammed its jaws into him.

"You are to marry the daughter of Rickard Stark."

Another marriage. Another forced marriage thrust upon him for political purposes - political purposes without a basis in reality. Subjecting an innocent maiden innocent of any fault to the same… morosity as Elia… it was like a knife to his heart.

"Rhaegar?" His mother's sweet, serene voice broke him from his haze. Rhaella strode to him, hands grasping his shoulder. "What's wrong? What did he say?"

Not caring of the propriety of it all, Rhaegar simply fell into his mother's comforting arms. Letting her banish the agony away.

---

Skirts whooshing in the wind, the young woman managed to parry the attack quite easily. Her opponent was stronger despite being over a year younger, but the woman was faster. Using her agility to an advantage. Blows from the blunt bastard training sword coming in at a flurry. Forcing the younger boy on the defensive, only just barely blocking the slashes.

"Come on!" shouted Brandon Stark, heir to Winterfell, seated atop a barrel perched on the walls of the inner courtyard. "Ben you dumb cunt, force your opening!"

"I'm trying!" Benjen called out, charging. Only for the ten and seven year old to twirl out of the way - training sword smacking into his back and forcing him to the ground. "Damn it!"

Spinning the sword in her wrist, Lyanna Stark swayed her hips. Proclaiming her victory. "Too slow, brother. Far too slow." She whooped, chesnut hair matted over her face with a sheen of sweat. Fair skin flushed. Even disheveled from her unladylike romp, the lithe northern lass was still by far the most beautiful maiden in the castle. "Still the champion rider and fighter in this family, bar none!"

"Lady Lyanna!" Heads whipped around to find Nan, her governess. She marched into the courtyard with hands on her hips. "When you did not show up I knew you'd be here." A huff left her lips. "Young ladies from all the Northern houses are here for the prime position as your lady in waiting and you would rather be here, dirtying your dress and fighting with your brothers."

Taking in the mud splatters and slight fraying of her dress, Lyanna grinned. Twirling the hemline around. "I think this is the newest style. All the way from the Haunted Forest, worn by only the classiest spearwives of the Frostfangs." Brandon and Benjen suppressed snickers, as did any of the smallfolk in earshot.

Nan rolled her eyes. "Your future Lord Husband will not stand for such japes from their Lady wife."

"Perhaps I don't want to be married to such a man," she shot back, huffing herself. Such earned her a smack upside the head. "Ow!" It didn't truly hurt - merely a wounding of pride.

"Hush, you are a lady of House Stark, not some wildling spearwife." Many past governesses had cowered before Lyanna's bravado and threats, which they just were - she was no Bolton, and would only treat the servants with love and kindness when it came down to it. Nan knew when to be firm so that she would listen. "You are to put on a clean and proper dress, then march to the great hall to pick your lady in waiting." With that, she stormed out, leaving Lyanna with a dark scowl of annoyance on her face.

Such scowl only grew darker at the cackling belly laughs coming from the sidelines. "Shut it, Bran!"

Holding his side, the heir to Winterfell couldn't help but find humor at his sister's expense. "Oh the mighty she-wolf of the North. Just wait till you have some Manderly or Cerwyn maiden to gush about dresses from Lannisport." Brandon pursed his lips to hold back the giggles, actually hurting his stomach. "Dash off to sew and dance and fix up your pretty hair…" A clump of mud slammed into his head, silencing him. Sending him toppling to the ground.

Benjen watching with his jaw dropped, Lyanna's muddy hand pumped up with a whoop of triumph. "Now who has the 'pretty hair?'" It was her turn to laugh until a second muddy clump shot by her shoulder - splattering into Benjen. "Oh you little shit!" Brandon digging for another from the soggy ground to toss at her, only smirked.

"You're gonna pay for that!" their youngest brother cried, scooping out his own clump of mud.

Turning away with a shake of the head and a smile on his lips, Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North chuckled as the shouts and japes of his children wafted back from the courtyard. From his perch on the balcony outside his personal reception room, he had heard the entire little spat. It brought warmth to his heart to see his children so happy. Even now, the scars of the Lady Lyarra's death and heartbreak of sending Ned to the Vale were still acutely felt. While the north was at peace - the sleepy little backwater of Westeros - the needs of alliances still came first.

Even when conflicting with family. Rickard was a more sentimental man than most, but the game of thrones required a little callousness - a trait that the plenty of peace had largely fallen away from the Starks. Gods, I do not wish to lose any of them.

"She is a spitfire, isn't she?" Martyn Cassel, Winterfell master at arms, laughed with crossed arms. Formerly squire to the Lord, he and Rickard were quite close. His most trusted confidant.

Rickard smiled. "Aye. Takes after her mother."

"Lady Lyarra? She was always a dignified lady."

"You didn't know her in her youth." A grin formed on Rickard's face, remembering his wild youth - especially with her intended. "Hopefully Lyanna can settle down as a proper lady when she marries like Lyarra did."

Instead of a laugh or a jape, Martyn frowned. "Careful, my Lord. Yer' playin' with fire there." Pointing into the courtyard, both watched as Lyanna leaped on her older brother, smashing mud in his face while whooping at the top of her lungs. "Direwolves aren't meant to be caged, and the blood of the direwolf is in that one."

Sighing, Rickard could only nod. "Wouldn't want to if I could help it, but a highborn can't help it sometimes." He spared one last look at his children all leaping on each other in a laughing pile. "She's ten and seven. She'll grow out of it if she needs to."

"Whatever you say, my Lord." Martyn wasn't convinced.

A door opened from the inside of the keep, wooden sandals clicking on the floor. "Lord Stark," announced Maester Luwin, two slips of paper nestled between his bony hands. "Two ravens from the south." He handed them to Rickard. "One from the Eyrie and the other from King's Landing."

Opening the slip from the Eyrie first, Rickard felt a joy welling inside him. "Gods, it's good to hear from Ned." Old Jon Arryn a bachelor without heirs, fostering his middle son was the only way the north could build relations with its neighbor - a wise decision all around, since Lord Arryn treated Ned as his own. With happiness, he read the letter.

Dearest father,

Your previous letter has been received well by Lord Robert, having been elevated to the lordship of Storm's End upon his father's death one month previous. He will not leave for the Stormlands for several months, and is very supportive and open of a marriage alliance with our House.

While the final decision should rest with yourself and Lyanna, I cannot help but in the highest terms recommend Robert Baratheon, my dear friend, to be betrothed to my beloved sister. I and Lord Arryn confirm he is a noble, loyal young lord and would be a devoted husband.

Whatever you decide, father.

Your loving son, Ned.

"What's it say, my Lord?" Martyn asked. When Rickard showed him, he whistled. "Ooks like the she-wolf will be finding a stag for a husband." An eyebrow rose. "That is if 'yer considerin' sending her south."

The Lord of Winterfell was conflicted. It was one thing for the Lady Catelyn Tully's betrothal to Brandon - it would be she coming North - but to send Lyanna far to the south in the Stormlands? Once again, politics beat out sentimentality. "Robert Baratheon is a strong match for the North. Lyanna will accept her duty." Not wanting to hear more from Martyn, Rickard opened the other dispatch. This one far more professionally written than his son's.

Lord Stark,

His Grace Aerys, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, invites you to a tourney at Harrenhal to celebrate the Crown Prince Rhaegar's twenty and two nameday. The entirety of the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms are also invited to be welcomed under the hospitality of
His Grace.

Your presence is very strongly requested.

Jon Connington,

Lord of Griffin's Roost and Hand of the King.

"My Lord… My Lord…" Rickard could barely hear Martyn calling to him, blood rushing from his face as he paled. Thrusting the message to his master at arms, Martyn himself paled. "Well fuck."

Notes:

Already, tossed in a huge ripple into the timeline. Let's find out what happens!

Just as a clarification, I am going by the showverse list of kings: Maeker - Aegon V (Brother of Aemon) - Aerys. I will be using a blend of the book and show elements, but will probably use the show more often cause I prefer it as a source (fuck season 8 though).

Most little changes I make to the world will be explained in further updates.

As you can see, Rhaegar and Lyanna are the main heroes of the story (I tend to view them pretty favorably; while they deserve some blame for Robert's Rebellion, I see others as the more direct causes; the matter could have been put to bed easily if it was just their transgressions). Plenty of others will have their day, and I am planning some really subversive and interesting twists (good ones, I promise).

Be sure to check out my other stories!

Next chapter will be mostly Lyanna. As always, until then!

Chapter 2: The She-Wolf

Notes:

Wow, I am blown away by the reception this story has gotten. I was worried that many Jonerys fans wouldn't read something about Rhaegar/Lyanna, but I'm glad I was wrong :D

I received one comment that was dismissive of the story largely on how I portray Rhaegar and Elia. That Rhaegar is scum and Elia is a completely wronged wife. Just two things to note: 1) I will be introducing the thoughts and characterizations of the main cast gradually. Each one will occur at the right time and in the right way. 2) Elia is going to be a significant protagonist in the story, as is Rhaegar and Lyanna. Have patience, I will get there.

Here's the promised Lyanna chapter :D

Please comment.

Tightening his cloak around his shoulders, Lord Rickard Stark poked at the roaring fire in the hearth of his solar. Shifting the logs around for an even flame. Even with both, he was still impossibly cold. Outside the roar of the autumn rainstorms pounded against the wooden roof and stone walls of Winterfell - as if the gods themselves were furious at the world. Lightning cackled and thunder boomed, adding to the feeling.

Nothing Rickard hadn't gotten used to, so perhaps it was the contents of the letters received only a week before that was grating on him. No, it's definitely that.

"It's days like this that I miss the Reach," moaned Wyman Manderly. The fit, if beefy, Lord of White Harbor was a childhood friend of Rickard's - gregarious and friendly, they made quite a pair.

Beside him, Roose Bolton rolled his eyes. The youngest man there, his sharp mind nevertheless thrust him into the realm of the big players in the North. "You've never lived in the Reach, nor has your house for thousands of years." Unlike the rest, House Manderly was not of the blood of the First Men. Rather of Andal blood that settled in the North long ago.

Wyman chuckled, downing his cup of heated ale. "I guess I miss the idea of the Reach. Ya' never hear of House Tarly freezin' their balls off."

Not one to take part in such idle chit chat, Roose looked back to his Liege Lord. "My Lord, why is it that you are worried here? The prospect of marrying your daughter off to the Lord of Storm's End or the random tourney in the south?"

"It isn't a random tourney, Lord Bolton," Martyn Cassel shot back. "The King himself essentially demanded that he ride south."

Pursing his lips, Bolton nodded. "You're right, that is inherently suspicious."

"What could the King want from me?" Rickard normally was like the ice of the land he ruled, unflappable - Ned took after him, while his other children were more like their wild mother. Now though, he was quite exasperated, sweat streaming down his brow. Aerys II Targaryen tended to have that effect on people. "I've loyally paid my taxes to the crown, traded well with the southern kingdoms."

"He's a madman," boasted Wyman, slapping the arm of the chair he sat in. "The North hasn't involved itself in southern affairs since the Dance of Dragons. We didn't even involve ourselves in the Blackfyre Rebellions!"

A snort came from Roose Bolton, drawing the attention of the other three men. "Have anything to add, Roose?" Martyn Cassel said.

Roose crossed his arms. "It is never wise to underestimate one's… adversaries for lack of a better term. Look at it from the King's perspective. After most of his reign spent under Tywin Lannister's reign as Hand, he's suddenly sacked and with the Targaryen bootlicker Connington put in his place. Lannister foe Mace Tyrell placed on the Small Council and his son married to the Princess of Dorne. What do you make of that?"

It started to dawn on Rickard. "He's seeing threats all around him… especially from the Westerlands."

Wyman paled. "Fuck, Rickard. Yer' marrying off yer' children to the lords of powerful houses in the south. He could see it as an even bigger threat."

"You're not as thick as I thought you were, Wyman," smirked Roose. "Although if you keep eating as much as you do, you will be." All of them, even Lord Manderly, enjoyed a chuckle at the jape. "This tourney is clearly a stunt. He's testing everyone's loyalty."

Sighing, Rickard fell into his chair. "So what would you have me do?"

"Simple. Accept Robert Baratheon's offer. The Stormlands are loyal to the crown, and if you have something huge to offer the King then he'll be more inclined to seek our council rather than burn you alive." A shudder ran through each man's body at the thought.

Nevertheless it being the proper political option, it still weighed on Rickard. "But what of Lyanna? She should have some say in who she marries."

Roose shrugged his shoulders. "She's a woman. Her personal feelings don't matter." In the grand scheme of things… he was right. "For gods' sake, Lord Stark, you realize this is how the world works?"

"Don't you think I know that, Lord Bolton?" Rickard shot back.

"I don't think you do," Roose said dismissively. "Little girls should be learning to sew and manage a household, not gallivanting on horses or playing men's warcraft." He sneered. "It's cruel, if you think about it."

Rickard fumed. "How I raise my daughter is my business, not yours."

"It is my business if your insane parenting style threatens the stability of the North."

Before Rickard could get angry, Wyman stood. "I know, Rickard, that the girl means a lot to ye'. I've seen ya let her do things like ride and swing a sword that only the Mormonts or the Martells do, but… she has her duty. To marry and seal alliances. I know you know this… and she likely does to."

Closing his eyes, Rickard nodded. "Aye, she does." He knew Roose had hit the mark - the only question remaining was whether Lyanna would ever truly forgive him. Wordlessly, he walked back to his desk, picking up a quill to write a letter to Lord Baratheon.

---

The clash of steel filled the courtyard. Butterflies and cicadas whizzing by the flowers and trees in the gardens as the two great warriors fought brutally, muscles straining and sweat soaking them. Servants stopped whatever they were doing to watch, mesmerized. The fluid movements of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Training blade in each hand, his wrists flicked and twirled the blunted steel. As amazingly as any mummer dancer from Braavos, pressing an attack or patching an opening in his defensive stance. Truly one of the best warriors in the world.

But if Arthur was exceptional, the Crown Prince of House Targaryen was simply astonishing. Rhaegar's silver locks sparkled in the high sun of midday, loose strands escaping from his bun to mat on his sweaty forehead. On Arthur it was all business, lips pursed in concentration - the dragon was awoken in Rhaegar, a fury crossing him as he charged. His blade striking the steel of Ser Arthur's, rapidly coming up to parry the blow from the Kingsguard's second blade. A pure rage that set alight every female with a working set of eyes watching the spectacle. Gods how they envied the Princess Elia at that moment.

Breaking off, the two sized each other up. Circling the other. Arthur's wrists twirled his swords, waiting for the attack - Rhaegar kept his presented, eyes narrowed. Waiting for an opportunity… At a perfect angle the sun glinted off his gorget, forcing Arthur to blink. Rhaegar surged, clashing against the Kingsguard's blades.

The Sword of the Morning fought back valiantly, one blade always behind his back while the other slashed and parried, but Rhaegar was a machine. Always pushing forth. Taking the initiative. With a snarl he managed to hit one sword with a downward blow, steel clattering on the ground. A roundhouse punch to the gut sent Arthur sprawling, before Rhaegar launched the killing blow.

Arthur sucked in the cool breeze from the bay, letting the fresh salt spray ease his lungs - fighting from coughing. "Son of… a bitch…" The training sword brushed against his adam's apple, one of the few weak points in his armor.

"Do you yield?" demanded Rhaegar, steel gorget rising and falling with his heaving chest. "Ser Arthur?"

"Yes, I yield." Swords clattered to the ground, the two men struggling to not collapse on the stone floor of the training ground. From the onlookers, wild cheers and applause rang out for the Crown Prince's victory. "I think only you could defeat me, your Grace."

"My goodbrother probably could," Rhaegar shrugged, grabbing a waterskin from a bench and downing the lukewarm liquid. It felt wonderful. "And I think you let me win."

Arthur gave a wan grin. "Perhaps partly, your Grace."

Rhaegar punched him in the shoulder. "Cunt." Arthur's grin only widened.

"Good job, my son." Both turned to see Queen Rhaella, smiling softly and walking to them. Behind was Ser Jaime, hand idly on the hilt of his sword.

Both bowed. "Mother."

"Your Grace."

Rhaella swatted her son's shoulder. "You're my son, so stop that." She leaned in to kiss him, and wrinkled her nose. "You reek. I'll have the servants warm you up a nice bath to wash out that sweat…"

"Mother…" Hearing Arthur and Jaime snicker at his embarrassment, Rhaegar took Rhaella's arm and began to walk her to their quarters in Maegor's Holdfast. "Must you?"

"Don't give me that," Rhaella chided. "I'm your mother, I'll always worry about you." Ever since she was ten and four, being given a screaming baby after an arduous labor in which she nearly died, Rhaella had treasured her beloved firstborn. He and Viserys being the only happiness her marriage brought her. "I saw how enraged you were. How you attacked Arthur back there. The mysterious bruises on all the Kingsguards…"

"We're quite alright, your Grace," Jaime piped up, only to be hushed by the older Arthur. He had been Rhaegar's sparring partner - victim - the day before.

Rhaella chuckled. "I know, Ser Jaime." She turned back to the Prince. "They can take it, but it's not healthy to vent your frustrations out like that." While they were still in the gardens - lush with life thanks to Princess Elia's handpicked Dornish horticulturists from the Water Gardens of Sunspear - she reached up to cup her son's cheek. "Please talk to me, my sweetling."

"There's not much to say… Father made his command, and I must live with it."

"I know you will obey him, my son. You are too dutiful not to, but that doesn't mean you have to agree with it."

"What would you have me say, mother?" Rhaegar sighed. "I already have made one woman miserable in a marriage she never wanted. Now I must subject another to it?"

It was what made Rhaegar different from most men - hells most men in their own family. Such care… he was a good man. Rhaella knew he would be a great King, but they just had to survive long enough for him to get there. "All we can do is hope, my son. Perhaps it will turn out the way you want?"

Rhaegar snorted. "That's bloody likely." Sarcasm drifted to sorrow, hanging his head as they reached the Holdfast. He hated exposing his emotions - the lessons his father drilled into him years before held firm - but his mother was different. A refuge in the darkest storm. "Never will I know what real love is. Hold a real marriage with real intimacy. Elia… she'll never love me like that and I can't blame her."

"Elia loves you. I know she does." Gods, both of them were still so young when they were betrothed. Denied any chance to even get to know each other before Aerys was demanding heirs, Prince Doran mining her for information useful to Dorne, and both of them the target of the King's vicious japes. It just… forced them to give up even trying to bond.

It all infected Rhaegar's head, always too kind and sentimental for his own good. "I know how unhappy she is, mother. I've seen it since we were forced together by a goodfather who calls her and our children nothing but trash every single fucking day!"

His pain hitting her like a knife to the heart, Rhaella tried to comfort her son. Knowing how the depths of Aerys' japes and slander hurt him, knowing that he couldn't reply. Knowing it would only be worse if he tried to defend Aerys' targets.

But Rhaegar wouldn't calm down. "The Stark daughter… I just know she'll hate me, and like Elia she'll be completely right to." Blinking back the anguish, he composed himself once more. "I need to be alone."

"Rhaegar!" Rhaella called out to him, but it was too late. He had already disappeared, probably to his chamber to play the harp.

"He'll be alright, your Grace," Ser Jaime stated, pressing a hand to her shoulder despite Arthur's disapproving look.

Smiling despite herself, Rhaella patted the offered hand. Glad for someone's comfort. Especially Jaime's, fond as she was of the newest Kingsguard. "No he won't, I'm afraid." Her boy had the weight of the Kingdoms on his shoulders. The same weight that had driven Aerys to madness - and Rhaegar only denied himself the loving support structure needed to save himself from his father's fate.

Arthur winced. "I know him. He'll give this girl everything, at the expense of his own heart."

Nodding, Rhaella closed her eyes, praying for a miracle.

---

"She really is a gorgeous horse."

Softly brushing the luscious silver mane hanging down from its neck, Lyanna stroked the horse's muzzle. Rewarded with nicks of contentment. "Her name is Winter," the daughter of House Stark told her new handmaiden. "She's mine."

Dacey Mormont could only nod. It really was a beautiful beast. A solid silver-grey with smatterings of darker grey spots on its haunches, the mare was as close to a thoroughbred Crakehall or Dornish breed as could be found in the north. "How long have you had Winter?"

"It was a gift from my father when I was ten and one, just a foal. Told me to raise her and care for her myself. Been mine ever since… isn't that right Winter?" Further strokes brought a delighted neigh, he horse tilting its head to the side in order to nuzzle Lyanna's hair. "Winter…" she giggled. "Stop it." Dacey couldn't help but laugh at the both hilarious and heartwarming scene.

Both highborn northern ladies wore dresses, but they were streaked with grass stains and little rips from the brambles and branches that adorned the riding trails through the Wolfswood. When Nan bugged Lyanna incessantly about choosing a Lady in Waiting, the idea was for the more graceful northern ladies such as Wylla Manderly or Sybelle Locke… not the raven-haired she-warrior of Bear Island, niece of Lord Jeor Mormont and… practically exactly like Lyanna herself. A week had passed and they were already fast friends - and giving Nan grey hairs. Be careful what you wish for.

"The land's too flat for my taste, but I do like being able to ride… without inhibitions," Dacey laughed, stroking the hide of her own horse. "Anything else worth exploring?"

Lyanna fished out an apple from her pocket - a precious commodity in Winterfell, coming from the Vale - and cut it in thirds. One for herself, one to hand to Dacey, and one for Winter to enjoy. "There's the Crypts, but father doesn't like any of us going in there…"

"You're ten and seven. What's stopping you?"

Shrugging, Lyanna took a bite of her apple slice. "I don't much like it there either. Otherwise, there's this waterfall 'bout an hour's ride north. My brothers and I like to swim in the water there - it's heated with hot springs"

That put a smile on Dacey's face. "Sounds like a blast. Perhaps…" The smile turned sly. "Perhaps we should invite some of these comley guards for a real fun time."

Hearing what Dacey was suggesting - the women of Bear Island known for fierceness and… more - she simply blushed. "I don't think that would be wise." Her wild personality had its limits. It just caused Dacey to laugh louder.

Their conversation in the stables was cut off by a visitor. "My Lady Stark." A member of the household guard bowed. "Lord Stark wishes your presence in his solar." Lyanna blinked, sharing a quizzical look with Dacey. Her father usually would seek her out herself for anything normal, so this was quite serious. "This way, my Lady. I shall escort you."

Rickard Stark was seated at his desk, quill in hand as he scribbled on a sheaf of parchment. The ironwood was piled high with various dispatches and ledgers, touching on everything from grainary yields to congratulations to Lord Karstark for the birth of his first daughter. Growing up among the Lords of the North, Lyanna knew plenty who could barely read or write, instead leaving others to handle the work for them while they hunted or sparred. Not her father - he did the work himself, and made sure each of his children were well read and had excellent calligraphy.

He didn't notice her entry, so Lyanna cleared her throat. "You summoned me, father."

Looking up, Rickard smiled - one that didn't reach his eyes. Uh oh. "Dearest daughter, please." He rose from his desk in respect, motioning to a chair across from him. "Have a seat. We have something important to discuss."

With trepidation, Lyanna complied. Casting her father a wary look - he was never this formal with her. "Do I need to worry?..." Suddenly she froze, shaking from fear. "Is it Ned? Did something happen to him?" Even so far away, Lyanna was the closest to him.

Rickard raised his hands, shaking his head. "No… not at all… well, it does involve him, but your brother is alright, I promise." Lyanna visibly relaxed, though was still guarded. "I received request for your hand in marriage, the most prominent one."

Lyanna froze, the news rocking her just as strongly as had her worry for Ned's health - though in a different way. Requests from many lords for betrothals had poured in for years, but all were dismissed by her father. It was something Lyanna ultimately dreaded but took lightly since all so far were ridiculous. How her father had laughed when old Walder Frey wanted to betroth her to his son Lothar… already she could tell this was different.

"Who… who is he?" she finally croaked out.

"Robert of House Baratheon, the newly designated Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands." A noble, august house. Any maiden daughter couldn't do much better. "Ned suggested the match, given he was fostered with Jon Arryn alongside him."

But Lyanna didn't care about how prestigious such a betrothal was. Robert Baratheon… the Stormlands… You couldn't get farther from Winterfell if one tried, and it was a common saying in the North that the further south one went the less value a woman really had - Dorne aside, from what Lyanna heard it was an accurate statement. "You're considering this, father?"

"Of course, my daughter. Brandon is marrying Lady Tully, the Lord of the Vale thinks Ned is the son he never had. A marriage with the Lord of Storm's End grants our House with influence we haven't had since Cregan Stark went south during the Dance of Dragons." He sighed as Lyanna started to take in deep breaths, trembling. "Calm yourself Lyanna, I'm not going to marry you to a complete stranger." He rose from his chair and rounded the desk, sitting beside Lyanna. "We are to leave in two days for the Riverlands. There's a tourney in Harrenhal the King is throwing that we will be intending. Your brother Eddard will bring Lord Baratheon there as I will you. There you will get to know him in preparation for an official betrothal."

Two days… Harrenhal… official betrothal… This was happening. Lyanna felt as if chains were materializing out of thin air to shackle her. "What if I don't want to live in the south?" she asked, voice halting, mind in a surreal daze. "What if I don't want to be married?"

Rickard's voice grew hard. "I know I've been lenient on you, Lyanna. You remind me so much of your mother that I couldn't help but give in to even your most… outlandish demands and requests. Myself, Brandon, Ned, Benjen… seven hells, every one of us in Winterfell loves your fiery personality, but you are still my daughter. What is expected of you is different from what is expected of Brandon or Ned. I may have been neglectful of what was truly important."

Red blinded her vision, her father's words like a knife to the heart. "You do not mean that. How could you want to chain me up like some caged bird?"

"You will do your duty, Lyanna. As a daughter of House Stark, you will fulfill what you have been raised to be." The Lord of Winterfell softened. "I know that you can do it." He kissed her head. "Now find Lady Mormont and pack. It'll be a busy few days."

Lyanna didn't remember how she had left her father's solar… or how she ended up in the great hall. Everything was a blur, mind whirring with the suddeness of her destiny being foisted on her. Betrothed… betrothed… two days… "Lya!" Blinking, Lyanna looked up find the thatch of sandy blonde hair of her brother, seated upon one of the tables scarfing down a meat pie. Taking after their mother's family, the fair yet rugged looks of the heir to Winterfell made many a maiden swoon. "Come over here and sit with yer' brother!"

While normally she'd smirk and punch him in the shoulder, the tempest inside of Lyanna caused her to just nod dumbly. Wordlessly, she took a seat. Barely listening as Brandon began bragging about the new sword the smiths had forged for him, how many wildling bandits he would slay with it… "Brother, does Ned talk to you often?"

She had cut him off mid-sentence, Brandon gulping down a bite of pie to peer at her. "Umm… as often as he talks to you. Why?"

"What do you know about Robert Baratheon?" Ned never told her about him - if anyone knew the gossip of rumors from Ned or otherwise, it was Brandon. There were bound to be a lot of it in Riverrun when he went south to meet his intended.

Brandon's eyes went wide. "Ah… so father accepted."

Lyanna stared. "You knew?!"

Her brother shrugged. "Ned and Robert were always close, even if he was two years older." Brandon suddenly laughed. "Ha, I can't imagine sour old Ned being friends with Robert! He already has a bastard girl in the Eyrie, and that's only the one we know of…"

But whatever he cared to say was lost on Lyanna. "What?!" Several servants looked up to the screeching of their lady, though they quickly averted their gazes. "He has a bastard?!"

"Oh…" Brandon had the respect to look away sheepishly. "I wasn't supposed to say that."

"You were going to keep this from me?" Gods… Lord Baratheon has a bastard… and only one is known. Perhaps more? It was like a warhammer slamming into her.

"It's not my place to speak ill of someone's… intended. Most wives would want to be kept in ignorance…" Seeing her anger, her hurt, Brandon reached out to clasp her hands. "Lya, please don't be upset. It's common for highborns to bear bastards, especially in their wild youth. Marriage has a way of settling these men down."

She ripped her hands away, shaking her head fiercely. "Once a whoremonger, always a whoremonger!" Lyanna stood, eyes red with unshed tears. "I don't want to get married! I don't want to live in chains!" Before her brother could stop her she dashed out. Servants giving her a wide berth.

As soon as she disappeared out of the hall, Brandon ran a hand down his face. "Thank the gods Catelyn was enamored with me." The way of betrothals in Westeros left much to be desired - first impressions were everything, and even then a whoremongering or cold spouse could end any chance at even affection before it started. Anyone Ned was friends with had to be someone decent, but the facts spoke for themselves. "Robert's gonna break her heart, the cunt." There was literally nothing he could do about it though. Who's a better match than Lord Robert Baratheon?

---

Scrambling into her private chambers, nearly stumbling on the hem of her long dress half a dozen times, Lyanna slammed the door behind her. Latching it firmly shut. She wanted no companions, no visitors. The desolate, terrified girl needed her space - needed time to calm herself. Lungs inhaled a sucking, deep breath… but she did not calm down. The tempest within Lyanna continued to howl and churn with the force to annihilate a massive sailing carrack.

She threw herself upon her bed, facedown and yelling into her goose-down pillow. Her father's and brother's words pounded the inside of her skull like hammers.

"...you will get to know him in preparation for an official betrothal..."

"...He already has a bastard girl in the Eyrie…"

"No!" she yelled into the soft mass. "I do not want to marry Robert Baratheon!" Normally so strong, so determined and composed, the weight of her young age and her sheltered life hit Lyanna fully. "I do not want it, father!" All the words she was too afraid to say to him in person tumbling out.

When conflicted and scared, unable to mount Winter and flee into the Wolfswood, Lyanna reached into the ironwood dresser and pulled out her most beloved possession. A leather-bound book, several years old. Slightly worn from overuse, parchment starting to color with age, but otherwise in perfect condition. Cover devoid of scratches or cracks, binding tight, and barely even a single stain on the pages - such was how Lyanna treasured the tome.

It had been a gift from Ned and Jon Arryn for her nameday the one time Lyanna visited the Vale - her brother knowing her uncharacteristic love of books and knowledge and his ward knowing the perfect text to give a wild youth. The Dancing Queen. Unlike the dry Maester's tomes that Luwin instructed them with, this one was a 'novel.' Written in a flowing, dynamic style of prose and plot by then Prince Viserys, later King Viserys II. A tale of the Dance of Dragons, of the great Queen Rhaenyra and her uncle-husband Prince Daemon.

Oh had she read this book. Read and reread it more times than she could count. Lyanna knew every line by heart, but the book still sprang out at her each time she opened a page. A tale of love and of tragedy, of a completely devoted husband to his Queen and love. Of the hero Prince Daemon fighting atop a dragon to his untimely death above the God's Eye against his kin. One that rode a dragon far larger and more feared, yet one Daemon did anyway… to protect his Queen and beloved.

Oh did Lyanna idolize such a man.

Clutching the precious book to her chest, tears tumbled down Lyanna's cheeks. Dropping her fierceness, her wild ways, her strength. Beneath all was a spirited little girl that only desired to be free. To ride through the woods with the wind whipping through her hair - both literally and metaphorically. But what man would want that?

Much as they were looked down as savages and country bumpkins by most of Westeros, the northerners knew things or two about high culture. Lyanna knew what marrying a southern Lord would entail. Endless rows of parties and luncheons. Hosting visiting highborn wives while managing the domestic life of a castle. Pumping out heirs for a husband that probably wanted her as a status symbol. Lyanna was no fool - what her father and mother had… it was rare to the point of lampoon.

The life of a southern Lady Wife would be one of chains, especially for one with the indignity to suffer an unfaithful husband. To which Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End apparently was - what else would compel a man to father a bastard? Perhaps she was a bit too harsh, but there was just something… an instinct telling Lyanna her first reaction was right here.

Why would my dear Ned even suggest such a man?

A servant knocked on the door, but Lyanna didn't even answer. Waiting with silent sobs until the knocking stopped and whomever it was went away. The words she had yelled at Brandon played over and over in her head.

I don't want to get married…

I don't want to get married…

I… I can't live in chains.

And another realization that seemed to have punctuated all her behavior. Her reluctance to marriage.

I want love. I want my Daemon.

Each time Lyanna read and reread her favorite book, the dynamic and passionate Queen Rhaenyra became her. And each time, Prince Daemon became the manifestation of the future husband she prayed the gods - old and new - would grant her. One loving and completely devoted. One who would give a caring hand in teaching her how to truly become the kind of lady only she could be. Respectful and even excited to her passions and desires, a man she would fall for completely and he with her.

She was a proud lady of House Stark. Blood of the wolf, ice made flesh, but Lyanna couldn't care at this point. There she laid on the bed, letting the tears flow.

I just want my Daemon.

Notes:

Well, that went well.

Lyanna had to have had a reason to fall in love with Rhaegar and abandon Robert. In the next few chapters I plan to explore exactly why. The part about the book was my little fun inclusion, cause even the she-wolf of Winterfell could be a romantic at heart. While I intend on characterizations of Westerosi History to be as accurate as possible, if I use poetic license to change some things don't fault me for it. If I would choose sides in the Dance of Dragons, I'd be one of the Blacks.

Was fun writing young Roose Bolton. The guy was an emotionless snake from the beginning.

Let me know what you think!

Next up, Rhaegar tells Elia and we meet Robert for the first time.

Chapter 3: Princess of Dorne

Notes:

Another chapter, and once again I'm blown away by the level of support this story is getting :)

Note on any changes to the history of Westeros (Daemon and Rhaenrya Targaryen especially) that some might take issue with: unlike GRRM, I'm a little more on the optimistic, romantic side. I'd prefer to make certain parts less filled with hate and backstabbing and including more love and happiness.

Enjoy and please comment :D

The clatter of gold dragons rattled on the worn beech of the bartop as Lord Robert Baratheon slammed them down. "A toast for everyone!" he boomed, flushed face curled up in a roaring grin. "In the name of my goodbrother to be!"

"YEEEEERRRRRR!" whooped the entire tavern, mugs hoisted in the air for whatever the seven hells the man was yelling about. In the back of the rather large establishment, a pair of fiddlers picked up a jaunty tune, patrons beginning to rise spontaneously in dance - free refills were always something to celebrate.

"I'M GETTIN' MARRIED!" The Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands belied his statements by grabbing a barmaid, kissing her cheek and tickling her skin with his bushy moustache and prickly chin beard.

Shaking his head, Eddard Stark chuckled as he went into his own mug. Letting the bitter liquid slosh down his gullet. "Gods, it's good to taste some decent country ale."

Seated across from him, Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie blinked at him. "The best arbor golds or Dornish reds in my cellars weren't to your liking?" He clutched his heart atop the plate armor of the Vale knight he had been in his youth. "Dear Ned, you've doth wounded me."

Ned sputtered into his drink, froth showering the table as he laughed. The straightlaced and quiet Lord Paramount of the Vale was thought to be a humorless scold, but the young man considered Arryn's de facto son knew that it wasn't true at all. "You can take the northman out of the north, but never the north out of the northman."

"Don't I know it, lad." Lord Arryn's precise speaking was out of place in the roadside tavern, but the honorable man that the tavern owner insisted on providing room and board to nevertheless was an honored guest. "You should stay with us, Ned. I'd rather you not go to the Twins."

Just as he placed his empty mug down did a barmaid - the one Robert was flirting with earlier - replace it with a full one. Sashaying her hips as she left, hoping to tempt the young northman. Ned didn't take the bait. "As much as I love you and your company, my Lord, I am too eager to see my family."

"I know. Just be careful… both there and at the tourney." Arryn gave him a somber frown. "Most southern keeps are filled with snakes. Men meet their ends in the worst ways, gods know honorable men. I'll try to keep you out of trouble and teach you to identify duplicity when we meet again at Harrenhal, but keep your father away from the King's court. Starks don't fare well south of the Neck, I'm afraid." Ned only nodded, heeding Jon Arryn's warning before his friend sauntered over.

Whooping yet again, eyes wide and speech slurred, Robert threw an arm around Ned's shoulder. His over-the-top, gregarious amiability only enhanced by the ale and wine coursing through his system. "Ned, my man. You are like a brother to me, and soon we're literally going to be brothers!"

While he would never truly be comfortable with the way men would descend into… chaos after enough drink - he had seen it happen to Brandon, and it always irked his more straitlaced personality - Ned just laughed. Robert's… zest for life did rub off on him. He enjoyed allowing himself letting loose, one of the reasons he was drawn to the Stormlands Lord in the first place. "I can't think of anything I'd want more, Robert."

"Your sister sounds perfect, Ned. She'll be the perfect wife for me, Lady of Storm's End." The young Lord could picture it in his head. A future he had grown enamored of since first being told of his friend's younger sister. Since first proposing the betrothal. "A woman fit for a Baratheon, givin' me plenty of stag sons with wolfsblood running through their veins!"

Robert Baratheon wasn't a person known for his wit or intelligence, but he possessed a sort of crafty instinct that kept even his impulsive nature under wraps when such was most needed. But when he drank and when he boasted - especially when considered due for the man that wanted for nothing growing up - such craft tended to vanish. It charmed many a lady and many a knight or bannerman. It wasn't something that Ned particularly enjoyed, and he knew Lyanna wouldn't.

Sensing this, Jon Arryn reached out and placed a hand on Robert's shoulder. "Now, now, dear boy. If she is to be your lady wife, you'll have to give her the respect you would give yourself. Any man could sire heirs, but only a good one can get their wife's affection." Ned smiled at his foster father's words. Such had been one of the first lessons of honor he had learned in the Eyrie, and it served him well to this day.

Blinking, Robert looked at Ned with shock. "Well what am me saying, Ned? Of course I'll treat 'er with respect!" He punched Ned in the arm, laughing sheepishly. "She'll 'ant fer nothin'. Dresses, jewels, flowers, whatever 'dat stuff women put on 'imselves to smell nice… whatever she 'ants I'll give it to 'er!" For a naturally boastful man, this came completely sincere.

Lord Arryn thought so, smiling softly as he drank his own mug of ale.

"Thank you, Robert." Ned cuffed him on the back, the two knocking back their round. "I look forward to our families uniting.

The fact that Lyanna likely wanted something other than fancy clothes and perfumed rooms danced in the back of his mind.

---

"... the information turned out to be faulty." Clad in his chainmail armor and cloak - clearly for the commanding effect for his visit to the den of snakes - Master of War Mallor Rykker glanced at Varys before shifting back to the head of the table. "Rumors of a secret male Blackfyre pretender in Volantis turned out to be a mere extortion scheme."

Expression placid and unthreatening, Lord Varys only let out a sigh. "The songs weren't as loud or melodious, but it would be an abrogation of my responsibilities if I didn't pass what my birds sang to me to this council."

At the head of the table, in the seat reserved for the monarch, Rhaegar Targaryen pinched the bridge of his nose. Nursing yet another headache. "Well, thank the Gods that it turned out to be nothing." Much of the upswing in the fortunes of Westeros had been due to the fact that House Blackfyre and its ilk had been wiped out to the last man. His father had fought bravely in that war early in his reign, earning the sword that now rested on Rhaegar's hip. "One additional problem that we don't have to deal with."

The men seated around the table nodded at their Prince, each guarded but with the clearly recognizable relief that it was Rhaegar and not Aerys that sat upon the head - Aerys never visited the small council anymore, but his specter served to stifle dissent and free dialogue. Yet another headache for Rhaegar.

"Taxes from the Westerlands are late again," said Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, Master of Coin. Bright, vibrant green and gold of his doublet and breeches making him look like a stuffed peacock, the man wasn't the brightest fire in the hearth but competent enough to manage the full treasury. "I've sent two ravens to Lord Tywin, but have gotten no response." Fuck. Why do the Gods do this to me?

A fist crashed against the table. "He's still smarming that his Grace saw fit to kick him out on his ass." Hand of the King Jon Connington was a man of dueling emotions. It oscillated over which ruled over him, his love for the crown or his hate of its enemies - which today was firmly centered on House Lannister of Casterly Rock. "Tywin is plotting against the crown."

Of course he would agree with father. Did a realm at peace ever seem so chaotic? Rhaegar reasoned it hadn't been this jumbled and tinged with fear since the last days of Viserys I's rule, at the height of anxiety over the succession - that ended with the Dance of Dragons. "I will not allow accusations of plotting without evidence over delays in tax revenue." It irked him that he even had to spell this out. "I'll write to Lord Tywin myself. He can't ignore the summons of someone that outranks him in status." Mace was his equal in status, and his clear inferior in cunning. Seeing Connington's mouth begin to open, Rhaegar held up his hand. "That's enough, Jon."

Mouth closing, Connington seethed at the verbal scolding. "Of course, your Grace." The two had before been as thick as thieves, but the stress of managing Aerys' increasingly deluded commands - as well as something Rhaegar couldn't figure out but that had happened upon his marriage to Elia - were beginning to fray the once strong friendship. I don't have time to deal with this. As the Tourney at Harrenhal approached, the Crown Prince's patience was wearing thin.

"One last issue to deal with. I would like to speak with Lord Mooton about the backlog in criminal trials once he was out of his sickbed." Instituting criminal tribunals for accused felons in King's Landing had been one of his father's ideas from early in his reign. It had been successful, but the sickness of Master of Laws Edmyn Mooton over a month before was threatening to unravel it.

No one answered for quite a while. Silence hanging over the council chamber. "My Prince…" It was finally Varys who spoke. "Lord Mooton has gone with the Gods several days ago."

Rhaegar stared, eyes wide and jaw like a gaping fish. "What?!" Rage began to build up. "Why didn't anyone tell me?!" No one responded, and Rhaegar knew the answer to his own question. Head pounding from rage, he waved his hand. "Dismissed. Everyone out… wait, Lord Varys. A moment."

Hands clasped together under his flowing Lysene robes, Varys' piercing eyes twinkled at him with an enigma of thoughts. "Yes, my Prince?"

Voice low - even though the rest of the council was gone, the walls still had ears - Rhaegar asked the question that had been plaguing his mind since the meeting first started. "Have your birds heard anything of my intended."

Varys nodded. Expecting it and with information ready. "The north and the vale are filled with birdsong about the Lady Lyanna. Apparently your father's nephew, the young Lord of Storm's End, is seeking a marriage alliance. Lord Rickard is inclined to accept, though is putting it off until after the tourney."

Normally Rhaegar concealed his emotions from the Master of Whisperers, but this subject hit too close to home. Ashen, he just slumped in his chair. "Thank you, Lord Varys. You may go."

"Glad to be of service, my Prince."

Soon it was just him and Ser Arthur. "If you brood any harder," the Sword of the Morning said after a long silence, "They'll hear it on Dragonstone."

Rhaegar actually chuckled at that, but his humor didn't reach his eyes. "Just perfect, Arthur. Not only is my father practically commanding me to earn the ire of the North by stealing their daughter, Dorne for dishonoring their daughter, and the Westerlands for essentially branding them an enemy to surround, now I'll be punching my cousin and the Stormlands in the face by stealing his betrothed."

"They aren't betrothed yet."

A snort left the Crown Prince. "You know what they say about Steffon Baratheon's sons? Their father was a tempermental, dour, crafty cunt. Robert got the first trait, Stannis got the second, and apparently Renly got the third. My cousin will not take this slight lightly - yet another fire mountain for me to deal with." He sighed. "First Lord Mooton and now this." Rhaegar covered his face, willing the shit to go away.

"You know they were afraid of speaking out until they knew you would be hearing their concerns, right?" The specter of Aerys and his… unpredictable behavior had a chilling effect on King's Landing.

"Yes, Arthur, I know." At least his Kingsguard would always be honest with him. "Gods. I miss Dragonstone. I still had responsibilities and authority there, but at least it was quieter."

Grinning softly at his friend's frustration. Arthur patted him on the shoulder. "You're a dragon, my Prince. Be a dragon." While Rhaegar was fond of brooding, cowering and bitching about everything like a weak cunt wasn't the great man he had the pleasure of serving. "And you should start by telling the Lady Elia of the reason for the tourney. - the true reason for the tourney."

On this, Rhaegar was looking forward more to dealing with his temperamental Baratheon cousin. "You really are a cunt, Arthur."

"When you're brooding, someone has to be," Arthur laughed.

---

Leaning back in her rocking chair, the soft Dornish lullabies wafted from Princess Elia's lips. Her hand stroking the chubby back and head of her son as he fed from her breast. The wife of the Crown Prince concentrated on the song, trying to ignore how her beloved Aegon would occasionally bite down on her nipple. A natural occurrence as he teethed, though her son was far less… vicious as his older sister, a hellsraiser even as an infant.

Rhaegar's ministrations in that region were far more pleasing, though those were mutually few and far between.

"It shocks me that you do this yourself," said her lady in waiting. Ellaria Sand may have been the bastard daughter of the Lord of Hellholt and thus not as august as the trueborn Elia, but she had the arrogance and love of luxury that would make a Martell blush. "You're the wife of the future King. Wet nurses wouldn't be hard to find."

"I like doing it myself," Elia shot back. Ellaria was a good lady in waiting and fun enough to tolerate her eccentricities - flushed stableboys and trips to Chataya's brothel on the Street of Silk were tacitly ignored by the smirking Princess - but in this she went to far. "I love all of my children. No other pair of breasts will my son touch." Aegon began to fuss, so Elia pulled him off her breast, cooing and patting his back.

The 'Sand Snake' as many in the Sunspear court had called her only smirked. "Until he grows up. With the blood of the dragon and the viper… I doubt he won't have a trail of bastards through the Seven Kingdoms."

Elia gave her another glare. "Bite your tongue. One whoremonger in my brother Oberyn is enough for House Martell." Even at Rhaegar's age, the Second Prince was notorious for dozens of heartbroken women and men in his wake - Elia was sure he had two bastard daughters already.

"I tell you again, I must meet this brother of yours. He sounds like quite a good time." The toothy grin Ellaria sent her only made Elia shake her head, laughing.

Luckily Elia - now rocking her son softly to sleep - had covered her breast, for Ser Gerold walked into the solar. "His Grace the Crown Prince," announced the Kingsguard. Behind walked Rhaegar, Ser Arthur trailing behind him. At once Ellaria curtseyed - Elia did so as well, though her movements slow and not as supplicant.

It wasn't lost on either of them that they lacked the spark of love enough to make such formalities unnecessary.

"My Lady," Rhaegar bowed in return, nothing if not respectful. The perfect prince and husband. "Gerold, Arthur, wait outside."

Elia understood his tone. "Ellaria, you're dismissed. Go enjoy yourself." Licking her lips, Ellaria curtseyed graciously - swiping a money purse off an end table as she left ahead of the Kingsguards. Chataya's tonight. Ellaria didn't waste money if she wished to seduce the male servants. As the door closed, they were alone. "How was the Small Council meeting?" A sigh left her husband. "That bad?" Rhaegar promised that when he was King, she would sit on the meetings whenever possible - till then, they always discussed the matters of state afterwards.

"Worse. Lord Mooton's been dead for days. They were too scared to tell my father, and they dare not propose a successor without him signing off."

"This can't continue indefinitely, husband."

"No, it cannot." Rhaegar's eyes drifted to little Aegon, sleeping peacefully. "May I hold him?"

Smiling softly, Elia outstretched her arms. "I can't deny the Crown Prince the gift of holding his newborn son." Gently taking the baby in his hold, Rhaegar bounced with him, speaking in High Valyrian as he stroked Aegon's cheek. Here was the mighty Rhaegar Targaryen, said to be the greatest Targaryen warrior since Daemon Blackfyre, reduced to a sentimental maiden by his children. It was the same with Rhaenys, and it warmed Elia's heart.

Not that it was enough.

The Dornish beauty had spent years trying to figure out where they had gone wrong - why there was no spark, no matter the two beautiful children they had. No matter how many times they shared a bed. No matter how close friends and confidants they had become. Sure, every young highborn maiden in Westeros had heard of the dashing Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Even in her sickbed in the Water Gardens, afflicted from everything from the yellow pox to childhood wheezing, Elia held the fantasies of a dashing dragon prince sweeping her off her feet. So when her brother Doran announced she was to marry Rhaegar, she had been quite enamored of the idea.

But neither Doran nor the King treated it as a wedding, more like a business arrangement. Elia had been barred from even seeing her groom, instead subjected to bizzare sessions with Aerys and the Grand Maester where the latter inspected her for childbearing potential heirs while the rather micromanaging King watched. Complaints to Doran went nowhere, her previously loving brother instead browbeating her of the need to both produce and heir immediately while smuggling information about court back to Sunspear. By the time the wedding happened - an equally subdued Rhaegar clearly subjected to some of the same treatment - all the magic had been lost.

Elia married a stranger, no chance to even getting to know him and develop a connection. Their wedding night had been resultantly cold, her tears at losing her maidenhead only dampened by how considerate he was. It wasn't his fault. They had tried, oh how they tried. Romantic dinners, walks, flowery talking, Rhaegar was the perfect husband and had repeatedly told her she was the perfect wife, but the spark wasn't there.

Smothered by the King himself. Always the japes, the constant insults and put downs - making the poor girl of ten and six feel like some abomination and breeding machine. No matter how many times Rhaegar, Rhaella, or even Elia herself told her that it was a lie, the King's cruelty had infected her. By the time the King returned from captivity in Duskendale less gregarious and quieter. Crueler but more prone to brood, it was too late. Our marriage is a duty. Nothing more. Their times together being that of friends. Their children making them light up, but not as a happy couple among their family. The lack of a spark in their bedroom, pleasurable but never making love. Always a duty, bland and unexciting.

Rhaegar was considerate of course, never making her do anything that she wasn't comfortable with, but she wasn't a cruel. Elia could see in his deep violet eyes the longing for a real marriage, the true passion and pleasure in the act of real lovemaking. Find his "other half."

And the parent in her - the mother of a Princess and the Crown Prince - such worries scared her deeply. Threatening to put a wedge into their marriage, as weak as it was.

Breaking through her thoughts, Rhaegar pressed a kiss to Aegon's forehead - underneath the wisps of silver hair. "I love you, my son." Gently, he handed her back to Elia. "He'll grow up to be a strong prince."

"That he will." Still able to read her husband well, Elia noticed him rather nervous. "Is there something else you've been meaning to tell me, Rhaegar?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, sighing deeply, Rhaegar took a seat in the plush chair beside her. Reaching out to put a hand on her knee. "You have heard of the tourney in Harrenhal my father has scheduled for my nameday, correct?"

She blinked, confused. "Yes I have. My servants have just begun packing…"

"Please stay here, Elia." His eyes were pleading. Begging even. "Please."

This was starting to worry her. "Why would your wife not accompany you to your own nameday tourney?" Most wives would have chalked it up to their husband having a mistress, but Rhaegar would never.

He looked as if it was bringing him physical pain to talk. "My father has grown delusional and paranoid. He thinks Lord Tywin is plotting the Doom of Valyria upon us."

Elia furrowed her brows. "While I don't care for Lord Tywin, I doubt he's capable of that," she japed, but the serious frown on his face didn't go away. "What does that have to do with me?"

"He prepared a rather cunning plot to surround Lord Tywin by binding the North, Riverlands, and Vale to House Targaryen through a marriage alliance." Not a coward by any measure, it looked as if he was forcing himself to look into her eyes. "He repealed the laws of Jaehaerys the Conciliator governing multiple marriage and ordered me betrothed to the daughter of Lord Rickard Stark."

There was silence. Nothing but the wafting of the wind blowing from Blackwater Bay and the soft squirms of Aegon in Elia's arms. No sound left the Princess' mouth, while Rhaegar waited just as quietly for an answer. Most would answer questioning what the other person said, but both knew that Elia heard and understood.

What had to be several minutes passed before Elia finally responded. "And the tourney is supposed to be for…"

"To make the announcement to the Realms." Rhaegar was just as uncomfortable about it as she expected him to be."I think he's enjoying this."

A biting laugh left Elia's lips. "Well of course he does." She shook her head, angry grin on her face. "Gods forbid there's some happiness in Westeros - he's always there to squash it as he did with us!"

Rhaegar's eyes opened, frantic. "Please, my dear. Don't speak so loudly."

"Why the fuck shouldn't I?!" Elia was beyond angry. She was furious and would no longer let anyone try to placate her. "Every damn day I had to put up with his abuse, making my life miserable - and now he's bringing another woman into it! Dishonoring me and my children! I don't believe you, Rhaegar. You probably said nothing to him and went along with it as you always do!"

"Do you think I have a choice?!" Rhaegar hissed, trying to keep calm for his son's sake. "My father is probably looking for an excuse to toss me aside and make Viserys his heir. The poor boy is still young enough to be poisoned by his toxicity."

"So to preserve your claim you condemn Rhaenys and Aegon to lose their birthright to the children you sire from this… northerner!" The last word sounded like the vilest epithet.

The Crown Prince knew what was bothering her the most. "Aegon will still be my heir. I would never condemn Rhaenys or he to the life of a bastard… even thinking they could be lesser than any other children I have." Her rage seemed to dim - replaced with a more… simmering irritation. As if Elia was trying to process a way she could live with the newest slight Aerys delivered her. "Elia…"

"Leave me, Rhaegar." She sighed, trying to calm down. "I know you wouldn't have done this on your own, and I am grateful you don't intend to cast me aside or disinherit our children, but I need time to process this."

"Elia…"

Her eyes glared at him. "Rhaegar, take Aegon and leave!" She sucked in a deep breath. "Please." Nodding, standing up, sad eyes cast down to her before her husband picked up their son and disappeared towards the nursery.

Just sitting there for what seemed like hours, Elia finally stood. Walking across the solar in a haze. Barely seeing herself in the mirror as she took the red wine from her homeland out of the flagon to pour it in the glass. Bringing it to her lips, draining the entire goblet. Moving to fill the glass again, only to stare at the flagon with hooded eyes.

Eyes that soon grew red.

With a snarl that she didn't know she could make, the goblet flew across the room. Smashing against the far wall into a million pieces.

---

Walder Frey was a pig. And, as Lyanna found out within four seconds after being introduced to the man, a lecherous pig.

The great hall of the Twins was packed, over a hundred onlookers dancing and feasting on the fat of the northern riverlands - quite fertile even as summer morphed slowly into autumn. Lord Frey had rolled out the welcome wagon for what had to be his most important visitor in years, having greeted her father with full pomp and circumstance. Each of his children, sworn swords, and his - third… fourth wife? Lyanna couldn't be bothered to remember - were trotted out. Walder at the arriving line personally. His gracious kiss of Lyanna's hand made her skin crawl, as did the obvious lust in his eyes as he looked over her body.

Fleeing the high table was a necessity. Abandoning it for the safety of the main floor, where the lesser Northern lords and her father's bannermen enjoyed their meals and drinks. Lyanna knew these uncouth, honest brawlers and was comfortable with them. What she couldn't stand was the slimy Lord of the Twins offering to marry off both of his youngest daughters to her father and youngest brother along with each girl's weight in silver.

All blessings to him, Rickard politely declined. Lyanna would have declined as well, only with more choice words. Perhaps that's why I'm not the Lady of Winterfell. Finesse wasn't exactly her style.

It appeared from a cursory scan of the hall that the rest of her family and retinue didn't share such reservations about being among the Freys as Lyanna did. Rickard was chatting with Lord Walder about this and that - if he was perturbed by the rejected offer, he didn't show it. Brandon was impressing a group of giggling girls with a tale of fighting the wildlings with Willam Dustin and Martyn Cassel, the maidens ooing and ahing at his boasts and wild waving of his arms - utterly eating it up.

Off to the right, Dacey was shamelessly flirting with one of Walder's sons. The boy obviously desperate to get under her skirts. Lyanna smirked to herself. He'd have to wait for the snows in Dorne. Dacey might have been a flirt, but the Freys obviously didn't know what the rest of the North did - Mormont women spread their legs for no one lest they proved themselves. Lyanna envied her lady in waiting for being able to enjoy life anywhere. Much as she wanted to, the she-wolf just felt… suffocated in the south. Without the wide open spaces and looser minds of the north.

Further laughter brought her back to Brandon, leading a giggling Moyra Frey out of the hall. Her father seemed not to notice, but the beady eyes of Walder Frey noticed all. Lyanna rolled her eyes. Her older brother and his antics - he'd better watch out for himself.

"Seems Lord Walder made his offer to the wrong Stark."

Lyanna's head whipped around to find the smiling face of her middle brother staring back at her. "NED!" With a rather girlish squeal - she'd deny it later- Lyanna leapt out of her seat and embraced her long lost brother, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "When did you get here? Why are you here?!" The questions tumbled from her lips rapidly, so excited she was to see Ned. Pulling back, her grin was infectious. Only finally seeing Ned could end the morose sadness that had engulfed her since before leaving Winterfell. "I thought you were travelling with the Arryn column to Harrenhal?"

Ned grinned, just as happy to be here as Lyanna. "Well I was, but I couldn't bear the chance at having to wait any more weeks to see my beloved sister." Squeeing, Lyanna embraced her brother yet again. Only wishing that Benjen were there so that the family could reunite. "Lord Arryn is heading there with Robert and I'll see them again at the tourney."

With the mention of "Robert," Lyanna's newfound happiness burned into ashes. The light in her eyes darkened, smile shifting into a scowl that caused Ned to recoil. "Brother…" she said as icily as the coldest northern winter. "May we speak outside the hall?"

Blinking, unable to know what turned their joyous reunion to hells in a split second, Ned could only nod. Face holding the expression of a deer caught right before an arrow pierced its hide. "Sure, Lya. Follow me." Quietly, melting into the cacophony of the crowd, he led her out to the hallways. Winding through lines of servants till they reached a secluded alcove. "Alright Lya, what's this abou… ow!" Lyanna smacked him in the shoulder. Hard. "What the… ow!" Another into his chest.

"You asshole!" Lyanna was seeing red. Remembering Ned's role in her planned slave auction to a bastard-siring oaf. "How dare you." She kept smacking and hitting him, secure in the knowledge that Ned would never hit her back. "How dare you!"

Hands up, Ned struggled to shield himself. "Lya… Lya…" Finally, he grabbed at her hands, stilling her. "Lya stop." Lips pursed tightly, anger still in her stormy grey eyes, Lyanna nevertheless relented. Merely crossing her arms. "What in seven hells was that about?!"

Eyes narrowing, Lya couldn't believe Ned could be this dense. Was he always this clueless? "Robert Baratheon?" she hissed out. His eyes widened in understanding. "Why do you hate me so, Ned? I thought I was your sister, not some broodmare to be sold."

"What? Why in seven hells would you think that, Lya. You're my sister and I love you." It hurt him deeply that she would say that. "Robert and I were practically raised as brothers by Lord Arryn. I've known him for half my life and he'd make a fine husband for you." And Lya would be perfect for cleaning up Robert's act. It just seemed perfect.

The she-wolf of Winterfell didn't see it that way. "Are you sure about that, Brother?" Her voice was colder than the wall. "Did you knew about Mya Stone when you suggested him to father?"

A sigh left Ned's lips. Of course Brandon would tell her. He only wished it had been himself - or better yet Robert - that told her about that little secret. "I'm sorry, Lya. I was planning to tell you when we saw each other again."

"How could you even suggest such a man, Ned. A loose man! A whoremonger!"

"Robert is not a whoremonger. He may be gregarious and a flirt, but he is a good man." He was his friend. Ned knew him like a brother. "Jon Arryn raised him for gods' sake."

Lyanna didn't buy it. "You suggested my hand to a man who already disgraced himself and his house with a bastard? Please, explain that to me, dear brother."

A deep sigh - Ned knew Lyanna had every right to feel betrayed about this. It wasn't a good look for any man, let alone a high lord. While most southern Lords wouldn't care a bit about what their daughters thought, Ned knew their father would take Lyanna's wishes into consideration. As he should. Robert would have to pass muster. "I grant, that was wrong on his part, but he's still young. At the time Robert was still the heir to Storm's End. Now that his parents have died and he's a Lord and ready to marry, he'll change."

"Are you sure about this?" Lyanna stared intently at him. "Don't lie to me because he's your friend." Ned's character was the best of the entire Stark family - Lyanna knew he wouldn't be friends with an oaf, so his opinion mattered greatly to her.

"If you truly don't wish to marry him, I'll support you in that to father, but don't decide anything till after you meet him."

Lyanna ran her hand through her silky brown locks, a nervous tick that all of the Stark pack shared. "Alright Ned," she sighed. "Since you think so highly of him, I'll make my choice once I meet him."

Ned smiled. "That's all I'm asking."

Returning his smile, she brought him in for an embrace. "I truly did miss you, big brother."

"I missed you too." Pulling back, he laughed. "Dacey Mormont as your Lady in Waiting? I'm sure Nan took that in good humor."

The laughter was infectious. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. Come on," she pulled on his arm. "Perhaps I'll be your matchmaker this time."

Ned blushed. "I don't think I'm tough enough to handle a she-bear of House Mormont." Lyanna smacked him in the shoulder, brother and sister wearing matching grins.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed my portrayal of Elia. It was difficult to create, given where I want the character to go, but I think it works. Methinks both she and Rhaegar are in denial over their real feelings due to how fucked up their marriage was in the beginning, not due to their own fault, though.

It was fun writing young Robert. My inspiration for him is Gaston from the animated Beauty and the Beast, only less ill-mannered (at least at first). So entitled and self-absorbed that he genuinely thinks that his way is the right way for everyone around him.

Walder Frey was a cunt from the beginning.

Next up: Lyanna meets Robert and the Targaryens arrive at Harrenhal.

Chapter 4: Wine, Women, and Song

Notes:

Hi y'all. I'm back with chapter four, and this is a big one!

I get why Ned is getting a bad rap, but I want to make it clear that he's not malicious. He is just a younger version of the naive character he is in season one. Being raised happily in the north and then by the honorable Jon Arryn has given him a rather rosy view of the world. Thus he takes Robert at his word for the most part.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Open the gates!" announced the herald, forming up the van of the great column of mounted men and wheeled carts trudging along the Kingsroad. "Make way for his Grace, Aerys II of House Targaryen!" Before them the wooden gates of Harrenhal swung open, allowing the first rider to pass along the already lowered drawbridge into the massive outer courtyard. The large banners of the black bats contrasted with the many red three-headed dragons carried by the hundreds of Targaryen household guardsmen. Aerys didn't leave the Red Keep often, but when he did he travelled with a small army.

"One can still smell the pyre of Harren the Black," stated Arthur Dayne. Leaning left on his horse, he punched Oswell Whent in the arm. "Told you your sister should have hired more washerwomen."

Ser Whent rolled his eyes, previously enjoying being back home. "That jape wasn't funny the last time we were here and it wasn't funny now." The grin on Arthur's face belied the fact it would be used far more times in the near future. "Besides, all the lye in the world can't clean out the metaphysical."

"Ser Arthur." Both experienced knights turned to see the Lion of Lannister approaching. Dark grey steel breastplate with the Targaryen sigil stamped atop it barely masking his golden aura. "What is wrong with His Grace the Prince?"

Sharing a look with Oswell, Arthur shrugged. "The day where he will have to face his… northerner is approaching. I wouldn't doubt he'd be nervous."

Jaime nodded. "But does he always just head alone into the woods?"

"Not the woods, if Ser Barristan is to be believed." Oswell grinned at Arthur. "Isn't it just a shame that he takes ol' Boldy out with him and not you?"

"Fuck off, Whent," Arthur shot back, good-naturedly. They trotted underneath the gate, thankful for the gentle breeze from the God's Eye that cooled them within their armor. "Jaime, go keep Gerold and Lewyn company until the King leaves, then escort the Queen to her chambers." It went unspoken… the King was not fond of being close to his wife for most circumstances. They took separate wheelhouses, and slept in separate chambers.

Beaming underneath his helmet, Jaime tapped his hand against it and reared his horse back, galloping to the royal wheelhouses. Arthur and Oswell gave each other a knowing glance.

Staring over his shoulder at the massive spires of the great castle of Harrenhal - melted stone still remaining from when Balerion the Black Dread wiped out Harren Hoare's rancid line from existence - Jaime felt a sense of deja vu. Of remembrance. For here was the place just one year before where the King had knighted him after his victory in the melee for Lord Whent's daughter's nameday. Where he had almost won the joust on behalf of House Lannister. Where his oath as a Kingsguard had been sworn on the old gods and the new.

Jaime let escape a sigh from his lips. Oh how he wished to be returned to those days. When his ideals still meant something and dreams still waited, fully able to be realized.

Lord Tywin Lannister had not been the most loving person… seven hells, affection from him was rare even before his mother died birthing Tyrion, let alone after. For his sister Cersei the entirety of her childhood was being groomed as a marriage prospect to enhance House Lannister. For him,Tywin saw his golden-haired successor. A man skilled in battle and sharp in mind to continue the legacy he built off the chaos of his father Tytos. Jaime, unlike the 'deformed Imp' of his younger brother - though Jaime loved Tyrion unconditionally - was such an heir.

But the young lion bore such no mind. He cared not about ruling lands or petty politics, though tutelage under his father had exposed a decent grasp of it. No, it was the mantle of the Kingsguard that had been his dream since he could remember. The Kings of the Rock or Targaryen monarchs hadn't been his heroes, but noble knights like Corlys Veleryon, Aemon the Dragonknight, or Duncan the Tall. All Kingsguards, all part of the best of the best with the sole purpose to protect the king. Oh had Tywin raged and Cersei wept when he announced his intention to accept the white cloak even after the King rejected Tywin's proposal of marriage between Rhaegar and his sister. But no one could dissuade Jaime.

Upon the fields of Harrenhal, the young lion the at the top of the world when he achieved that dream - Ser Jaime Lannister, brother of the Kingsguard. The youngest in all of history to top it off! An achievement sending the new knight to King's Landing full of chivalry and expectations... Plans for his exploits to grace the great book alongside Aemon or Barristan the Bold.

The royal wheelhouse rattled into the courtyard, Jaime surrounding it with Ser Gerold and Ser Lewyn. All around the Targaryen guardsmen and the retinue of House Whent all fell to their knees… all but the three Kingsguards as Jaime drew open the door for the King to step out. Aerys was dressed in his best today. Flowing robes and perfectly styled hair reminiscent of descriptions of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. All but his eyes were the epitome of a great King, only the wild violet gaze exposing the true paranoia and guardedness within. Without even acknowledging Jaime, he made his way to the waiting Lord Walter Whent.

"Harrenhal is yours, your Grace," the Lord stated, rising from his bended knee. "Preparations for your son's tourney are going ahead of schedule."

"Good," the King replied rather evenly, beginning to walk into the castle. "Finally someone with a little initiative, unlike the cunts back in the capitol…" Gerold and Lewyn fell into place behind the King while Jaime stayed behind. Watching the man that had turned all his dreams to dust.

Sword at his side and armor draping him, the newly knighted Jaime was forced to confront the pathetic excuse of a king he swore to protect. His father's rants were… quite accurate for once. Every day Aerys slipped further into paranoia, into a brooding madness threatening all around him. He would accuse others of treason for imaginary crimes, torturing them. Some he let go, some he imprisoned. Many, Lord Tywin included, were part of the King's twisted fantasies of wildfire… "The true tool of Targaryen Kings."

Forced to be part of these, enduring the demands of the King to behead 'traitors' and abuse hapless courtiers… Jaime's dreams and respect for the Kingsguard began wear away. How could he be tasked to support such a King? Such a monster? The gusto and good cheer he had dove into his vows with was replaced with a growing cynicism. Morosity, constant drinking during his off hours, withdrawing into himself... all just too much for a man only ten and eight with too many dreams exposed to reality...

Until an angel appeared in his life.

Genuine smile returning to his face, Jaime bounded quickly to the second wheelhouse. Behind the King's, it was a mutual decision from both monarchs to wait until Aerys had left inside the castle for the occupant to emerge. Curling his fingers around the handle, he opened the door, revealing the shimmering silver hair of the Queen Rhaella. Frustrated frown turning into a warm smile at the sight of her personal guard.

It never stopped causing the young lion's cheeks to glow. "Your Grace." He bowed.

"Get up, Ser Jaime," Rhaella waved him off. "I am in need of your assistance - hard to walk in this poofy thing." Her characterization of the latest in Crownlands fashion wasn't wrong, the Queen needing his hand to ease her out of the wheelhouse. "The Dornish or northerners know how to properly dress. Simple wools and silks."

"Of course, my Queen." From Cersei such frivolity had annoyed him, but with Rhaella he did not mind the slightest.

It was Crown Prince Rhaegar that was his salvation. Switching out the young Jaime with the more experienced Gerold Hightower and Lewyn Martell on the King's duty, placing him instead as Rhaella's bodyguard. May the old gods and new always bless my noble prince. The quiet and reclusive Queen that Jaime had rarely seen for his first eight moonturns under the white cloak truly emerged the light in the darkness. Kind, compassionate, wise, gentle… a beautiful and graceful dragon as overshadowed by the King's bitterness as everyone in the Red Keep.

A sigh left the Queen's lips, looking up at the spires of Harren the Black's crowning achievement and undoing. "I do hope Lady Whent gives me the same chambers in the high tower as last time. I don't think I could tolerate any other."

"Are you alright, my Queen?" Jaime asked, daring to place his hand on the small of Rhaella's back to help her up the steps to the keep. Giving a little push - something he remembered his father doing for his mother long ago. A truly intimate act, but not too much of a boundary cross. It warmed him greatly, though.

Chuckling softly, Rhaella's sweet voice wafted out like a breath of fresh air. "They say those wheelhouses are the lap of luxury." A snort followed. "Frankly, Ser Jaime, that's a crock of shit."

"My my." Jaime laughed, armor clinking as he continued to help her up. "Such unqueenly language, your Grace." He knew he was breaching protocol that someone like Aerys wouldn't tolerate, but Rhaegar encouraged it with Arthur and Barristan - Rhaella never said anything about it to Jaime, so he went with it.

"It's true, so very true." A sigh, creamy lids fluttering closed over her violet eyes. "I've asked his Grace to let me ride like our son, but no. 'A Queen must be present but not seen.' Ugh, it's like a hothouse in that wheelhouse, and not the relaxing kind."

Gods, Rhaegar becoming King couldn't happen soon enough. Perhaps then Rhaella could have the peace and serenity Jaime knew she deserved. "I could summon Lady Whent's servants to draw you a hot bath, your Grace."

A beaming smile came Jaime's way, as if Rhaella's entire face lit up. Eyes sparkling with compassion and kindness, hair shimmering in the sunlight. "That is splendid, Ser Jaime. I don't know what I'd do without you as my guard."

There it was, the same image that appeared in his dreams every night - warming him, torturing him… Jaime shook his head, inwardly. Face reality, Lannister. Rhaegar would give him the dream of serving a great King. The other… as if anything would ever happen. Rhaella was his compassionate charge, nothing more.

Regardless, if he could grant her even the simplest of smiles, the degradations of the day were worth it.

---

And the moment was here. One Lyanna Stark both imagined and dreaded for years - such only tripled in intensity when learning of her betrothed. Robert of House Baratheon, now standing in front of her in the tent. Hands clasped behind his back and waiting for her. Herself shifting, eyes flickering everywhere and bouncing on the balls of her feet. To say it was awkward would be an understatement.

All had been a blur for Lyanna, Robert and Jon Arryn arriving only after the Starks had just set up their tent on the tourney grounds - other Lords having taken the permanent quarters in the castle. The tent flap hadn't been drawn back for a second before Robert scooped her brother Ned into his arms and proceeded to squeeze all the air out of his lungs. Only a smack from Lord Arryn had made him let Ned go, a clear indicator of the man's personality. Introductions followed, and while Lord Arryn had been as charming and respectful as the one and only time she had met him, Lyanna saw how Robert was practically mesmerized by her, begging her father for a one on one meeting. A half an hour in her private alcove in the tent was what he received, and there they were.

It would be Robert that broke the ice. "I must say, Lyanna, your beauty was quite understated by Ned."

She blushed - while she was more aloof and grounded than most maidens, flattery did affect her. "Well… I doubt my brother would want to gush about my features in that manner." The Lord of Storm's End laughed at her jape, smacking his gloved hand against his breeches. Lyanna smiled softly. Perhaps it was a good start.

No one could say Robert Baratheon wasn't handsome. Quite the opposite, actually. Slightly swarthy from the sun, he was built like a bear. Knightly tunic stretched tight over bulging muscles and heavyset shoulders, his legs were proportioned for his imposing height. He had a roguish charm about him, the self-confident smile of a warrior who knew he was hot stuff. The last was a little concerning to Lyanna, but overall there was nothing physically wrong with him.

I bet all the girls swoon over him in the Stormlands… Therein existed the main worry in her mind. Well, I still have to get to know him. "So, Robert. I…"

"I shall be sure to compete in the joust, my dear Lyanna," he interrupted her. "The Queen of Love and Beauty deserves to be someone as breathtaking as yourself." Without letting her speak, he abruptly grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it. His breath wafted onto her - it reeked of wine. "Permit me to wear your favor?"

Drawing her hand back, slowly so not to offend, Lyanna blinked. A bit forward, but not out of the ordinary. "I can find no reason to not offer my favor to a man after my hand," she finally replied.

The answer made him grin, a wide beaming smile that displayed his row of teeth. All there, but some discolored. "It is decided then. I shall win the joust and crown you Queen of Love and Beauty. Nothing but the best for my future wife."

This she frowned at. "We have not been officially betrothed, Lord Baratheon…"

"Call me Robert, my dear Lyanna."

Can't the man take a hint? "Robert… don't you think it's a bit presumptuous?"

"Pish, a formality," he waved off the concern. "No one has ever said no to Robert Baratheon!" Plopping onto her cot, he stretched his arms, patting the spot next to him for her to sit - as if this were his tent and not hers. Lyanna nevertheless complied, resolved to keep her promise to Ned.

Several minutes passed as Robert started in on stories of his prowess in combat and on a horse, arms sweeping wide as he added his own commentary to the various battle tactics and sword moves that necessitated profanity on his part. Not once did he let her get a word in, too engrossed in his own exploits. "Have I ever told you of my victory in the melee of the Great Tourney of Highgarden?" His entire eyes sparkled, a memory he seemed to cherish. "For the birth of Mace Tyrell's little brat… I don't doubt that dolt would celebrate the birth of a daughter."

"I've heard the lady Margaery is a rather adorable infant," Lyanna murmured.

The young Lord snickered. "Probably will be a juicy offering to stoke Mace's ego, but a tourney to celebrate? Only a son is worth celebrating, and I plan on having many sons with my wife." He wiggled his thick brows at her.

Lyanna pursed her lips. "And if I only have daughters, my Lord?"

"Ha! As if."

Clenching her teeth, willing herself to keep calm instead of simply laughing at him and telling him to get out, Lyanna tried a different tactic. "Would you like to know something about me?"

Robert peered at her, a smile forming on his face - one that looked to Lyanna as if he was humoring her. "Of course, my Lady, although I already know everything about your great beauty through my own eyes."

Blinking, she didn't know what to make of it. His words were sweet, but there was something about them that… unsettled her. Give him a chance, Lya. At least he seemed to be interested in her. "Here, let me show you." Beaming at the thought of her favorite book, she stood from her cot, dress swaying around her legs as she moved towards the hope chest containing her belongings. Pushing the clothes and the sheathed sword to the side in order to find it.

Behind her, Robert whistled. "A sword? They sure have strange ways of raising girls up in the North." He laughed leaning up to smack Lyanna on the backside - the crude gesture nearly causing her to stumble. "Don't worry, my dear Lyanna. There are no wildling savages in the Stormlands. You won't have need for a sword."

"But what if I would like a sword?" she asked quietly, more rhetorical than anything.

But Robert heard, and proceeded to answer it anyway. "Oh my wild wife to be, I'll make sure you have the finest needle and thread in the Seven Kingdoms.

Lyanna bit back the response on her tongue, still hoping to salvage this and get through to her all but official betrothed. Pulling out the book from the bottom of the trunk. "Here it is, Lord Baratheon." She offered a small smile, sitting next to Robert - the young Lord scooting closer till their sides touched, which Lyanna decided to ignore.

His eyebrows scrunched together. "A book?"

"Aye, it's called Dancing Dragons by King Viserys II Targaryen, before he was the King." Opening the binding to the pages of the marriage between Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon - her favorite. Robert peered at the pages, clearly struggling to read the words. "It's about the Dance of Dragons, a marvelous read. My most prized possession," Lyanna said genuinely. Bearing a bit of her soul to the man she would soon have to marry.

Offering him the book, letting Robert look at it closely, she waited in anticipation as to what he would say. Hoping that he would be interested and they could - finally - find common ground. Pursing his lips, the Stormlands Lord gently closed the book. Turning to peer at her with an… odd look on his face. As if he were trying to understand something he had never witnessed before. "You really find this interesting?" he asked her after the long silence.

That… could mean anything. Lyanna decided to think it positive. "What could be more interesting than such a time? The Queen and her dear husband, fighting desperately to protect themselves from a usurper bent on destroying them. Gods, the greatest romance story of Westerosi History."

Suddenly, Robert laughed. A deep belly laugh, as if all of what Lyanna told him was the most amusing thing he had ever heard. "Oh Lyanna… seven hells…" He reached out with his beefy hand, pinching her cheeks affectionately. Such a gesture was lost to Lyanna, for the book had slipped from his lap and onto the bare grass and dirt of the tent floor. The most precious single item in Lyanna's possession, a gift from Ned so dear to her, carelessly discarded by Robert. He didn't even notice. "You are adorable, my little she-wolf. Everything about you is exquisite."

She squirmed, trying to reach for the text. "Robert… my book."

"Don't worry, my dear Lyanna. You won't have time for such frivolity while you're caring for my sons and my castle." He stared into her captivating grey eyes, growing mesmerized by them. "I know you seek great drama and love, and I shall provide them with my sword arm and affections. Far better than some musty old book written by cunts long dead."

Lyanna realized something in his tone. This wasn't condescension or sarcasm, but genuine. He actually believed such was the highest form of affection and devotion to a woman. She didn't know if that was better.

He figured her silence to be rapture - just like all the other ladies and girls that found themselves in Robert Baratheon's spell. Fitting, since he was rapidly falling into hers. "You are beautiful. Worthy of me, belonging with me where the sun and the clouds can shine above you." Without warning he lurched forward, pressing his lips against hers.

Gasping at the suddenness of it all, Lyanna's eyes only widened further as he took it as an invitation rather than a warning. Tongue shoving inside. Dominating, plundering. A charging stag crashing upon the being that threatened it, uncaring of anything but its own instinct. Grunting like a rutting bull, Robert began to push her none to gently flat on the cot. The instincts overpowering him…

Her hands were frantic. Panicking. Shoving against his chest until his lips popped off hers, drenching her in his saliva. His own eyes both clouded over and confused as to why she would reject him. Lyanna breathless as she recovered her bearings. Sucking in air down her lungs. "Please… I'm a lady… wait… wedding night…" It was all she could say, the she-wolf's thoughts all hammering one fact over and over again. My first kiss… Something she had been dreaming of for years, nothing like her dreams.

Hauling himself upright, Robert seemed to follow her. "Oh… sorry." He chuckled, wicked grin returning to his face. "Got too carried away there, and I respect your propriety, dear Lyanna." The young Lord bent down to kiss her forehead, Lyanna still too breathless to respond. "Don't worry, my little wolf. Our wedding night shall be soon. Then you won't have to restrain yourself." Still grinning, he stood tall and bowed. "Till later, my Lady. My dreams will be of you." And with that, he ducked out of her tent, leaving her alone.

Several moments passed before the she-wolf realized he had left. Quickly, Lyanna scrambled off the cot and grabbed her book off the ground. Closing her eyes and clutching it to her breast protectively. Letting Ned's precious gift to her ease the tempest in her heart. A winter blizzard that had ripped through every imagination and fantasy she had had over meeting her future husband. Not the devoted Prince Daemon but someone more akin to who Aegon II had been. An entitled highborn that felt the world revolved around himself.

A man Ned had praised as a good match.

But instead of coming to conclusions and letting her heart try to handle it, her intelligent mind kept replaying one portion of the meeting. How Robert had kissed her, intending to ravish her completely. It was smooth on his part. Polished, as if he had done it before. Many times.

Mya Stone.

Nestling the book safely in her trunk, Lyanna grabbed a cloak resting close by. Determined to get answers.

---

Strolling down the grassy fields, Robert almost felt like skipping - like drawing his sword and stabbing it up in the air. Cup of the finest arbor gold in hand, he raised it in a toast to himself. To the most breathtaking wildflower in the world that was now his. Gods, I am a lucky man.

He and Ned, bonded as brothers for life - Robert would have accepted a betrothal had it been with a fifty year ugly maid. But what he had gotten… His luck was as strong now as it was growing up - every triumph had been his with only the barest of efforts. Of course love would be the latest prize for him to win.

And not one part of Robert saw anything wrong with that. Any woman would swoon over being his prize in love. Why not? They had when the prize was merely his fancy.

"Pish, a formality. No one has ever said no to Robert Baratheon!"

No one had, and Rickard Stark wasn't going to be the first.

Lyanna was perfect. A willowy, kind, statuesque goddess of a woman that would make the perfect Lady of Storm's End. One to manage his household, charm the visiting Lords, and bear him half a dozen strapping sons and heirs that would carry the Baratheon legacy. Tough bruisers, half-stag and half-wolf. Better than any dour sourpusses or cowardly weasels that Stannis or Renly would sire. As if that mincing buggerer Renly could ever sire a child.

His mind drifted to that first glimpse of his soon to be wife. The sweet and innocent face of a maiden clashing wildly with the stunning body of a goddess. Someone to cherish and hold up as a paragon of virtue. The greatest conquest the great Robert of House Baratheon could secure, but gods… He downed the wine till there wasn't a drop left in his cup. Unfortunately, while it relaxed him the flush his betrothed has given him only grew.

Tent growing tight in his breeches, the feel of her body against his affecting him. Her delicious lips tasting like peppermint. He was horny, and in need of release. Many a man would vent their sexual frustration themselves, but not Robert Baratheon. He wasn't some pathetic girl of a man, and nothing compared to a tight, warm body to find release.

And he knew just where to go.

With the massive tent city being erected almost overnight outside the great castle of Harrenhal - itself the largest fortress in the entire Seven Kingdoms - the dozens of lords and thousands of bannermen, sworn swords, and assorted retinue were in need of the necessities of life. Food, drink, metalwork, clothes… hundreds of vendors from all corners of the Realm had descended on Harrenhal to take advantage of the Crown Prince's nameday. As plying the trade in one of the important necessities of life, this included hundreds of whores both female and male. Dressed provocatively and flashing their… assets to potential clients.

These individual actors were dwarfed by the massive mobile brothel that the notorious King's Landing madame Chatalya had brought over from the capitol to Harrenhall to scoop up the coin of the countless lords that would arrive. Giant tent the second-largest of the entire tourney grounds, in strode Robert Baratheon with a grin on his face. Already growing harder at the thoughts of delicious female flesh he would be sampling.

Not noticing the hooded figure following him nearly twenty feet behind.

Dark skin exotic and alluring in the midst of the Westerosi, Chatalya opened her arms and embraced the young Lord of Storm's End, kissing his cheeks. "Robert Baratheon. Welcome to my establishment." It paid to know the various high lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms and their sigils. He was drunk too, the perfect client.

"My reputation precedes me," laughed Robert, smacking Chatalya on the back. "I want someone young. Ten and seven. Fair, not dark."

The madame nodded. "No problem, I have many women who would do…"

Robert held up his fingers. "Two. I want two."

Chatalya grinned sultrily. "That is costly… though I'm sure it won't be a problem." Two dozen gold dragons tumbled into her hand. She licked her lips. "Perfect. Sarella! Cassana!" Out of the gossamer fabric that shrouded the various compartments of the mobile brothel came a redhead and a blonde. Bodies lithe and tight, but with large breasts that threatened to spill from their skimpy dresses. "Be sure to take care of Lord Baratheon here. He is one of the highest Lords in the land." With a throaty chuckle, the madame went to greet the other customers.

The ale and wine already beginning to cloud his mind in the wonderful haze. Wide smile planted on his face, Robert wrapped his arms around the two beauties he had purchased for the next few hours. "'Allo my pretties," he belted, grin widening at their giggling. They weren't as breathtaking as his Lyanna, but they weren't going to be his lady wife. Purposes were quite different to him. "So where are ye' from?"

Sharing a look with her colleague, the blonde smirked at the handsome young Lord. Patting his chest just as she had been taught. "Sarella is from Maidenpool, my Lord. I am from near Summerhall, in town for the… opportunities." The last came in a sultry whisper, nipping his earlobe.

Robert laughed merrily. "Stormlands, eh?" He groped her tits, whistling with approval. "Perhaps head to Storm's End after. I'll be sure to give ya' plenty of work!" Feeling boastful, he threw his head back, voice booming through the entire tent. "All of ya' come to Storm's End, ladies." The drink had loosened his inhibitions - not that he had many to begin with. "This beast may soon be shackled but it wont forget this heaven of booze and women anytime soon!" Feminine cheers answered him, squeals and claps only making him feel more at ease.

From a hole ripped into the side of the tent, a pair of grey eyes blazed pure fury. The hooded figure darted away from the brothel, fists clenched from what they had just heard.

---

Hair billowing out from behind her, elaborate hairstyle absolutely ruined by the winds gusting around her, Lyanna could barely see through her scorching sobs. Eyes stinging as the air shot past her and Winter. The horse urged faster and faster through the vibrant green underbrush of the Riverlands forest. Lush with plant life, a beautiful sight. But the she-wolf didn't notice. Didn't care.

All on her mind was the events of the last few hours, filling her with a fury so hot it would have melted Valyrian steel. Starks were ice, not fire, and the flames nearly brought her to her knees.

She had to escape. Had to get out of the tight confines of the great castle and tourney grounds, grabbing her trusty steed and riding him saddleless into the woods as she had done many a time back home. Everything passed by in a blurr, little did she care.

A whoremonger. I'm betrothed to a whoremonger. The image of her future husband and his thick arms wrapped around the shoulders of two bare-chested prostitutes, oafish grin on his face, was seared into Lyanna's mind. Ned was wrong! They were all wrong! That was to be her life, one of metaphorical chains shackling her inside a keep with half a dozen screaming children while her drunken husband fucked half of the Stormlands.

I don't want to get married!

I… I can't live in chains!

The pain, the anger overwhelming her, Lyanna suddenly pulled back on the reins. Winter neighing loudly in panic as she skidded to a stop - rearing back and kicking with her front hooves. Normally Lyanna was an accomplished rider who never let herself be forced into an emergency skid, but the swirling emotions simply overwhelmed her reasoning. Without a second's hesitation she leaped off Winter's back, unsheathing the sword Brandon had gifted her for her fifteenth nameday. Eyes red, she looked around, practically seething. Finally raising the blade and swinging at the closest tree in an enraged frenzy.

"Fuck you Robert Baratheon!" she screeched, throat burning. Sword gouging deep chunks off the poor beech tree that served as the target of her rage. Fuck you father! Fuck you Ned!" Lyanna could care less, face hot with tears and snot. Red with pure rage. "Kill me, gods! New or old, I don't care! I will not marry that... that… THAT FUCKING!" Thwack! "WHORING!" Thwack! "DRUNKEN!" Thwack! "DISRESPECTFUL!" Thwack! "DISGUSTING!" Thwack! "OAF!"

With a final snarl and swipe of her blade a branch was sliced clean in two, the wood and leaves clattering to the forest floor with a chaotic crash.

The sound hitting her ears was almost like a bucket of icy water drenching her. Lyanna blinked, breathing deeply as the red tint of her vision began to fade. Anger and rage slowly transforming into a sense of fatigue. A deep sadness that permeated her very soul, the weight of the North crashing upon her shoulders. Tears began to form once more in her eyes.

I won't marry Robert… I can't…

"You will do your duty, Lyanna."

Standing there, sniffing. Droplets staining her dress as they trickled down her cheek, Lyanna felt a gentle nuzzling on her hair. "Oh, Winter." She turned, greeted with her beloved companion's gentle nicks of affection. Hand lifting up to stroke her muzzle, Lyanna gently rested her forehead upon the soft hide. "I don't know if he'll even let me have you." The soft croo of the horse sounded too much like a requiem for her.

Alone in the woods with only a faithful friend that couldn't even speak to her, Lyanna simply let the tears fall...

And then she heard it.

Ears registering the light sound in a split second, it took a moment before Lyanna parsed it out of the background noise of the forest. Not birdsong, not the wind, but a melody. Wiping the tears from her eyes, curiosity overtook her. I thought I was alone? Sheathing her sword, Lyanna cocked her head and listened closely to where she thought the music was coming from.

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,

"Jenny would dance with her ghosts.

"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,

"And the ones who had loved her the most."

She knew not of the song, but it tugged on her heartstrings nonetheless. A tale of love and of sadness, of a poor girl pining for her lost loves. Intrigued, Lyanna pushes back the underbrush - ignoring the branches and brambles scraping against her dress. Following the music, with each step the melody growing clearer and clearer.

"The ones who'd been gone for so very long,

She couldn't remember their names.

They spun her around on the damp old stones,

Spun away all her sorrow and pain."

Ahead, the sun shone through a clearing in the forest. The sweet wafting of music drifting from within it - sight blocked off by a thick growth of bushes and trees. As quiet as possible, not wanting to spook the person who was producing such an enrapturing sound, Lyanna fell to her knees and crawled through the bushes. Gently pushing them aside to secure a hidden glimpse of the singer.

"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,

"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."

It was a man - a young man in his prime. He sat against a tree, dressed in a simple red tunic and riding breeches. Cleanliness indicating a man of means and posture showing a man of class. A red and black cloak was hung on a branch of the tree, horse tied up to another tree several feet away. He held a harp in his hands, tune created from the strings and words crooning out from his lips.

"They danced through the day,

"And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall.

"From winter to summer then winter again,

"'Til the walls did crumble and fall."

Lyanna never heard someone sing so beautifully. Each word was more graceful than the last, the way his long pale fingers wavered through the cords of his harp putting most musicians to shame. Hands dropped to her sides, tension leaving her. Anger and sadness forgotten.

She shifted in the bushes, catching a clearer glimpse of the singer, almost swooning at the sight. His silver hair fell over his shoulders, thick muscles - not as beefy as Robert's brawler body, but strong and toned like a nimble boxer or skilled horseman. His violet eyes sparkled with peace and emotion. A serenity with the world that many men lacked. Gods, he was the most handsome man Lyanna had ever seen.

"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,

"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave.

"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,

"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."

His voice was so beautiful, even Winter watched from behind the dense treeline, mesmerized by the melancholy melody that filled the forest. All around, not another sound could be heard but the thrumming of the harp and the man's song. Even the birds stopped their singing, listening to the mysterious man. Lyanna wished to cry at the sad serenity of the words drifting from his lips, but it was so beautiful that she couldn't do anything but watch in a dazed adoration.

Had anything ever made her so lost for words? So… entranced her?

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,

"Jenny would dance with her ghosts.

"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,

"And the ones who had loved her the most."

Then, much to her disappointment, the melody ended and the stranger ceased his singing. The deep sigh of a troubled soul leaving his lips, weight of the world seeming to return to him once the escape of the instrument had finished. Lyanna felt her heart reach out to the man, the Lady of House Stark able to relate to him more than one could imagine. She wished to go to him, to hold him in her arms and help take his pain away. For him to take her pain away.

Lyanna shook her head, as if in a daze she needed to snap out of. What is wrong with me? For what had to be a quarter of an hour she had watched a mysterious man singing and almost fell in love with him from that alone. I don't even know who in seven hells he is! Didn't know what the morose, talented, handsome, beautiful, breathtaking man's name was.

Her mind and heart at war, Lyanna allowed herself one last look. One last glimpse between the leaves and brambles of the bush. The man had risen, grabbing his cloak - preparing to take his leave. Strapped to his waist was a glittering sword, a large ruby on the pommel and hilt adorned with intricately-carved dragon heads. A sword so iconic to be known from the Wall to Qarth. Blackfyre…

Blinking, Lyanna pulled back. Silver hair… Blackfyre… No, it couldn't be… Peering back through the leaves, her eyes bugged out of their sockets at the red three-headed dragon emblazoned on the back of the cloak.

There was now no doubt in her mind. The Crown Prince… Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

The image of her dream Prince Daemon in the flesh.

Notes:

Oh Lyanna. It's love at first sight (she's seventeen years old; it just so happens that the one she immediately falls for is the right man for her, lol; Lyanna's gonna learn and mature rather quickly).

Jaime has a knack for forbidden love, lol! It was something unique and subversive for me and I hope y'all don't mind.

As for Robert, the depiction of a good-natured Gaston is probably the best way to describe him. He doesn't just act that way, he thinks that it's both his due and the way others want to be treated. Right now he may be hotheaded but he has no hate or bitterness. Remember, he is Rhaegar's cousin. There's no reason for any family disunity.

There are rumors that Rhaegar was the one who wrote Jenny of Oldstones, so I went with it. Also went for a Katniss/Peeta vibe from the Hunger Games.

Next up, the feast!

Chapter 5: An Indecent Proposal

Notes:

Hi y'all. Some big stuff in this chapter :D

Very good news! I have become the lead co-author for the story Last Hope of Westeros. The original author and co-author were unable to continue on it, so instead of letting it be abandoned they passed the torch to me. Another outlet for my talents, so come on down and check it out!

I PASSED THE TEXAS STATE BAR EXAM! I am officially a lawyer in the State of Texas!

Enjoy and please comment :D

Winter trotting out of the woods, Lyanna was in a daze. Mind clouded with thoughts of the man she had seen in the clearing, only coherent thought through the verses of the song replaying in her mind being that of getting out of the woods ahead of him. Not any man… Rhaegar Targaryen. The Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

Prince Daemon… my Prince Daemon.

Everything spun as Lyanna rode into the tourney grounds, head throbbing and her body shuddering from what she had witnessed. Is it possible to fall in love with someone just hearing him sing? Lyanna shook her head. No, it was impossible. She had been so angry, so terrified at the prospect of marrying that oaf Robert Baratheon, she would be entranced by any decent-looking man. Especially if he was tall, handsome, serene... beautiful… breathtaking...

Gods, Lyanna, you have it bad.

She hadn't even met him, and yet the daughter of Winterfell couldn't get the Crown Prince out of her mind.

"...looks barely bigger than an Imp!" Lyanna stopped in her tracks, hearing a grunt of pain.

"Cunt's sure weak enough to be one of 'em!" Shouts and yelling were common on the tourney grounds, enough to cause most to tune every loud noise out. But these voices were so… hostile, it caught the she-wolf's attention. Dismounting Winter with a trained ease, she quickly tied her to a post and crept around a storage tent. Peeking across the corner to where the sounds were coming from.

Three burly young men, each at least five ten but no older than Lyanna herself, were surrounding a smaller figure that had been knocked to the ground - small of stature but with a rather nimble strength about him. He tried to scramble for a three-pronged spear laying in the dirt, but a kick to his face sent him sprawling back. Lizard-lion sigil on his leather gambeson visible to her. House Reed. "Stay down, motherfucker!"

"I am the Lord of Greywater Watch…!" the small-statured man yelled only to get another kick. This time in the gut.

Lyanna recognized him now. Howland Reed, one of her father's bannermen and the Lord of the crannogmen in the Neck. He had been a rather quiet one during the journey south, but Lyanna had thought well of him.

"'I am the lord of Greywater Watch…'" mocked one of the boys in a bad falsetto, clearly the leader of the gang. "I squire for Waldron Frey, and he's told me all about you mud people. Little better than wildlings." Another kick followed while Lyanna's blood boiled. Of course the Freys would employ dirtbags.

Laughs came from the other two boys. "Ser Boros says they like to toss dwarves at pins like with bowling." The squire leered at the moaning Howland. "Why don't we try the same with him?" His comrades seemed to agree with the idea.

At this, Lyanna couldn't take it anymore. She had always been one to stand against cruelty - several Wintertown boys with their teeth knocked in for groping the washerwomen could attest to that - and the honor of a Northern Lord at stake only served to further convince her. "Hey!" The three squires stilled, looking to her with a mild irritation at being interrupted. "Stop it!"

"Piss off, cunt!" the Frey squire hissed. They moved to kick Howland yet again.

Drawing her sword, the sound of steel scraping against the scabbard drew their full attention. "I said, stop it."

"Don't want to get yer' dress in a twist," laughed the third squire, pitchfork-emblazoned shield strung across his back. House Haigh.

Lyanna narrowed her eyes, standing tall. "Does it make you feel like men to pummel someone smaller than you? Tired of getting black eyes and losing teeth from the boys your own size?"

The Frey squire sneered, leading his comrades to abandon Lord Howland in the dirt. "What part of piss off do you not understand, bitch?"

A deep laugh left Lyanna's lips. "Bitch and cunt. You must get a lot of attention from the women with that talk." She grinned, enjoying how she was riling them up. None of them recognized her. Good. That just made it all the more fun. "I take you keep your coin purses full when trying to fuck."

Only the Blount squire seemed to understand the insult, flushing red like a tomato. "You'll pay for that, cunt!" drawing his sword and charging. Blade high, chopping wildly, it didn't take much effort for Lyanna to knock it to the side and ram the pommel of hers into the squire's gut. A kick to the shin sending him to the ground.

Right behind came the pitchfork squire, but his comrade fallen caused him to hesitate… a perfect opening for Lyanna to smash her elbow into the boy's face. Blood spurting from a broken nose as he howled in pain. "Is that the best you can do?" she mocked, scoffing. "A girl of ten and seven knocking you on your ass?"

Unlike his friends, the Frey squire darted in, feet quick yet in a firm stance. Such were his only attributes, blows as sloppy as the others. Trained by the best fighters among the Winterfell guards, not to mention her own brothers, Lyanna parried the first strike - blade twirling in her wrist to knock it out of his hand. Sword clattering on the ground. He moved to grab it, only for Lyanna to punch him in the jaw.

Up came the first boy, arms wrapping around her. Breath hot on his ear as his hands moved to grope her breasts. "Yer' mine, whore," he hissed.

Seeing red, Lyanna let out all of her anger and rage on the little cunt. Elbow ramming into his gut, she spun around and kneed him in the stones. Grunting in pain, she uppercut right into his lower jaw, teeth fountianing into the dirt.

The Frey squire moved for his sword, but Lyanna mock lunged with hers. "I'll keep this blade, thank you." She lunged again. "Run!" The two boys grabbed their moaning comrade, dragging him out as they booked it out of there. Leaving a rather proud Lyanna to strut about the field.

Watching the whole thing with mouth agape, Howland Reed tried to stand only for the ache in his stomach to bring him down again. "Seven hells," he cursed through gritted teeth - pushing back up onto his knees. This time, a hand was offered to steady him. Bringing the crannogman face to face with the gorgeous face of his savior. "Thank you, Lady Stark."

She smiled warmly, high cheekbones, pure white teeth, and dimples making it one of the most beautiful smiles he had seen. "Pish, it was my privilege to take down those fuckers." His widening eyes at her language made her giggle. Most highborn girls never cursed, but she wasn't most girls. "And call me Lyanna, Lord Reed."

"Then call me Howland." He chuckled but it changed into a grimace. "Sorry, it hurts to laugh."

"Let's get you to a maester, and a cup of the finest ale. My treat." Draping Howland's arm around her shoulder, she helped him to her waiting horse.

All unbeknownst to the silver-haired Prince that had watched the entire thing from the treeline.

---

"You have to be japing me, my Prince?" The Sword of the Morning's lips were pressed together, as if struggling not to grin.

The Crown Prince's eyes narrowed, glaring at his Kingsguard and friend. "If I would jape to you, Arthur, would this be what I would use?"

Arthur Dayne thought for a moment, then nodded. "No, I suppose not." The two of them walked through the halls of the great castle, journeying towards his father's chambers. Except for a few servants that they dropped their voices to a whisper around, this wing of Harrenhal was empty. "I heard that the ladies of the North could be a wild bunch, but to take on three burly squires… and to be your bride, no less?"

"Quiet," Rhaegar hissed. "Do you want everyone and their mother to hear you?" The Prince had been the only child in the Red Keep during his youth - the last child of House Targaryen it was said, given the extinction of all other lines due to illness or war and his mother's frequent miscarriages. Aerys isolating him for so long, by the time Viserys was born Rhaegar was ten and seven and approaching marriageable age. Thus, it was only when the young Arthur Dayne arrived at the Red Keep to win the King's Tourney did Rhaegar have a close friend he could call his own. While he was on good terms with the entire Kingsguard, he and Arthur were thick as thieves. His most trusted council along with Rhaella and Elia. "I saw it with my own eyes and still can't believe it - she was good, Arthur. In need of some refinement but very, very good."

"I'd like to see her compete against some real opponents, but I'll take your word for it, my Prince." Arthur looked him over from underneath his helmet, as if searching for something. "Are you… pleased with your new bride?"

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar envisioned the raven-haired Lyanna Stark. Fluid movements with sword in hand. The way her dress clung to her willowy yet toned frame. Her raven hair shimmering in the sunlight. No woman, not even Elia - though she had come a close second - had ever enamored him so easily as the she-wolf of Winterfell… and he hadn't even said a single word to her. And yet in the hours since his quick glimpse, Rhaegar couldn't get his mind off of the woman that would be his second bride.

"She… intrigues me, Arthur."

Rhaegar could almost feel the Kingsguard frowning underneath his helmet. "I'm sure you could tell me more."

Arriving at the entrance to his father's chambers, Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan bowed at their Prince. "I'm sure I could, Arthur." Winking at his friend, Rhaegar entered through the door with a grin.

A grin that promptly fell as he found his father sitting alone in his chair, staring out at the God's Eye from the window. Completely on the other side of the mammoth chambers, his mother was reading a tale to his baby brother. "Rhae!" Silver curls bouncing atop his shoulders, Viserys ran over to him.

Wanting to laugh in joy but restraining himself - out of the three of them, he was the most likely to set his father off - Rhaegar instead picked up his brother. Growing body as light as a feather to him. "Good afternoon, my Prince," he smiled. "What have you been up to?"

"Muna is reading about the Conquest." Viserys chirped excitedly, always did when learning about the history of their family. Rhaegar himself remembered sitting on his mother's lap, thinking with childlike wonder of the dragons and dragonriders of old. "I can't wait till the Field of fire!"

Rhaegar frowned for a moment. Why, father, why? His mother always steered him towards the love stories and tales of great statesmanship until he was old enough to understand the perils of violence - Aerys was clearly imposing his own view of their history on his brother. "Alright, dear Prince," Rhaella cooed. "How about I take you for a pastry for being such a good boy?" Leaning in to kiss her eldest son on the cheek, afterwards she whispered in his ear. "He received a raven from Casterly Rock."

The warning was well noted, the Crown Prince waiting for his mother and brother to leave before approaching his father. Not willing to antagonize or irk, he bent the knee. "You summoned me, your Grace?"

While Aerys wished for full formalities to be observed to him, he didn't reciprocate. "Rhaegar, good." He turned his chair around, manic grin on his face. "Did you hear what that pompous kitty cat told me?"

"I have not, father."

"He says he's 'ill' and cannot make it to my tourney. Sending his cunt of a daughter instead, as his 'representative.'" Aerys snarled. "Fucking Tywin, sending a woman to represent himself to me as if he thinks women are worth anything. That insect knows exactly how to piss me off."

Why does it have to be Cersei? It wasn't as if Rhaegar hated her, but the way she threw herself at him did put the Prince off. "I do not think Lord Tywin will react well when she tells him of your decision, your Grace."

Aerys whistled. "I should fucking hope so. The only thing I regret is not seeing the look on that fucker's face. Him and that Baratheon shit. Why father married Rhaelle to his dolt of a grandfather is beyond me." The King's eyes blazed with anger. "All Dunk's fault. If he only acted like a damn man and not some weak woman… 'Oh father, I love this common harlot. Release me from my birthright…'" It wasn't the first time Aerys mocked his dead older brother in that manner. "The gods did right that night in Summerhall. Dunk got what was coming to him and I got my heir." He smacked Rhaegar on the back.

Rhaegar wanted to vomit - but he had to play along. "I have no doubt, your Grace." He thought of what he could do to mitigate the damage. "Should I bring Lord Stark and his family to have lunch with your Grace and muna?"

"Don't worry about that. I'm planning on inviting them to the King's table at the feast tonight. Nothing but the best for the family of the new Princess." His smile was wide and largely jovial…

Rhaegar didn't believe it for a second. Father, please don't do anything reckless.

He may as well have asked water not to be wet.

---

Fingers jerking and twisting, Lyanna had enough at the third time Dacey yanked at her hair. "Seven hells, it's my hair, not a bloody longship rope. Be gentle."

Suppressing the laughs that were leaving her lips, Dacey completely failed. "I can't help it, Lya. Just thinking of how those dumb fuckers must've felt realizing they got their asses handed to them by a beautiful maiden…" She dissolved into laughter again, though managing to finish off Lyanna's hair rather well. Sighing, Lyanna did have to admit that having a lady in waiting who could both spar with her and polish a perfect traditional northern double braid was a good thing. "I wish I had seen it! You go girl."

Lyanna couldn't help but chuckle as well. "I was just… ugh I needed to burn off some anger and those cunts were right there, beating up on poor Howland."

The she-bear only scoffed angrily. "You had every right to want to vent with your sword." Putting the finishing touches on her chestnut braids, Dacey fumed. "Robert fucking Baratheon. What gives him the fucking right to disrespect you like that. Scuffing your precious book and then hiring two… two whores? At least when Aegon the Conqueror laid two women he married them first."

Snorting, Lyanna thanked Dacey for her blunt attitude. No one else was privy to what had transpired between her and Robert, or what she had seen afterwards. "Father wants this alliance… he'd have forced Brandon to marry Catelyn Tully even if they weren't enamored with each other." At least that was according to her brother. She hadn't even met her yet. "And Ned and Robert are so close…"

"Your brother may be many wonderful things, Lya, but he's a northern fool. Too naive." She and Ned had hit it off at the Twins - there wasn't a romantic spark, but an easy friendship had been built. Nevertheless, Dacey spoke true. "I think he'll back you up if you decided to beg Lord Stark to cancel the betrothal."

Blinking back a tear, Lyanna stood. Looking herself over in the mirror, smoothing out any creases in the fancy northern dress and perfect braids. I do look good. Perhaps I shall catch the Prince's eye… Gods, she couldn't get Rhaegar out of her head. The way his voice wafted out the love song, his hair shimmering in the light of the sun… She felt heat in her core at the thought of it. But just as she opened her mouth to tell Dacey about it the door knocked. "Come on, lazy!" It was Brandon, blunt as always. "Let's get a move on!"

"Fuck off!" Dacey shouted back. "But I do think we should go. His Grace is waiting." Lyanna only nodded.

It was said that upon the completion of the great hall of Harrenhal, Harren the Black proclaimed that he could dine all the lords of Westeros within. While Aegon the Conqueror ended the man rather easily, it looked to Lyanna that such a boast had been grounded. Taking her father's arm as her escort for the night, she could only gape at the immense stained glass windows, giant rib vaults, and the intricate starry night mosaic plastered atop the coffered ceiling. It may have bled the Riverlands dry till they chose Aegon over Harren, but it was certainly beautiful. Nothing like the drab simplicity of Winterfell - she did love her home, but a beauty it was not. Yet it seemed only Lyanna cared to marvel at it, though Ned did glance up once or twice as he served as Dacey's escort. Everyone around was too enamored with the plentiful food and flowing drink. While not the boisterous near-fights that northern feasts were, Lyanna could still feel the merriment.

It took mere minutes for her father to be locked into conversation with Lord Arryn and… Lord Tyrell if Lyanna could place the rather pompous man's colors correctly. Yet - out of place in her rather muted outfits compared to all the southern finery - she was glad that Ned, Brandon, and Dacey formed a solid phalanx with her against anything that may have come. Just a group of northerners stuck in the great hall with nearly all of Westeros' nobility, she wondered if anyone would end up approaching…

"Bran!" Even with the cacophony, Lyanna did nearly jump out of her skin as a striking redhead ran between the tables, leaping into Brandon's arms. "Gods, I'm overjoyed to see you again." The woman kissed him rather passionately before breaking away, waiting to be introduced.

Brandon, grinning like an idiot, motioned to the new arrival. "Everyone, this is Catelyn Tully. Dear Cat, this is my brother Ned, sister Lyanna, and her lady Dacey Mormont." Lyanna blinked, chiding herself for not putting it together. You're too fixated on the Prince. Smiling, she leaned in to hug her future goodsister.

The greetings passed like a blur, two others joining them - introduced as Catelyn's younger sister Lysa and the Tully ward Petyr Baelish. While Catelyn grew on her due to her apparent adoration of Brandon, the other two were… Lysa seemed jealous and slightly mad, while Baelish was a snake. Lyanna hated him from the moment his clammy hand touched hers, especially how he constantly undressed Catelyn with his eyes.

Brandon was oblivious to this, or if he noticed he didn't say anything - one advantage of his prime self-confidence. "Littlefinger!" Lyanna suppressed a snicker at Baelish's nickname. A gold dragon for how that name came to be. "I heard you nearly got your ass handed to you by Victarion Greyjoy."

Littlefinger flashed everyone a wide, toothy smile. "A large boor, I'm afraid the Lord of Pyke's brother is. Not as salty as Balon or crafty as Euron. But boors can be dealt with if one has a silver tongue." From how his smile shined on all the ladies, Lya wished that the Greyjoy brute had beaten him into a coma.

A finger tapping on her shoulder drew Lyanna out of her rather interesting discussion with Catelyn over the vacancy of the Master of Laws. Turning, she came face to face with the man she did not want to see. "My dear Lyanna." Robert smelled of alcohol already, but other than that was rather dashing in his doublet and silk trousers. "Ned, I don't think you'd put up a fuss if I danced with the Lady here?"

Ned shrugged, Brandon laughing beside him. "Go ahead, Robert. I'd be insulted if you didn't dance with her."

Waggling his eyebrows, the stag offered his hand. "Shall we?" Eyes flickering between a murderous gaze at Ned and a pleading look at Dacey, Lyanna realized she was not getting out of this. Plastering a fake smile on her face, she took the proffered hand - barely even yelping as she was whisked to the dance floor.

The tune was a rather serene one, though fast enough so that she wouldn't have to be too close to Robert. "You're a good dancer," Lyanna commented, praying this would end soon.

Robert scoffed. "Jon Arryn taught me and Ned. He loved it, but this shit is borin' to me. Give me swordplay any day." Lyanna fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Now, at our weddin', I won't mind dancin' with you." His speech was slurred, though he didn't miss a step.

"I should hope our wedding would be in the Winterfell Godswood." A dream of hers from the beginning, to marry before the Weirwood tree.

"That may be a problem, sweet Lyanna." Roberts' grin looked like he had passed gas. "Cause after this tourney I intend to take you to Storm's End as soon as possible." The She-Wolf bit her cheek to keep from screaming.

Thankfully - though Lyanna was probably the only one who thought so - the song was cut off by the trumpeting heralds. "Presenting!" boomed one of the royal servants. "His Grace, Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name! King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men!

Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" All present bent the knee as the royal family strode in surrounded by their guards. Aerys in the front, followed by the Queen - behind were both Princes, rounding it out. Combined with the two young children in the Red Keep, the last of House Targaryen in all their glory.

"Well, looks like the dance is over, my sweet Lyanna." Robert seemed put out, while Lyanna hid how relieved she was while they went back to their tables. "Until next time, dear intended." She wanted to spit in his drunken face.

As the King took his seat at the center of the table, Lyanna's eyes were drawn not to him but to the man two spots to the left - seated right next to Queen Rhaella. My Prince Daemon… If anything, Rhaegar Targaryen looked even more handsome that night. Doublet of fine silk showing off his taut frame, long mane of silver hair pulled up into a bun. Lyanna wanted to pull it out of that bun and run her fingers through it… She looked away, blushing red. Gods, Lya, what's wrong with you? Gushing like a lovestruck girl barely after her first moonblood over the handsome knights in the Winterfell courtyard.

Little did she notice the Crown Prince's violet orbs finding her among the other revalers. Nor did she hear the King rise from his seat and speak until halfway through his announcement. "...to truly welcome our Northern guests for leaving their ice gar…" Lyanna watched as both the Prince and the Queen cleared their throats. A flash of something appeared in Aerys' piercing gaze, but he seemed to relax a split second later. "Homeland to celebrate my beloved heir's nameday, I invite them to dine at the royal table next to myself."

Blinking, slightly shocked at the honor, Lyanna rose with the other surprised and stunned faces of her brothers and father - though he hid it well. Walking towards the King's table, her gaze drifted from the smug leer of the King to the stare of the Prince. Their eyes meeting at long last, though both looked away after a mere moment. Lyanna resolved to take the place farthest from Prince Rhaegar at the table.

---

Lord and Lady Whent had spared no expense for the courses in front of them. Whole roasted boar, honey-glazed pork belly, chicken and quail braised with herbs, pigeon pie, lamb stew with imported rice from Essos, thick grain soup, oven-fresh breads, platters of ripe fruit, and countless pastries. Everyone happily stuffed their faces, drowning down the scrumptious delicacies with gallons of wine and ale, as well as a new drink from the Vale known as 'whiskey.' Lord Baratheon had already guzzled down plenty of it, though it didn't slow him down. Servants constantly brought in more and more, replenishing the dishes of the various lords, knights, and ladies nestled within the great hall.

As always, the royal table secured the highest amount of attention from the servants - even in spite of Lord Whent being forced to sit elsewhere to accommodate the Starks. The plates of each man and woman seated there were always full as a result. Though for Rhaegar, nothing had been topped off or refilled. Brooding frown planted on his face, he merely picked at the chicken leg and helping of stew in front of him, the only fully-eaten morsel being the apple core resting off to the side.

A fleck of pork landed on his hand, currently resting unused on the table. Rhaegar glanced to his left, finding young Viserys attacking his food with gusto. "Sweetling," he chided good naturedly. "Slow yourself."

"But this is how a dragon eats," chirped the boy, grabbing a thick slab of pork belly and scarfing it down. Mumbling something unintelligible.

Laughing at how adorable his little brother was, Rhaegar simply tousled Viserys' silver locks - earning a groan from the young Prince. "That may be, but flying dragons aren't Princes of House Targaryen. Use your knife and fork and don't eat more than you can chew.

Once he swallowed his morsel, Viserys gulped and nodded. "Sorry." That earned another tousle of the hair. Even being watched by the collected Lords and Ladies of the realm, there was still a few moments where they could be a family. Given what his father was going to do at the tourney, Rhaegar cherished these few and far between moments.

To his right, Rhaella was peering at the both of them with a knowing smirk. "You could use some of Viserys' eating habits, my son."

"Muna…"

"Don't 'muna' me, young man," she whispered, kind but firm. "No matter how old you are, I am your mother. And I will not let you go hungry, now eat."

Groaning quietly, hoping none of the vultures before him saw their Crown Prince chided by his own mother, Rhaegar nonetheless took the chicken leg and started working his way through it. Even though it tasted divine, once swallowed it felt like the acid was about to eat his way through his stomach. "Father seems happy, for once." Sure enough, Aerys was slowly eating his plate, serene smile on his face the whole time. For a recluse who had less of an appetite than Rhaegar did at the moment, it was… odd.

Suspicious.

Rhaella's voice dropped into an even lighter whisper. "He's imagining how the news will upset the apple cart. Especially with the Baratheons."

Rhaegar wanted to bang his head on the table. They're not my favorite either, but… If the King wanted to go around Tywin, why do it in a way that would give him a natural ally in Lord Robert. The oaf was already on his fifth cup of whiskey, unable to hide his open and wanton gaze upon the occupant of the far-righthand seat at the table.

The Starks were enjoying themselves. Lord Rickard lost in conversation with Arthur and Barristan, while Brandon and Eddard spoke with a beautiful redhead leaning over the table, giving the Stark heir googly eyes - Catelyn Tully. And then there was Lyanna.

Never had he seen someone so beautiful. Wild chestnut locks, lithe body, fair face… and a fiery strength to back it up. Only Elia could compare, but the both of them were so very different that such a comparison was unfair. Looking away before the alone, quiet woman could see him, the Crown Prince took a sip of wine to contain his nerves.

Am I truly falling for her? Rhaegar shook his head, clearing out his mind. Don't be a dolt, you can't afford to be sentimental. Yet one look at Lyanna Stark made such resolve crumble into dust.

But when the King stood, all fell silent. Revelry of even the drunkest ceasing in an instant. "Lords and Ladies," Aerys began, voice even and the epitome of polite grace covering his expression. He looked like the great Targaryen King he had been early in his reign. "I thank you for arriving to celebrate my heir's nameday. My son, Rhaegar Targaryen." Aerys glanced at Rhaegar, and the Prince felt at that moment as if his father truly loved him - inwardly, there was a deep suspicion, but he forced a genial smile on his face. "A toast to him, the Young Dragon reborn."

"Here here!" cheered the crowd. Rhaegar could hear Robert's booming voice above the others, but also the feminine lilt of the Lady Lyanna. Though he hadn't ever heard her speak, somehow he knew it was hers.

Aerys continued, the munificent expression still exposed to all. "Special thanks not only to Lord and Lady Whent for their delightful hospitality, but also to the honorable Lord Stark and his charming family." Rickard nodded politely to the clapping of the crowd, Brandon eating it up, while Eddard and Lyanna seemed to wish to melt into the walls. Rhaegar didn't know about Eddard, but he felt that the she-wolf wasn't normally like this… wait… is it me? He shook his head - no, of course not. "While I am grateful that Lord Tyrell, Lord Arryn, Lord Tully, and Lord Baratheon have arrived to represent their kingdoms tonight, for the Warden of the North to break their normal isolation… it is an honor for House Targaryen." It was subtle, but those who knew the King noticed the slight glint in his violet eyes. "I'm reminded of the last time House Stark truly ventured south into the game of thrones. It was during the Dance of Dragons."

Rhaegar fought to keep his jaw from dropping. Now?! He's doing it now?! One glance at his mother found her just as shocked and worried. Father, please no…

"You do remember, Lord Stark?" Aerys asked his guest, Rickard's confusion at the topic delighting him greatly. All that was missing was Lord Tywin and his cunt daughter to watch the auctioning off of the Lady Lyanna… or was it Rhaegar he was auctioning off? Either way, this was the most fun he had since mutilating and burning alive Lady Darklyn several years back. "What happened then?"

Furrowing his brow, unsure of where his King was going with this, Rickard nonetheless spoke up. "Well, your Grace, my ancestor the Lord Cregan Stark signed a pact of support for Queen Rhaenrya Targaryen, the rightful heir to Viserys I - the namesake of your young son, sire." Little Viserys beamed at the praise of such a high Lord, while Aerys scowled for a split second before the regal smile returned.

"Ah yes, House Stark shaking off its isolation to defend the realm against traitors and usurpers in favor of the rightful ruler." Rhaegar wanted to facepalm himself, and could tell Rhaella was suppressing a groan. Aerys hated both Rhaenyra and Aegon… hells, he hated everyone in the family not named Maegor. His duplicity for the sake of both amusement and to satiate his delusions only insulted the Prince's intelligence - and he was forced to nod in agreement nonetheless. "To do so, they agreed to the Pact of Ice and Fire, where House Stark and House Targaryen would be joined before the gods in marriage. Now, where the realm is under siege from traitors yet again, I can't help but think of this pact once more."

It took every bit of courage and fortitude inside him not to let his head smack upon the table with a groan. Why… why… why must he do this here? Why? But he knew the answer. His mother knew the answer. Every single person that understood how Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name, operated. He thrived on the mind games - on watching the dance of a person who found a wasp's nest suddenly dropped on them.

As Rhaegar guessed, the King did nothing to hide his amusement at this point. "It strikes me as odd that this Pact has never been consummated. House Targaryen doesn't take pacts made by sworn oaths lightly, for that's the realm of other illustrious houses." A glance to his right found the Starks just staring at him. Completely clueless. Oh boy, this will be fun. "Therefore, I intend to rectify this injustice by personally announcing the betrothal of my son and heir, Prince Rhaegar, to the Lady Lyanna of House Stark. If it was good enough for Aegon the Conqueror to have two brides, then why not my own seed?" And only to look back and watch the reactions.

One could hear a pin drop in the great hall of Harrenhal. No one moved, no one breathed, not even a fly adding its irritating buzz to break the quiet. Biting his tongue, Rhaegar braved the line of fire to glance to his right. His mother was silent, sitting straight and trying to rise above it all. Lord Stark was totally stunned, mouth gaping at the announcement. His son Brandon seemed to try and choke down the gulp of wine he had taken, while his second son Ned was white as a sheet. Not daring to meet eyes with Lyanna - his betrothed by royal decree - again, Rhaegar found Robert in the crowd, his face purple with rage. Oh beautiful…

"A toast to Rhaegar and Lyanna," the King announced, not bothering to hide the dark smirk on his face. He lifted his goblet, forcing all the lords and ladies present to do so as well.

No one noticed Lyanna in the corner of the table. Look of shock slowly transforming into the smallest of smiles.

Notes:

Aerys you magnificent bastard! XD

And so the Knight of the Laughing Tree is born. That was fun to write. Rhaegar is smitten, but he won't have the same moment Lyanna did when seeing him sing for a little bit.

Remember Aerys' hatred of his older brother (Jaehaerys II doesn't exist here; Aerys and Rhaella are Aegon V's children). It's gonna be big.

Hope I introduced Catelyn and Littlefinger well. It's fun writing their young selves.

Next up, the reactions. Enjoy :D

Chapter 6: Betrothed

Notes:

Sorry for the cliffhanger. This chapter should clear up things :)

I have just begun posting new chapters to the story Last Hope of Westeros. Be sure to check it out :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

"This is an outrage!" Brandon Stark was a man of quite open emotion, but never had he been so enraged in his life. Ned thought that if his face was any redder, steam would be coming out of his ears. "I don't fucking care if he's the King! No sister of mine will be ripped away from us and made some damn Dragonspawn's pillow slave!"

"Please, brother," Ned stated. Palms pressing on the taller Stark's chest. "Calm down."

"Calm down?! CALM DOWN?!" If Brandon could be called enraged, he didn't know what words in seven hells he could use to describe what Robert was.

They were in the Stark tent, himself, his father, Brandon, and Robert discussing the matter - in the corner sat Lyanna, lost in her own thoughts and staring into the distance. Dacey had wanted to help her to her bed, but Rickard had dismissed her for the night. Ned worried over her, especially since no one had asked her opinion in all of this. "Yes, Robert, calm down. There is no sense in panicking."

"She is your sister! Your sister and MY BRIDE!" The second of the Stark sons didn't overlook how Lyanna flinched at Robert's last words, soulful gaze flashing an icy anger for but a moment. He would inquire later, the Stag Lord's ranting taking center stage. "...some mad, scheming dragonspawn King whoring my bride out to his rapist son…"

"Enough," Rickard said firmly, himself seated at his camp desk. He was just as pensive as Lyanna, though not disengaged. Ned could tell he was pulling back. Trying to see the situation from the outside, his father not falling into the rage trap Brandon and Robert were. Though he was angry… even seething. "We are going to stop yelling. Varys the Spider has spies everywhere." Such was the first thing Jon Arryn had warned Ned about, and he passed it on to his father. A whole two dozen Stark Household Guards stood outside the tent, fully armed just in case.

While both Brandon and Robert stopped yelling, it was clear their anger hadn't dimmed. "Call the banners, father," Bran demanded, slamming his fist down on the table. "I'll be damned if my sister will be sold like a whore."

"You'll have the Stormlands behind you, Lord Stark," Robert boasted, chest puffing out. "I don't care if they are my cousins. This means war."

"I'll marry Catelyn tomorrow, bind the Riverlands on our side. I'm sure the Vale and Tywin Lannister would…"

Rickard slammed his fist on the table in counter to Brandon. Losing his patience. "No one is calling any banners." Ned let out a relieved breath. He'd always taken after his father's cooler head. "I am not going to war with the crown without more information. I thought better of you, my son."

Brandon bristled. "But father…" He was cut off by Ned jabbing him in the ribs, gesturing inconspicuously to Lyanna. His brother gulped down whatever retort he had and nodded.

Standing, the Lord of Winterfell glanced at the Lord of Storm's End. "My Lord, we can discuss this further with Lord Arryn and Lord Tully. Perhaps a united front between our four kingdoms can dissuade or influence the King."

In spite of being on an equal footing with Rickard, the fact that the northerner was twice his age put Robert on the disadvantage. He sounded much like Jon Arryn or his own father scolding him after doing something stupid. With a sigh, he relented. "Alright, Lord Stark." Robert then turned to Ned. "I'll stop this, Ned. I'll stop this auction if it's the last thing I do. My bride will not be treated this way, even by the King." Each word working him up further, the purple tint to his face made it back to prominence as he left the tent.

"Watch your sister," Rickard warned to his sons, following the Stormlands lord.

All left in the tent were Brandon, Ned, and their sister. Still sitting quietly, looking nothing like the proud, headstrong girl that had so terrorized and at the same time breathed joy into Winterfell at the same time. Oh Lya… The announcement by King Aerys concerned her the most - it was only natural she was floored. Ned was by her side in an instant. "Lya? Sister, are you alright?" He sat next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder comfortingly. "Do you need anything?"

Blinking, Lyanna came out of her haze. All she had really heard of their conversation was Robert's possessive pronouncements, ones that repulsed and scared her at the same time. Robert Baratheon the cad was one thing, but the infuriated Lord of Storm's End bringing the fury was another matter entirely. Who knew what he was capable of? "Ned… oh no, Ned. I'm fine. Just… processing everything." It was true. Even in her wildest dreams did she not imagine the King of the Seven Kingdoms himself would decree this of anyone… let alone her.

"How can you be fine, sister?" Brandon clenched his fists. "This is an injustice of the highest order! I won't let Rhaegar turn you into his pillow slave while Elia fucking Martell gets to be Queen."

Rhaegar… Everytime she had worried, everytime she had thought of Robert or heard Robert, Lyanna had thought of the Prince. "Brandon, it's alright." Rhaegar's silver hair, his violet eyes, his voice… Gods, that voice… Almost divine in her mind. Just the thought of him calmed her down. "The Prince wouldn't do that to me."

Ned noticed something in her tone. It wasn't wishful thinking. "What do you mean…"

But nothing was calming Brandon down, his ranting cutting them off and working him back into a frenzy. "Just like that fucking whoremonger Aegon the Unworthy! He'll make you breed his bastards and laugh while doing it. I should kill the cunt right now!"

"Don't be rash," Ned cautioned, rising to hold onto his brother. "I'm not letting you die for treason!"

"And I'm not letting Lyanna be raped by that dragonspawn!"

Lyanna was frantic. "Bran…" Here she was faced with a potential dream, and Brandon's impulsiveness was rapidly turning it into a nightmare. "Please, don't get yourself killed for me. I couldn't bear it."

He knelt beside her, taking both of her hands in his. "Don't worry Lya. I don't care what father says - I'll call the banners and join with Robert. We won't allow that madman of a king forsake your honor and steal you from your rightful husband!"

"You will not do anything of the sort, Bran!" The mere mention of Robert as a husband drew her ire. "I…"

"What?! We can't let..." Gods, let me talk!

Ned held up a hand, stilling his brother. "Lya... why don't you want us to?"

She looked closely at both of them. "I want to marry the Crown Prince!" Lyanna blurted out. Immediately blushing at how blunt she was.

Both Ned and Brandon looked at their sister like she just grew three heads. Mouths gaping open like fish. Neither had expected anything of the sort. "WHAT?!" Brandon roared, more from shock than anything resembling anger. All rage had drained away from him.

Biting her lip, Lyanna nodded. "Tell father to accept the King's decree…" I want my Daemon... "That's what I want."

Taking his seat beside Lyanna once more, Ned motioned for his brother to pull up a chair across from them. Sighing, Brandon poured himself a goblet of wine and complied. Sipping from the liquid. "Lya, offers of marriage are not to be considered lightly. The King may have ordered it, but I don't want you to feel compelled to accept something simply because he said it. You have the whole of the North behind you, sister."

The thought of King Aerys bringing fire and blood to her homeland did weigh on Lyanna's mind but it wasn't important. There was no way she would refuse this. "I would accept the betrothal even if it was completely voluntary on my part." Even she was surprised at how even her voice was, given the tumult of the last day.

"Lya, have you gone mad?" While Ned was simply shocked, Brandon was incredulous. "I don't think you understand the implications of this. The Crown Prince is already married to Princess Elia Martell. King Aerys implied he would want to duplicate Aegon the Conqueror and marry you to his son without an annulment." He downed his wine, needing alcohol to fortify him. "Forget about the complete shitstorm with the Faith and the Dornish, you'll be a second wife. Having to share your husband with another woman… a woman he already has had children with."

Such facts struck Lyanna harshly. In all truth, she had forgotten the fact that Rhaegar was married. Wed to a woman who was said to be one of the great beauties of the Seven Kingdoms. You could end up being second best to him. Second fiddle. Visenya Targaryen came to mind, married out of duty rather than love. Forced to grow old and bitter.

"Could you really share a husband, Lya?" Ned asked. His tone was softer than Brandon's, but no less tough and searching.

The image of Rhaegar in the woods, his voice serenading the very gods themselves, came back to mind. Part of Lyanna thought she had fallen in love with him in that very moment. "I wouldn't care if he had six brides like Maegor the Cruel. I still want to marry him." Never having met Rhaegar, somehow Lyanna just knew. Instinct perhaps, or something deeper - a spiritual intuition that told her to charge forth with her heart.

Brandon's eyes bugged out of his skull. "Why in the seven hells would you prefer being a second wife instead of having a normal marriage? Of being the Lady of Storm's End for gods' sake?!"

There it was. The betrothal to Robert - Lyanna had found her way out and she was taking it. Only a sadistic monster would be a worse husband than Lord Baratheon, and that same intuition told her Rhaegar wasn't that at all. "I know I'll be happy with the Prince," she finally said.

Ned raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure about that, sister?"

"As sure as I know I would never be happy with Robert," she spat back. The feeling of his lips on hers, his uncaring hands only caring for his own pleasure as he groped and prepared to take her, it made Lyanna feel dirty.

"It's just because of the bastard, Lya?" Brandon was in disbelief. "Many highborns have bastards. It's nothing to throw your life away over…"

"More about how he essentially forced himself on me," Lyanna finally ground out. "And then the whores he bought from Chataya's right after when I wouldn't lay with him." Gods, it felt cathartic to finally get that out to someone other than Dacey.

There was silence - complete silence. Her brothers both utterly flabbergasted, jaws dropped nearly on the floor. "W… what?" Ned asked. More like murmured.

She shuddered just thinking about it. "When we met, he talked like I was his already. Then he kissed me. Pushing me onto his cot and groping me all over like I was one of his whores."

"When. Was. This?" Her older brother's anger was bubbling back to the surface.

Honestly, Lyanna felt better now that it was directed at someone that deserved it. "When he came to meet me for the first time. I pushed him away though. I wasn't dishonored." Even she had to be fair to him.

That wasn't going to calm Brandon down. "Oh, I'm gonna take Ice and castrate the son of a bitch myself!" His voice was deathly serious. "No one forces himself on my sister and has a cock to show for it!"

While she was glad his support of Robert had evaporated, Lyanna couldn't have him declare war on the Stormlands. She rose, moving to cup his cheek. "It was just a kiss. He stopped when I told him to - it was more that…" How could she put what truly disgusted her into words? "He just… seemed to expect me to let him take my maidenhead right then and there. Like I was his property." That did not seem to help. "Bran… calm down. Please?"

Nodding, clamping his lips shut, Brandon's rage didn't dampen. The same anger he had borne towards the Targaryens now directed at Robert Baratheon. Fists clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white, teeth grinding almost into fine powder. Breathing in and out to calm himself. Lyanna taking her seat back. "Alright. I'm steady. I'm calm." He grabbed his cloak off one of the chests throwing it over his shoulders. "As heir to Winterfell, I will make it my duty to end all discussion of any betrothal to Lord Robert Baratheon. I do not care if he's your friend, Ned, but it's over. Over my dead body will I allow it." Glaring at Ned for a moment, he leaned down and kissed Lyanna on the forehead. "I have your back, Lya."

Letting out a breath she had been holding in since Winterfell, Lyanna felt a weight being lifted off her chest. "Thank you." She hugged him tightly. "Love you, Bran."

"Love you too, Lya." With that, Brandon stormed out, leaving her and Ned alone.

The second son was withdrawn into himself, brooding hard. Lyanna knew he was killing himself inside. "Ned… brother?" She leaned forward, now her turn to comfort him. "Talk to me."

"Did Robert really do that to you?" It wasn't rape, Lyanna wasn't alleging that, but even what she did claim was dishonor in and of itself. You never claim a woman like that unless you know she consents. "I need to know."

Lyanna hung her head, hating that she was hurting her brother so. "Yes." Her blood boiled hotter, especially because it caused Ned pain. "After he forced that kiss on me, I followed him to a brothel. Do you know what he shouted for all those whores to hear?"

Already he felt like an idiot. "I hesitate to ask."

Lyanna's cheeks flared red with anger. "He said 'This beast may soon be shackled but it wont forget this heaven of booze and women anytime soon!'" Ire only falling at how it affected Ned.

Ned's brooding only darkened. "I am such a fool." Without warning, he smacked his palm against the side of his head. Hard. "I'm such a fucking fool."

Saying nothing at first, Lyanna merely hugged her brother. "It is not your fault, Ned. Had you known…" Her brother was loyal to a fault, his honor compelling him to stand behind both a friend and a sibling. From the bottom of her heart she knew that he only suggested the marriage because he thought it would be the best for her. "You would never have made the suggestion if you knew what Robert really was like."

"He's not a…" Shaking his head, Ned stopped defending his friend. "I should have known. There were rumors going around the Eyrie, and he always kept company with various reprobates, but I just accepted his denials and explanations at face value." He looked up at his sister, tears in his eyes. "I thought you could tame his wild ways, but this… I'm sorry, Lya."

"I forgive you, Ned," she replied with a sincere, if soft, smile. "Bran will make sure father breaks the negotiations. Nothing was officially made. What's done is done." It was surreal, talking about what a few hours ago had been unbearable chains as if it were nothing. Ethereal strands of thread that could be snapped by a mere jerk of a finger.

Nodding, Ned brooded silently for a moment before something came to his mind. Looking up, peering at Lyanna quizzically. "The Crown Prince?" With the firestorm of what Robert had done to her, Bran and he had completely forgotten.

This time, Lyanna blushed. "Aye, the Crown Prince." Her lips curved up into a smile, growing wider and more radiant as she thought of the beautiful silver dragon. Ned was taken aback… he had never seen the She-Wolf of Winterfell act like such a lovestruck maiden. "The prince is everything Robert could never be. Compassionate, loyal, gentlemanly, gentle, and more."

"Has he met you? How would you know?"

"I just do… instinct." Seeing Ned raise a single eyebrow, Lyanna knew she couldn't pay him off with that. "I rode Winter into the forest earlier today. There I saw the Prince singing."

"Singing?" Ned sees how Lya just looks off into the distance. Face dreamy and with that adoring smile growing wider.

She nodded vociferously. "Dear gods, it was incredible, the way his long pale fingers caressed the strings of his harp... His voice was so sad and beautiful as he sang, Ned. Even the birds stopped to hear him."

Never in his life did Ned ever think he'd be in this situation. To see Lyanna this way. It was concerning… but also something he had hoped for so long for her - happiness. Love and joy. "You're really falling for him," he said quietly.

"I am, brother, and I hope… I pray he feels the same."

"He'd be a fool not to." There was still so much to discuss. So much that bothered him about this. "I'm still not comfortable with him still being married. Targaryens did it before, but only all the respect in the world is good enough for my little sister." He didn't care that the King demanded it - Lyanna deserved the best. "I'll have a talk with him... I think it will require a level head that Brandon just doesn't have."

"Brandon has a level head, it's just between his legs."

The two of them blinked at each other before bursting out into laughter. Letting their stress and nerves go at the jape. "Oh gods, that was a good one," Ned choked out, trying to compose himself. "If you truly wish to marry the Prince after everything is sorted out, then I'll support you."

Lyanna beamed. "Thank you, Ned."

He returned the smile. "Prince Rhaegar is a lucky man - getting you for a wife."

For the second time that night, Lyanna allowed herself a dreamy smile. Allowed herself to be a starstruck maiden of ten and seven. "I'm lucky as well, Ned... I'm likely getting my Prince Daemon." She giggled. Actually giggled.

"Oh seven hells," Ned groaned, rolling his eyes rather outlandishly. "Not that damn book again."

Frowning, Lyanna grabbed a pillow from her loveseat and smacked him with it. "Shut it." Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Ned smiled and pulled his sister into a brotherly hug. One she quickly returned. I really am a fool. Every part of him had been so sure Robert would change his ways for Lya, but the truth was he didn't even know what Robert really was. I can only hope that the Crown Prince is anything like the one in her book. For all her strength, the she-wolf of Winterfell likely couldn't survive another failed match.

Especially this one.

---

Had the servants not known what was good for them, they would have stared in complete shock. The King was in a good mood. A very good mood. One not induced by sadistic power plays, humiliating poor courtiers, or abusing his wife the Queen. No, this was… completely genuine. Laughter falling from his lips and joy lighting up his eyes for the first time since Duskendale.

"Oh, that was delightful, so delightful," Aerys gushed as he removed his crown - placing it atop a plush purple cushion. "Tee hee, the looks on all those cunts. It was like I had hatched a dragon from my own ass." The giggles that streamed from him were so unlike Aerys, but came all the same.

As wary as all others in the room - more so, even - Rhaegar stayed several paces behind his father. Not wanting to get too close, the King's paranoia likely to act up if someone crowded up to him while his back was turned. "Your Grace, I feel it unwise that you announced the betrothal without informing Lord Stark." After escorting his mother and brother to bed, this had been his first stop.

"Bah." The King waved him off. "That was the best part of the night. I think the Northern oaf's son was about to spit out his wine everywhere!" Humming, Aerys began to dance about to imaginary music. He had been quite the dancer in his youth, Rhaella telling her son about the countless balls he enjoyed showing her off in on the dance floor. The madness and paranoia seemed to kill that part of him, but here he was.

Rhaegar wasn't the only other person in the room. "Why make an alliance with the Starks, your Grace?" asked Hand Jon Connington, suppressed anger and pain evident on his face. Unlike the other loyalists who were concerned, Connington seemed to take it personally - Rhaegar had no idea why. "They offer you nothing."

The King stopped dancing. "They offer me everything!" Coughing, Aerys made his way to the decanter of wine. Easing his throat with the fine Arbor gold. "Tywin is plotting, you see, and this she-wolf brat holds the key to keeping him in check." Rhaegar suppressed the urge to ball his fists tightly at how his father spoke of Lyanna. It was similar to how he reacted to the constant japes about Elia… only more intense. What?

"She was about to be betrothed to Lord Robert Baratheon, my Liege Lord." Griffin's Roost was in the Stormlands, meaning Robert officially outranked Connington outside of the King's favor. "I was sitting with him. The anger was worse than Fourteen Flames. Perhaps it is wiser to allow the betrothal to go through…"

Feeling a sudden surge of jealousy and protectiveness course through him that surprised Rhaegar, the Prince was nevertheless saved by his father. "No, fuck him. Stupid father should have married my older sister to Dunk instead of Robert's drunken, whoring grandfather. Maybe then Dunk wouldn't have acted like a fucking idiot and cohabited with that whore. We'd have more Targaryens and wouldn't be facing the Doom." Only Rhaegar knew what he meant, the others blinking confusion.

Jowls flopping, Mace Tyrell stepped forward - once the happiest man in the Seven Kingdoms after his infant daughter was 'betrothed' to Viserys, now he had grown pale. "Your Grace, my wife is a Hightower…"

"I wouldn't brag about that, but go on, Lord Peacock." The King guffawed at his own jape.

If Mace chose to ignore the insult or was too much a dolt to understand it - Rhaegar bet on the latter - he didn't let on. "The Hightowers are quite pious, and have a long history with the Faith of the Seven. Based on my insight, they will not take kindly to this… polygamy. It's what caused the rebellion against King Maegor."

Rhaegar snorted, impressed at the foresight. First thought of his that didn't come from his mother... probably parroting his wife. Mace was a kindhearted fellow, but he lacked the brainpower for anything that insightful.

"The doctrine of exceptionalism that old king Jae established gives me the damn right, so the Faith can shove it up their arses. We are dragons, Rhaegar and I. We answer to neither gods nor men, let alone a bunch of funny little men in robes." Mace withdrew, chastised. "Now leave me be. Let me enjoy my evening." Rhaegar couldn't be told any further.

Shutting the door to an image of the King gliding about the solar, robes swaying and an old Valyrian ditty about a dragonrider in a Lysene brothel tumbling from his lips, Rhaegar sighed and half collapsed against the stone wall of the hallway. "At least one of us is happy," he mumbled. Granted, upon catching a glimpse of the fiery, gorgeous Lyanna Stark, he wasn't completely unhappy with his now betrothed. And yet would she want anything to do with me? The best case in his mind was Elia, an utterly gorgeous and perfect wife that he was denied happiness with.

"I don't like this, my Prince. It's you and that Martell girl all over again." Apparently Jon Connington thought amongst similar lines - if with different opinions. "Can't the King find someone you want to be with?"

Rhaegar frowned. "She is still my wife, Jon. I've said this before, treat her with respect." The Lord of Griffin's Roost was a close friend, his closest besides Arthur. Practically joined at the hip for the last years before maturity, when Lord Tywin had finally been dismissed Connington was Rhaegar's first choice for his father to name as the new Hand. Someone young, vigorous, and smart. He had proven a strong ally on the Small Council and a loyal administrator, but the Prince couldn't help feel a tension since he had married Elia. The tension only rising.

The Hand of the King looked… sad. Forlorn even. "She was never worthy of you Rhaegar." Connington stepped forward, face only inches apart from the prince's. Rhaegar smelling wine on his breath. A glassy look in his eyes before there was realization and he pulled back. Clearing his throat. "Neither is the Stark bi… girl. There is nothing that the north can offer House Targaryen. They abandoned the crown in the Blackfyre Rebellions and would only antagonize the Faith. Convince your father to change his mind."

Obvious retort forming on his lips, when Rhaegar tried to speak it simply died on his tongue. Refusing to come out, his mind refusing to let it be uttered. You've tried to change his mind, but he will never change it. The image of the beautiful she-wolf fighting the squires twice her weight burned in his mind. Something that told him more than stacks of tomes ever could. Could it be that you truly want this betrothal?

"I can't explain it, Jon, but it feels as if this is my destiny."

Lips forming into a grimace, Connington only nodded. "I'll pray this doesn't ruin you, Rhaegar. It would kill me if anything happened to you." Bowing, the Hand of the King made his exit. Leaving the Prince to face the gravity of his new fate alone.

---

One moment she was asleep in an unfamiliar bed - in a castle of pure black and gray - and the next a warm sensation had roused her. Causing Lyanna's lids to open… only to flutter closed. Long moan leaving her mouth. "Ohhhh… my Prince…"

Kissing up her body was the silver-haired god from the forest. Rhaegar Targaryen, showering her skin with kisses. With open mouth sucks that left marks upon her body - ones she had often chided Brandon for getting from the servant girls. But far from being disgusted, she only moaned louder. Weaving her hands in silver locks and pulling him to her mouth. "Kiss me. Fuck me, my dragon."

He roared like a dragon would, attacking her lips. Lining his length at her entrance and pushing in. Sensations alien to her… "Ahhh… Don't… stop." Unfamiliar but so, so good. A feeling that Lyanna prayed never ended…

The she-wolf bolted out of her cot, sucking in breaths of the chilled air. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, nightgown clinging to the curves of her body. "What in Seven Hells…" Lyanna murmured. A hand drifted to her chest. Calming her beating heart.

Stills of her dream flashed in her mind, causing Lyanna to flush an even darker red… as well as another part of her flushing rather hotly. Gods, I've got it bad. The last day had been a complete whirlwind, disgusted by the Lord of Storm's End only to find out she was betrothed by royal decree to the Crown Prince.

"Fuck me, my dragon."

Falling back onto the bed, Lyanna's hand involuntarily snuck under her nightgown. Finding her flower slick with her juices. Blazing hot, sensitive to the touch. She rarely did this. Rarely found the need to, but by the old gods and the new, even the thought of her Prince Daemon… My Prince Daemon? Yes, he was hers now. By decree of the King, the most beautiful man Lyanna had ever seen was hers.

"Fuck… fuck… fuck…" she murmured softly, biting her lip to keep anyone in the tent from hearing her. Fingers swiping hard against her own clit, wishing, imagining it was the Prince doing all the things she had heard Dacey or the young servant girls brag or giggle about. Things more akin to a wanton whore than a proper lady, but she didn't care. She wanted all of it, all with him… "Ahhhh…" Her cunt gushed, the most powerful climax of her life ripping through her. All without him even being close.

Lyanna remembered how intently those violet eyes stared at her. Does he dream about me, lust after me like I do him? She felt a tingle at the thought he might…

"Psst…" Yelping, Lyanna frantically smoothed down her nightgown under the furs as Dacey slipped through the flaps. "You asleep?"

Not wanting anyone to know of her… wantonness, Lyanna hid it behind a flash of indignancy. "I was. Until a rather loud she-bear of a lady in waiting woke me up," she huffed.

Dacey saw right through her. "Oh really?" A smirk crossed her face. "Has nothing to do with the love flush on your cheeks?" At that Lyanna reddened even further. "Thinking of your dragon prince the King is sooo kind to hand to you on a silver platter?"

"Is it that obvious?" she said quietly.

"We're all girls here. If I were in your position I'd try to sneak into his chambers and claim him, wife or no wife." She laughed at Lyanna's further embarrassment - it was so unlike her, the fiery she-wolf turned into both a lovestruck maiden and sex-starved harlot. Simply hilarious. But it was beside the point. "I'll leave it alone, get up," Dacey whispered, tossing her mistress a fur cloak to cover up.

Lyanna blinked. "What… why?"

"Waldron Frey paid Lord Reed a visit with some of his household guards." Grey eyes widened at that, Dacey nodding firmly. "He's waiting outside the tent. One of your guards is asleep so we can sneak out to him." Nowhere did she ask if Lyanna wished to. From the determined frown and icy gaze in her eyes, the she-wolf made her answer obvious.

As Dacey had said, one of the guards had fallen asleep, wine gourd collapsed on the ground beside him. Lyanna rolled her eyes, resolving to tell her father in the morning - with the King's announcement making her the future joint Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the lack of attention paid to House Stark was over. In the near term, it was easy to sneak past the snoring guard, quickly ducking around several tents to find the Lord of Greywater Watch. He stood in his leather armor, beaver skin coat wrapped around his barrel chest. "Howland?" At Lyanna's voice, he turned, causing her to gasp at his split lip, swollen cheek, bruised jaw, and two black eyes. "The Freys?"

Howland nods, wincing even at the slightest movement. "Apparently he was 'defending the honor of his squire.'" Gently, Lyanna reached up to caress the bruises - she was pretty tall for northern women, exactly Ned's height at a five foot ten. She towered over the far shorter Howland, lacking half a head on her. Her touch, far from stinging, comforted his wounds like ice. "He wanted to know the 'rancid, rug-munching cunt' that fought his squire off. I told him it was a camp follower from White Harbor and he seemed to believe it."

Anger coursed through her - in this she took exactly after her mother like Brandon did. "We are going to avenge you, Howland."

"How?" While the prospect of humiliating Waldron Frey did appeal to the wounded crannogman, having Lyanna do it worried him. "I heard of your betrothal. I'd rather not be the cause of any royal scandal that ropes in the King and Crown Prince."

"There are ways to work it around so that it doesn't track back to Lyanna," Dacey mused. "The Freys are idiots, so they won't put two and two together."

An idea suddenly clicked into Lyanna's head. One that she could almost imagine her father scolding her over and Brandon yelling that she was mad, but it refused to leave her mind. Resolve growing by each moment that passed. They'll be on the watch for me… but not on the watch for Howland. "Does Waldron Frey plan to enter any of the contests?"

Both fellow northerners peered at Lyanna quizzically. Her statement abrupt and out of nowhere. "He wants to enter the joust. Says he's a great horseman."

Dacey snorted. "Likely because he's too much of a reed to fight in the melee against Gerold Hightower or Jaime Lannister."

Howland couldn't help but smile softly. Wanting to laugh but in too much pain. "The Haigh bannerman will go with him, and I'm certain Boros the Bald will do it as well."

All three in the joust… perfect. A wide, wolfish grin stretched out over Lyanna's face. "Howland, you'll need to find me a set of cheap armor. Dacey, find me a plain palfrey."

Listening to her plan, even the she-bear was incredulous. "Really, Lya? You're basically a princess at this point and you're going to draw all that attention to yourself?" The King was known to be quite mercurial - it was quite possible that this would set him off.

"I haven't been introduced to the realm yet, so only an observant northerner would recognize me on sight." Neither was able to dissuade her. "If I am to be confined to the Red Keep, then let the she-wolf have one last blaze of glory." Oh, it would be good.

Notes:

And just like that, Robert lost the Starks. Given that Brandon went screaming to King's Landing and demanding Rhaegar come out and die, his reaction her is legit.

With Aerys, all roads for him lead back to Duncan, the Prince of Dragonflies. I couldn't resist putting the thing about him being a dancer. He had to have a personality before the madness :D

Yep, the rumors are true of Connington. Will only complicate matters between him and Rhaegar later. We'll see more of him when they return to King's Landing (I plan to have in depth characterizations, just spaced out along the line of the story).

Lyanna is a dirty dirty girl, taking care of herself only minutes before planning the Knight of the Laughing tree.

Ned goes to confront Rhaegar, but meets someone interesting along the way ;)

Chapter 7: Repercussions

Notes:

Thanks for all the kind support, everyone!

I know a lot of the story is moving fast and glosses over some political factors, but we're dealing with a week-long tourney first. The politics will rear their ugly head soon.

Comment moderation has been disabled.

Relationship tags have been updated

Enjoy and please comment :D

"My Lords, If we may…"

"Silence, Rhaegar," Aerys said curtly, waving him off. "I'll handle this." He leaned forward, hands on his chin - an almost gleeful smile planted on his face. It wasn't just the announcement that pleased him. Rhaegar could tell he was just itching to see which Lord or religious figure first talked themselves into an execution for treason. "Tell me, my Lords. Repeat it again, why is this betrothal such an issue?"

In front, swaddled in their flowing silks or simple armor were several lords of Dorne. Representing the interests of Prince Doran in his absence. Princess Elia was one of them and rather well-liked in her homeland, and a slight to her honor was a slight on all of Dorne. "If I may, your Grace," stated Ormond Yronwood, one of the most powerful Lords and leader of the assemblage. "It is a grievous insult to Dorne to set the Princess Elia aside for another bride."

If Aerys saw this as treason, he did not show it. "I don't see an insult. No one said that the Princess would be set aside."

"If you mean for the Prince to take two wives as King Maegor, such cheapened the reputation of each bride," Lord Oller piped up, a thin, reedy man. Rhaegar wished he could sink into the furniture. He personally saw nothing wrong with what Maegor did in the beginning, but the idea that either Elia or the beautiful she-wolf that haunted his dreams would be cheapened made the Prince disgusted with himself.

His father on the other hand had no shame. "Maegor gave each wife of his the honor of continuing to grace his bed, even after they failed him," hissed Aerys, causing Oller to flinch. Laughing, he turned to Yronwood. "If either Prince Martell has an issue, they can come and tell me personally. But they would be wrong because Elia belongs to me now." Rhaegar wanted to punch his father for his arrogance, but stayed silent. It would only make things worse. "She is a member of House Targaryen, and so will Lady Stark before too long."

"Bigamy is against the will of the Seven!" All eyes turned to the young Septon of Harrenhal. A young firebrand, rather handsome with a chiseled chin and brilliant blonde hair - Rhaegar thought the young maidens of his village cried when he devoted himself to the Faith - burned with devotion to the gods of the Andals. "The Prince will burn if he allows himself to take another bride!"

Rather than order Gerold or Arthur to behead the firebrand, Aerys erupted into laughter. "Rhaegar is a dragon. Dragon's don't burn you pompous fool!" More laughs, even Rhaegar and some of the Dornish joining in. The Faith wasn't popular in Targaryen circles. Aerys didn't care, while Rhaegar had his own spirituality he kept in the privacy of his chambers. Not wise to antagonize them, however. "The High Septon can kiss my ass if he thinks his child-buggering self can meddle in my affairs."

The Septon continued to stare down the King, the chances of someone losing their head only increasing. "Perhaps we should confer with the High Septon personally about this matter," Rhaegar interjected, calming down the simmering tensions. "Have you spoke with Prince Doran or Prince Oberyn, Lord Ormond?"

As Lord Yronwood continued to prattle on about propriety and the need to follow the will of the gods - not that it didn't stop him, given the prevalence of various knights in his keep named Sand - a servant snuck in through one of the side doors. Rhaegar noticed him out of the corner of his eye, one of his father's 'favorites.' As such he snuck past the kingsguards and approached the King, whispering something into his father's ear. The frown turned into a look of interest and then into a wide smile. "Good, oh most good," Aerys exclaimed, interrupting Yronwood. "Tell him to deliver them to my chambers and hold them under guard." The servant bowed and darted out.

Rhaegar leaned in to his father. "Is something the matter, your Grace?"

Aerys blinked and turned to his son, as if in the moment he had completely forgotten about everything. "Oh, my son…" The King glanced at the Lords. "Umm… take care of this. I have pressing matters to attend to." Standing, all in the room fell to one knee. Gesturing dismissively to them, Aerys made his way out with Ser Gerold and Ser Jonothor following.

The Crown Prince saw his chance to end this. "Lords of Dorne, I understand your concerns over the Princess Elia, but the succession rights of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys will not change. I fully intend to continue my lifelong commitment to the Princess Elia."

"Such a marriage disrespects the gods!" proclaimed the septon. His ire was raised while the Dornish were… somewhat placated by his earnestness. "The Faith will not permit it!"

"The Faith permitted both the Pact of Ice and Fire - a pact both blessed by the Most Devout and the High Septon at the time - and the Doctrine of Exceptionalism," hissed Connington, proving his appointment as Hand did not cause a loss in skill from Tywin. "His Grace Prince Rhaegar is a Valyrian, the Last Dragon, and is therefore not under the domain of the laws of the Andals."

Bristling, the Septon pointed an accusatory finger at Rhaegar. "You have no dragons anymore. Be wary of what you seek… my Prince." With a huff, he left.

Milling about, uncomfortable at the turn of events, the Dornish Lords didn't hesitate to flee once Rhaegar dismissed him. The Prince wanting a stiff drink as he rubbed his temples. "I don't anticipate a problem with Dorne until my dear goodbrothers get involved."

"No, the Dornish have been… rather lax in their morals," Connington chuckled, eyes growing wistful - as if remembering something fond from his memories. "The Martells' ire will be personal, but the Faith is another matter entirely. I shall see to it that the septon has an accident."

Rhaegar shook his head. "That would just cause more headaches. Notify Varys and your contacts in Oldtown to bribe the High Septon. A man that doesn't want his predilection for boys under the age of ten would likely proclaim visions of leaving House Targaryen alone if the price is right." Connington nodded, slightly proud of his normally straight-laced friend for his cunning. "Anything else?"

A sigh from the Hand of the King. "Well, Rhaegar… your mother is currently meeting with Rickard Stark to negotiate the bride price for the Lady Lyanna." Connington's nose wrinkled in distaste.

Burying his face in his palm, running it down his face, Rhaegar felt his head pounding. "I'm going to get that drink now."

---

The council room was ornate. House Whent was a very wealthy house, it's Lord soaring no expense. Lushly decorated with the finest Myrish rugs, ironwood paneling, and crystal chandeliers, Rickard Stark could just imagine Harren the Black sitting in the finery, imagining himself the King of all he surveyed before Aegon the Conqueror burned him alive. Winterfell was never even close to approach something like this, and while his spartan northern sensibilities rebelled at the thought it didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it.

While he was one with rather southern tastes in his love of life, Brandon didn't have the same sense of appreciation. Instead, he was rather irritated. "Where are they?" His feet tapped anxiously on the carpet below, stomping upon the intricate flower designs. "I bet the Mad King is making us wait. Yank our chain."

Rickard glared at his heir. "Hush!" Brandon was impetuous and hotheaded, but such was unacceptable. "You must not speak like that here!"

Fortunately, Brandon was summarily chastised. "Forgive me, father. The last day has been… quite harried on my emotions. This betrothal out of nowhere, and Lord Baratheon…" His fists clenched in a suppressed fury. "I still wish I could strangle the cunt."

While the heir was a fire mountain, the Lord more approached a slowly creeping sheet of ice that ended up tearing apart whole boulders. "That was a… mistake on my part." Ned punished himself for the oversight, but Rickard knew it was he that bore the real blame for the misguided betrothal. "I should have been more tactful in the betrothal negotiations."

Shaking his head furiously, Brandon placed his hand on his father's. "Do not blame yourself, and Ned shouldn't blame himself either. This is no one's responsibility but that adulterous pig that forced himself on and then disrespected Lyanna." Such was the way many Lords were - Brandon couldn't excuse some of his behavior either - but Lyanna was his sister and someone precious. A beautiful winter rose. She deserved only the best. Who better than a Targaryen Prince?

"Ned spoke highly of him, but anyone who wouldn't wait for consent will never get my Lyanna," Rickard said firmly. "And that includes Prince Rhaegar." Suddenly the doors opened and in walked Ser Jaime Lannister, resplendent in his shining uniform and brilliant golden hair. The two Starks had just managed to stand when the breathtaking form of Queen Rhaella Targaryen entered, dressed in a form-fitting red gown and wearing her silver hair in a loose bun. "My Queen," Rickard bowed.

The Queen smiled, gesturing for them to take their seats. "Forgive my husband and son, my Lords. They were both tied up by urgent business and requested me to speak with you in their steads." Actually, Aerys had ordered her to do it while Rhaegar was very likely kept in the dark, but Rhaella wasn't about to inform them of such. Probably told me the wrong time in order to make them wait. Aerys loved his mind games.

"It is insulting that Prince Rhaegar doesn't have the balls to face us…"

Rickard elbowed Brandon under the table. "Apologies for my son. He is a man of strong opinions." He smiled apologetically at the Queen.

It was returned. "I fully understand. My family is the same way, and the news of last night undoubtedly were trying for your House." Rickard couldn't help but think well of Rhaella - she was a breath of fresh air that enamored everyone in the room. Even Brandon, as it seemed. "I feel that a bride and a groom should not be involved in betrothal negotiations. It tends to… complicate the development of affection."

Blinking, the Warden of the North could only nod. "You speak with the wisdom of someone double your age, your Grace. My son and I can only hope that my daughter and Prince Rhaegar can make such a connection." One she failed to have with Robert Baratheon. "But, we are not smallfolk that may run away for love. With our power and birth comes a great responsibility, and I hope your Grace isn't offended that I cannot obey the King's decree without concessions." A silent prayer to the old gods that it was Rhaella he now bartered with. Brandon might not see it, but she was far more amenable than the mercurial Aerys. They could speak more bluntly.

"Agreed, and I didn't expect you would." The Queen took a piece of paper from a scribe behind her, pushing it across the table to Rickard. "Lord Mooton of Maidenpool passed recently of old age. The position of Master of Laws is thus vacant. This is a royal decree signed by my husband naming you to that position, and all it requires is your signature." She leaned back in her chair and waited for Rickard's answer.

To say that the Starks were stunned was an understatement. Rickard stared at the paper, reading the words over and over again to make sure of what it said. Brandon had no subtlety, gaping like a fish. "My father… Master of Laws? Part of the Small Council?" It was an honor no Stark had held since Cregan Stark in the early days of Aegon III's reign.

"Such is a great honor, your Grace," Rickard answered honestly, ignoring his son. The Warden of the North wished his heir would learn more tact from him - unlike the more taciturn and cautious Ned, Brandon was rash. Impetuous. One of the reasons Catelyn Tully was a good match. The dutiful and pious members of that house would temper Brandon's fire. "However, there must always be a Stark at Winterfell. I cannot accept on such… short notice."

"Father, what are…" Another elbow in the ribs shut Brandon up.

Rhaella's soft smile didn't fall. If anything, she seemed impressed. "You have a third son in Winterfell, correct?"

"Aye, Benjen, a good lad. Wants to be a knight of the realm." An idea came to mind. "I sought to end the isolation of the North in order to prepare better for winter and improve the North out of the provincial backwater most see it as. Already Hoster Tully of the Riverlands has promised supplies of wood and foodstuffs for the North."

"Something House Targaryen can promise to match double, perhaps triple," Rhaella continued. "For an alliance in perpetuity for the length of my husband and son's reigns on the Iron Throne. We are prepared to even offer a shipload of Myrish glass for your glass gardens. I have heard they are quite lovely."

The Queen had surprised him yet again. Leaning forward, Rickard felt this conversation was going perfectly. "I am truly impressed with your knowledge of the North, your Grace."

Her eyes sparkled. "Only fitting to learn of the land of my future gooddaughter." Yes, things were well on track.

---

My dearest nephew,

The lines in front of him were in High Valyrian - a particularly ancient form of High Valyrian. Few outside of several Archmaesters in the Citadel and scholars in Meereen could parse the script. Even among House Targaryen, it was an art that had come close to dying after the Dance of Dragons. Viserys II wrote it, as did Daeron II. Aegon V was a particularly fluent expert who taught it to his daughter Rhaella. And Rhaella taught it to Rhaegar, using his skills to converse with the man who had taught grandfather Aegon… Maester Aemon Targaryen at Castle Black.

My unseeing eyes keep me from truly comprehending the words in front of me, but that doesn't mean I don't cherish every letter you send me. Keep family close, my nephew, and I pray that your family doesn't sunder itself as mine or your father's did.

Your predicament is one that would both delight and vex lesser men. Two highborn beauties sharing your bed… even I am jealous…

Rhaegar bit back a chuckle. His great uncle had a way with words - one can never be too old to look or to dream. Aemon gave the best advice, which was why Rhaegar wrote so often. One day I will meet you and free you of your exile to the useless Night's Watch. This he swore on every god he knew.

And yet such unions pose great problems. Visenya grew bitter because though she married Aegon out of duty, she was hurt that he preferred Rhaenys over her. Maegor essentially condemned his brother to be overthrown when he sought a second bride, though I believe most of the anger there was driven by jealousy from the bitter old men within the Most Devout. I hesitate to comment on the particular peril in regards to your father and the current political climate. Your mother, my niece, would be more well versed on that. I can only truly give you proper advice on history and our family.

Rhaegar, you are a dragon. You answer to neither gods nor men, and are recognized as exceptional by even the most zealous members of the Faith. Aegon married both his sisters and didn't look back - the propaganda says different but from the sources of our family Visenya and Rhaenys got along swimmingly, and at the time of Maegor's birth Aegon and Visenya completely reconciled. He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood. Along with the fighting and the ruling, we are predestined to be masters in the act of love as well.

He was no prude or shy virgin, but coming close to being lectured on the intimate arts by his ancient uncle very nearly turned him into one. Drinking a cup of watered wine to calm his flush, Rhaegar continued to read.

I cannot tell you what to do, but let me elaborate on the same basis of advice I had given you before. Love is the death of duty, but what is duty compared to a beautiful baby in your arms? Compared to two beauties clung to your chest that absolutely adore you? Love… it is of itself its own duty, and those that truly love you would recognize your other duties and assist, not hinder them. From what you told me, Elia is of this and I pray that your Winter Bride is the same.

Heed this, nephew. You'll have happiness as well as greatness.

Your great-uncle.

Aemon Targaryen.

Sighing, Rhaegar refilled his cup - enough to help ease his nerves, but not potent enough to dull his senses. Aemon is more optimistic about Elia than reality. Rhaegar cared deeply for his wife, a far better woman than he deserved. It could be called… love? But his father and both their expectations had strangled any true affection in the crib before it even happened. She would never truly love him, not in the way his uncle spoke of.

Gods hope that Lyanna isn't the same. The girl… she bewitched him with merely a look and a glimpse at her style. She was like no other, a beautiful yet indefatigable northern rose. Rhaegar hoped his mother's negotiations would bear fruit. If the Starks weren't amenable to the marriage, it would be even more loveless than his and Elia's.

A knock on the door interrupted his brooding. "Yes, Ser Arthur?" It could be only one, Rhaegar having given strict instructions not to be disturbed.

"You have a rather important guest seeking an audience, your Grace." The tone was formal - it had to have been quite serious. "The Lady Cersei Lannister."

Yes, very serious indeed. Rhaegar ran a hand through his silver locks, biting back a panicked breath. Stop it, you are a dragon. He took a deep breath and adopted his mask of strength yet polite indifference. "Let her in."

The Lady Cersei Lannister was quite a beautiful woman, bearing the same fair looks as her twin. Lesser men than he would have killed entire villages for the chance to even have one night with a woman such as her, and even Rhaegar had to admit that she would have been an illustrious match. But taking in the arrogant smile and air of almost girlish adoration in her gaze at him, Rhaegar knew why any semblance of this had to be crushed.

His father would kill her - rape her and kill her just to fuck with Tywin. And all she desired was to be Queen. Not him, but to be Queen. Even at their worst, Elia was sincere in wanting to be a proper confidant to him and a mother to their children. Cersei's immature pining was evident in how she bowed an over the top curtsey. "My Prince. I could think of no one I would have rather presented my belated arrival than yourself."

"You flatter me, my Lady," Rhaegar stated without a hint of affection. "Yet you could have done the same while my father and I were holding court."

"Perhaps, but my Lord Father recommended that I instead speak with you." A half lie. Tywin probably had told her to stay away from his father, and Cersei interpreted that to mean see him. The daughter of Casterly Rock had the makings of a power player on the political scene, just not with the subject of her girlish feelings - here she was as obvious as a roaring lion. "I have heard of his Grace's betrothal announcement. It is such a shame to be trapped in yet another marriage you do not want."

Honestly he would have felt that, but even one glimpse of Lyanna had muddled his feelings in that regard. Yet the hopeful gaze in Cersei's eyes, he had to extinguish it. "On the contrary, my Lady, I am quite enamored with my new bride. And she with me." Not a lie as to him, and wishful thinking on her part.

Cersei's smile fell. Hope curdling into a mix of worry and pleading. She had readily accepted to lead the Lannister delegation to the tourney with her father's reluctance to be in the same kingdom as Aerys to not only see her beloved brother but to finally seduce the Prince she loved. Hearing of the betrothal announcement hadn't dampened her resolve, since it seemed clear that Rhaegar didn't want it. But now he seemingly did. "My Prince, you need not let the spat between my father and your father affect things. You will be King…"

"Will be. I am not now - if I marry you, my father would kill you and then disinherit me."

"Just for disobeying…"

"Not just for that. He hates you, hates every Lannister. Ever since your mother spurned his advances so many years ago." Rhaegar didn't want to do this, but he needed Cersei to get out of his hair to keep the peace. "I am to marry the Lady Lyanna and keep Princess Elia."

Cersei felt her plan rapidly collapsing. "My Prince… I love you…"

Gods, spare me these blushing maidens. "You don't, my Lady. You only wish to be Queen. That I blame on your father and I can't fault you for his ambitions." Motioning for Ser Arthur, he gently guided her to the door. "But it will not happen, so I suggest finding someone else. You are a beautiful, desirable catch and I have no doubt you will find someone worthy of you."

"But…"

"Good day, Lady Cersei." He shut the door in her face, hoping to the gods that this would be the end of her meddling.

Staring at the oaken door with pure shock, Cersei just couldn't believe it. For the King to reject the betrothal request solely out of enmity to her father was one thing, for it had nothing to do with her. But for the Prince to point blank reject her to her face… How? How can he choose that weak Martell girl or the… the… Northern girl over me? She was meant to be queen. Raised from birth to be queen. Told by the great Tywin Lannister that she would be queen…

"Best get a move on, my Lady," Ser Oswell stated bluntly. "The Prince has heard your piece already."

Shock turned to anger. "I am the daughter of the Warden of the West! You do not command me!"

The son of the Lord of Harrenhal smiled politely - it was far more condescending than a sneer. "Such is true, but you do not command me either, Lady Lannister. Please find someplace else to loiter or I will summon your brother to do it for me."

Mouth opening to retort, even in her anger Cersei realized that all of this was pointless. Turning, she stormed off, stormcloud crackling atop her head. "Good thing the Prince didn't marry this one," she heard the Sword of the Morning say to Whent, who laughed just as she turned the corner. It only served to stoke Cersei's rage.

So consumed was she in the ire over both Rhaegar's rejection and the insults of the Kingsguard, Cersei didn't realize she was set on a collision course till slamming right into a person turning into the hallway from a different corridor. The man stumbling but staying upright while Cersei toppled back. Crying out from the sharp pain on her backside. "Fuck!"

Regaining his balance, Ned Stark immediately was at the side of the woman he had absentmindedly knocked over. Noticing her fine spun silks, she was clearly a woman of high status. Honorably, he quickly pulled her up by the hand. "Please, forgive my lack of attention my La…" Ned trailed off, tongue tied as he finally caught a glimpse of her face.

The woman in front of him was stunning. Golden hair, honey skin, vibrant green eyes… she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen - and that included the dozens of highborn ladies that had congregated in Harrenhal to find proper intendeds. Opening his mouth, Ned tried to speak but found himself unable to.

Other than a cursory glance at his face, All Cersei could see was the direwolf sigil on the young man's leathers. A Stark! It was as if the gods continued to torture her that day. "Stuff your apology, northern fool!" And with that she disappeared down the corridor, leaving a befuddled Ned Stark staring at her retreating form.

---

At the second knock on the door, Rhaegar groaned. "Can this girl not take a hint?" he muttered to himself, this time not waiting for Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell to open it for him… Only this time it was not Cersei Lannister. Watched by the shit-eating grins of the two Kingsguards - they greatly enjoyed every latest development of the betrothal that didn't create cause for alarm, especially anything that would result in their Prince's annoyance or embarrassment - there stood Eddard Stark. Trying to appear stern and unyielding, but something was on his mind that didn't involve being here.

Nevertheless, he still bowed. "Your Grace."

Rhaegar nodded respectfully. "Lord Stark." He motioned with his hand. "Please come in." The second son of the Lord of Winterfell had the look of a Stark - almost perfect in that regard. Light brown hair that reached down to brush his shoulders, comely but ruggedly so, and a tough kind of wiry frame. And Rhaegar could tell, Eddard Stark wore his emotions on his sleeve - naturally brooding, but honest.

The Prince liked him already.

"Forgive me for being blunt upon our first words," Ned began, "But I just ran into a rather enraged woman in the corridors not a few minutes ago?"

Blinking, suddenly Rhaegar couldn't help but laugh. "Oh that." He shook his head. "Lady Cersei Lannister. Came to speak to me about a betrothal between us."

Cersei Lannister… The beauty now had a name and a house - quite unattainable for a second son of a backwater, but for the goodbrother to the future King… No, don't jape yourself, Ned. "So that's who she was?" A wary look the Prince's way. "And did you accept?"

"Not in the slightest. I am… happily married to the Princess Elia, and the only other attachment would be to… your sister…" Rhaegar knew he was treading on thin ice, and wanted to make a good impression.

Expression hardening, Ned crossed his arms. "Do I have leave to speak freely, your Grace?"

Rhaegar waved his hand. "We are supposed to end up family, so I would only think less of you if you didn't, Lord Stark. And call me Rhaegar. You are in private and my future goodbrother, so you have leave to."

"Alright." The Prince had a charm about him, one that one couldn't help but like on an almost ordinary level - though the silver hair and stunning Valyrian features branded him as anything but ordinary. "I cannot lie and say the prospect of my sister being the second wife of a man is not concerning to myself and my House."

"Completely fair, Lord Stark…"

"If I am to call you Rhaegar, you may call me Ned."

A smile formed on the dragon's face. "Ned… if I have the honor of marrying the Lady Lyanna, she would be a Princess and Queen on equal footing as the Princess Elia. Targaryens are different from other families, and our blood leaves us quite… passionate with our love."

"As was Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel… at least at first." Ned regarded him with new eyes. He could see what his sister saw, what the singing represented. There wasn't anything underhanded about Rhaegar Targaryen, at least not in his own personality. The man was quite naturally a decent person, same as Lyanna. Knowing now where to look, Ned could tell. "You said 'if I have the honor.' You would seriously refuse your father's orders?"

Sighing, the Prince ran a hand through his hair. "I would hope such an event doesn't occur, but if need be I would never force your sister into a marriage she would not want." Such had essentially occurred with Elia, and Rhaegar was damned if he would do it again. "You have my word as a Targaryen, Ned." He offered his hand.

Ned took the offered hand, squeezing it. The Prince had a strong grip, but didn't show it off by crushing the other as Robert would have - a small but welcome sign. Were the signs all there? "You seem to be a good man, my pri… Rhaegar. But I wouldn't call my judgement of a person the best after the last few days."

"Why is that?" Rhaegar was genuinely curious. This man would be his goodbrother, after all.

"Nothing…" Ned shrugged. "Just that I thought my best friend, Lord Baratheon would be an excellent match. Turns out he was… for House Stark. Not for Lyanna." Grey eyes found Rhaegar, narrowed. "It doesn't matter what I think, or what House Stark thinks. The North hasn't participated in southern politics since the Dance and we really don't need to now that our alliance with the Tullys is going through. I will not support any marriage alliance - not even one with the Targaryen Crown Prince - unless my sister approves."

Regarding the second son of House Stark, Rhaegar felt his respect for the young man only increase. A little naive but that comes with age and pedigree. With the right wife, he should have been the heir to Winterfell. "Frankly, Ned, I wouldn't expect anything else from honorable men."

Tension seeming to wash away, a small grin appeared on Ned's face. "Would you like to meet her?"

"What?" Rhaegar blinked, hoping he'd heard Ned correctly.

"Lyanna seems, taken with you, though she has told me you've never properly met." He wasn't going to betray her secrets, but her feelings for the Prince were obvious enough. "I think that should be rectified."

Rhaegar gulped. "I would very much like that, Lord Stark… if there is no trouble."

Grinning openly, Ned motioned to the door. "That, my Prince, would depend on Lyanna." The dragon and the wolf shared a chuckle before making their way out of the solar.

Notes:

I told you I'd be subverting expectations on this story. Gonna make sure they make sense but at this point in the timeline of GoT, the personalities are radically different enough to be able to start over :)

The first smatterings of pushback from the Dornish and the Faith. Expect more from the Dornish in the short term. We'll see more of Elia soon.

Rhaella is smart, and Master of Laws is probably a job well suited for Rickard.

Gotta love Aemon, and we'll see more of Cersei's reasoning. Let's just say that she will be on a different path.

Next up, Rhaegar meets Lyanna and we see more of Baelish ;)

Chapter 8: Guess Who's Coming

Notes:

Reception for this story continues to amaze :D

Lot of discussion about Cersei... fundamentally - as we will see - she isn't the bitter harpy she was in the show. Not yet at least.

Be sure to check out my new collaboration Last Hope For Westeros

Also, there's a new story I read called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest and it's really, really good! Check it out!

Enjoy and please comment :D

Household guards clicking their heels in attention as she walked past, Princess Elia Targaryen made sure to offer them sweet smiles. Acknowledging her approval of their diligence. Such was a reason she was quite popular in the capitol, much like how she was popular all over Dorne. She and Oberyn always treated the smallfolk and servants as human beings rather than furniture - though for Oberyn it was at least half-motivated to get under the skirts or into the pants of all of them - while Doran was more circumspect as a highborn was expected to behave.

If Elia cared for how people expected her to behave, she didn't largely care. Frail as she was, she was still a descendent of the Warrior Queen Nymeria, and would make her voice heard. Luckily, Rhaegar was compatible with that, even if their compatibility was frayed in other respects.

But her mind didn't focus on this, or even her usual risks and problems. With Aegon with his nursemaids and Rhaenys at her early lessons, the scroll in her hand needed attending to - and there was only one person she trusted enough to discuss it with.

No one willing to stop or sideline her with the King at Harrenhal, Elia threw open the door to the nondescript bedchambers despite the muffled grunts and moans emanating from within. They only grew once entering, eyes zeroing in on a tangle of sweaty flesh locked in the heat of passion. "Of course I find you here."

A scream left the throat of the pretty blonde chambermaid, eyes flying open to find the Princess staring at her with arms crossed. Mouth open as he emptied inside the warm cunt he had been enjoying, the burly guard turned and gasped. Pulling out and spilling his seed on the sheets, scrambling to find his trousers. After a moment, both hurried out of bed and bent the knee. "Your Grace."

Nodding at them, Elia shifted her gaze to the third person on the bed. "If you expect me to bend the knee, you can just execute me now… your Grace," Ellaria said sarcastically. Here she was, already on her second climax sandwiched between a powerful cock inside her and a beautiful maid to devour, only for her mistress to barge in.

Annoyed, Elia simply waved her hand. Dismissing both the guard and the servant, both of whom fled with all due haste. The Princess turned back to her lady in waiting. "Do you have any discretion? Like, any at all?" she huffed.

Standing, her nude body on full display - growing up in the Water Gardens, Elia was no prude, just private for her own activities - Ellaria walked towards a chest laid out on a table. "Stop being so paranoid, Princess. The King is out of the city, and you have free reign of the castle." Taking a flagon of moon tea from the chest, Ellaria downed it. While she had no compunction sleeping with the smallfolk, only one of noble blood could sire a child in her womb. "My offer still stands on joining me. There are several maidens that would love to have the future queen lick their cunt."

Elia blushed beet red. "That's… no… I am the wife of the Crown Prince. Even the appearance of impropriety could damage me."

An eyebrow rose, the Princess declining in a very… oblique way. Something to consider later. "Your loss," Ellaria shrugged, finally donning a robe - though the silky fabric left nothing to the imagination. "So why are you here interrupting my fun?"

Conversation finally changed, Elia sighed. Holding out the scroll. "It's done."

Brows furrowing in confusion, Ellaria took the dispatch, unfurling it and reading quickly. Her eyes widened almost immediately. "He did it already? His Grace doesn't waste time." She clicked her tongue, nodding. "So should I call you Ceryse Hightower now?"

"Shut up, this is serious… and I did bear Rhaegar children."

"It's said in Dorne that the Citadel and Most Devout used spells to make old Maegor childless, but I digress. It's official, the Prince is to be married again." For once, Ellaria's face twisted in concern. "How do you feel?"

"Honestly…" Plopping onto the bed, not caring that all manner of fluids were likely coating her orange dress, Elia covered her face in her hands. "Fearful. For this Stark girl… for Rhaegar… His Grace will only make them as miserable as he made me. Rhaegar especially, I worry so much for him…"

Ellaria sat next to her. "Because you love him?"

Another huff. "Because he's the father of my children and my friend."

"Friends don't coax those kinds of screams out of you at night… well, at least your friends don't."

Elia scowled. "You're impossible."

"And yet you don't want another lady in waiting." Wrapping an arm around Elia's shoulder, Ellaria comforted her as best she could. "Well, all we can do is wait till the tourney ends and they arrive in the capitol. Whether I should prepare for a celebration or a war." They sat silently for a few moments. "I wonder how pretty she is," she said lasciviously.

The Princess smacked her on the arm.

---

"... and the cook ended up slipping and falling into a sack of flour," Ned chuckled, regaling his soon to be goodbrother of a tale where the Stark siblings conspired to steal sweets from the Winterfell kitchens. Rhaegar listened intently, violet eyes sparkling largely for the first time since leaving his children in the Red Keep to come here. "Father was furious and called us all in his solar."

"Oh, this I have to hear." Rhaegar knew his father would have probably caned him and then had the cook executed, but he wouldn't let his family's darkness poison the Starks. It will once you marry Lyanna. He buried his guilt.

"Lyanna took the blame, saying she was acting alone." Ned smiled wistfully. "Father loves her the best, so she got the least punishment."

Just like defending that young Lord. A proud girl with a sense of justice - everything he heard of his bride was causing his heart to flutter, as if he were some lovestruck boy of ten and three."Your sister is quite a woman." Seeing Ned nod, Rhaegar tried a different tack. "I heard she's good with a sword."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Servants gossip."

"That they do." Ned sighed. "Aye, she loves it. Riding and fighting - father didn't let her at first, but she wore him down. She's better than me sometimes."

Rhaegar chuckled. "I'll have to see that to believe it." You already did. "Baelor the Blessed locked his sisters in the maidenvault, but that's an extreme example. Your sister would have freedom in the Red Keep to an extent not seen in most castles. As a Princess, her authority is below only myself, my father, my mother, and Lord Connington."

"Equal to your other wife?" Ned held up two hands. "Not being antagonistic, but it's a fact. You'll have to handle that issue if the north will accept this marriage. Having the Princess Elia being the power and Lya being the broodmare will only insult the entire North."

Exhaling, Rhaegar vowed to himself to make sure Lyanna never felt like a second wife… nor Elia feeling like she was supplanted.

He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood.

His great uncle's words provided the proper guidance.

Reaching the Stark tent, Rodrik Cassel - the head of their household guard - bowed low as he saw the dragon prince. "My Prince, Lord Stark…" When both tried to enter, he held up a hand. Less in an order and in more of a request. "I'd wait a moment before entering, your Grace. Ned."

Rhaegar blinked while Ned crossed his hands. "And why would that be? Is my brother styling his hair again?" He turned to his future goodbrother. "I swear, he'd perfume his beard when he's not breaking heads."

"Sounds like someone who should've been born in King's Landing," grinned Rhaegar. "So Ser Rodrik, right? Why can't we go in?"

Before Rodrik answered, a rather feminine giggle emerged from within. "Oh, Bran… you are good at this."

Both looking at each other, Ned grew embarrassed while Rhaegar laughed. "Seems you come from a very sexy family, Ned." First Lyanna acts like a proper warrior lady, then Ned 'charms' Cersei Lannister, and now this. He was having more fun than he had in a while.

Not amused at all, Ned slammed his hand against one of the beams holding the tent upright. "Bran! The Crown Prince is here to see Lyanna! If you have something you don't want him to see, please cover it!"

Muffled voices and the quick flutter of clothes came from within the tent. "Fuck, uh… seven hells… come in, my Prince." Letting Ned lead the way, Rhaegar came face to face with Lyanna's oldest brother and his betrothed. Brandon Stark was taller than Ned, less stocky and in possession with a more… classic beauty. His intended was clearly a Tully, fire red hair and outwardly dour… yet seemingly devoted to her betrothed. If he could settle down and she could loosen up, they'd be a solid match. Brandon bowed. "My Prince, it is an honor."

Eying the rather large red mark adorning Catelyn Tully's neck, Rhaegar grinned softly and nodded his head. "So you are the famous Brandon Stark your brother was telling me about." Brandon's brow rose as he looked at Ned. "Don't worry, he only said good things."

"Mostly good things," deadpanned Ned, earning an amused death glare from his brother. Rhaegar smiled wider, already charmed by the close sibling dynamics of House Stark - the closest he'd seen to him was Oberyn and Elia. It heartened him in regards to Lyanna.

Lyanna.

Japes aside, the serious matter underlying all of them was forefront. "I wasn't happy, my Prince." Brandon's eyes narrowed, while Catelyn looked slightly uncomfortable as her intended challenged the Crown Prince. "What his Grace did, without consulting my father, it seemed very much like stealing my sister."

Rhaegar sighed. "That's my father, not me. I have nothing but the best intentions for your sister, and I hope I am a worthy replacement for the betrothal to Lord Baratheon…"

While it was a humbling gesture on Rhaegar's part to earn their trust, the mere mention of Robert's name drove Brandon to anger. "That pig?! I'd betroth my sister to a gravedigger before him!" A gentle touch from his betrothed calmed him down. "I am no longer angry with you, my Prince, but I will not have my sister treated like a common broodmare, do you understand?"

"I understand perfectly." He clasped his hand on his chest. "On my honor as a Targaryen, that will never be my intention." Brandon's gaze softened, Ned smiling. This was going well.

"No, Petyr! Don't!" The four within the tent looked at the entrance, attention caught by the frantic screaming. "You'll die!"

"That's my sister…" Catelyn murmured.

"Get your hands off me, Lysa!" came a reedy but masculine voice. One Rhaegar recognized as that of a smoothtalker trying his best to appear strong and vicious. King's Landing had plenty of suckups like that. Lo and behold, Petyr Baelish stormed into the tent, red as a ripe apple. Clutched to his doublet trying to pull him back was ten and three year old Lysa Tully, eyes wide and tears streaming as she screeched incoherently. Eyes falling on Catelyn, likely seeing the mark on her neck, Baelish's face grew even redder. "Brandon Stark, you wretch! Unhand the Lady Catelyn at once!"

Catelyn opened her mouth to scold him only for Brandon to urge her protectively behind him. "What did you call me, Littlefinger?!"

"Both of you! Hold your tone in the presence of the Crown Prince!" Ned saw an opportunity to calm things down and took it.

Littlefinger's anger abated slightly, going white at the first glimpse of the Prince - rage so consuming that he hadn't even noticed. The thin minor lordling fell to his knees, trembling. "Please, please forgive me for my outburst, your Grace. I meant you know insult…"

Rhaegar waved him off. "Get up. It's obvious that your quarrel is with the heir to Winterfell. I'll act as mediator in my role as Crown Prince." Might as well show his future family that he wasn't some mad dragon breathing fire on everything that crossed him. "Now, what is the problem?"

Rage returning to him, Littlefinger leveled an accusatory finger at Brandon. "This immoral cunt doesn't deserve my Catelyn."

"Petyr!" the Tully girl shouted incredulously.

"Call me a cunt one more time…" Brandon hissed back. "I don't take insults from some no-name lordling with nothing to your name."

He was undeterred. "She deserves someone who actually loves her. Like me!"

Both Brandon and Ned snickered, finding the whole thing hilarious. Rhaegar bit back a laugh as well - this boy was the scrawny son of a hedge knight. Could he realistically hope to marry the daughter of a Lord Paramount? It had happened before, but not often and not for scrawny weaklings like him. "If you wish to make a bid for the Lady Catelyn's hand, you can speak with Lord Tully."

"Petyr, please," Catelyn pleaded, grabbing Brandon's hand. "I've given my heart to Bran, please just let me be happy, as my friend."

Words hurting him beyond belief, Littlefinger fought off tears within his eyes. "No. I cannot let you make this mistake."

Brandon stepped forward. "You heard the lady, get the fuck out of this tent…"

What Littlefinger said next shocked all of them. "I challenge you, Brandon Stark to a duel for Lady Catelyn's hand."

"What?"

"Nooo!" shrieked both Catelyn and her little sister.

"Oh just perfect" mumbled Ned to the Prince. "Just what we need, more drama."

---

A pair of highborn ladies about ten feet away, conversation stilling as Lyanna walked by. Eyes flickering to her in a curious wonder. The tenth time that day alone that someone within the tourney grounds - strangers to her - observed her as a smallfolk toddler would a great knight mounted upon his horse. Her household guardsmen that provided the escort her father insisted upon managed to ward away the more leering male gazes with grunts and half-drawn swords, but chose not to interfere with the more benign ones.

With the murmurings between the two ladies, Lyanna groaned. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this."

"You're practically a Targaryen now," Dacey shot back, smirking. "Get used to it. They get stares wherever they go - even the ones that marry into the House of Dragons, their beauty is still sung of to this day."

"Are you trying to make me feel better? Cause it isn't working." Lyanna was used to such stares in Winterfell, but it was… different there. The North always had a sense of close knit camaraderie due to the harsh terrain and brutal winters. Lords that weren't shy about knocking back ale with their charges and smallfolk that could always count on the swift counsel and justice of their Lords. Not so in the south, where questions of form usually took priority over substance. Lyanna enjoyed being able to slip out unnoticed, the level of anonymity being the daughter of an important but backwater House gave her. Now… "I'm like a caged bird, always being gawked at."

Dacey glanced at her, frowning. "Would you rather be chained to Lord Baratheon?"

There was a pause. "I never said that," Lyanna said finally. "Rhaegar… I don't think he would chain me that way." She wanted someone who would respect and honor her, eccentricities and all - Robert wouldn't, while she felt Rhaegar would. "It's the title that's constricting, not the man." For someone that considerate, she'd endure any sense of social duty required of her.

Sensing Lyanna was done with the particular subject, Dacey switched the topic of conversation. Leaning in to whisper. "I found you a lance."

Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "That quickly?" Each spoke in a hushed whisper only the other could hear. "How'd you get it?"

Her Lady in Waiting grinned. "A girl has her ways, especially a Mormont." Of the two, Dacey still bore a significant anonymity among the highborns given that House Mormont was the backwater of the Realm's backwater. A small house, but a proud one as Dacey had said of it, and Lyanna couldn't help but agree. "Howland is handling most of the procurement though. Short and plain, always overlooked. Said he knew the perfect sigil."

"Oh, and what is it?" Couldn't very well use that of a direwolf, or any wolf for that matter. Too obvious.

Smirking, Dacey shook her finger. "Be patient." A giggle at Lyanna's cross look. "Don't worry, it'll be fitting…" She was cut off as a man bumped into her, nearly sending the slender she-bear toppling to the ground. It was Littlefinger, almost comically angry with a flushed face and glowering expression. "Watch it, cunt!" Dacey hissed.

The son of the Fingers glanced back, but his eyes settled on Lyanna. "Tell your shit of a brother that he's going to get what he deserves!"

Bryen, Lyanna's lead guard, glared menacingly at Littlefinger. "Best be on your way now, lad."

Still smoldering, Baelish turned and stormed off. Blinking, the ladies hurried back to their tent to find Catelyn Tully hugging her inconsolable sister, Brandon and Ned standing awkwardly to the side. "By the gods, what in seven hells happened?!" Lyanna exclaimed.

"Petyr Baelish challenged Brandon to a duel for Catelyn's hand," Ned answered grimly, nervously glancing back at the tent.

"I knew he had affections for her." It was parent by just looking at him, but it seemed to Lyanna that Catelyn had no idea. Is she that clueless about some things?

"He'll be killed!" wailed Lysa, who then glared venomously at Brandon. "Look what you did, murderer!" From terrified screams to enraged snarls. The younger Tully daughter clearly had issues, Lyanna could see.

"This is not Bran's fault, it's Petyr's." Say what one wants about Catelyn Tully, she was completely devoted to her betrothed. "He came looking for a confrontation and he got one."

If it weren't for her sister's grip around her, Lyanna thought Lysa would have charged at her brother. "Is this what you wanted?! My sister to your grubby little wildling paws that you'd kill the best man in the world!"

Brandon snorted. "I'm not going to kill him, and I doubt he'll even come close to me." Normally arrogant, from the looks of Petyr Baelish the arrogance on her brother's part was well founded. "Ned, Cat. I need to get something to eat. The morning's…" His eyes flickered suspiciously away from Lyanna. "Discussions and this… whatever it was made me hungry." With a look of longing from his bride, Brandon left.

Clearing his throat, Ned walked to his sister. "Lya, there's someone in the tent wanting to see you about something. Go talk to him while I escort Catelyn and Lysa back to their father." He looked at Dacey. "Mind helping me out?"

"Of course," Dacey replied, smiling at Lyanna who only raised her eyebrows. Who wants to see me? From the way Dacey jumped to go with her brother, it had to be Howland. You fool, why are you here so blatantly… Determined to chew him out, she marched into the tent only to stop in her tracks. Grey eyes meeting a breathtaking shade of violet, knocking all words… all thoughts out of her.

Rhaegar Targaryen smiled at her. "Lady Lyanna," he bowed. Up close and personal, he could feel this woman's effect on him, an enchantment that consumed his very soul. A betrothal he had been dreading for weeks, suddenly upended in… has it only been a day? Since seeing Lyanna Stark fighting those squires, all bigger than her, he haunted his every thought and he just couldn't stop it. Do I want to?

Owl eyed, it took a moment for Lyanna to comprehend who was standing before her. Blushing, she curtseyed, simple tan dress billowing out as she did so. "Your Grace." Trying to ignore the look of him in the dragon-emblazoned gambeson that showed off his toned muscles and trim waist…

There was no denying Lyanna Stark was a beauty. Harsh and wild, but such only enhanced her charm. A direwolf… wild winter rose. "I spoke with both your b...brothers," he said, stammering slightly. "Given our… situation, I feel we should be properly introduced to each other."

Standing there, fingers fiddling with the pleats of her dress, Lyanna's heart thudded out of her chest. The normally unflappable daughter of winter knocked for a loop by the close proximity of the handsome Dragon Prince. "I… I see nothing wrong with that." Here to meet her, to be formally introduced. The last time a man had come for that from her, it hadn't ended well - but this one was different. Lyanna wanted to speak with Rhaegar. "Um… would you like to take a seat, your Grace?"

Falling back on his chivalrous demeanor drummed into him while a squire for Ser Barristan, Rhaegar nodded - containing his amusement about how flustered the Northern beauty was acting. It was both comical and undeniably sweet. "Lead the way, Lady Stark."

Confident but polite, Rhaegar's attitude only flustered Lyanna more. The young girl wanting nothing but to jump him and find out if his lips were as delicious as they looked. "Follow me, this way," she croaked, leading him to her sleep quarters.

"I'm curious as to why House Stark needed a tent." Rhaegar couldn't help but ask, it was not important but gnawed at him. Wanting to know. "As the Warden of the North, Lord Rickard could have had his pick of guest suites in the keep provided by Lord and Lady Whent."

Lyanna shrugged, trying to keep it together. "We got here after the other high lords, and besides. We northerners like to stick with each other." Pushing aside the privacy flap, Lyanna did a double take. Strewn about her cot and chest were bundles of clothes - dresses, sleepwear… underclothes. "Oh gods…"

Pursing his lips, it took all of his strength not to collapse into a fit of laughter - also to hide a spike of desire at seeing the garments his intended wore under her form-fitting dresses. "I take it that these weren't meant to be seen by me, Lady Stark."

Face flushed beet red, she dashed to the bed, scooping clothes and dumping them in her chest. "Stupid servants, stupid Dacey." Lyanna began breathing quickly, humiliated beyond belief. What is fucking wrong with me… Gods, I'm panicking like a little girl… in front of Rhaegar Targaryen… oh Gods…

Unable to stop himself, Rhaegar snickered, finding Lyanna's frantic back and forth an absolute disaster. One of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, enchanting him greatly, here she was acting like a clumsy maiden… and it only served to increase her charm in front of him. Eyes flickering to the chest, something caught his eye. Rhaegar strode to it while Lyanna was busy gathering her shifts in a big ball. "I know this book." Sure enough, the lettering on the spine confirmed it - the binding was the same as the copy in the Red Keep. "Dancing Dragons, by King Viserys II."

Dropping the bundle of clothes, Lyanna blinked. Eyes widening. "Did you read it, your Grace?"

"Of course. It was my favorite as a child - still is by a matter of fact."

Her embarrassment and frantic worry fell, a warm hitch in her heart. "It is my favorite too…" Was she asleep? No, she couldn't be dreaming - this was something she wouldn't have comprehended. "My brother gave it to me as a tenth nameday gift from the Vale."

"Your brother has excellent taste." Opening the book, taking great care to not damage the pages or the binding, he looked at her with keen interest. "Unlike his father, Viserys wasn't an exceptional warrior. He was smart, but contemptible of maesters as well." Waiting for her leave to sit, Lyanna nodded, sitting on her cot and beaming when the gorgeous Valyrian Prince sat next to her. Setting the book back in her lap. "Ended up writing the most accurate take of the Dance of Dragons ever written, even though the Citadel keeps trying to ban this book."

Lyanna looked at him, surprised. "Why would they do that?"

Rhaegar shrugged. "He fought the official historical account written by the Maesters. Knew what they did to Maegor's reputation and was not about to let it happen to his mother and father." This was greatly pleasing to him. Elia liked to read but they couldn't get past their reservations to be that… intimate. His mother was his mother, Connington didn't care for history, and none of the Kingsguards could really be bothered. The Prince wanted someone he could discuss these things for hours on end - and it seemed like he found her. How did I never know of this woman till now? "The maesters insist that Prince Daemon only married Rhaenyra for her throne."

"That is a lie," Lyanna stated vehemently. Their romance had shaped her childhood and adolescent dreams of love, as stated in the novel. "They were madly in love, just like the book says." At his sigh, she placed her hands in her lap. Looking at him pleadingly. Worriedly. "Weren't they…?"

Sighing again, Rhaegar leaned back. "The Maesters wanted to discredit Rhaenyra, largely because she was a woman and their patron, House Hightower, was the blood of the Greens. However, from what our house's sources say, Daemon did initially marry her for the throne, plus for her beauty. Those stories of her growing fat… hugely exaggerated." As he spoke the light in her grey eyes started to dim. As if he had just strangled to death the most precious thing to her. It broke his heart. "But that's not the whole story."

The northern beauty hung on his every word. "Tell me, my Prince."

Gods, this girl would be the death of him. "Something about a dragon… we are temperamental and rather impulsive, especially in our love lives. But when it comes down to it, we mate for life. Such as it was with Daemon. He couldn't help but fall for his she-dragon, even going so far as to leap to his certain death at the God's Eye just to protect her." Glancing at the she-wolf, she was close to swooning. Clutching the book to her chest as if having made a long-sought discovery. "I only wish Winterfell wasn't so far away. Had Cregan Stark got there sooner, Daemon and Rhaenyra would have sat on the Iron Throne for a long time."

Gleeful, Lyanna impulsively reached over to poke Rhaegar in the chest. "You see now the power of the Direwolf. Winter comes for our enemies." Realizing how informal she acted, her eyes widened and she drew away. Opening her mouth to apologize, Lyanna caught the glint in his violet eyes and suddenly they burst into laughter. "Please," she said through her giggles. "Forgive me for that, your Grace."

"Don't worry about that," he said gently, reaching out to place his hand on hers. "And you're my betrothed. Call me Rhaegar."

Rhaegar… The flutter in her heart returned. A pleasant warmth pulsing from his hand onto hers. If this is what the touch of his hand on mine feels like… Lyanna crossed her legs, hoping he didn't notice the sudden heat in her core. "I… like that… Rhaegar." His name felt so good on her lips. "Call me, Lyanna."

"Lyanna. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." She could barely reply. He thinks I'm beautiful… what happened to me? Whatever did, she didn't mind. "So, Lyanna. Tell me something about yourself."

Blinking, Lyanna stared at him. "You want to know about me?"

He peered at her as if he couldn't fathom what she said. "We are to be married. Of course I want to know about you." What had happened to the stunning winter rose? "Why would you think I didn't care to ask?"

"I…" Wiping her eyes, Lyanna just smiled warmly at him. Robert hadn't even bothered to ask. Rhaegar is not Robert. Had she ever thought she'd end up so lucky? Her Dragon Prince just got more and more beautiful with each passing moment. My Dragon Prince… "What would you like to know?"

"Everything," he rasped, captivated by her smile. No woman in his life had ever truly enchanted him in the way she did. "I don't know what it is about you, Lyanna. But ever since I caught a glimpse of you… at the feast, you've never been far from my mind."

Blushing bright red, she tucked her head between hunched shoulders. Feeling like a lovestruck maiden… which she was. Despite how Robert treated her and the violation she felt, nothing would have made Lyanna happier than if Rhaegar leaned in and kissed her - so hard she had fallen for him, the plummet neverending. "You can say the same for me, Rhaegar. I've never met a more… breathtaking man." Gently, she stroked his palm with her thumb. Enjoying the calloused yet soft skin of an accomplished swordsman.

Matching her smile with one of his own, Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Your brother told me how much of a rider you are." Honestly, it was the first thing that came to mind. "Said you could put a Dothraki screamer to shame while mounted."

Face sparkling with joy, Lyanna pondered for a moment then stood. Tugging on the Prince's hand. "Why tell you when I can show you, my Prince." The last was teasing, letting Rhaegar know what kind of a woman he was to marry. From the twinkle in his violet eyes, he clearly didn't mind in the slightest.

Outside the tent, a quick rush to the stables of the northmen found a particular stall. "Alright, what is it you want to show me?" Rhaegar asked.

Whistling, Lyanna laughed when Winter poked his head out of the stall. Nicking happily and brushing her muzzle against the she-wolf's hair. "Winter, girl… stop it," she laughed, a more beautiful sound Rhaegar had never heard. "My Prince, this is Winter. I raised her since she was but a little foal." As the dapple-grey mare calmed down, Lyanna felt slightly nervous. The Prince of Dragonstone likely had every manner of fine mounts in the stables of King's Landing. What would he say about the stalwart northern breed? She didn't even think about showing her off to Robert.

Approaching the horse, Rhaegar found Winter staring at him. Huffing and attempting to knock him away when the Prince raised a hand to stroke her head. "Hey, shhhh…" He moved to calm the agitated horse. "Gīda riña, gīda," he cooed softly, hand gentle against the animal's hide. "Issa sȳz, Sōnar." High Valyrian tumbled from his lips automatically, the language he used when speaking to the animals on Dragonstone. Amazingly, the horse calmed down, stilling and accepting Rhaegar's touch. The Prince smiled, Winter reminding him so much of Lyanna. "Iksā iā gevie anne, Sōnar. Sepār gevie."

Lyanna stared with mouth agape as Winter nicked, nuzzling Rhaegar's shoulders the same way she had done for her. "Winter is never that good with strangers…" He's perfect… and mine. She couldn't hope to contain her excitement and joy.

You'll have to share him…

The daughter of Winterfell put that aside for now. "Would you like to go for a ride, Rhaegar?"

Giving one last stroke to the stunning horse, Rhaegar almost said yes. "I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that, my dear Lyanna."

Her face fell, though Lyanna passed it off with a grin. "Are you scared that your betrothed would beat you in a race?"

Rhaegar chuckled. "As fun as that sounds, it is getting late in the evening. I wouldn't want to keep you past dark." While she was sad about it, it was clear the lady understood. I think she's close to perfect. "Would you like me to escort you through Harrenhal? I've been here plenty of times before, so I can give you the grand tour."

The grey eyes that so captivated him lit up. Without hesitation, she looped her arm in his, not wanting to be parted from the dashing Rhaegar Targaryen at the moment. "Lead the way, my Prince." It was as if they had always known each other.

Notes:

Couldn't have been any more different than meeting Robert, right?

I had so much fun writing the Elia scene. Nothing's boring when Ellaria is your lady in waiting, and she and Oberyn were made for each other.

I know Petyr didn't duel Brandon until he got to Riverrun, but what the heck?

Next up: Cersei confronts Jaime and Ned confronts Robert.

Chapter 9: Doubts and Discussions

Notes:

Back with a new chapter. Hope y'all are liking :D

Finished my story A Terrible Resolve and almost done on my magnum opus Empire of Ice and Fire. Be sure to check them out, as well as my fics Heart of the Blessed and Last Hope For Westeros (on archive of our own).

Also, there are two new stories I read that are pretty interesting; one's called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest while the other is called Wolves of War by my good friend GulfYankee23 that's a post season 8 ressurection/reconciliation fic. Both are really, really good! Check the out!

Enjoy and please comment :D

"I can't believe Harren the Black would just stand firm against a dragon." Walking atop the massive walls of the largest keep in Westeros, the moonlight reflecting beautifully over the rippling waters of the God's Eye to their south, Lyanna looked up at the handsome Targaryen Prince. Transfixed at how he described the history of Aegon the Conqueror's war over the Riverlands. His rendition was so much better than how the maesters taught her, and filled with new information.

Rhaegar shrugged, laughing. "Pride goeth before the fall. Harren had absolute power for forty years, probably thought his great castle could withstand even dragonfire." They had walked all over the grounds of the castle, seen by highborns and smallfolk alike. Ladies looked at Lyanna with jealousy, while the men had a combination of admiration and jealousy. Most had seen Elia, and now another beautiful maiden on his arm. All it did was make Rhaegar stand ever straighter, disbelieving of his luck in finding a precious winter rose that Lyanna seemed to be. "'What is outside my walls is of no concern to me. Those walls are strong and thick,' he told my ancestor. Smug cunt."

Giggling, Lyanna pulled herself closer to Rhaegar's torso, seeking out his warmth. The dragonblood within him gave it off in spades. "And what happened next, my Prince?"

A shiver passed through Rhaegar, and it wasn't due to the cold. She is so soft… He thanked the gods that his thick cloak managed to conceal the bulge in his trousers - prurient thoughts about pushing Lyanna against the keep's walls and having her swimming through his mind. "Visenya's personal diary states that Aegon simply looked at Harren, narrowed his eyes, and said 'When the sun sets, your line shall end.' And…" Rhaegar stretched out his arms, one finger pointing to the great Kingspyre Tower, still bearing the scars of being melted away. "He spoke the truth."

Biting her lip, Lyanna wondered if this was all just a dream. Just over a day ago she had been stuck in a betrothal with a whoring oaf who truly cared nothing about her, and now… A dashing Targaryen Prince. Respectful, smart, and just… a beautiful, beautiful man. Lyanna Stark could see a life with this man, for the first time truly desiring a marriage rather than the dream of a wild freedom like those north of the Wall. Her entire life having changed the instant she heard Rhaegar Targaryen sing. That song… "Rhaegar, may I ask you something?"

Taking in her soft voice, Rhaegar chuckled. "Why do you ask, Lyanna? You always have leave to ask a question of me." This was such a deviation from the brave warrior lady he had seen fight the squires the day before. Did he make her this shy and demure?

"Who is Jenny?"

"Jenny?" His brows furrowed. "Where did you get that name?"

"You sang of her." Lyanna blushed, hoping he didn't think less of her - when did I truly care what other people thought?... When you all but have fallen in love with them. Oddly, Lyanna didn't feel shame in being swept off her feet, though she had made fun of her friends for swooning over young knights and warriors. Looking at Rhaegar, she noticed his eyes were wide with shock - it somehow calmed her. "I was out in the woods for… just riding. Getting some air, and I saw you in a clearing with your harp."

Coughing, sputtering, Rhaegar was floored. She heard me? After taking his horse deep into the woods that he knew so well exploring with Oswell just so that no one would ever find him. Clever girl. He didn't let anyone catch him singing in the open, not since his father smashed the first harp his mother had brought for him when he was only ten and three, thrusting a sword in his hand and telling him to spar. Truth be told, there was still a little shame in him for liking the musical arts… and here was the breathtaking Lyanna Stark telling him that she heard. "Jenny of Oldstones. It is a song I wrote and composed myself. Days on Dragonstone are sometimes boring."

Lyanna peered at him, curious. "Who is Jenny? Was she your first love?"

This he could confidently shake his head. "No, gods no. Jenny was my aunt, the wife of my uncle Duncan."

"Duncan Targaryen? The Prince of Dragonflies?" Now that was a name that everyone from the Wall to the Water Gardens knew of. How he gave up his birthright to his younger brother Aerys for the love of a common woman from the Riverlands. "Jenny… she was the woman he loved and married, yes?"

"Aye." Rhaegar sighed. "A lovely woman. Father hated her, but she was too popular to be booted out of court. Aunt Jenny was always kind to me until her death ten years ago. Mother said it was of a broken heart." He still remembered her funeral, attended by at least a hundred thousand people in King's Landing - his father didn't attend, celebrating with a quiet feast of him and his cronies. "I wrote the song several years ago… to honor her memory." Rhaegar smiled wistfully. "She'd always go to ruins of Summerhall every year since Duncan died, to be with the spirits of her beloved."

A tear fell down Lyanna's cheek. "That's beautiful." She put two and two together. "You were born during the fire, correct?"

Rhaegar nodded. "That's why the song has great meaning for me. Uncle Duncan died so that I could live, at least that was what Aunt Jenny said. 'Only death can pay for life.'" Great sorrow overcame him, turning away from his betrothed and leaning forward against the stone battlements. Gazing out over the God's Eye. Willing away the pain of it all until he felt a soft kiss on his cheek.

It was instinct on Lyanna's part, but already she felt her face blush. Hoping she hadn't overstepped some boundary. But that worry was dispelled as he turned his head, smiling at her. A smile that made the she-wolf go weak at the knees. "If… if you must know, my Prince. Your singing was beautiful." She had never heard something more beautiful in her entire life. "I would very much like it if you sang for me."

The prospect was quite appealing to Rhaegar, taking the maiden's hands in his. "That is something I can promise," he smiled widely, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. "I would gladly for my woman. Elia says it's when she feels closest to me…" Rhaegar shut his mouth, realizing the mistake he made. Stupid. Blowing up their happy bubble with things better discussed another time.

Lyanna pulled her hands back, instantly regretting the loss of warmth - wrapping her arms around her torso protectively. "You are still married to another." Much as it complicated things, she had to bring it up.

"I am not letting her aside, Lyanna. Nor does it matter." He ran a hand through his hair. "My father is determined to have me emulate Aegon the Conqueror and I can't disagree with him there?"

"So which would I be? Rhaenys or Visenya?" Lyanna didn't want to be biting, but it slipped out. "The carefree wife without power or the powerful Queen without love." Feeling a tinge of pain at how Rhaegar winced.

"Those characterizations were lies written by men with agendas," Rhaegar shot back, also regretting it at Lyanna's flinch. "I'm sorry, Lyanna… I… fuck. Elia is my wife and the mother of my children. I care about her a great deal but with you… you enthrall me. I really can't explain it."

To have the beautiful Dragon Prince all but throwing himself at you - Lyanna shuddered with warmth, wanting nothing more than for him to strip her naked and take her maidenhead right there, right now. But her mind and heart were a confused cauldron of swirling emotions. It was overwhelming. "I feel the same, Rhaegar. Since I heard you sing I wonder if I've fallen for you completely, but my whole life I've run away from marriage. From being a lady, not from a lack of interest or desire but… I can't explain it either." He moved to embrace her but she backed away. "I would probably choose you in a heartbeat all else being the same, but you being married. Your father practically forcing us together…"

Rhaegar had an inkling of how she felt. "You don't wish to be controlled." Her father, the Faith, Dorne, so many would be predisposed to hate Lyanna upon contact. Hells, he hadn't even really thought of how Elia would feel to see him with actual feelings for his second wife. "To be forced into a life of complete notoriety, thrust into a world where your duties overwhelm your desires?"

She bit her lip again, nodding. Rhaegar read her so well. "I'm sorry, Rhaegar." Tears pricked at her lids, knowing she ruined everything. Being unable to just tell Rhaegar what she wanted, her fears of being caged, even by someone so unlike Robert. By circumstance. I'm just a coward. When he pulled her into an embrace, Lyanna didn't even fight it.

"Don't be sorry, my wolf." Yes, she was his wolf. "It is just the first day of our betrothal. We have plenty of time."

Yes, plenty of time. Perhaps after the Tourney… "You're right." She laughed weakly. "It's only been one day."

He laughed as well. "One damn day." Soon, both were clutching the other, laughing uproariously at how silly it all was. The price of being a royal. He kissed her forehead. "It has been enough for one day. How about I escort you back to your family."

Lyanna still felt the tingle of his lips against her skin. Even with all her reservations and emotions, it was so wonderful. Like they belonged there. "Thank you." She smiled so widely, letting him guide her back to her tent.

---

Polishing off a dispatch to Maester Luwin, Rickard Stark picked up another sheif of letters from the Night's Watch. Scanning the first line, the Lord Commander was going on about desertions and the need for more recruits. The Lord of Winterfell put in a mental note to ask the Queen or Prince Rhaegar about emptying the Black Cells for men to send there when some hushed voices came from outside the tent. Tiptoeing to peek, he saw the Prince with his darling she pup. Kissing her hand as she blushed.

Young love. Shaking his head with a smile, Rickard went back to his desk just as Lyanna walked in. "Oh…" She looked startled. "I didn't expect you to be up, father."

"Getting some work done. The business of a Lord never sleeps," he chuckled. "Come sit with me." The graceful young lady did as bidded. Growing more and more like her mother every day. "I've come to an arrangement with the crown with which to give my blessing to your betrothal to the Crown Prince."

Beaming, Lyanna threw her arms around her father. The prospect of marrying Rhaegar - no matter what concerns she had shared with him - still filled the she-wolf with happiness. He cares for me. He respects me. They even found the same book as their favorite. Lyanna really didn't believe in fate, but this sure seemed like it. "Thank you, father. Thank you."

Rickard laughed, hugging her back. Feeling the joy at seeing his little pup like this - it truly assuage his guilt about Robert. The old gods provided for her… But she was still so young. He had barely raised her how to be a proper southern lady, let alone a Queen. Cersei Lannister or Elia Martell all had lifelong education in court procedure and southern politics. Starks don't do well south of the Neck. The only ones he remembered that did so were Theon the Hungry Wolf and Cregan, who were utterly ruthless and cunning.

That's what we'll have to be.

"You are the best father I could have ever asked for."

Nearly melting at her words, Rickard had to force himself to remain serious. "Your joy brings me joy, little pup, but I fear you may still be buried in your novels to understand the gravity of the situation."

Pulling back from their embrace, Lyanna sat back. Hands on her lap as she sighed. Another one of her father's kindly lectures… Ironically the last time had been when she was informed of her impending betrothal to Robert Baratheon, but now there wasn't anything to worry about on that front. "How so, father?"

"You won't be alone in going to King's Landing. The Queen - on behalf of His Grace - offered me the open post of Master of Laws and I have accepted." He watched as Lyanna's eyes lit up in pride for her family. "Brandon and Ned will accompany us, Ned until the wedding and Brandon for six months after. Benjen also has a position on the Kingsguard if he wants it."

Lyanna couldn't believe it. Her family was going to be in the capitol with her. Even Benjen. "Father, that's wonderful!"

"It is very prestigious. But you have to realize, Lyanna, Rhaegar isn't the King." The sparkle in her eyes began to falter and Rickard hated it. "I haven't met him yet, but from what your brothers tell me he is a kind and intelligent man. He is not the King, Aerys is. All the rumors of him are true, and the court in King's Landing has gotten correspondingly worse - not that it wasn't already a lime pit to start with." He reached out and held his pup's hand. "You were lucky experiencing the North or the Vale. We northmen are blunt and honest, while Jon Arryn takes the knightly vows quite seriously. The rest of court is not the same."

"I know, father. I read the stories of the Dance of Dragons." Intense dragon battles and torrid love affairs were one thing, but even Viserys II detailed just how cutthroat and vicious that hemmed both the war and the period leading up to it.

Scooting over, tucking his daughter against his shoulder, Rickard kissed her forehead. "It's one thing to read about it, and another to experience it. You will be thrust into the biggest den of vipers there is, not to mention being the second wife that will only earn hate simply for existing."

She lowered her head. "Dorne and the Faith…"

"Yes." It broke his heart to dampen her dreams, but it was necessary. "You'll need to both lean on your betrothed, but also learn quickly to stand on your own two feet. To deal in circles that will need subterfuge and cunning - if you truly think being the second Queen to Prince Rhaegar is worth it, then tell me now."

Pursing her lips, staring off into the distance, all Lyanna could think about was her betrothed's singing voice - serenading her without him even knowing it. "It is worth it, father."

Rickard smiled. "Come'ere little pup." This time the embrace didn't break apart.

Given the stubborn need for her father to remain at his desk for hours, burning the midnight candle wicks till they were mere nubs, it was closer to dawn than dusk when Lyanna was able to sneak out of the tent. The guards were concerned with someone getting in, not out - it was just a matter of daring and patience. Lyanna possessing much of the later and enough of the former. Cloak wrapped tightly around her, she disappeared into the maze of tents. Ignoring the moonlight in favor of the shadows.

As such, she found Dacey and Howland rather tired and perturbed. "What the fuck took you so long?" hissed the she-bear, hands on her hips and teeth chattering. "It's cold as a blizzard." Howland said nothing out of respect for her, but Lyanna could tell he was miserable.

"Forgive me," she replied genuinely. "Father was working late and it hampered my opportunities for sneaking out." Lyanna felt a bit annoyed at first, but seeing how chilly they were did temper her anger. "So what do we have?"

"Waldron and the others have scheduled tilts for two days from now. As part of the first time contenders," Howland informed them both. While the first tilts in the joust would be tomorrow, no one expected the first timers to compete against veterans immediately. They had one day to prove themselves, which was also the day of the melee championship.

"The damn southern system is so complicated and stupid," Dacey complained, "But mystery knights are allowed in, so we're good to go there." She raised an eyebrow. "Unless we're having second thoughts?"

Was Lyanna? The whole situation with Rhaegar had thrown her for a loop. Ending up as Queen, a whole different sort of cage within the chamber of King Aerys… nothing she had trained for, and there was the presence of Princess Elia. How did Rhaenys and Visenya handle it? How did Maegor's brides? Did they hate each other or saw the others as sisters? Did they get him one day? Did they share him or even each other…? Lyanna blushed at the absurd concept, but it served to highlight what she was getting into. I may have rejoiced too soon…

She shook her head. No, Rhaegar is perfect. Her Prince Daemon… But what if he only wants a proper lady as well. He would be respectful and faithful and loving, of this she had no doubt, but Lyanna didn't think she could handle being forced to reject all she was to be some trophy Queen.

All in all, perhaps kicking the ass of an arrogant Frey goon was the best thing for her. "No, no second thoughts. Let's fuck those cunts up."

Dacey grinned like a hungry bear. "Fuck yeah, and you're gonna love this. Howland finished your sigil."

Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "Nothing too obvious, I hope?"

The crannogman smiled sheepishly. "No, I'm careful." Taking out the shield, it became abundantly clear he had a sense of humor far taller than he could ever be. "Well?"

Taking the shield, Lyanna ran her fingers down the intricate artwork. Howland had went all out. A weirwood tree, trunk thick and roots gnarled beneath. The blood-red leaves sprinkled the entire top of the shield, but such wasn't the distinctive feature. In the center of the trunk was a carved face, but a laughing one. Frozen in a state of mocking amusement.

At her quizzical look, Howland grinned. His still purple and fresh bruises seeming to heal slightly with his joy. "For the lamentations of House Frey when you vanquish them."

Yes, this was exactly what Lyanna needed.

---

The tent for House Baratheon - having just been beaten out of the second to last guest chamber in the keep by the Hightowers, Robert graciously allowing Jon Arryn to take the final room - was among the other Stormlands Houses. As such, Ned found himself in unfamiliar territory, brushing past knights that largely gave him the cold shoulder. Mostly he kept to himself, but a rather surly stare from a knight of House Trant found him giving back as good as he got.

Ned was not in the mood to take shit from anyone. Dour and quiet as always, inside burned a white hot flame of rage - one having simmered within him for the last day. It's not about you, Ned. It's about Lyanna. He had avoided Jon Arryn, but knew just what the man would tell him about keeping both family and friends. Doing the honorable thing by both. And in spite of his rage that was what he planned to do.

Unlike the other Stormlands lords, the Baratheon retinue was comprised of Robert's own men that had accompanied him to the Vale. Knowing Ned quite well, they let him into the tent without fuss. Inside, Robert was preening over a mounted set of armor. At Ned clearing his throat, the Lord of Storm's End turned around. He grinned broadly. "Ah, Ned! Ya' made it, finally!"

Finding him swept in a big bear hug, Ned coughed and sputtered incoherently. "Robert… yer' crushin' me…"

Robert chuckled and dropped him down. "'Ere, brother, come and have a look see." Gesturing his meaty paws to the set of armor, he smiled proudly. "This was me grandfather's armor. Never lost a tourney in them. Gonna enter the joust and win this one - just as I promised your sister. She'll be my Queen of Love and Beauty."

Worse than I thought. Ned shouldn't have been surprised - from what Lyanna said happened, Robert wasn't going to let this go. "It is horrible form to crown a lady betrothed to someone else… especially the future Queen."

"Are you japin' me Ned? You're father's actually going through with it?" Robert regarded him as if he spouted five heads. "The King is my great-uncle, and I know more about him than most thanks to that. This is a flight of fancy on his part." Robert… what is wrong with you? Could being enamored by Lyanna be clouding his sense… or did he have little sense to begin with? "Rhaegar put him up to it, the cunt. I'm gonna make sure he's humiliated before the entire tourney."

"Don't do this, Robert. Don't pressure the King on this. It's done, my father has already authorized the betrothal in exchange for a large bride price and the position of Master of Laws…"

His friend's eyes blazed fury. "You sold that beautiful sun and stars like a piece of meat?! She deserves better!"

Ned's jaw dropped - as if Robert thought he had the moral authority to speak. "Betrothal negotiations for my sister do not involve you, my friend. I know there was talk to betroth Lyanna to you, but my father has formally rescinded the offer upon learning of the King's."

"So you'll let Lyanna be a broodmare slut? Some plaything to be humiliated by the Dornish?"

Taking a deep breath, it took all of Ned's honor and restraint to rein in his temper. "Robert, you are my dear friend. We are like brothers and have been for years, so I'm asking you as your friend and brother, please… please just let this go." The ruddy blue eyes were expressionless. "You are a Lord Paramount. Ladies from the seven Kingdoms will throw themselves at you. I… I…" I don't want you to put your whoring paws on my dear sister. She is marrying a good man.

"You what, Ned?" Robert asked him flatly. The wolf of Winterfell hadn't ever seen the stag so… composed. He had always been larger than life.

"Please just leave it alone. My father has already arranged things with the Crown, and we're not going to risk the fury of the Mad King just so you and I can be brothers in name as well as in spirit. I'm sorry it didn't work out, Robert, but please just let it be." Without waiting for Robert to finish, Ned turned and left - not wanting to add to the headache of challenging his best friend for the first time in his life.

Eyes trained on the tent flap, Robert sighed. Stretching his arms and rolling his neck. "Oh Ned, so afraid of the King," he said to no one in particular. "You may be scared, but not Robert Baratheon." Ours is the Fury. Lyanna was his - she loved him, not some dragonspawn using his poppa to steal brides for him. To play Maegor and his Black Brides. Picking up the shield, emblazoned with the great stag of House Baratheon… and House Durradon before it… Robert grinned. Imagining how he would crown his beloved as the Queen of Love and Beauty. Shaming the King into giving up this farce.

I'll protect you, my sweet wolf.

---

"For you, your Grace." Setting the cup of spiced wine on the table, still steaming from the kitchens, Jaime smiled as the Queen's eyes widened. Savoring her look of pleased surprise.

Rhaella picked up the hearty drink in her hand, sipping from the brew. A sigh escaped her lips. "Delicious," she moaned happily, a sound that made Jaime thank the gods above he wore an armored codpiece over his crotch. Might have been embarrassing and improper had he not… saved him countless times over the last several months. "What was this for, Ser Jaime?"

He sipped at his own drink. "You looked cold, and I was already heading down for my own drink. What kind of Knight would I be had I allowed a beautiful royal Lady to endure discomfort." He was laying it on a bit thick, but the King was asleep and the glass of wine from dinner emboldened him.

A blush formed on her cheek… due to the wine or Jaime he couldn't tell. He hoped it was the latter. "You didn't have to do that." Her gaze shifted to the fireplace. "A servant would have sufficed."

"Servants are lazy and overrated. When you care if something is to be done quickly," Jaime beamed as Rhaella looked at him, violet eyes sparkling and silver curls running down the bare shoulders of her nightdress - he was desperate to stare into them, running his hands through her hair as he kissed her. "You do it yourself."

Playing with fire, Jaime. For some reason his inner voice of caution sounded like Tyrion.

"Well…" Rhaella smiled widely at Jaime, slight tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Ser Jaime. No one really does that for me anymore." Let alone my husband the King…

"Anyone who doesn't is a fool," he replied, meaning every word.

Opening her mouth to say something else, the Queen thought better of it. "It's getting late, Ser Jaime. You have my leave to go and rest." Part caring, part dismissive. The wine was starting to get to her and she needed to control her decorum.

Slightly saddened yet knowing deep down it was for the best - there was a line he could never cross with the Queen, even thought gods' knew how much he wanted to - Jaime bowed. "Good night, your Grace. I shall be here on the morrow."

"Night, Ser Jaime," she replied with a brilliant smile. Finishing her wine, she wondered if it caused the butterflies in her stomach. Yes, it has to be it. The Queen had long since determined she should be content with what she had. It's not like you can ever dream…

Meanwhile, even being dismissed couldn't end Jaime's good mood as he walked down the airy hallways of the great castle. Buzzed and being able to make the quiet, melancholy Queen Rhaella smile was more he could have hoped for. He could just envision his father shaking his head, completely humiliated at how plebeian his golden lion had become, but Jaime didn't care. Tyrion was better suited to the game of thrones than he. All Jaime wanted was a life of love and honor, the dashing knight to be lionized in the songs as Ser Aemon or Ser Duncan.

Jaime's quarters were said to be built for Harren the Black in order to house his elite Ironborn guards. It fit perfectly for the Kingsguards, a simple cot, brazier, and writing desk all that they really needed. Looking forward to a decent sleep after the chaos of the last few days, it took him a moment before realizing there was a feminine figure waiting outside. "Excuse me, lady…" His eyes did a double take. "Cersei?"

Sure enough, there was his sister. Clad in a wrinkled dress and leaning against the wall. As if having waited for a long time to see him. "So I see her Grace saw fit to dismiss you," she said dismissively.

"Do not talk of her like that," Jaime replied firmly. "What do you want?"

"The Lady Lannister cannot come to see her twin brother?"

After our past… not a good idea. They had agreed to part ways long before, it being the best option for the both of them. But in the end, he couldn't deny Cersei's request. "Come into my chambers." Jaime did not want his sworn brothers to listen on his private matters, and no one would think suspiciously of sister and brother speaking for a short while. At least no one that doesn't truly know us. Frankly, he figured only Tyrion truly knew, and their younger brother wouldn't say anything.

Cersei sat on the cot, hands on her lap. Jaime took the seat at the far end of it, but turned to her. "Why are you here, Cersei? We could have spoken at any time during the day."

"I wanted to get you alone… no, not like that," she said as he cocked a brow at her, only to sigh deeply. "Alright, part of me wished for that, but after the day I had you'd forgive me for hoping."

There was a time Jaime would have came running if she motioned for him, or would have lost himself in her during a trying period… but not since Rhaella. Not since he found his angel - even if he could never be with her. "Does this have something to do with the Prince's betrothal?" Had he not known better, he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes… wait, there were tears! "Sweet sister." Jaime reached over and pulled her into his arms.

She hated being this weak, but Cersei couldn't help it. "He rejected me, brother. I… I think he's enamored with the Stark bitch."

Anyone with eyes can see he's enamored with her. Jaime bit his tongue. "It's a good match, Cersei. Binds the North, Vale, and Riverlands to the Crown. Rhaegar would be a fool not to accept it."

"But I was to be Queen! Father promised me!" Deep down, the lioness knew that it was hopeless. Seeing Rhaegar, hearing him dismiss her, she knew that all chance of being his queen was lost… but part of her still couldn't believe it, and all of her needed to get it out.

"Cersei…" Jaime pulled back, hoping that the brutal truth would end this and let her move on. "The King… he hates father."

She blinked. "Father was his longtime friend and longtime hand. Why would the King hate him? Because father left to manage home?"

And of course she, not being versed in court politics like he or their parents, would buy Tywin Lannister's excuse. "That's not the case. His Grace dismissed him because he feared father was plotting against him."

"Why would he think that?"

"I don't know, Cersei. Maybe he was plotting, maybe the King is delusional. In any case, you'd probably be used as a hostage if you were anywhere close to Rhaegar." He looked her in the eyes. "I see how he treats Princess Elia… how he treats his own wife. I cannot watch and see that happen to you, so please just let the Prince marry Lady Lyanna. Don't dwell on what you can never have." He dwelled on it every day. You are a hypocrite, Jaime.

Gazing at him, Cersei suddenly surged forward, lips on his. Desperately seeking some form of comfort, a validation after what her father had planned for so long and what she had dreamed for so long collapsing around her.

Jaime pushed her off. "We can't, sister." Truth be told, the thought of any lips on his but the Queen's just made him shudder.

Quiet, Cersei pulled back, not looking at him. "Think it would have been different, Jaime? Had you not left for the Kingsguard?" Had it not been for… But Jaime didn't know about that. No one knew…

Shaking his head, Jaime took her hands in his. "I love you, sister… sometimes in a way that only Targaryens should, but it would have been our downfall."

"How do you know?"

"I know, Cersei. I just do." Being with the Queen sobered his mind. Made him realize many things about himself, about what love and duty meant. "We can never be that way again… and neither can you and the Prince." Realization finally finding her expression, Cersei just fell into his brotherly embrace, Jaime allowing himself to comfort her.

Perhaps they would be alright.

Notes:

They are in love, but just don't know it yet. Still some issues that are keeping them from fully going in.

Rickard and Benjen are both moving to King's Landing, so Lya won't be alone :D

Robert... don't even try it.

Well, RIP Jaime/Cersei. More will be revealed eventually, but fundamentally it had to die. That's half of what caused Cersei to spiral into being irredeemable, the other half being marrying Robert.

Next up, the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Chapter 10: Knight of the Laughing Tree

Notes:

Hi everyone. I know it's been a while, but I bring the Knight of the Laughing Tree!

Finished my story A Terrible Resolve and my magnum opus Empire of Ice and Fire! Be sure to check them out, as well as my fics Heart of the Blessed and Last Hope For Westeros (on archive of our own).

Oh, just to say, Aerys is Aegon V's younger son. It goes: Duncan, Rhaelle, Aerys, Rhaella.

Also, just want to give a shoutout to some new GoT stories that I think are awesome: one's called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest; another is called Wolves of War (on fanfiction.net) by my good friend GulfYankee23 that's a post season 8 ressurection/reconciliation fic; one is a unique spin on the post-season 8 time travel to fix the past plotline (hint, it isn't Jon or Dany going back) called Howl of the Dragonwolves by my other good friend Elphaba818; and the other is a season 8 fix-it called The Kingdom of Ice and Fire (on fanfiction.net) by my other good friend WhiteWolf04, starts off slow but I have assurances the plot will be awesome. All are really, really good! Check them out :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

Ser Oswell trailing behind him, the King of the Seven Kingdoms turned the corner of the guest wing of Harrenhal's central keep… only to find yet another empty hallway. "Seven fucking hells," Aerys muttered under his breath. He had been here many times over his entire life and still ended up lost more than half of the time. "You grew up here, Ser Oswell. Don't you think my illustrious ancestor the conqueror should have burned this wretched shithole to the ground?"

"The will of the dragon is never wrong, your Grace," replied the Kingsguard, hand patting the hilt of his sword.

Aerys grinned at the answer, turning yet another corner to finally find what he was looking for. "Ah, Ser Jaime!" Idly standing in front of the door of a particular chamber, eyes glancing at the rather sunny day outside in preparation for the newcomer's joust, the call from his King sent him ramrod straight. An ability that Aerys never stopped enjoying since becoming King after his fool of a father bit the dust. "Is she inside?"

Jaime bowed. "Yes, your Grace." His voice was formal but completely different - there was little else he could be to the King who could grace the bed of the woman he adored, and yet didn't. "Preparing for the day ahead."

"Ah, good." He raised his eyebrow. "You plan to compete in the melee, today, yes?" Jaime nodded. "I wish you luck, Ser Jaime." Still grinning, he saw Ser Oswell get in position on the other side of the door as he entered…

Running right into one of his wife's ladies in waiting. "Oh…" Her eyes widened almost immediately. "Your Grace." The girl fell to her knees.

The King rolled his eyes. "Get up, girl! I wish to be alone with my Queen." It was barely three seconds before the young highborn girl - from some house in the Stormlands or another - to flee. Chuckling, Aerys looked upon his wife sitting at her vanity table. "Rhaella."

"My King." Rhaella didn't bother to rise. Seeing him in her mirror, he seemed… in a good mood. "She was helping me get ready for the tourney."

"Oh? Bothered by your royal husband?" Stepping till he towered above her slight frame, Rhaella was reminded of the brooding but handsome older brother she married twenty-two years before. "Your hair is better in simple styles."

She felt his fingers weaving through her locks, each moving purposefully. "You haven't fixed my hair in years, husband."

He scoffed. "It's like riding a horse. You never forget." Their mother, the beloved Queen Betha Blackwood, had made sure the teenage Aerys stayed close to Rhaella after their elder brother spurned the Baratheon daughter in favor of Lady Jenny. One of the ways they had bonded was him plaiting her hair in the simple style he preferred, which had been a wonderful prelude to the day until the growing split between Aerys and Tywin began to affect him. "The betrothal negotiations were done well. Got the Stark daughter for a cheap price."

Rhaella sighed. His hands felt as wonderful as they did long ago - but Aerys was a far different man. "Lord Stark would make a good Master of Laws - and Rhaegar seems taken by his new bride." With few to confide in, he had told his mother everything. She was happy for him… overjoyed in fact.

"Rhaegar with her and the Dornish bitch, Viserys with the Tyrell brat, I'll finally manage to rebuild House Targaryen from the hole our father and brother dug it into." His words were vicious, but his hands were still gentle. "He may have been an idiot at the end, but at least father knew to marry us for the benefit of our House."

Smug and proud of himself, Rhaella could still hear a wistful sadness in his voice. "I know you never wished to marry me, husband. You preferred Joanna Lannister."

Imagining the beautiful Lady of the Westerlands, his first love and first passion… Aerys shook his head. "That was a long time ago. Our father made his decision, and it ended up the right choice." Love mattered not. Only strength and power. "Done." He pulled back, proud of his work. "You look beautiful, sister."

It wasn't a lie, she was breathtaking. Rhaella wished Aerys would look at her with love and not smugness, though. "Shall you join me to break our fast, husband?"

"No, I'll be down in a moment. Go on." Aerys felt Rhaella reach out and squeeze his hand affectionately, grateful for the almost loving, domestic moment between them. Even as she left, the feel of her touch lingered on his palm.

"She was always the sweetest of us, don't you think?"

Aerys' eyes widened, flying open in shock and anger. "You have no right to speak of her," he shot back, seeing the vision of the man long dead leaning against the windowsill. "You have no right even to speak to me from what you did!"

Duncan Targaryen chuckled as he pushed himself off the windowsill. "Oh brother, always so bitter." The mocking voice he always used to his baby brother made Aerys want to take a sword and run it through the pure Riverman features of the Dragonfly Prince. "You are King, the father of the future of our House, and yet you still seem to act as if the man who renounced his birthright is superior to you."

"You have no authority! No authority to judge me, Dunk!" Even though Ser Oswell and any other servant outside could hear him, no one bothered the King's ranting. "You betrayed our family for some whore! A commoner, witch, whore that was unable to even bear you children. I have two and one of them is about to bear plenty of sons - little dragons that will fix what you destroyed you little shit!" Spittle was flying from the King's mouth by the end.

The smile on the Dragonfly Prince's face didn't falter. "You were always the stupidest among us, brother. My only regret was that I left you the heir to father, but do not worry. Your stupidity will be your undoing."

Aerys blinked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The sigil of High Heart," Duncan began, stepping around his trembling brother. "The one that regards you just as I do, as strong to your son as Jenny was to I… no matter what you hope to do…" Aerys shut his eyes, willing for Duncan to journey down to the Seven Hells where he belonged. "This sigil will be your undoing, Mad King."

"Shut it!"

"Mad King, Mad King, Mad King!"

"SHUT IT!" Drawing a knife from the folds of his robes, Aerys stabbed at the form of his brother only to find nothing there. Just himself, alone in his Queen's chambers screaming into the void.

---

That morning, Lyanna woke to find both Ned and Brandon having disappeared from their tent, off to the dueling field without her - while a curse tumbled from her lips at their seemingly disrespectful attitude, the rational part of her said they were likely trying to pay their respects to Lord Hoster Tully. Petyr Baelish was his ward and it was Lady Catelyn that they were dueling over. With a sigh, she had dressed and found Dacey. Hoping that they didn't miss the action - not that she wanted to see Brandon cut down the scrawny pig with ease.

Sure enough, Hoster Tully was huddled with Brandon and Ned, the former's shoulder being clasped by the hand of the Lord of Riverrun. What surprised Lyanna was the presence of her betrothed. Fully dressed in a black doublet and red-striped trousers, red cape billowing behind him. Silver locks splayed over his shoulders, Rhaegar looked like the perfect mirror of Prince Daemon.

Having completed her undressing of Rhaegar with her eyes - not that the she-wolf couldn't spend hours admiring the perfect form of her betrothed - Lyanna turned to find Dacey completely silent. Gaze clouded over as she stared at the party of highborns. "You alright?" No answer. "Dacey… Dacey!" She shook her shoulder.

"Huh…" Shaking the dazed gaze from her face, Dacey blinked, turning to Lyanna. "Who's that over there?"

"I'm sure you recognize my betrothed, Prince Rhaegar," Lyanna teased.

The she-bear huffed. "I know who Rheagar is, Lya. I meant, who is that statuesque example of masculinity standing behind him?"

Furrowing her brows, she glanced back at the Prince and followed the line of sight to the armored figure behind him. Helmet held to the side and the other arm planted on the hilt of the famous longsword. "Oh, that's Ser Arthur Dayne. The Prince's Kingsguard." Lyanna hadn't met him formally, but Ser Arthur was famous from Sunspear to Castle Black. The twin blades were instantly recognizable.

Apparently, Bear Island seemed to be a bit isolated from the rest of Westeros. "Never heard of him, though I wish I had." Dacey's gaze was quite hungry as it appreciated the form of Ser Arthur.

Lyanna knew that gaze anywhere and grinned. "The greatest swordsman in Westeros according to most people. They call him the Sword of the Morning for his blade Dawn."

"Mmmm, I know a place he can put his sword if I have anything to say about it," Dacey licked her lips, causing Lyanna to roll her eyes. I bet Princess Elia doesn't have ladies in waiting this crude. Her thoughts were then thrown into disarray when Rhaegar looked at her. Heart skipping a beat from the passionate glint in his violet eyes.

Eyes finally falling on Lyanna, the Crown Prince immediately excused his conversation with Lord Tully to walk to her. A genuine smile teasing his oft brooding face. "My dear Lady Lyanna," he husked, taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth. Kissing the milky skin.

Blushing hotly, Lyanna nevertheless curtsied. "Prince Rhaegar." The effect he had on her was only amplified by their closeness. "It heartens me to see you again… even minding the circumstance."

Rhaegar frowned. "Some men wouldn't mind seeing your brother slaughter a man with more googly eyes than sense, but I'm not one of those men. Neither are either of your brothers, I don't think." For the first time since he made acquaintances with House Stark, Rhaegar saw Brandon as just as brooding as Ned, the young heir offering his apologies to Lord Tully. "Perhaps as the Crown Prince, I can referee the situation before it gets out of hand."

"I don't much care for Petyr Baelish, but I do care for my future goodsister and apparently that worm means a lot to her."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm still a bit confused as to why the Tullys were picked for your brother. They are devout members of the Faith and… I'm not sure they'd be suited for the North. Wouldn't the Blackwoods have been better? They still believe in the Old Gods."

That was a good question. Ever dutiful, ever formal and pious, the Lady Catelyn did indeed seem a bad fit for being the Wardeness of the North. But… "My Bran needs someone devoted to him to settle him down. I think Lady Catelyn is perfect in that regard." If Rhaegar seemed skeptical, he didn't show it. Seemingly trusting her judgement. Yet another reason she was falling so deeply for him, even if there was that small reservation regarding her more wild nature. Willing it aside, Lyanna looked at the man that had gradually stood behind Rhaegar. "Now now, my Prince. You have been quite rude… not introducing me to the Sword of the Morning."

"Oh that." The Prince laughed. "Well, my dear. This is Ser Arthur Dayne."

Lyanna stepped forward and shook Arthur's hand. "Your reputation precedes you, Ser Arthur. Forgive me if I'm a little starstruck."

"My sigil is that of a falling star, after all," Arthur replied with a small grin. Lyanna decided at that moment she liked him. "I have heard a lot about you from his Grace - he is correct that you light up whatever space you find yourself in." An eye shifted behind the she-wolf. "And who is this beautiful lady behind you?" His green eyes glinted.

Blinking, Dacey approached at the attention of the Sword of the Morning. "Greetings, Ser Arthur. I am unattached…" Her eyes widened in realization. "I mean, I'm a maiden…" She hadn't said more than two sentences to Arthur before she wished to crawl into a hole and die out of embarrassment.

Lyanna hid her amusement. "This is Lady Dacey Mormont of Bear Island. My Lady in Waiting." Luckily for Dacey's sanity, her introduction guided them back into a decent rhythm. "She couldn't be more obvious," Lyanna whispered to Rhaegar.

"Arthur doesn't really go after ladies like Oswell or Gerold, so it's good to see him loosening up." His eyes shifted. "Although if one wants obvious, look over there." Following his line of sight, Lyanna spotted Littlefinger striding determinedly into the field, guided by Ser Brynden Tully and with the two Tully ladies following behind. He turned to speak to Catelyn, but she didn't spare him a glance, instead rushing to Brandon and embracing him. Hurt flashed on Baelish's face before it fell behind into anger. "Well, I should get this over with. Better stand with your brothers, my Lady."

While Lyanna wanted to stay beside him - stay beneath him sans clothes, if she was being honest - she nevertheless complied. Leaning up to kiss his cheek. Lips sparking with warmth as she moved back to where her brother was standing. "Once again, I'm sorry about this," she heard Brandon tell the Lord of Riverrun, arm wrapped around Catelyn's waist. "I regret that this must happen."

Hoster Tully - an older man who's once-red hair was now mostly grey, having aged worse than his younger brother - gave the Starks a weak smile. "You have no need to apologize, Brandon. I should have seen this coming and sent young Petyr back home sooner. My brother is giving him his advice, but it is nothing personal to you, I promise."

"Have to follow all the bases," nodded Brandon.

"The Crown Prince officiating helps. I'm just glad we managed to keep this under wraps for the most part." A sigh. "Good luck, my future goodson." Lord Tully left them to take Rhaegar's side.

"Finish this quickly, Bran." Lyanna knew she had limited time before Dacey and Howland - who had accompanied Ned and Brandon - needed to set her up for the newcomer's joust. While excited, it wasn't only Rhaegar's presence that made her heart beat nervously. Calm, stay calm. She was a far better rider than any of those cunts. "You're a far better fighter than that insect."

Catelyn had a different take. "Petyr asked me for my favor, Bran, but I couldn't give it to him." Lysa had absolutely begged for him to wear hers, and at the last minute he had accepted. "I love you," she said, handing Brandon a small strip of cloth for him to tie around his wrist. "But please don't kill him."

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "The world would be better off without him creeping around it."

"Please, don't! Spare him, please. He may be an idiot here but he's like a brother to me."

"With a lot of unbrotherly feelings," Brandon quipped, only to sigh at Catelyn's wide eyes. "Fine. I'll spare him." While Lyanna and Ned shared a disapproving look - both just… having a bad feeling about Petyr Baelish - one couldn't really argue when Catelyn smiled widely and kissed Brandon passionately on the lips. Brandon accepted, enjoying the death glare from his opponent.

Rhaegar called the duel to order, and both parties moved into position. Baelish's inexperience showed when he charged at Brandon. Sword high and swing wild. The Stark heir may have been impulsive but he was a well-trained fighter, easily sidestepping the initial attack on agile feet. Avoiding going on the attack even when in the open. Having fun with this, Bran? The next two swings by Littlefinger were parried effortlessly, the clash of steel upon steel as Brandon gave ground. Letting his opponent tire himself out.

Baelish's lack of skill took its toll, sweat covering his brow and furious movements slackening. Sensing an opportunity, Brandon smacked Littlefinger's blade aside, fist flying to slam into his nose. Lysa screamed and Catelyn pursed her lips, Baelish falling to the ground. "Yield," Brandon commanded, hoping the runt would get the hint. He didn't, leaping to his feet and charging Brandon. A slash against his front - shallow but bloody - knocked the sword aside. The heir to Winterfell dropped his own sword and knelt by his foe, slamming his fist over and over into his challenger. Blood splattering and ribs cracking. "Yield, you fool!" This time, the command was obeyed.

Fight over, Catelyn raced to inspect Brandon while Lysa and Brynden did the same for Littlefinger. The former showed off his victory by lifting his betrothed in his arms while the latter was carried off the field moaning and groaning, the Prince insisting that he see a maester for his injuries. Satisfied that her brother's marriage was secure, Lyanna met eyes with Dacey and Howland before brushing her hand against her forehead, knees buckling as she fell to the ground.

While Ned and Brandon were up on their feet to rush to her side, it was Rhaegar that got there first. Catching Lyanna mid fall rather adeptly. "My Lady… are you well?" He gently cradled her waist and head, easing her to the ground. "Should I fetch a maester?"

Lyanna fought the flush creeping upon her body. How Rhaegar's fingers and palms spread a tingling electricity wherever upon her body where he touched - even through her clothes. "No… no…" she murmured. "I'm fine, just a little light headed." Once confident in her story, just his presence was disconcerting her. "I… I haven't been eating much lately."

"Shock to me," Brandon quipped once he determined she was fine, wrapping an arm around Catelyn's waist. Enjoying the spoils of his victory. "You usually devour a wheelhouse's worth of food."

"Shut up," Lyanna snapped. "I don't need a maester, Rhaegar. I promise." She smiled, hoping it would melt him - it did from the longing glint in his eyes.

Having smacked Brandon about the head - the heir to Winterfell rubbing the back of it with a glare - Ned knelt by Lyanna. "Still, I think you should head back to your tent. Skip the melee and the newcomer's joust, get some rest and then eat more at tonight's feast."

Normally, she'd punch Ned in the stomach and announce she could fight any one of them, but this was what she was hoping for. Suppressing the inner whoop… though the pleading on Rhaegar's expression could have probably convinced her all on its own. "Alright, brother."

"Do you want me to escort you?" Rhaegar asked, helping her up.

Before Lyanna's desire to be close to him could kick in, Dacey and Howland rushed to her side. "Don't worry, your Grace. We'll take care of this, you and Ser Arthur are needed at the royal box with the King and Queen." She shot the Kingsguard a sultry smile, one that Arthur replied with a wink. Grinning, Dacey turned back to Lyanna. "Let's go, sleepyhead."

As they turned the corner, they pushed Lyanna off them. "That was close," Howland whispered.

"Only close cause Lya wanted to just rip the Prince's clothes off where he stood."

Lyanna glared at Dacey. "Don't make me find another Lady in Waiting. There are plenty of southern ladies who would jump at the chance." A raised eyebrow from the Mormont beauty killed that theory. "Fine, fine. Let's get set up before the melee ends." This was going to be fun.

---

Taking his seat next to his brother and father, Ned leaned in to where Jon Arryn sat ahead of him in the royal box. "Did I miss anything?"

Lord Arryn shook his head. "No, melee is just about to start."

The Lords Paramount and other guests of the Crown were seated to either side of the King and his family. While the royals had only one row of four seats, the others were divided into two rows. To the left of Prince Viserys were the Tyrells and Baratheons - Robert getting glares from Brandon and Ned but too drunk to notice. To the right of the King himself were the Starks, Lord Arryn, Hoster Tully, and an empty seat. "Who's sitting there?" The seat was right in front of Ned.

"She's coming right now," Brandon answered, pointing to a female figure that made Ned's eyes widen.

Representing House Lannister in the absence of Lord Tywin, the beautiful Cersei Lannister held her head up high as she moved to take her seat. While she considered skipping the event after her encounter with Rhaegar and talk with Jaime, the presence of her brother in the melee kept her from doing it even if she wanted to. "Well, either Tywin spruced himself up or he sent a damn woman in his stead." Several lords laughed at the King's jape, while Cersei just bowed to his Grace and tried to ignore it - missing the lustful, appreciative eyes of Ned Stark as well.

Rising along with his mother, little brother, and father, Rhaegar clasped a clenched fist against his chest. "We, royals of the House of Dragons, salute you brave warriors today on this field of honor."

The knights on the field repeated the gesture. "We, men of honor gathered today in a test of strength and skill, salute our King, Queen, and Princes for this day and all days to come." Bearing their armored hands against the plate or mail draping their chests, each took a fighting stance as the royals resumed their seats.

Each qualifying round the previous days of the tourney were single combat under heavy rules, but the final match was in the style of Old Valyria- a free for all pitting fourteen of the best fighters in the Seven Kingdoms against one another till a single victor emerged. Each of them clutched dulled practice swords, one of the few positive things to come from King Aenys the Weak - Aegon IV allowed fights to the death with real weapons as the Ghiscari did, going further, but all were repealed by his son Daeron II. Rhaegar, watching his father's bored expression, had a feeling that Aerys II would have brought the Unworthy's rule back had he not been apathetic about the whole thing. "Honored knights… may the best win." With a wave of his hand he signalled the start of the melee.

Over half an hour of steel clashing against steel… blades against the thick wood of shields, some revelled in it while others developed pounding headaches. The crowds shouted for the victory of their favorites and the blood of the disliked - which often changed on a whim based on whomever was coming out on top or made an excellent move. Referees darted back and forth, avoiding the swings and calling strikes and rule violations.

"Lord Umber is doing well," commented Jon Arryn, leaning back in his chair.

Rickard nodded. "Burly like a bear, that's why they call him the Greatjon." Five pairs of eyes watched the massive Lord of Last Hearth rip a shield from the hands of a hedge knight of the Reach, punching him right in the stomach - it didn't faze the northerner, grinning like mad while the referee called the knight knocked out. "Less skilled than… tenacious."

"Much like the Greyjoy." Lo and behold, Victarion Greyjoy was also doing quite well. Simply ramming bullheadedly into his competitors, able to withstand blows to him that would crumple lesser men. Hoster frowned. "I really don't want that family to win - Greatjon seems like he could take him."

"Or Ser Jaime," commented Ned. The Lion of Lannister - as he was called by many - was currently engaging Greatjon. The second Stark son wasn't as much watching the Kingsguard, but the blonde beauty he was eying certainly was. Lips pursed worriedly as she watched her brother spar. Letting out a relieved breath when Jaime dodged a downward slice from the Lord of Last Hearth to stab right into his stomach. With a curse, Greatjon was waved off by the referee and stomped off the field - leaving Jaime and Victarion as the only ones left.

Leering at the smaller Ser Jaime, fighting without a helmet and not a strand of his perfect blonde hair out of place, Victarion Greyjoy simply charged. Muscles catapulting his sword to bat Jaime's strike to the left. The brother of the Lord of the Iron Islands crashing right into Jaime, knocking him to the ground. Cersei gasped audibly, while Queen Rhaella silently gripped the arm of her chair ever tighter. "The Iron Way in action," quipped Jon Arryn, crossing his arms and enjoying the show.

Rhaegar's eyes flickered from the prone Ser Jaime to his mother, quiet but with a worried glaze frozen on her face. Gently, he placed his hand on hers, comforting her when his father wouldn't. "Get up, lion!" Viserys yelled, voice high and jumping in his chair. "Fight the Kraken." The two royals laughed at the young prince, easing the tension.

Eyes locking with the Queen's, Jaime sucked in a breath and twisted around - just missing the downward chop that nearly took him out of action. "No head blows!" the referee bellowed. Victarion shoved him off, lunging for Jaime again. The Lion of Lannister had leapt to his feet and twirled his sword. Steel clashing against steel, Jaime's moves quick and fluid against the pure brawn of the Ironborn.

Whimpering as a blow caught Jaime's shoulder, the knight crying out in pain but scrambling back, Cersei could hear the King's smug laughter as she looked away. Unable to see her twin hurt. "Lady Cersei…" She looked up to see the Stark… Lord Eddard, pointing. "Don't worry, the Ironborn is tiring." Blinking, Cersei swiveled back to the fight.

Ned was absolutely correct - a fact that gave Cersei much relief. Sweat poured from Victarion's brow. The great reaver panting as he continued to swing. Darting and spinning, quick on his feet, Jaime parried a strike. Longsword spinning around and smacking Victarion's hand. Howling in pain, the Ironborn dropped his blade… finding Jaime's pressed onto his neck. "Yield," ordered the Kingsguard.

Anger burning within, Victarion nevertheless had no choice. "Yield."

Smiling triumphantly, Jaime turned to the royal box and bowed as the herald dubbed him the winner of the melee, presenting him with a crown of oak leaves. Up out of their seats were the royal family, the strongest claps coming from both the Queen and Prince Rhaegar. The crowd chanted for the Kingsguard, clearly the favorite of the day. "Lannister! Lannister! Lannister!"

Clapping with a genuine smile, watching as Cersei hugged her brother, Ned sat down. "That was a good fight."

"It was, young Eddard," Jon Arryn replied, not unknowing of the lad's wandering eye. "But that'll probably be the highlight of the day."

"Don't think the newcomer's joust will be interesting?" Brandon asked.

He snorted. "About as interesting as watching a bucket of piss."

Unfortunately, Lord Arryn's foresight proved true. The newcomer's joust was filled with green riders - and green was an understatement. Most were unhorsed by sloppy maneuvers, with one tilt even finding both riders falling from their mounts before either's lances made contact. The King died of laughter the entire time, while for the rest it got old quickly. "Please kill me," Brandon whispered to his brother. "I'd have let Littlefinger run me through with his sword if this was gonna be the rest of my day."

"Stop being dramatic, brother. I'm sure it'll get interesting," Ned replied. He opened his mouth to continue only for the herald to announce the next tilt - a mystery knight who had come to challenge the next three scheduled riders. Ned's brow rose. "Knight of the Laughing Tree? What Kind of a name is that?"

Lord Arryn's brows furrowed. "Never heard of a hedge knight of that name? Hoster?" Lord Tully shook his head. "Mace?" Half stuffing a pastry into his mouth, crumbs fell onto his green doublet as Lord Tyrell mumbled something in the negative. "Has a knight of that name graced Casterly Rock, Lady Cersei?"

After her brother was off the field, Cersei had zoned out. "Sorry, Lord Arryn… I haven't seen such a knight in the Westerlands."

Nodding, Lord Arryn leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. "Mystery knights are generally rare… could be a dud, could be just some fool trying to impress a maiden." At that point the knight entered the field, riding a rather drab palfrey. His armor hung over his likely slight frame as if it were a size too large, with a plain helmet etched with scrapes. The most distinctive item was the shield, however - splayed over the wood was a weirwood tree. One with a laughing instead of a wailing face etched on its side. "On the other hand this could get interesting."

The knight took his position, waiting for Ser Boros Blount and his porcupine sigiled shield. Already sporting plenty of fat beneath his armor, it didn't take long for the resulting tilt to send him flying off his horse. From how he gracefully brought his mount around, the crowd began to cheer for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Rhaegar's interest was piqued, as was the King's to his right.

Next was the rather poor armor of House Haigh, pickings slim from picking up the scraps that Walder Frey let them have. While some knights were skilled and strong in spite of their meagre reserves, the Pitchfork Knight wasn't. The Knight of the Laughing Tree felling him with a perfect blow to the center-left of the shield. Earning a more roaring approval from the crowd. They recognized skill where it came from.

"Well, finally someone with panache," Brandon commented, grinning. "Let's go, mystery knight!" He clapped his hands together three times for good effect.

Jon Arryn chuckled. "Whomever he is, he has skill." The Lord of the Eyrie crossed his arms. "But Boros Blount and whatever yokel Frey vassal he just unhorsed aren't the paragons of knightly power. The Freys may not be… noble, but I heard Ser Waldron has been training for this."

"I heard him bragging about how he's going to unhorse the Crown Prince," said Hoster Tully, the five of them glancing to the aforementioned Prince Rhaegar before bursting into laughter. "Practically impossible, but that training should be enough to take down most newcomers. I pity anyone that gets in the way of when a Frey actually is determined at something."

Ned pursed his lips, watching the Knight of the Laughing Tree obtain a new lance from the servants. Not even wealthy enough to afford hiring a squire… this was his kind of knight. "I don't know… I have a good feeling about this one, Lord Tully. Lord Arryn." The Lord of Riverrun didn't reply while Jon Arryn smirked.

Finally Ser Waldron Frey arrived, surrounded by Frey bannermen in new, gleaming uniforms. His armor was shined to perfection, two squires - clearly his younger brothers - having worked day and night to keep the equipment spotless. He looked like a Tyrell or a Lannister at that moment, gaudy and bedecked in splendor. While the actually wealthy noble houses could pull it off, on Ser Waldron it just looked tacky… especially as he preened and waved for the lukewarm crowd. Off to the side, the Knight of the Laughing Tree just waited patiently atop his horse.

The wait grew long, tempers chafing as Ser Waldron began blowing kisses to the smallfolk maidens. "Bloody hells!" bellowed Robert, a horn of ale in hand. "Start the damn joust before I piss mi'self!" Eying the handsome, well-built Lord Paramount make a drunken fool of himself, the three Starks cursed themselves for even considering him as a proper match for Lyanna - Ned especially, even though he was still his friend.

One person not embarrassed by the display was the King, who laughed. "Quite true, dear nephew," he said, voice syrupy sweet. "Start the fucking joust! Your King commands it!" Even the self-centered boor Waldron Frey couldn't ignore a command from his King, so he reluctantly broke off from his preening to form up at the north end of the field.

Taking his lance from his younger brother, Waldron Frey sneered at the Weirwood Knight. "Mismatched armor, no squire, pfft," he insulted. "You're not even a proper hedge Knight. You may have defeated the two oafs, but the heir to the twin crossings will wipe the floor with your blood!" A smattering of cheers and boos followed from the crowd.

The Weirwood Knight cocked his helmeted head. "Two?" Came the muffled voice.

At the insinuation that Ser Waldron was also an oaf, the entire crown laughed and cheered, Brandon nearly fell out of his seat while even the dour Ned cracked a smirk. "I like him," Rhaella whispered to her son."

Rhaegar nodded, peering curiously at the ill-fitting armor and worn helmet of the mystery knight. "Yes, muna. I like him as well."

"It's too cold, can this finish?" Young Viserys complained, fidgeting in his seat.

"You heard my son," the King barked, raising a hand. "Let it begin!"

At the sound of the horn the two contestants cracked their reins and sent their horses galloping headlong at each other. The gaudy Riverlands-style helm facing against the generic plain one as the lances both crashed on the other's shields. Rhaegar watched with baited breath as the tilt ended in a draw, both riders jostled but remaining atop their mounts, steeds slowing into a gentle trot to wait on the opposite sides of where they started.

Waldron Frey raised his visor to stare murderously at the mystery knight. "Playtime is over you little cunt," he screeched.

Within the royal box, Brandon couldn't help himself but to heckle. "You're actually calling him a cunt, Frey?"

The knight flushed red. "Who said that?!"

"I did! Brandon Stark," the heir to Winterfell boasted before Rickard kicked him inconspicuously.

"I'll remember that name," Waldron hissed back.

The King was giggling the whole time, enjoying this immensely. Rhaegar, however, wished to spare his future goodbrother any further embarrassment. "Your Grace… perhaps we should continue with the joust?"

"What? Oh… right. On with the damn joust!"

Horn blowing, the horses stampeded towards each other again. Clumps of mud and dirt kicked up by their hooves. Ser Waldron smirked as he lowered his lance, ready to smash it right into the Weirwood Knight's breastplate… only for the knight to shift right atop the saddle just at the right moment. The Frey's lance glanced off the knight's shoulderplate - Ser Waldron wasn't so lucky, lance shattering against his shield as he tumbled off his horse, rolling onto the ground until he laid there with pained groans. Bruised and worn, unable to rise until his squires raced over to help him up.

There was a stilled silence before the crowd started to cheer for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Including most of the Lords atop the royal box, Robert laughing uproariously at the good show while even Ned and Jon Arryn chuckled as they clapped. "Now that was a good one," Rhaegar whispered to his mother as they watched the knight approach on his mount.

He bowed to the King, and then to Rhaegar. "I serve House Targaryen with my life," came the gravelly voice.

"Congratulations for your victory in this newcomer's tourney," Rhaegar announced to both the knight and the crowd, standing. "As with your right to seek the ransom for the armor and mounts of the knights of House Frey, House Blount, and House Haigh, for your courage and skill on this my nameday, you shall have a place in the grand joust tomorrow."

But the knight merely held up an armored hand. "That will not be necessary, my Prince. I do not intend to compete tomorrow." He tilted his head towards the two defeated knights - Ser Waldron carried, moaning, off the field. "Teach your squires honor, and that shall be payment enough!" They both hung their heads in shame.

As the knight began to turn his horse away, the King bellowed. "Wait! You dare refuse the honor my son bestowed upon you?" His tone was irritated, but also curious. Violet eyes peering at the knight.

"I do not wish to compete, for I cannot face the Prince." The way he said the last title - almost with… affection - it caused Rhaegar to blink. He had heard this voice before. "My honor commands me not to fight him." And before the King could say another word, the Knight of the Laughing Tree turned his horse around and galloped off into the distance to the wild cheers of the crowd.

The Lords of the royal box just sat in a stunned silence… one that Robert Baratheon broke. "Damn, that bastard's got style!" He slapped his knee. "I'll unmask him and buy him a mug!"

But Rhaegar ignored the boorish Stag, instead concentrating on his father. On how his eyes suddenly sparkled, confusion changing into a hardened look - one of anger. Oh fuck. This was not going to end well.

Notes:

Well? Did I deliver on this awesome moment?

I know a lot of people wanted Lyanna to unmask herself after beating Robert... but given Aerys' madness and the history of it (that scene was very fun to write) he was never not going to call for her death. Stay tuned on that ;)

Baelish gets his ass kicked as usual, and his humiliation is seen by all.

So Dacey has a crush on Arthur - not shocked, lol. And Lyanna... sure... Elia doesn't have an insufferable lady in waiting ;D

Next up, Rhaegar discovers the Mystery Knight. If I can get 40 comments, I'll update on Friday :D

Chapter 11: Chains Broken

Notes:

Hey all! The support for this story is so awesome!

Enjoy and please comment :D

"I WANT HIS HEAD!"

Kingsguards standing at attention around the solar of the royal quarters, Rhaegar tried his best to hide his nerves. Stilling his trembling leg. "Father, I think…"

Interrupting his pacing and ranting to cast a murderous glare at his son, Aerys gestured madly. "Am I some simple smallfolk turd shoveller? You are to address me with the proper respect, sweet son," he spat.

Rhaegar lowered his head, properly chastised. "Yes, your Grace."

Mollified, if only slightly, the King wheeled around to Lord Commander Hightower. "Ser Gerold. You and your men combed the entire castle and campsite did you not?"

"We have, my King. No sign of the Knight of the Laughing Tree. It appears as if he had disappeared into thin air." Gerold didn't lie - he and the Household Guard of both House Targaryen and House Whent had searched high and low for the mystery knight. While he would have followed Rhaegar's secret directive and let the poor man flee, but they didn't even find him. "Forgive me for my failure."

Instead of rip into Gerold as he would normally have done, Aerys resumed his frantic ranting. "Dunk told me, that malevolent piece of shit!" The Crown Prince and the Queen shared a look as the King's back was turned. Imagining Prince Duncan Targaryen once again - Aerys' favorite vision in a manner of speaking. "I have to find this cutthroat cunt. Ser Oswell… you spoke to the Freys and the Blounts?" House Haigh was too tiny to even warrant the King's disgust, let alone attention.

Oswell cleared his throat. "They spoke of their squires being in a scuffle with some Crannogman Lord and his 'whore,' but…"

"Bah! A woman and a swamp homunculus," Aerys waved dismissively. "My royal ass they were responsible!" He rested his hands on a table, hunched over in despair. "Duncan! Why can't you leave me be!" wailed the King.

Rhaella stepped forward, gently clasping her husband's arm. Hoping that the kind Aerys from before was still somewhere there. "Your Grace, calm down. Perhaps we should simply have a private meal in our chambers and relax ahead of our son competing tomorrow…"

The Queen suddenly pitched back, falling upon the ground after Aerys slapped her hard about the cheek. "Do not tell me to calm down, weak woman!" he thundered, spittle flying from his breath. The Kingsguards watched in horror, but were unable to intervene. Much as they wished to protect their Queen - especially the terrified and enraged Jaime Lannister, fists clenching around the hilt of his sword as his beloved Rhaella collapsed - their oaths were sworn to the King and the King only. "The knight must die! He works for Tywin and the Doom, I just know it!"

Anger boiling even hotter than Ser Jaime's, Rhaegar also couldn't intervene. "If I may, your Grace," he began evenly, hoping to distract his father from his mother. "I can lead a party into the woods around Harrenhal. Find this scoundrel before he truly escapes the King's Justice."

Their violet eyes staring at each other, Aerys considered his son's offer. "Alright," he finally said, ignoring his wife as she cupped her smarting cheek. "Take the Kingsguards and do it. Bring me the bastard's head." With that, he stormed off into his bedchamber, slamming the ironwood door behind him.

In an instant, Rhaegar - and Ser Jaime - had fallen to their knees by Queen Rhaella. "Muna," the Prince said softly, taking her hand in his.

Fighting back tears, Rhaella shifted upright as Jaime pulled her hand away, inspecting the palmprint of the 'King's Justice' on her face. "It hurts, but I'll be alright," she stated. "I've had worse from your father."

"His Grace should treat you as you deserve to be treated," Jaime said with fire in his youthful voice. Both Rhaegar and Ser Barristan wanted to cuff him on the head - what he said was absolutely correct, but not at all smart.

"Calm yourself, Ser Jaime." Rhaella leaned on the two men to stand, smoothing out her dress. "I shall make my leave. Good luck, my wonderful son." Kissing his cheek, the Queen made her way out, followed by Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan.

Sighing, Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, my Prince?" Arthur asked, a worried look on his face.

He had since Ser Oswell gave his report to the King. "It can't be. She's ill in her tent, and the knight was clearly a man." Arthur nodded, but the agreement didn't reach his eyes.

---

Removing the kettle of spiced cider from above the crackling fire, Ned gently poured two cups for his brother and soon to be goodsister. Handing each of the steaming brews to them before pouring one for himself. "This is a traditional Northern drink for the winter climes. Granted, those who don't have glass gardens to grow the southern apples rely on hartier northern varieties. Stronger, not as sublime."

"Easy Ned," boomed Brandon, grinning. "The lady doesn't want to fall asleep listening to you prattle on about apples." Lyanna would have probably thrown an apple core at him, but Ned merely cast him a cross glare. Which his brother found hilarious. "Still, dear Catelyn. He's right about the drink. Gets us through many winters."

Used to the many varieties of wine favored among Andal-based cultures, Catelyn nevertheless sipped at the brew. Wrinkling her nose. "Sweet… but with a kick."

"That's how you know it works!" Gulping down a mouthful of the cider, Brandon didn't notice how his betrothed set the cup down after barely drinking it. Ned noticed and said nothing. It wasn't his place. "Can you believe the Mystery Knight today? Completely turned the day around after Jon Umber lost the damn melee - finally someone from the North wins something."

"How are you sure that the person is of the North?" Ned asked his brother. "As of this point, all we can be sure of is that the knight is a man." And yet, we never did see his face…

Brandon waved him off. "Don't be daft, Ned. The laughing weirwood? Sounds like a mocking jape from someone north of Moat Cailin."

"It isn't just the Lords of the North that follow the old gods," Catelyn added. "House Blackwood does too - father and I have visited Raventree Hall plenty of times. The dead weirwood there is massive, and they have resisted calls to worship the Seven since the Andal invasions." The daughter of House Tully ended the last with a slight tone of distaste. "Brynden Rivers, the Targaryen Bastard, followed the old gods because his mother was a Blackwood."

As before, Brandon was oblivious. "I understand, Cat, but the few remnants in the south of our faith - House Blackwood, House Dayne, and the like - are pretty muted about it. Up in the North, we're proud of our heritage and defiance. Especially with our gods." He leaned down to kiss Catelyn's neck, causing her to giggle. "They'll be your gods as well once we marry, my little trout."

The happy, lovestruck expression on Catelyn's face that was always there around Brandon seemed to vanish upon the mention of the old gods… and her likely conversion. Eyes fluttering shut and a quick, silent prayer mumbled from her lips. Averting his gaze, sipping his cider, Ned hid his worry for Brandon. The maiden was completely devoted to his brother, but the coming culture clash would test their relationship greatly - as well as the relationship between House Stark and the other Northern Houses. His countrymen valued their faith and their cultural independence from the rest of Westeros. House Manderly had been demonized and shut out till they abandoned their Reach-like ways and adopted the old gods. If Catelyn doesn't...

His thoughts were interrupted as Rodrik Cassel entered. "My Lords, Lord Arryn is requesting entry."

Ned's mood perked up as he stood. "Let him in, Rodrik." At the entrance of the impeccably dressed older Lord of the Vale, Ned opened his arms to embrace his foster father. "Lord Jon, it always a pleasure."

"Likewise, Eddard," Lord Arryn smiled, turning to the risen Brandon and Catelyn. "Forgive me for interrupting your quiet evening, but I hoped to come give the Lady Lyanna my best. I heard she has taken ill?"

"Aye, but she is sleeping at the moment," Brandon replied, touched at Lord Arryn's consideration. "I'll be sure to give her your thoughts, but please. Join us for some cider."

He poured himself a steaming cup. "Ah, the tasty northern brew. Your brother made me some years ago and I buy apples by the bushel ever since." Sharing a laugh at the fond memories with Ned, Lord Arryn let the liquid warm his insides. "How are you handling the betrothal?" There was no need to elaborate.

Ned smiled. "The Crown Prince is a person hard to dislike. He's charmed all of us and Lyanna is quite smitten." Putting it mildly. He had never seen his sister so happy outside of holding a sword or riding Winter - even her precious novel didn't make Lyanna smile as Rhaegar did.

"I didn't expect it though," Brandon stated the obvious. "Gods, I doubt any of us did. Accepting as we are of Lya's decision to go through with it, the prospect of her being the second wife to the Prince does give me pause."

"The Princess Elia is a kind soul," Catelyn said. "I met her at last year's tourney here and don't think she'd be vindictive… but jealousy is a strong motive." She didn't say anymore, but it was clear she was thinking of Petyr Baelish. The lad was confined to quarters for the foreseeable future, Lord Tully already making arrangements to send him to Riverrun for further recovery.

Lord Arryn frowned. "It's not really the Princess Elia I have worries about." He looked greatly burdened. "Your father did a wonderful job raising you boys, and Ned… I couldn't have asked for a better ward, but I'm afraid neither of us prepared you for life at court."

Furrowing his brows, Ned looked puzzled. "What do you mean, my Lord?"

"I'm afraid the old adage of Starks never prospering south of Moat Cailin holds quite a bit of truth."

"Cregan Stark did well for himself," commented Brandon.

"Yes he did, but that was in the aftermath of the Dance of Dragons when the Northern blunt honesty was needed to sweep clean the aftermath of rampant corruption and backstabbing. In peacetime, the latter is the norm and Northerners don't do so well." Lord Arryn winced. "I fear your father and sister are walking into a den of vipers like Baelor the Blessed, though I also fear they won't come out. Prince Rhaegar can only protect them so far."

His own worries popping up, Ned met the eyes of his foster father. "Perhaps you could advise my sister? She needs someone experienced, and you were fostered at court if I recall correctly?"

Silent for a moment, Lord Arryn then smiled. "You're a good man, Eddard. Cares for your family when most are only out there for themselves." He clasped Ned on the shoulder. "I can speak to her, certainly, though I'm not sure if I can journey to the capitol. I would advise both of you to speak with the Crown Prince about this. Not counting your father… there's no one but he that I would trust as protecting your sister's interests. Mace Tyrell…"

"Mace Tyrell is a pompous peacock without a shred of brains," Brandon spat. "All he did during last night's feast was brag about how his newborn was betrothed to Prince Viserys."

Lord Arryn rolled his eyes. "He's a gentle soul, but an idiot, yes. Don't count on him until Rhaegar is King. Varys' loyalties are up in the air, Lord Rykker and Lord Velaryon are loyal to Aerys, Pycelle is loyal to Tywin Lannister, and Connington… well…" Arryn chuckled. "Don't count on him."

"Why? Isn't he Rhaegar's close friend?" Ned asked.

"He is, but would rather be in Lyanna's position if you catch my drift." Lord Arryn chuckled as he sipped his drink.

Brandon had a look of disgust on his face. "Disgusting."

"In the days of the Faith Militant, they knew how to punish buggerers," Catelyn stated firmly.

"Enough influence and enough discretion can bury even the worst criminals, Lady Catelyn." He turned back to Ned and Brandon. "Don't trust anyone in King's Landing. Be candid to no one but family, the Prince, and Queen Rhaella. But even then, just be careful what you say. The spider has ears everywhere."

Ned was about to ask what 'the spider' was when the tent flap swished open and he lost all words. There, standing directly in front of him, was the golden lioness Cersei Lannister herself. Hair plaited into a crown of braids in the southern style, which framed her face in a sort of halo.

"Lord Stark, Lord Stark," she offered curtly, though with less venom than their first meeting. "Lord Arryn. I was told by your squire that you would be here in the Stark quarters."

Polished as always, the Lord of the Vale bowed respectfully. "Of course, Lady Cersei. How can I be of service?"

"My father sent some dispatches for me to deliver to you. He's concerned about the trade arrangements between Casterly Rock and the Eyrie." Unlike most young maidens, Cersei seemed to understand the basics of policy and ruling. Smart, if emotional.

He nodded. "Of course. We can discuss them in my quarters." Bading the Starks farewell, he exited the tent.

Before she followed him, Cersei turned to Ned. "Lord Eddard."

Counting trees until it was over, hoping not to show how flustered he was, Ned was forced to face the beautiful lioness. "Um… yes, Lady Cersei?" He could almost feel Brandon's quizzical look boring into his back.

"Thank you for your explanations today at the melee. I'm afraid most vagaries of fighting sports are beyond me, and can be worried for my brother's safety."

It took a moment before he found words. "I… I was glad to be of assistance, and can understand being worried for a sibling."

She was in no mood to continue, clearly uncomfortable. "Good night." and with that she was gone.

Turning, Ned found Brandon's brow cocked up. "What?"

"Oh… nothing, brother." It was most definitely not nothing, and both brothers knew that.

---

The forest at night was a place alive. The cooing of nocturnal birds, the chirping of crickets, small mammals scampering about in the undergrowth. For someone familiar with these woods as Rhaegar was, there was nothing civilized or tame about Westeros. Outside castle walls or the outskirts of the very few cities - he could count them all on a single hand - there was only wilderness. Land inhabited by those following the justice of survival rather than of the King's. Put much into perspective.

He crept forward through the low foliage, hand kept close to his sword in case of trouble. Eyes having long since adjusted into the chilly darkness only barely lifted by the glow of the moon, at no sign of his target he waved Arthur forward. The Sword of the Morning even quieter as he moved the dozen yards to Rhaegar's side. "No sign of him," whispered the Kignsguard.

"Hopefully he's far gone from here," Rhaegar murmured in response. Perhaps if they found something discarded he could inform his father that the mystery knight died. Then I can get back to Lyanna. Unable to even pay her a visit since she had nearly fainted in his arms, the Prince's mind was fraught with worry.

Arthur raised an eyebrow underneath his helmet. "You don't intend on finding him, do you?"

A sigh. "What would you have me do? Find an innocent knight and send him to be executed? My father's delusions aren't claiming another man." Frankly, the only good thing his father's mental state had ever done was give him Lyanna.

They had both discarded their horses long before for stealth concerns. For two heavily armored Westerosi knights, both of them could move rather silently in their Valyrian and Dornish styles. Trained by the best warriors in tracking and hunting… which this pretty much was. Combing the dense forests of the southern Riverlands with the persistence of a bloodhound. Much as the King ordered him to use all the Kingsguards, his lack of initiative in seeing to his orders being carried out left everything to the subordinates. While some would burn the forest down to curry favor, Rhaegar made sure to not let anything horrid happen. I'm not always successful.

A flicker of light in the distance caused Rhaegar to suddenly hold up his hand. "What's that?"

"Looks like an abandoned cottage, my Prince." Cold winters found a lot of them dotting the countryside, their occupants having died or fled to warmer climes when the food ran out. But this one held a flickering light and smoke coming out of the chimney. "We should check it out." If the Knight of the Laughing Tree was anywhere, it would be there.

The approach was covered with trees and underbrush, allowing both of them to dash across the last dozen yards without being seen. Dilapidated beyond belief, the cottage was clearly only standing due to a combination of wooden logs and stone walls mortared together. Classic design for this part of the Riverlands, rich in both trees and stone. As for the rest… the thatch roof had caved in in multiple places, thin walls decaying before their very eyes. Tied up by the doorway was a sleeping horse. Smart. No better hiding place for a refugee than an abandoned hovel likely devoid of inhabitants for a year.

Leaving Arthur to stand overwatch, Rhaegar scooted in a crouch towards the window. Making sure not to be seen, he slowly peered above the windowsill… only for his eyes to nearly bug out of his head at the sight.

Lyanna?

Standing in the middle of the single room was his betrothed. She bore the same mismatched and oversized armor as the Knight did, and the laughing Weirwood shield rested on the ground not far from her. There was no doubt, his betrothed was the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Flipping around, back resting against the crumbling stone wall, Rhaegar blinked. Clasping his palm atop his forehead to control his astonishment. Women who could handle a blade… they were rare but not unheard of. Women warriors that could bring weapons into a fight and triumph… who wore the pluck of dressing as a knight and entering the Tourney of a mercurial King just to defend the honor of s friend… next to impossible. The only persons matching this that Rhaegar could think of were both Targaryens. Queen Visenya and Princess Daena the Defiant. Perhaps Queen Rhaenyra has she been as adept at fighting as dragonriding.

Thinking about it more and more, the mysteries of his bride to be coming into the light with this revelation, a smile slowly curved on Rhaegar's face. The incest among Targaryens, most explained it as a means to control the dragons - but as Rhaegar seemed to realize more and more… there was an allure that a true dragon held for another of its kind. Where only another dragon could truly mate and pair with the blood of the passionate, fiery creatures. And with no dragons, other, similar natures applied as well. Elia was cunning and smart, a match for him in wit and politics. And now, right in front of him was a fierce, daring direwolf of Winter. Rhaegar peered back into the cabin, watching Lyanna remove her armor.

In spite of her dark hair and northern features, she looked like Visenya reborn - or at least Daena.

"Your Grace…" Before Rhaegar could shush Arthur, the Sword of the Morning managed to get a peek of the damning scene. His eyes widened as well, mouth dropping like a fish while Rhaegar pushed him away from the window. "I'll be damned… Lyanna Stark is the Knight of the Laughing Tree."

Rhaegar frowned. "Say it a little louder, Arthur. See if they can hear you back in Starfall." Arthur closed his mouth, but a sly grin formed. "What?"

The knight chuckled softly. "You are one lucky son of a bitch, my Prince. First Elia, the cunning political mind… and now Lyanna Stark, master rider and northern warrior. It's like Rhaenys and Visenya reborn."

Opening his mouth to speak, Rhaegar found no words. Arthur's comparison was quite apt, and the smile from before returned with a vengeance. Threatening to split his lip open. Lyanna… she's perfect. The sight of her in the armor, knowing just how skilled she was in using it… it lit a fire within Rhaegar. Woke his inner dragon. This was no innocent maiden or power-hungry bitch, but a genuine, fierce soul. One who in only a few days had wormed her way into his heart. Someone he could be honest with - a true wife and lover to fill the yearning in his soul.

"Rhaegar… my Prince…"

Arthur's voice brought him out of his reverie. "Stand guard somewhere close. I'll figure out something to tell my father."

"I was just going to say, enjoy yourself." The knight smiled wide at his friend. "It's been ages since I've seen you this happy. All who care about you want more of it." Rhaegar matched his friend's smile and stepped towards the cabin door.

Fingers nimbly undoing the strap holding the breastplate in place, it clattered to the floor - but not before brushing a large bruise on her shoulder. "Ahhh… fuck!" Damn Waldron Frey. Hiking up her tunic, leaving only a set of breast bindings clothing her torso, Lyanna examined the various bruises, welts, and cuts on her body with a reflecting glass Howland had placed in the cabin for her. Nothing that would be serious, but still irritating.

Chucking another log into the fireplace to ward off the chill - tame compared to the gales of the North, but biting her bare skin through the gaps in the roof and walls - Lyanna silently commended Dacey and Howland for finding this place. Both sufficiently inconspicuous enough to get away with it all. A quick patch up and she could throw on her dress and ditch the armor and shield. Your last chance to be free and wild. The inner voice of worry ate at her. Rhaegar was… perfect, but the thought of being a demure, quiet Queen still gnawed underneath the surface. I hope he understands.

Would any man? Her own father barely did.

Pouring some sour wine from a jug onto a strip of cloth, she dabbed it on her wounds. Enduring the deep sting with clenched teeth and a hiss. Maester Luwin always treated their wounds with it, an old trick from the Citadel. It worked after all. I should have been more careful, anticipated their coming blows. In all honesty, Lyanna hadn't seen a joust till the specific Tourney, and it had been a testament to her skill on a horse that she had beaten each of the three scumbags. Wounds and all.

Was it worth it? Damn straight. A wolfish grin came about her face as she continued to treat her cuts with the rag. Seeing both knights cowering before her, Waldron Frey being carried off moaning like the little bitch he was, it was so satisfying. A memory she would have for the rest of her life - a last hurrah before having to adopt the courtly manners of a proper southern Queen.

In all her musings and reminiscences of the day's events, Lyanna didn't hear the door opening or notice the armored form enter the room. Catching a glimpse of creamy skin and trim, shapely curves all leading up to a rather ample bosom encased in the bindings, Rhaegar leaned against a beam. Crossing his arms with an appreciating smirk. Letting the seconds tick by, curious as to how long she'd go without noticing him - plus he just couldn't tear his gaze away from how beautiful she was. My winter's wolf…

Rolling her shoulders, Lyanna pressed the rag against her bruise there. There was no cut, but the liquid chilled in the early spring chill was quite soothing. A sigh left Lyanna. The daughter of Winterfell finally allowed herself to relax.

Hearing that lovely sigh - going straight to his crotch - Rhaegar couldn't take it anymore. "Look what we have here."

Almost jumping ten feet into the air - the half-yelp, half-scream leaving her lips most unladylike - Lyanna swerved around to see Crown Prince Rhaegar, her betrothed, leaning there with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "Uh… my Prince…" Think, Lya, think… "It's not what it looks like." Catching his eyes flicker to to the shield emblazoned with Howland's beautiful laughing weirwood… Really, Lyanna? Really? Flushing crimson, all she could do at that moment was grab her tunic. Covering her nearly bare torso.

"Not what it looks like?" Smirk not faltering, Rhaegar pushed himself off the beam. Walking slowly towards the trapped warrior maiden. Violet eyes trained intensely on Lyanna. "Well, let's have a look see. You are dressed in riding breeches and, I suppose, a tunic." Her face reddened even further as he alluded to her state of undress. "There is stripped plate armor on the floor, as well as a shield. A shield with a very distinctive sigil painted atop it."

Lyanna's heart pounded in her chest as he drew closer. Close enough that she could smell his masculine scent, driving her wild. At that moment she realized she hadn't ever seen him in his armor. Plates arranged up his arms and legs like scales, breastplate snugly against his chest emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon. Large plates accentuating his broad shoulders, silver-hair pulled up into a bun rather than let down so she could run her fingers through them like she so wanted… Lyanna had never seen a more handsome man than Rhaegar Targaryen, and seeing him dressed for battle was turning her into a longing mush.

From the widening smirk on his face, he knew it. "I may be wrong, but you look just like a certain knight that defeated Waldron Frey earlier in the Newcomer's Joust… but I think that knight was a man."

It may have been how he was enjoying the effect he had on here, or perhaps it was his last statement - either way, Lyanna managed to pull herself together. Scowl forming on her face, she quickly threw on her tunic. Grey eyes steely as they stared him down. "Very well, my Prince. Yes, I am the Knight of the Laughing Tree."

He was still thinking of how to express his thoughts - and to be honest her ire simple made her more beautiful. "I find that hard to believe, my Lady."

"Find it hard to believe?!" Her glare was incredulous. "I am a woman of the North, not some southern maiden living cloistered and praying to the Seven every time I think an impure thought." Her worst fears seemed to be true - for all his kindness, respect… otherworldly beauty, he still expected her to be a proper lady. To raise his children and act as a hostess while he ruled the Seven Kingdoms and engaged in knightly pursuits. "I am no demure southern lady, my Prince. I ride, I know swordplay, and apparently I can joust as well…" Rhaegar was silent, making no further gesture. While part of Lyanna said it was not wise to scream at Rhaegar the things more suited to tell Robert or even her father, once it started it had to come out. "So if you expect me to sit quietly then you can…"

She was cut off by Rhaegar pulling her flush against his armored chest. Lips finding hers in a passionate kiss.

When one grew up at court - especially the court of Aerys II Targaryen - you learned how to read people or you died. It was sink or swim and thanks to the council of his mother and, oddly, Hand of the King Tywin Lannister, Rhaegar swam. As Lyanna continued to rant, he realized the real reason for Lyanna's hesitation. While Elia would always be an issue and the suddenness would be overcome with time, the fear and bitterness would be poison to their marriage. Especially since Rhaegar first fell entranced by this woman when seeing her fight. Realizing she was the Weirwood Knight, a magnificent female warrior as the great Visenya before her only sealed it. Unable to truly convey such a cauldron of emotion, Rhaegar did what he had been longing to do and simply kissed her.

Initially taken aback, eyes wide and gasping, a gentle warmth fill her. Gods, he feels amazing. Lyanna melted into the kiss, reaching up to loop her arms around his neck. Feeling his tongue gently lick her lips, asking for entrance, she practically swooned. It was clear to her that a dragon burned inside him, waiting to be unleashed. But unlike Robert, he was considerate enough to hold back. To wait for permission, something she willingly gave. Next thing she knew the dragon awoke. Unleashing a passionate fury in her mouth one gladly reciprocated.

This should have been my first kiss. As Rhaegar drew back, both panting heavily, her tension had disappeared, Lyanna gazing into his violet eyes with a gentle longing. The kiss had been perfect.

Catching his breath, Rhaegar cupped her soft cheek. "You truly believed I wanted a quiet, meek wife simply as a broodmare?"

Lyanna bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed. When Rhaegar put it that way, her worried seemed so foolish in hindsight. "I… it's just how it is. Even in the North."

Smiling at her, Rhaegar kissed the crown of her head. "Coming from the family of female warriors and dragonriders, those that believe that are fools." The Prince could get lost in his betrothed's grey eyes, sparkling with affection at his statements. "Truth be told, it was witnessing you clobber those boorish squires..."

She gaped at him. "You witnessed that?!" Blood rushed back to her face, wrenching away in humiliation. Not letting him finish. "Seven Hells, what must you have thought of me…"

Rhaegar pressed a single finger against her lips, stilling her. "Calm down, Lyanna." How he said her name made Lyanna's heart flutter. "As I was saying, seeing that was what drew me to you in the first place." Lyanna blinked in surprise. "I knew from the beginning that I have a beautiful, courageous, brave, and strong…" He grinned... "Piece of work for a betrothed. And seeing you defend young Lord Reed's honor on the jousting field… gods, you're incredible." Even with their problems, Elia had been a priceless gem to him - an intelligent politician with an inner steel. Lightning struck twice as another strong woman fell into his lap. Perhaps I am one of fortune's favorites after all?

"I…" Lyanna couldn't believe it. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

Gods, how foolish had she been to ever doubt him. Her Prince Daemon. "I'm sorry, Rhaegar." Her eyes flickered down, ashamed. "I just assumed that you could be like most southern men who like their wives to be weak, quiet things."

Briefly frowning at such a common desire, Rhaegar lightly grasped Lyanna's chin and pulled her back to look at him. A smile formed on his face as he caressed the soft skin of her cheek. "Well, im not like those fools, Lyanna. I did not start falling for a weak or manipulative woman, but for the She-Wolf of Winterfell. Proud and strong and very, very beautiful."

This time it was she that was lost for words. It was she that leaned up and planted her lips on his, nothing holding them back in their second kiss. Tongues demanding and searching. Hands bold as his rested on her waist and hers ran along the form-fitting plates of his armor. Two beings supremely comfortable with the other, able to express their latent passion. Lyanna felt Rhaegar push her backward till her back hit the wall, plundering it like a triumphant conqueror. Yes… don't stop, Rhaegar… Had he decided to take her maidenhead right there, she would have urged him on.

But much to her displeasure - though his respect for her was one reason she had fallen so deeply for him in such a short time - he drew back once more. It was now his turn to look nervous. "Perhaps we should talk?"

Biting her lip again, Lyanna nodded. "Yes, we should." Drawing two worn chairs covered in dust, Rhaegar gestured for Lyanna to sit, which she did. His sudden nervousness was adorable. "We've had too many misunderstandings, Rhaegar." She took his hand in hers, tracing along the powerful palm. "What would you like to know?"

Electric tingle shooting up him from her touch, Rhaegar forced himself away from thoughts of her. Of her lips swollen from their passion. "Why were you so worried about our marriage? I mean, being the Princess does pose certain problems to overcome, but also a freedom from certain conventions. If you perform your duties, then there is nothing else truly expected of you, so why the fear?"

Lyanna looked away, pursing her lips. "Let's just say I haven't had a decent history with betrothals before you, my Dragon." She smiled slightly. "Do you mind if I call you that?"

He laughed, a cheery chuckle of a man without a care in the world - something few had heard him ever do since he was but a child. "I like it… my Wolf." Their eyes sparkled at each other. "So, by history you mean your betrothal to Robert Baratheon?" A dark glare flashed across her expression. "Lyanna… what did he do?" If he forced himself on her…

With a hearty sigh - one holding back a still simmering anger, but also a pointless one at this point - Lyanna proceeded to recount her encounters with her previous suitor. From the disrespect, to the kiss, to the almost giddy way he slept with whores while also believing he professed a deep live fit her, by the end she could see Rhaegar was boiling.

"That shit." Rhaegar suppressed his urge to be a kinslayer at that moment. "To think he has any Targaryen blood… fucking disgrace." The Prince pulled her onto his lap, snug in a tight embrace. "Please tell me that your brothers and father no longer have anything to do with that slug?"

She nuzzled her nose against the crook of his neck, enjoying the spicy scent of her Dragon Prince. "They reacted badly when I told them." Memories of what Robert had told her came to mind, the true reason she had been so fearful of Rhaegar… I truly feared my Daemon… Feeling so horrible, the weight of all her worries suddenly hit her - of everything that had been both created and resolved and was still to be in the balance. Clutching to him tighter, she began to softly sob.

Sounds Rhaegar heard almost immediately. "Lyanna?" Surprised by her sudden tears, he pulled her back to look at her, gently rubbing her back. "Lya… what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry... I want to be strong." Everything he had told her - it just seemed like a dream. "I… I don't want to live in chains. I can't live in chains, Rhaegar."

Seeing those beautiful grey eyes watering again, Rhaegar's heart broke - a sight as horrifying to see as when Elia broke into silent tears at his father insulting their little girl. I swear to you, Lya, I will never chain you."

Sniffling, Lyanna couldn't help but to shift around till she rested her head against his armored chest, listening to his heartbeat underneath the plate. "So if I wish to practice my swordplay?" It had taken years to convince her father to allow Lyanna to train - before which she had trained in the wolfswood with Bran - and that only was due to her agreeing to etiquette lessons from Nan. To train and spar meant the world to her.

"I'll appoint Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell as your instructor if you want."

Lyanna peered up at him, regarding him with new eyes. "And if I wish to ride?"

Gently, he wiped the tears off her cheeks. "The beaches of Dragonstone are perfect for riding. I'll make sure the best mounts in Westeros are there for you to choose from." Honoring and cherishing this gem - this winter rose, it was so easy for him. She was just so perfect.

She blushed. "I already have the best horse in the seven kingdoms." They both laughed at that, Lyanna's tears long forgotten. How did I get so lucky? "His Grace's announcement came at the perfect time for me." Lyanna reached up to cup his cheek. "You saved me from what would be a horrible marriage, instead giving me what I hope will be a wonderful one."

"It will be wonderful, Lyanna." He said this without any doubt in his voice. "I'll do everything in my power to protect you and make you happy. This day until the end of my days." She stared at him, for his use of the Andal wedding vows - it was not by accident. "It's only been a short time since we truly met, but since then I've fallen for you, Lyanna Stark."

They still had to get to know everything about the other, but the bond was made - all that was left to do was strengthen it till it was unbreakable. I have no intention of letting him get away. "I fell for you the moment I heard you sing." Lyanna's expression grew determined. "I don't give a fuck what anyone says, my Prince. I want to be your Queen... if you'll have me that is?"

Rhaegar was taken aback for a moment at the blunt, crude words, but recovered quickly. Grabbing her face with both hands. "Of course I'll have you, my feisty Wolf."

They kissed again, and time just ended for Lyanna. One moment she was in his lap, and the next he had laid her on the threadbare reed mat that lined the dirty floor. Tongues tangled and hands brushing all over her body. She gasped as he moved to her neck, licking and kissing, a livewire to her core. Wordlessly, Lyanna reached and began removing his armor. Tossing them in every direction until he was in a simple tunic. Hands inching under the fabric to feel his hard muscles - muscles that made her mouth water. Whatever had overcome Lyanna, she didn't care.

Kissing back up to her mouth, Rhaegar felt all the most lustful urges coursing through him. Instinct growling at him to bury his length in her heat, to breed the beautiful, wild direwolf with his dragonseed. Tempering the hot blood coursing through him, Rhaegar nevertheless reached down to untie her trousers.

Lost in her passion, his actions brought her back to reality. "Wait… Rhaegar…" Lyanna broke their kiss, half-lidded eyes staring into his dark indigo. She decided then and there she could melt into a puddle by simply gazing into his eyes. "I want to remain a… a maiden until our wedding night." She blushed.

Smiling gently, Rhaegar kissed her sweetly. "I respect your virtue, my Wolf. You are truly a winter's rose." Still, he went back to yanking down her trousers. "But I still intend on making you shatter." Something feral was driving him. Rhaegar needed to see her screaming his name. Needed it more than breathing.

Brows furrowed in confusion, trusting him yet still unknowing of what in the name of the old gods her betrothed was doing, Lyanna watched him kiss down her stomach. Then kiss along her thighs. And then kiss… there. "Rhaegar… what…?" Just as she spoke, the Prince's tongue licked a slow strip up her slit - and it felt so deliriously… good. "Fuck, my Prince… don't stop…"

"Raqagon, ñuha dōna zokla." Pushing her thighs wide apart, Rhaegar moaned into her heat. "Sylutī." She tasted divine - he fancied Elia's, but Lyanna's wasn't comparable. Like two flavors of sweet wine, and he was lucky enough to enjoy both. Her hands weaved into his hair, tugging and pulling until they fell from his bun. He tossed her legs about his shoulders. "Do you like the Lord's Kiss?"

"Oh yes…" She was seeing stars, driven to her edge by his hungry licks. "More, Rhaegar. More!" All she could hear was the sliding of his tongue through her folds, and her frantic breaths.

She was close - he had enough experience with Elia to know for sure. "Lyanna…" he whispered into her wetness. Rhaegar shifted up, lashing his tongue against her little nub. Rewarded by her hips bucking, fingers pulling at his hair. Lyanna's back arched up, wetness covering his mouth to which he downed gladly. "Māzigon syt nyke." Reveling in the shuddering moan that signaled her climax to the world.

Lyanna, arm pressed against her forehead to steady her thoughts, closed her eyes. His voice… Gods, that voice… Speaking in High Valyrian, a language beautiful on his tongue. Opening them again as she panted. "Seven hells…" The aftershocks of her climax still shuddered through her. "That was… Gods, Rhaegar."

Shit-eating grin planted on his face - no man unable to feel smug at making such a gorgeous beauty shatter like that - Rhaegar gently lapped up the remnants of her juices and pulled up her trousers. Fastening them. "So," he said, shimmying till he was by her side. "I'll take it you enjoyed?"

"Mmmmm… that was wonderful, Rhaegar." Needing to be close to him, Lyanna threw her arms around his side, snuggling into his chest. "I can't wait for my life with you." The reality would be quite complex to navigate, but at least she'd have this man beside her during all of it. Lyanna allowed that truth to push everything else aside for now.

"Me neither, my winter goddess." Kissing her hair, sniffing the cold, clean scent, he couldn't help but laugh. "I still can't believe you were the Knight of the Laughing Tree."

Smiling back, Lyanna now knew he held nothing but affection in his tone. "Well, those cunts needed to be taught a lesson, and since this wasn't on the menu I was in need of some fun." Her grin matched his.

Out of nowhere, Rhaegar frowned. "My father…" The mood darkened. "He wants the knight dead."

Lyanna blinked, suddenly fearful. "What, why?"

"I can't be sure anymore…" A sigh, running his hand through his silver locks. "His mind doesn't operate on the plane of sanity anymore." Rhaegar grabbed her hands. "I'll take your helmet and say the knight washed away into the God's Eye. No one will ever know." He pressed a searing kiss to her lips. "You are my betrothed, Lyanna. You are part of the dragon pack, and I will protect you to the death."

She smiled wanly. Prince Daemon Targaryen, leaping off Caraxes to his death to protect the one he loved. "Don't die, Rhaegar. Live, so that we may know a long and happy life."

"Oh, I intend to."

After helping him with his armor - an action frequently interrupted by sweet kisses and lustful touches - Rhaegar finally left the cottage. Shutting the door behind him, Lyanna turned and collapsed against it. Sliding to the ground with a dreamy smile on her face and the feeling of his lips still tingling all over her body. Never having been happier.

Notes:

And the Pact of Ice and Fire is pretty much sealed :D

I know many of y'all wanted to see Aerys grinning when Lyanna was unmasked at the tourney. Perhaps in another fic, but this reaction is necessary for later developments. Trust me.

Ned, Ned, Ned, I think he's a glutton for punishment, lol.

Translations:

Raqagon, ñuha dōna zokla - Enjoy, my sweet wolf

Sylutī - tasty

Māzigon syt nyke - Come for me

Next time, Targaryen v. Baratheon for the title of King's Champion!

Chapter 12: Dragon v. Stag

Notes:

Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay. Holidays and all that. But here we are at the big clash between Robert and Rhaegar. Lots of stuff happening this chapter!

Be sure to check out my Jonerys one shot, Something About Dragonstone :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

"So, how was it?"

Creamy lids fluttering open, Lyanna's eyes flickered to Dacey's behind her through the looking glass. Normally she'd be squirming and cursing through the daily setting of her hairstyle - rendered more important due to the betrothal - but the future Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms was rather quiet this time. "How was what?" she asked back, innocently.

Dacey chuckled. "You know very well what I'm referring to." Twisting Lyanna's chestnut hair into a simple crown of braids - symbolism not lost on either - the She-Bear leaned in. "How was Rhaegar? The look on your face says everything."

Blushing faintly, instead of embarrassment Lyanna could only feel a warm contentment flow through her. "It was the best," she basically swooned. Her rather girlish attitude whenever she thought of Rhaegar, seeming better suited to a story about Florian and Jonquil, didn't bother her anymore. Rhaegar was completely worth it. My beautiful Prince Daemon.

A grin spread on the lady in waiting's face. "That good, huh? Had to be if it got you blushing like that." She puffed up the hair, arranging it in a perfect halo for Lyanna's angelic face. "Think a Prince or Princess is already on the way?"

This time, the blush was rather intense. "What? No." Lyanna wanted to shake her head, but didn't want to disrupt Dacey's masterpiece with her hair. It wasn't fancy, but a faint application of powder to the cheeks joined with the simple hairstyle meant to ground her wild northern beauty served to find the perfect balance between elegance and exotic. "I am still a maiden. He understood when I told him that would wait till the waiting night."

"Respectful… he's a keeper, though I guarantee you there was a dragon hidden inside him waiting to be unleashed." Both young women grinned at each other. "So, what did he do that got you blushing like a swooning maiden?"

"Something with his… tongue." Far from embarrassed now, she smirked lasciviously, transformed into a seductress.

"The Lord's Kiss? Ah, I've had that before, but no one could get me to the swooning stage." Mormont women were wild bears, but very picky with their men. Dacey seemed carry in that tradition, only having eyes for the Sword of the Morning himself.

Her blush returned, a dreamy look forming on her face. "It was absolutely amazing. So kind… so passionate… the perfect balance." This had to be a dream. There was no way such delirious happiness was possible. "I'm falling in love with him, Dacey. Gods help me for going so quickly, but I don't care. He's perfect."

"I wouldn't be ashamed of that." Wrapping her arms around Lyanna's shoulders, Dacey smiled at her through the mirror. "The Prince is a genuine person. No man not pure of heart would have accepted you wishing to remain a maiden with such grace and acceptance - plus you have the same intuition as the wolf you are. Good instincts, and found yourself a keeper." She pressed an affectionate kiss on the crown of her head. "There's stuff to be careful about, but your growing love for the Crown Prince isn't one of them."

Tilting her head, glancing at Dacey, Lyanna gave a large smile. "Thank you." The worries were always there, but it heartened her that Dacey, Ned, her father, and the so many others that loved her were in her corner.

There was a gentle silence between the two. "So… did he say dirty words in Valyrian while licking you?" Her lady in waiting grinned.

Lyanna pulled back to glare at her. "Shut it."

"I'll take that as a yes." Dacey grinned even wider.

"Get out!" Lyanna ordered, a good-natured smile forming on her face. Laughing herself, Dacey bowed and complied, eager to get a good spot at the Tourney grounds - likely hoping to get a good glance at the Sword of the Morning. She was obvious that way.

Rising from her chair, a gentle breeze wafting through the tent, Lyanna admired herself in the mirror. If it weren't for dacey her hair would have practically been a birds nest of wild strands every which way instead of the waterfall of silky locks that fell to her waist, though she doubted Rhaegar would mind. Rhaegar… She hated the doe-eyed, dreamy stares her friends would give the men of the household guards, but here she was doing the same thing to her Dragon Prince. And she wasn't ashamed - he deserved her affections and her love. Looking the image over in the looking glass, it was like Lyanna had transformed herself. Beautiful hairstyle, a finely powdered face, literally the only fine dress she owned in a fine northern style. Glittering sky blue and accentuating her curves, Lyanna knew Rhaegar would be burning with desire while on his horse at the joust.

Just thinking of her beloved, she twirled around, laughing. Gliding around the room with a carefree smile, singing softly in her joy. There would be problems coming forward - dealing with the Princess Elia and a crash course at adapting to court life, but it didn't matter at this moment. She had her Dragon Prince, a man that loved and respected her. One that cherished all of her quirks and accepted her for who she was. I think he'd even spar with me if I asked him to. The thought made her giggle with glee. Nothing could ruin her mood at this point.

"My Lady Lyanna?"

Turns out, the thought had been far too soon. Halting, Lyanna's eyes found the fully armored form of a young highborn waiting by the entrance to the tent. Had it been Rhaegar paying a visit prior to the jousts, she would have ran into his arms and kissed him so passionately they would have toppled over from lack of air. But it wasn't the Valyrian armor of a Targaryen Prince, but the heavy plate of a Stormlands Lord. Her smile fell immediately as her posture grew guarded. "Lord Baratheon."

Confident smile on his face, Robert was in the best of moods. Armor freshly shined, lances sharpened, and horses fully trained in several practice runs, there was no doubt in his mind that the victory in the final joust would be his. A bath with three of Chataya's best girls and the finest gambeson and breeches imported from Tyrosh to go with his suit of armor, all that was left was to find the woman he would be calling his wife by the end of it all. "Oh my dear, you need not be so formal with me." Before Lyanna could respond, he snatched her hand and kissed the knuckles. "You look beautiful in that dress." Upon walking in - confident Ned or Brandon would allow him in if asked - her carefree dancing was just too alluring that he couldn't stop himself from admiring the view.

For once, he didn't smell like wine. That didn't stop Lyanna from wrinkling her nose in disgust. While there was no appetite left in her for a confrontation that would likely get ugly, she nevertheless couldn't stand to be in the same room with him. "What do you want, Lord Baratheon?" she asked, trying to be polite. Crossing her arms and hoping to just wait him out before her brothers or father came to get her.

He bowed, looking like the epitome of a chivalrous knight in the light of the seven. "I am about to compete for the grand prize today. Would you be so kind as to allow me to wear your favor?"

Lyanna's delicate eyebrow rose. He's japing me, right? As if she'd ever let him wear her favor after what an ass he was... "I'm sorry my Lord," she said in a calmer voice than he deserved. "If I'm to give my favor to anyone it will be to my betrothed."

Blinking, the Stormlands lord paramount looked confused. "I am your betrothed. Your father accepted your brother's offer, and he knows how devoted I am to you."

He honestly believes this. "We are not betrothed, Robert. It was only an offer, one that was never finalized." Lyanna leaned against a table in the tent, eyes narrowing. "My true betrothed is Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, ordered by the King and accepted by my father, the new Master of Laws and member of the small council."

Robert rolled his eyes. "More about that again." Waving his hand dismissively, Robert stepped closer to the young she-wolf. "I happen to know my uncle, the King. His sister was my grandmother, and I was fostered in the Red Keep for a year as a young child, so I get how he thinks. This is nothing but a power play to piss off Tywin Lannister, the betrothal isn't real."

At this point beyond caring, Lyanna scoffed. Seven hells - can't this man take a hint? "I assure you, the betrothal is quite real, Lord Baratheon." The last was almost spat out, Lyanna's ire rising.

In all honesty, he didn't understand why she was upset. "There's no chance it can be. Our betrothal was real, in the sight of the Seven. Even the King cannot undo such or else piss off the Faith, and they already fuckin' hate House Targaryen."

"I told you already that our betrothal, however far it went, was never formalized." It struck Lyanna as darkly ironic that he thought himself as such a fine lord, yet she as a wild northerner was the more educated of the two. "Queen Rhaella renewed the Pact of Ice and Fire with my father and eldest brother after the King's decree. It was finalized earlier in the week, with my father appointed Master of Laws, food and Myrish glass being sent to the North for winter, and my brother being sworn as a Kingsguard."

"Ned as a Kingsguard? Impossible," Robert chortled.

Lyanna fought a laugh herself. He doesn't even know who Benjen is… I doubt he remembers Ned telling him, or cares one way or another. "All this time you call yourself his friend and say you're in love with me…"

He peered at her with confused eyes. "But I do love you, my sweet Lyanna…"

Moving to touch her, Lyanna batted his hands away. "Do not touch me, Robert," she snapped, anger at the surface. "You claim to love me without even knowing me or my family. The Pact is sealed. To break it off would bring myself the greatest dishonor." I would have fled with Rhaegar anyway, had father been so stupid as to betroth me to Robert. Her loathing of this man and affection for the Prince so strong already, she refused to be ashamed for such a thought, however mad it was.

Fists clenching, Robert nonetheless showed an incredible restraint. "While I commend your Lord Father for making a good deal for your hand, it disgusts me that you would be sold as some broodmare mistress for a dragonspawn."

Lyanna's cheeks started to flush red, this time with anger. "I will not be a mistress Lord Baratheon." While childish fantasies were childish fantasies, she bore the luck and providence to see hers become a near reality. "I'll become the second wife and warrior Queen of the future King of Westeros, Visenya to his Aegon. He is the heir of our ruler and my betrothed in the sight of both the old gods and the new so I suggest you speak of him with respect."

"He's practically a rapist and I will not let him steal what's mine." Robert stepped forward again, their faces only a foot apart.

The Lord of Storm's End towered over her with his bulk but Lyanna refused to be intimidated. Seeing red and gritted teeth. "What's yours?" If he wouldn't understand, she'd have to hammer it into his idiot brain. Lyanna finally realized that this conflict was inevitable, but this time neither Ned nor Brandon could be the one to finish it.

Her anger… she was scared of Rhaegar, Robert was sure of it. I cannot let him abuse her this way. Lyanna would be his to wed and protect, and if it meant challenging the Crown then Robert was willing to do so. He was a Baratheon, and they were the fury. "Before the King got involved, you were to be my bride. I won't let the dragonspawn get his claws on you."

Enough is enough. "I will become the Prince's wife, Lord Baratheon," she ground out through gritted teeth, voice low. "I am very happy with the prospect so I very well suggest you find another woman because this one will become Queen."

Suddenly his blue eyes grew dark, a dazzling ocean blue almost black with… lust. "I want no other wife but you," he husked. At that moment, before Lyanna could even respond, Robert pulled her to him and kissed her. Thick hands encased in armor wrapping around her waist, trapping her there. His tongue stabbed into her like a mace through bone, even more forcefully than the first time. Then, he merely was overcome by desire. Here, beginning to shove her towards the bed, he was claiming her as his. Absolutely confident that she wanted him to.

Inside, Lyanna was screaming. This was no proper kiss or lover's embrace, not at all like Rhaegar's gentle but fiery touches and caresses. After knowing what a real kiss of love and respect felt like, Lyanna felt even more disgusted at this. Disgusted and… terrified. Knowing where he was going - aiming for her very maidenhead. No! I will not lose it to this disgusting oaf! Unable to push off his bulky frame, she blindly reached for the first thing she could and swung.

The precious book crashed against Robert's cheek. Leaving nothing but a small cut and bruise but causing him to grunt in pain. The shock of which enough to force him off, Lord of Storm's End stumbling back. Looking upon Lyanna with wide, unbelieving eyes. "My sweet…"

"I. Am. Not. Your. Sweet," she hissed, breathing deeply as she shook with rage. "Do not touch me again, or else it will be a dagger I use on you."

At that moment, the guards raced in. Two young members of the Household Guard, illiterate and their first time outside of the ancestral lands of House Stark around Winterfell. They surveyed the scene with confusion and worry, clutching the hilt of their sheathed swords. "What's going on?" Eyes shifting between Lord Baratheon and Lyanna. "My Lady, are you alright?"

Glaring at Robert… the fatigue and tiredness started to wash over her. "I'm fine, Torrhen. Lord Baratheon was just leaving." Lyanna just wanted him gone.

Robert soothed his pained cheek with his hand, the two staring at each other with nary a word. Suddenly, his blue eyes turned a very dark shade - different from before. Something she had never seen in him in their encounters. Angry, but a deep anger. One melded from pure hate. "I'll have you Lyanna, even if it's the last damned thing i do." He grabbed his cape from the coathanger and threw it over his shoulder. "I swear before all the gods that the Dragonspawn will give you to me, or my warhammer will taste his rapist blood." With that, he left. Tent flap swooshing behind him.

Trembling, Lyanna collapsed in the nearest seat. Clutching the book around her waist just like his last visit, only now she was fighting tears rather than mere shock. Strength seeping out of her as the weight of what happened came crashing down. The guards were by her side. "Would you like some wine, my Lady?"

Lyanna shook her head. "No, I'll be fine," she croaked.

"Shall we inform Lord Stark of this?"

"Don't bother him. I'll let him know. Go back to your posts." They nodded and left. Inhaling deeply, Lyanna willed herself to be calm. She wasn't a defenseless maiden, but a wolf of Winterfell. The soon to be Princess to the Dragon Prince. She would be strong. How in the Seven Hells will I get this oaf out of my ass? Perhaps speaking to Ned… or Rhaegar... No, that wasn't an option. He's still the Lord of Storm's End. Thinking like a true Princess, political considerations first.

At that moment, the guards called in from outside. "Lady Stark, make way for her Grace, the Queen Rhaella."

Eyes widening, Lyanna quickly stood and set her book gingerly on the table. Smoothing out the creases in her dress, she fell to her knees just as Rhaella breezed through the tent flaps, Kingsguard right behind her. "My Queen."

The Queen let out a small laugh, one comparable to the sweetest song of birds. "Rise Lady Lyanna," she said softly, reaching down in a most familiar way to help her future gooddaughter up. "We will soon be family after all... and do please call me Rhaella."

Rising back to her feet, Lyanna studied the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms - the only time she'd ever seen her was at the feasts, and at that time Rhaella had always been at the head table beside the King. out of range of her detailed vision. Rhaella was the epitome of what the wife of a Valyrian dragonlord should be, silver hair styled in complex braids down the back of her sparkling red dress that displayed just a hint of the porcelain skin beneath. There was an almost ethereal beauty about her, vibrant violet eyes sparkling with compassion. Yet there was a hidden steel set in them. Like Rhaegar's, but softer. Smiling, Lyanna knew she would come to love the Queen. "Forgive me for being rather flustered, Rhaella." She would have to get used to being around the dragons, both as her goodkin but also as her children… even for a direwolf it was quite dazzling. "And call me Lyanna as well."

She was graced again by the queens melodious laughter. "It's alright dear. After all, this whole matter was practically thrust upon you." Noticing Lyanna's eyes flicker to the man behind her, Rhaella motioned to Ser Jaime. "This is Ser Jaime Lannister, my Kingsguard."

Handsome, golden features completely distinguishable, Lyanna would know the Lion of Lannister anywhere. "Ser Jaime."

Jaime bowed. "My Lady… it is an honor to meet the woman that has brought Prince Rhaegar so much joy."

"Well, the Prince has only brought me such joy as well. I would be worried if he did not reciprocate." Lyanna turned back to her goodmother. "Shall we head for the tourney grounds? I'd hate to miss the Prince's first tilt."

Unable not to beam at the northern beauty, Rhaella clasped her arm affectionately. "You really do care for my son, don't you?"

"I do." Just thinking about him warmed her heart as they began to leave the tent. "You must have dealt with many maidens and their fathers seeking betrothals before settling on Princess Elia, but truth be told I didn't know that he was the Crown Prince when I first heard him sing."

"You heard him?" Rhaegar was always careful after his father broke the first harp Aunt Jenny gave him. "He has a beautiful voice, gets it from my mother, Queen Betha." Rhaella's eyes sparkled thinking of her late mother. "I do wish he would enjoy himself more, not be so pained all the time," she said with regret.

The she-wolf furrowed his brows. "Pained?" Imagining Rhaegar in pain filled her with an indescribable sadness, biting her lip.

It was Ser Jaime that answered, falling behind them as they strolled through the camp. "The King rarely takes small council meetings after Duskendale. Rhaegar has taken most of the slack and it's… he's naturally brooding but with the weight of it all it gets worse for him." He looked at Rhaella. "Her Grace as well."

"I'm fine, Ser Jaime." The Queen grinned at Lyanna. "The Lion of Lannister likes to cluck over me, very devoted to his oaths. Reminds me so much of his mother, while Cersei took more after Lord Tywin."

"Lord Tywin is a very successful Lord. Perhaps that isn't a bad comparison to make?" Looking back to the Kingsguard, Lyanna thought she was seeing things. A sparkle in the eye. A worried look for the Queen more akin to how Rhaegar looked at her or her father to her mother than guard to charge. Utter adoration and dare she say... love? "Your oaths are to follow her Grace?"

"Morning, noon, and night, until dismissed of course." Jaime grinned. "The price to pay for the prestigious post, but I'm happy to do it. Only the best to protect the royal family, especially her Grace." There is that smile again.

From the rather serene expression on her goodmother's face, seemed to Lyanna that Rhaella had no clue - she decided not to say anything. "I guess I'll have to get used to Kingsguards following me," Lyanna ended up saying with a smirk of her own.

Rhaella nodded. "They are sworn to protect the king and his family, my dear, but don't worry. While the history is spotty, Lord Commander Gerold runs a tight ship. The knights are honorable, patient, and understanding. Especially Ser Jaime - I don't know what I would do without him."

The aforementioned knight visibly puffed up like an airskin used to ford across rivers inflating, as if that simple comment was what sustained him. Love is in the air, I suppose. "We will have to find a guard for you, Lady Lyanna."

Robert's tongue invading her mouth flashed in her mind, Lyanna suppressing a shiver. "Yes, that would be best. I won't be under the protection of House Stark after the wedding, and I should probably be seen as a member of the royal family."

Glancing at her with an appreciative look, Rhaella chuckled. "You are learning, my dear gooddaughter." Around them, onlookers were falling to their knees as the Queen and future Queen passed by. Lyanna was taking it in stride, not arrogant yet not too colloquial. "You'll be an intelligent Queen when the time comes." Suddenly, the Queen spotted just the choice. "Ser Barristan!"

Walking towards the grounds, simply enjoying and not participating after being dethroned for the top spot at last year's tourney by the Prince, Ser Barristan's attention was caught by the Queen. He jogged over, bowing. "You summoned me, your Grace?"

"Ah, Lyanna. This is the distinguished Barristan the Bold. It is my directive that he be your guard… at least until your brother arrives from Winterfell. I assume you'll want him as your guard?"

A smile formed on Lyanna's face. If anyone deserved a position on the kingsguard it was Benjen. He'll be ecstatic at this opportunity. Benjen always wanted to be a knight like Aemon Targaryen or Duncan the Tall. But her mind drifted back to the here and now - another legend standing in front of her. "Ser Barristan, your reputation precedes you." She curtsied. "I'd be honored to be your charge."

This one… Barristan took an immediate liking to Lyanna Stark. While most highborns looked down on their guards - especially kings and royals - the future Queen curtseyed to him. He bowed deeply. "The honor is mine, Princess."

Falling behind her beside Jaime without issue, the conversation continued with Ser Barristan now present. "I think I would also like to know the famous Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur."

"Oh?"

Both kingsguards laughed. "We all adore your betrothed, Lady Lyanna, but Ser Arthur. He and the Prince are the closest of friends. Dunk and Egg returned." Barristan explained after Lyanna furrowed his brows. "Ser Duncan the Tall and King Aegon V. They were inseparable - Rhaegar and Arthur are like that. Elia also grew up with the Dayne siblings, s you'll see a lot of him."

"That is good, and I do think my Lady in waiting is smitten with him."

Jaime snorted. "I would pay a million golden dragons to see the she-bear make Ser Stuffy break his vows of celibacy." Barristan rolled his eyes while both ladies laughed.

Finally back in a good mood as they approached the tourney grounds, her mind was already turning in matchmaking plots. "Ser Stuffy. I'll have to tell her that."

"Ignore my youthful brother in arms, my Lady," Barristan offered, though the knight's eyes twinkled with mirth. "I shouldn't be saying this, but Ser Arthur is partial to silk dresses and ponytail hairstyles."

"I'll keep that in mind for Lady Mormont, Ser Barristan."

Worries about being accepted into House Targaryen were apparently all for naught.

---

It was the final day of the King's Tourney, held months early in the twilight of winter to celebrate the two and twentieth nameday of the Crown Prince. A glorious event, filled with free food and drink for all visitors "by the goodness of his Grace, Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms." Over ten thousand smallfolk from as far as Lannisport and Gulltown had arrived, most of them gathered in the hastily built stands surrounding the jousting grounds to watch what was gearing up to be one of the best competitions of the century. Rumors of the Knight of the Laughing Tree vanishing into thin air and the betrothal announcement only added to the mystery of the event, helmed by the coming defense of the Crown Prince's title against the Lord of Storm's End.

Upon the arrival of the Targaryen Queen and the future Princess Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, the already loud masses grew thunderous with applause for the two of them. Beautiful women the envy of all present, they received the boundless love of the smallfolk.

Lyanna, to her credit, handled it all with a regal sense of aplomb and decorum. Waving to the smallfolk with a wide smile - drawing further adoration. Entering the royal box to the rising high Lords and Ladies, Rhaella motioning for Lyanna to sit right next to her. A huge message concerning her placement as a member of House Targaryen. "You're family, Lyanna," Rhaella told her with a smile.

The she-wolf beamed. "This is my first tourney. Are they always like this?"

Jaime shook his head. "No, most are only for highborns. The King's Tourney is one of a kind." He smirked. "Good choice for your first, too. You'll get to see the Crown Prince kick ass today." All the Kingsguards were completely loyal to their Dragon Prince - as was Lyanna.

And his mother. "He's the favorite to go to the final tilt," commented Rhaella. "Him and Lord Baratheon." She noticed Lyanna's face darkening. "Is everything alright dear?" the Queen gently asked her future gooddaughter.

Lyanna put on a fake smile, not wishing to ruin the day with her problems. "I'm fine."

Rhaella shared a quizzical look with Jaime and Ser Barristan. "My Lady," the older knight said with concern. "I believe something is truly bothering you. Ser Jaime, her Grace, and I can keep a secret."

Sighing, Lyanna lowered her voice. "Robert Baratheon…" She closed her eyes, the memory of what had happened rushing back. Making her just feel dirty. "Before you arrived... he tried to force himself on me." An unbidden feeling, of betraying Rhaegar by not ending the conversation earlier or fighting him off quicker… it caused a tear to fall down her cheek.

As for her companions - Rhaella gasped softly while both Jaime and Barristan narrowed their eyes. "How far did he go?" Jaime asked with a tone that was frighteningly similar to Brandon's. Robert's… escapades, were known in court, and while it was shocking that he did do this, it didn't truly surprise them - the fact that he did it to the Crown Princess to be was.

"Just a kiss... he did it before, when we first met. It wasn't rape…" Their conversation was hushed, none of the other lords catching it over the roar of the crowd. "More like he expected me to let him."

Jaime was furious, running a hand through his coffered hair to calm himself. he very much believed that women deserved to be treated with respect. Glancing over at the Queen, she silently blazed with fury. "I wont say im surprised. The oaf already has a bastard in the eyrie, and gods knows how many more."

"He won't harm you again, Lyanna," Rhaella said firmly, taking her hand. "Not while you're in our protection. Ser Barristan?"

The old knight only nodded. "No one gets near Lady Lyanna without me being there."

"Good." Gingerly, Rhaella hugged Lyanna close. The daughter of the North reciprocating, unable to resist the motherly hug denied her since her own mother's demise. What was it about the Targaryens that she couldn't help but love them?

Little do they know that Ned heard every word as he was coming up to the royal box several paces ahead of his brother and father… Mouth going dry, hands trembling with both anger and self-loathing at the story Lyanna had told the Queen. Barely able to speak, he forced himself to not say anything, yet. "My Queen," he said, bowing.

All four turn to see the spare stark heir. "Greetings Lord Stark."

Ned smiles and then hugged his sister close. "Love you, Lya," he murmured, voice hoarse with emotion.

Unsure of where that came from, Lyanna nevertheless reciprocated. "Love you too, Ned." Wordlessly, Ned took his seat while Brandon crushed Lyanna in a tight embrace, joined by Cat and their father. Only the sight of the beautiful Lady Cersei could knock him out of the puddle of malaise he had stepped in.

Finally, the King arrived. Surrounded by guards and followed by the bounding Prince Viserys, on cloud nine for being so close to his father, Aerys took his seat with nary a word. Ser Oswell moving to the King's side, whispering in his ear, Aerys nodded and waved him off. Glaring at the herald. Scrambling to gather his bugler, the man cleared his voice. "Presenting! His Grace the Crown Prince and Lord of Dragonstone, reigning champion of the King's Tourney! Rhaegar of House Targaryen!"

A roar undulated through the crowd as Rhaegar galloped onto the field atop his black thoroughbred war stallion Moondancer, clad in full plate armor of a high knight but free of a helm. Silver hair blowing in the wind. Moondancer suddenly rearing, the Prince held his mount expertly, holding tight and waving to the crowd - which they absolutely loved based on the unadulterated screaming that drowned out all other sounds. Lords and knights were largely a mixed bag, but the thousands of smallfolk that gathered were firmly in adoration of the Dragon Prince.

As was Lyanna, her gaze never leaving the magnificent figure of her betrothed. While not the Valyrian armor he had worn the night before - that she had greatly enjoyed undressing him out of - Rhaegar cut a dashing figure in anything. The plates slim and not the bulky iron houses that many knights wore, hugging his toned figure. And then there was his silver hair, silky and sparkling in the powerful sunlight. Framing his gorgeous face. Oh yes, I am a lucky woman.

"My Lady Stark." Blinking, Lyanna looked up to see Rhaegar right in front of her, that dazzling smile that turned her to jelly beaming at her. How did… He must have greeted his father and mother without her even noticing. "Would you do me the honor of offering me your favor?" Lyanna was sure a bright red blush adorned her cheeks.

Unable to not be a cheeky fuck, Brandon produced a grey ribbon. "You can wear my favor, my Prince," he said in a ridiculous falsetto. The entire royal box erupted in laughter. Jon Arryn guffawing along with the Kingsguards, Mace Tyrell chortling, Rickard and Rhaella laughing merrily, Ned chuckling softly, and even Cersei Lannister unable to stop a giggle.

Only the King himself watching with a blank stare… and Lyanna didn't laugh, glaring at her brother. Smacking him about the head. "Shut up." The crowd loved it. Turning back to Rhaegar - who was laughing himself atop his horse, she took out a small strip of blue silk and gave it to him. "Keep safe, my Prince."

"With the favor of the She-Wolf of Winterfell," Rhaegar announced loudly, though the affection in his violet eyes was only for her. "The gods themselves couldn't strike me down." Lyanna fought from swooning while he tied the silk to his wrist, the King beside her audibly groaning and rolling his eyes. No sentimentality from him. Rhaella, however, was all smiles, hugging her once Rhaegar was trotting off to the field.

Overcoming the surreal feeling of being the archetypal maiden in the long ago epics, Lyanna leaned over to her brothers. "Who's he fighting first."

"Yohn Royce of the Vale," Brandon replied. "It'll be a good tilt, but a short one."

Ned agreed. "I know Lord Royce. He's good, but no match for the Prince." Her brother's observations were spot on. Royce was a proud and noble figure atop his mare, skilled but not sneaky in any way. The first tilt was a draw, both riders striking a glancing blow on the other's shield. The second tilt was shorter, Rhaegar's lance shattering on Royce's breastplate and sending the Lord of Runestone toppling. Dismounting, Rhaegar helped Royce up, earning cheers from the crowd.

Next joust proclaimed, frowns adorned the faces of the Starks - Ned especially, anger boiling deep within his gut thanks to what he had overheard prior to the start - as Robert Baratheon rode onto the jousting grounds. Giant brown Volantine stallion huffing and pawing at the ground in a restless energy. "He's facing Ser Addam Marbrand," Lyanna murmured..

"Ser Addam is good," Catelyn chimed in, holding Brandon's hand affectionately. "Always wins."

"Hopefully he knocks that smug bastard on his ass," Brandon groaned.

"I doubt it." Four sets of eyes found Ned, the Queen unable not to listen in to the younger brood. "Robert is better." His statement proved accurate when a decisive blow to just below the neck unhorsed Ser Addam almost comically easily, Robert thundering to the end of the fence to roars from the crowd. A handsome, strong Lord - naturally he was a favorite of the smallfolk.

Removing the visor of his fancy stag helm, Robert found Lyanna and blew her a kiss. Lyanna simply wrinkled her nose and didn't give him the satisfaction to even look at him. "This is going to be a long day," Rhaella observed.

And a long day it was. Three further jousts each, and all three ended without ceremony or interest. Rhaegar defeated in quick succession Lord Roland Crakehall, Ser Garth Hightower, and lastly Ser Arthur - though the latter took two tilts to do so. Tethering on his saddle, Arthur nearly managed to hold on but eventually fell, though a quick tuck and roll had him on his feet in no time. Even Rhaegar joined the crowd in the exultant applause, though Arthur's only wave and wink was to… Dacey. Lyanna grinned as the normally tough she-bear flushed a full crimson at the attention from the famed Sword of the Morning. "Looks like Ser Stuffy is smitten," she said to Ser Jaime, causing the latter to laugh.

Her joy at Rhaegar winning was dampened as Robert kept gaining as well. Ser Jeremy Rykker collapsed with a hard blow to the center of his shield. Lord Jonos Bracken quickly followed to the displeasure of the mostly Riverman crowd. Robert faced his biggest foe in Ser Gregor Clegane of the Westerlands, sworn sword to Tywin Lannister. Three tilts and three ties, but on the fourth Robert hit him in the neck and sent the monster crashing to the ground. Everyone would have figured Gregor to erupt in anger at the preening Lord Baratheon, but a warning glare from Cersei caused him to merely stomp off.

Huffing, bored and just wanting the joust to continue so she wouldn't have to hear another one of King Aerys' japes, Cersei felt a pair of eyes staring at her. Turning, there were Eddard Stark's greys, finding her form with a twinkle she had seen many men - but not Rhaegar - give her. Unlike those men, when she looked away a tiny smile adorned her lips.

But now it was here. The final joust of the entire tourney, title of King's Champion and a pot of fifty thousand gold dragons in the balance. Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen of Dragonstone and Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End facing off. To say that Lyanna's stomach was twisted into knots would be quite understating it. "May the champions present themselves to their King," barked Ser Gerold, both of them bringing their horses in at a slow trot till they were directly in front of his Grace. "Do you pledge your loyalty and fealty to King Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name?"

"I so swear my undying faith and allegiance," Rhaegar said, bowing in his saddle.

By the coincidences of life, it was Robert, not Rhaegar, that was the closest to Lyanna. Her skin crawled, both Brandon and Rhaella reaching over to clasp her hand in comfort. "I so swear my undying faith and allegiance," Robert repeated, though he wasn't done. "And to the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms shall come the Crown of Love and Beauty upon my victory." Many ladies swoon, but Lyanna knew he meant her.

Moondancer snorting, ears pulling back angrily, Rhaegar felt a steaming irritation well within him. She is not yours, cousin. Lyanna is mine! My wolf! As much his as he was hers. Angling his mount to pass right abreast of Robert's, their eyes met. "May the best man win, cousin," he ground out.

Robert sneered. "I do not intend to lose, dragonspawn."

The arrogance only drove Rhaegar's determination a hundred fold. "Neither do I." And with that both highborns spurred their horses to position. Young Garlan Tyrell, Rhaegar's squire, offered him the lance while Meryn Trant handed Robert's to him.

One could feel the electricity in the air, even Aerys. Normally he would prefer to be anywhere but there, but with the bloody helm and shield of the Knight of the Laughing Tree displayed in his quarters, his good mood was infectious. He was actually looking forward for his heir to prove the greatness of House Targaryen. "Start now in the name of your King!" he ordered.

Lances leveling, Robert bellowed and Rhaegar whistled as their horses charged into a thunderous gallop. It was over in a split second, Lyanna unable to watch until Brandon rapped her shoulder. "Glancing blows on their shields. A draw."

Normally a rookie play, these weren't inexperienced hedge knights. "They're sizing each other up," mused Rickard.

Jon Arryn whistled, leaning back. "Better get ready. This is gonna be one for the songs."

Almost before the horn sounded the second tilt, both riders were assaulting each other yet again - no love lost or reluctance to go at each other. This time, Rhaegar and Robert slammed their lances into each other's shoulders. Another draw, another probing tilt. Eyes narrowing under visors as cheers broke into hushed murmurs.

"Rhaegar!" screamed Viserys, jumping up and down to cheer his brother - only for the King to grab him by the back of his neck and force him down.

"Let him cheer his brother," Rhaella asked gently.

Aerys was not gentle. "Quiet woman," he hissed. Rhaella drew back, turning her attentions to Lyanna as both of them watched Rhaegar with worried eyes.

The third tilt proceeded with much anticipation, and it didn't disappoint. Rhaegar shattered his lance upon Robert's shield while Robert slammed his into Rhaegar's shoulder. Robert had absorbed most of the impact with his burly arms, while the Prince's torso was leaning precipitously to the side in a sort of pain, drawing screams of displeasure from the crowd and a gasp from Lyanna. But the tables soon turned, Rhaegar earning his family's smiles by shrugging off the pain and breaking another lance against Robert's shield in the fourth tilt. His weapon hadn't even glanced a blow, but quick horsemanship managed to keep Robert from falling off his stallion.

"My gods," breathed Rickard, watching as both the fifth and sixth tilts ended in draws. Neither contestant was holding back this time. Breaking three more lances and obviously inflicting deep bruises and aching cuts on the other. The crowd was simply loving it all, enterprising sneaks and entrepreneurs taking bets all over the stands.

Lyanna's heart was beating out of her chest, squeezing Rhaella's hand tightly when the sixth tilt ended, Rhaegar taking another blow, this time to the side. This was an exciting match, one for the history books since two great riders of great houses were battling each other in a test of strength and skill - the five tilts of Prince Daemon during his brother's reign were still talked about to this day… every detail - but all she could think about was her beloved Rhaegar.

The herald blew into his bugle. "Prince Rhaegar and Lord Baratheon have secured a sixth draw. Each of them shall be granted a pause to prepare for the seventh tilt."

Fingers digging into the wooden seat below her, now Lyanna was quite worried. Starting to slouch atop Moondancer, Rhaegar handed his broken lance to Garlan, his betrothed catching a grimace as he moved his shoulder. It was clear that the Prince caught some nasty hits from Robert's lance and was tiring. My Rhaegar… She wanted nothing more than to race over to him and kiss the pain away.

On the other side of the tourney grounds, Meryn Trant was handing Robert a new lance - one of sturdy oak often used in battle except for the dulled head. Sweat drenched his brow and tunic underneath the armor, bruised sides aching but determination burned in him. Eyes finding Lyanna's, the Lord of Storm's End smirked and blew a kiss.

Eyes flickering between the infuriatingly smug Robert and the aching Rhaegar, Lyanna's emotions were a swirling cauldron of rage and worry. Then, she felt the Queen's hand on hers. "He'll be alright," whispered Rhaella, a smile on her face. "There hasn't been a knight or Lord he hasn't dismounted in his life." Seeing how concerned the northern beauty was, the Queen had no doubt that her son has found a soulmate. Someone she could see as an actual daughter and a welcome addition to the family.

"Look at Robert, so fucking arrogant," grumbled Brandon, wearing his anger on his face unlike the more dour Rickard and Ned. "He really thinks he can win this?"

Rickard snorted. "Overconfidence will be his undoing, mark my words."

"My brother's gonna win!" Viserys piped up. "Fire and blood!" he shouted into the din.

The King grumbled. "He'd fuckin' better."

Biting her lip, Lyanna found Rhaegar again, the Prince taking his own oaken lance from Garlan. Settling atop Moondancer and refitting his feet into the stirrups. Finding Lyanna out of the crowd atop the royal box, he smiled. Tired and aching, but face serene from the mere glimpse of his beloved before he pulled down his visor once more. Just the one look managed to quell the tempest in Lyanna's stomach… until the horses lined up upon the field.

"Prepare for the seventh tilt!" Horses grunting and stomping their feet, both the dragon and the stag stared at each other through the visors. Sharp antlers and glinting wings atop their helms made them look more monstrous and terrifying than they were, Robert's open rage and Rhaegar's cold fire welling deep within them. They each knew that the next clash would be the last, readying their horses accordingly. Not a sound left the crowd as they watched entranced.

The bugle blared, horses charging.

All disappeared for Rhaegar. Nothing but the beauty of Lyanna urging him forward, the vibrations of Moondancer as he thundered atop the ground, and the figure of his contemptible cousin. Watching the weakened grip of the shield as the opposing lance aim for right at his neck - a devastating blow, but one Rhaegar's mind computed in a mere split second to counter…

The crowd took a sharp intake of breath as the riders closed into each other. Lyanna gasping and Rhaella clasping her hands over her mouth in horror as Robert's lance gunned for the Prince's neck… only for Rhaegar to lean inward, lance hitting his right shoulderplate hard but bouncing off. The Lord of Storm's End wasn't so lucky, weak grip on his shield allowing for Rhaegar's aim to its left side to slide directly into Robert's chestplate. Lance shattering as Robert's bracing his right failed to protect his center.

It played out in slow motion for all that watched - Rhaegar dismounting Robert from his horse on the seventh tilt.

Silence reigned for an interminable moment before Lyanna was out of her seat, whooping like a direwolf as the entire crowd roared with her. The other Starks joined her - as did Prince Viserys - while Rhaella and the other Lords rose, clapping proudly.

Coughing, body pained all over, Robert pulled off his helm. He spat onto the ground, raising off the ground with a groan. Narrowed eyes found the Crown Prince slowing his horse, tall atop the stallion while the crowd hurled their love for him into the air. Fists clenching, he shoved aside young Meryn and the other Baratheon bannermen that moved to tend to him. Cheating dragonspawn bastard!

Gently yanking the reins to the left, turning the stallion to face the royal box, Rhaegar couldn't help but bask in the worship of the massive crowd. "DRAGON PRINCE! DRAGON PRINCE! DRAGON PRINCE!" A sea of humanity, throats all bellowing their love for the Prince of Dragonstone. Pushing his visor up, spotting the flurry of activity around the moving and unhurt - besides his pride - Lord of Storm's End, Rhaegar shifted to the royal box. Finding his proud father, mother, and brother. The riveted and slightly jealous looks of his Stark goodbrothers, the admiration of Lord Rickard… and Lyanna. His winter wolf, eyes sparkling and mouth curled in a beaming smile as she was out of her seat. Clapping uproariously, face a blatant display of love and pure adoration. Unable to stop his own smile, Rhaegar waved to the crowd, drawing even louder cheers. He clicked his tongue, horse trotting forward - pulling the reins to guide him close to the box. Directly before his father.

Sunlight glittering off his armor, Lyanna's heart throbbed in her chest as Rhaegar reached just before them. Removing the helm from his head to reveal the same silver locks she loved to tumble over his shoulderplates. "Your Grace," he began. "Honored Lords and Ladies, it was a privilege to compete on this field before you today."

To Lyanna's right, the King rose from his seat, arrogant smirk planted on his lips. He had competed in many tourneys. Liked to boast he won more titles than his older brother, and now he relived such glory through his strapping son. "People of the Seven Kingdoms," he yelled loudly enough for all to hear. "I give you, your champion. Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms." A quick jerk of the hand brought a pageboy past the empty throne and a giddy Prince Viserys, in his hands a pillow bearing the crown of blue roses. "Present yourself, Prince Rhaegar."

Rhaegar bowed low atop his saddle. Moondancer steady as the perfectly trained war mount he was. "I am unworthy of this honor, your Grace." If there was anything his father enjoyed, it was getting his ass kissed.

Aerys only laughed. "You are the true champion, Prince Rhaegar." In his gaze, the twinkling violet of the man he had once been. "The Young Dragon Reborn, there is no man more deserving of the honor to be crowned champion of the King's Tourney." Taking the pillow from the pageboy, he offered it out for Rhaegar to take. Crowd waiting with baited breath for the favorite part of each and every tourney - the crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty. A married knight presented it to his spouse, or to the Queen, or the unmarried granting the title to an unattached maiden that took their fancy.

Oh, how every female in the crowd, married or not, wished the handsome Dragon Prince would crown them - from the history of House Targaryen, even wretches like Aegon the Unworthy had no trouble finding mistresses. Many a swoon passed the lips of a maiden who the Crown Prince settled upon, only to turn to a disappointed sigh when he moved on. On the edge of the royal box, Lady Cersei suppressed a pang in her gut, still hoping for the possibility that the Crown Prince would choose her.

But there was only one woman Rhaegar could ever crown. A woman that had in the spate of a week had captured his heart completely. With the approval of his father, his mother and brother, his beloved… Rhaegar couldn't stop himself from beaming with pride. He took the crown and guided his stallion till he stood before Lyanna. His smile was infectious, a similar one finding its way to her lips as his eyes sparkled with love and affection. "Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, my betrothed and future Princess. Would you bring me the greatest honor in accepting this crown and be my Queen of Love and Beauty?"

Confident that he would crown her - hells, there was no chance he wouldn't - Lyanna still couldn't help the bright red blush that adorned her cheeks. Glancing at the Queen, who smiled and tilted her head towards her son. Looking at her father and brothers, all three of them grinning and making the same gesture. Lyanna settled a quick glare, one only gracing her eyes, at Robert's intense stare upon her. You will never have me, Robert. In that moment, she would show him just how true that was.

But upon meeting Rhaegar's gorgeous violet eyes, all other thoughts left her. Standing with the blush still adorning her cheeks, Lyanna approached the edge of the box and leaned forward. Feeling the rose petals resting against the braided crown upon her head. The crowd's roars of approval was far away in her ears, only Rhaegar mattering. Caution to the wind, she threw her arms around his neck and crashed their lips together in their most passionate kiss yet. Lips locking as Rhaegar gladly reciprocated. I am his, and he is mine. Proclaimed to the world.

Rhaella beamed, Brandon whooped, Rickard averted his eyes with a smile, as did the Kingsguards while the crowd bellowed their approval of the public display. Chuckling, Ned's eyes flickered to Cersei, the golden beauty sighing and turning away. The King was less subtle, huffing and retaking the seat upon the throne, withdrawing into himself. Far less subtle was Robert. Throwing off any attempt by his squire or servants to inspect whatever wounds he could have. A stormcloud draped over his head, throwing his helm upon the ground and storming off.

Eyes narrowing, Ned waited for the applause to die down before ducking out of the royal box. Intent on following his friend.

Notes:

The quiet wolf is awakened! Ned has reached the end of his tether.

Of course Lyanna's happiness at finally being in love with her Dragon Prince was ruined by Robert. Now begins his journey from charming player into the bitter, whoring jerk we see in season 1. I hope I characterized it well, and we'll see things from his pov in later chapters.

Rhaella to the rescue. Lyanna and her goodmother's relationship is on a good start, and she has a protector now in Ser Barristan. Gotta love the old knight.

Lol, Brandon's little joke.

The tourney was one for the ages. While Robert was always gonna lose, he's as skilled as Rhaegar so it was gonna take a brutal slog to get there. But finally Lyanna gets the famous crown of winter roses! Only no need to be cautious.

Next up, Ned confronts Robert. More comments, quicker I update :D

Chapter 13: Moment of Bliss

Notes:

Hey everyone. Happy New Year, and first update of 2020!

I got a guest review on Cersei/Ned, and I just want to elaborate on some things. Yes, Cersei grew up entitled and bratty. Many highborns did (I don't know anything about a murder, so for poetic licence I'm not including that in the background), and Tyrion himself did some pretty naughty things that caused people to be humiliated and flogged. If he can be portrayed as a protagonist, so can Cersei. She hasn't gone down the ultimate path that led her to being the Mad Queen (under no circumstances would Daenerys get that title - Fuck D&D) until marrying Robert and bedding Jaime. Her father raising her entitled can be reversed with the right man. Relax and enjoy the ride.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Come with me, my Prince." With the thunderous cheers of the smallfolk, obsequious deference of ass-kissing lords and ladies, and the thumping snacks and grins from the Targaryen bannermen, it was a miracle that Lyanna has managed to wrest Rhaegar away from both the tourney field and the planned feast in his honor. But here they were, in his chambers. Lyanna's mouth crashing against his the moment the door shut. Only a blind fool would miss the knowing grins on Barristan and Arthur's faces, but faced with her handsome warrior betrothed, the she-wolf didn't bother to care.

Hands automatically moving to her deliciously thin waist, Rhaegar could only offer the weakest of protests. "Lyanna…" If she continued, by the old gods and the new he wouldn't be able to control himself.

But direwolves proved as stubborn as dragons. "Fuck, you were so sinfully handsome out there." Dainty fingers moved to untie the laces of his armor with the skill of a seasoned squire, mouth moving to the tight muscles of his lower neck. "My King's Champion, let your she-wolf reward you for your victory.

The image of the northern beauty, blue dress clinging to every curve and grey eyes black with lust, it was the crown of winter roses perched on her chestnut locks that caused all of Rhaegar's caution to melt away. Giving into his lust as he brought their lips together once more. Hands growing frantic to strip armor and yank down fabric to expose breasts and cunts.

The two young lovers were starved for each other - not having enjoyed their beloved carnally since the night in the abandoned cabin. After plundering her mouth Rhaegar blazed a trail down Lyanna's cheek, chin, and neck. Breeches tightening from how her moans played him like he did his harp. Needing more of those moans. Pieces of his armor clanked upon the floor, the Prince too far gone to care upon meeting her pert breasts. Creamy with light pink nipples capping them. "You're perfect," he breathed, taking them in his mouth.

Lyanna grasped Rhaegar's silver curls, electricity shooting to her core. It was too much, too intense, but somehow she just couldn't stop. "Give me pleasure, my Prince. Take me to the stars…" She felt his hands yank up the skirts of her dress, underclothes quickly discarded so he could feast upon her.

Gasping, moaning, bucking her hips against his face, Rhaegar quickly brought Lyanna close to her climax. Bathing himself in her taste. World shrunk to just pleasuring this woman. Looking up, Rhaegar met Lyanna's breathtaking eyes. Unable to tear himself away as he continued to attack her folds.

Those violets… her love's. Lyanna held Rhaegar tight to her, wordlessly begging to make her cum. To wash the vile feeling of Robert's touch and tongue with his welcome passion. She-wolf her lip to ride the climax that washed over her. Coating the beautifully sculpted face in her own juices. Speaking his name with reverence, she leaned down to grasp his head. Yanking him back till they were kissing desperately. Flipping him over. Suddenly overcome with an urge to provide him with the same pleasure. Unbuckling his breeches. Freeing a part of him that made her mouth water. So big… belongs to me… Hoping her inexperience didn't show, Lyanna lowered her mouth on him - initially hesitant but driven faster from how he weaved his fingers in her hair and urged her on. Begged her for release which she gladly gave him.

Unable to disturb the crown of winter roses that so framed the beautiful, sinful angel that so ravaged him, one hand fisted by his side while the other reached to the crown of her head to grab at her hair. "Lyanna… ñuha zokla… fuck… fuck… fuck."

Yes, yes, yes… His seed erupting out to coat her mouth and throat, Lyanna knew that there was no other man she would ever crave this violently. Gods, I am lucky.

---

"Lord Stark!" Not used to being addressed by his father's title, Ned didn't even register until a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found Howland Reed with a concerned look. The bruises from the encounter Lyanna told him about were starting to heal, but still were quite glaring. "You left in a hurry…"

His eyes narrowed, fists clenching. "Did my sister ask you to come after me?" Not even Lyanna would stop him on his quest.

Howland shook his head. "No, Lady Mormont did. Lady Stark… she's currently joining the Prince with speaking to various Lords and Ladies - the way you stormed off, we want to make sure she doesn't have any further worries."

Rolling his eyes, Ned turned and continued on his path. Scowl on his face and not stopping for anyone. "She won't have any future worries when I'm done with my cunt of a friend."

The Lord of Greywater Watch jog after him, legs pumping to keep up with the taller Stark's stride. "I know that you're angry about Robert…"

"Dacey tell you that too?" Ned laughed, though the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Appears everyone knew about this except me." You're a fuckin' fool, Ned.

"She didn't want you or Brandon… well, mostly Brandon to do anything rash." That made some sense - their brother would be marching over with a sword and spear had he been the one to overhear Lya's conversation with the Queen. "Engaging with Lord Baratheon won't solve anything."

Still stomping forward, Ned turned a quizzical eye. "Why in seven hells do you care, Lord Reed?" The Reeds were crucial bannermen, but unlike the other young highborns they largely kept to themselves in Greywater Watch - none of the Stark brood had much of a deep friendship with him.

Howland was silent for a moment, Ned's searching eyes sensing his mind whirring. "She… she helped me. Avenge my honor."

"How would…?" Suddenly Ned's eyes widened, recognition inside them. Fainting… having to sleep in the Mormont tent… not having seen her for hours yet who shows up and disappears to challenge the knights of the same squires that… "Lyanna, she was…"

"Don't say it out loud, please," Howland whispered. "I heard from some household guards that the King is out for blood - the… person's blood. If this gets out…"

"My lips are sealed." Wild, kind, honorable Lyanna. Willing to defy a King simply to see justice done, yet he couldn't even see… I brought Robert to her… I must be the one to finish it. "What I need to do doesn't involve that, so if you'll excuse me…"

The Stormlands portion of the tourney camp was bustling, many having followed their Liege Lord off the field. It didn't take long for Ned to catch a familiar face. "Ah, Ned, what brings you here?" Beric Dondarrion asked, smile on his face. He had won the racing crown, so had nothing to complain about.

The second Stark son wasn't in the mood for chit chat. "Where's Robert?"

Beric raised an eyebrow before pointing to the Maester's tent. "He was just being treated for his bruises. Maester Villers just ducked out to fetch some poltuces…" The Lord of Blackhaven was cut off when Ned - red in his eyes - stormed to the tent. Howland trailing after him. This will not be good…

Lord Robert Baratheon was bare-chested, seated in the middle of the tent with bandages and poultice-soaked rags wrapped around his arm and torso. He looked like he'd been put through the ringer, but his face held not pain. Rather a seething, boiling anger and bitterness that Ned hadn't truly seen before. Robert did have a temper, but it was more in the gregarious nature of tavern brawls - this was closer to that of a psychopath.

Not that Ned cared at the moment. A direwolf held their emotions, but when the dam burst there was no stopping the wolf's blood from going on a rampage. "You fucking prick!" he hissed.

Instead of shock - as both Ned and Howland expected - Robert simply exploded. The rage having built within him since the joust… hells, since Lyanna smacked him with the book just all spilling out. Charging like the great warriors of his house since the days of the first Storm King. "Me? Me! What the fuck about you, Ned?!" Mindless of his injuries, he stood. Half a head taller than the northerner and far bulkier. "You come here screamin' at me when it was you that stood up there with the dragonspawn cunts condoning the forced sale of your sister?!"

"Oh, don't play the fucking victim here, Robert!" Just having caught up, Beric not far behind, Howland gaped. Eddard Stark almost never cursed, the epitome of a gentleman. He almost never yelled either, yet here he was. A snarling direwolf cornering a mighty stag. "You just couldn't stay away from her, you couldn't listen to me, could you?"

"She's my wife, Ned! My betrothed, my love…!"

He looked disgusted. "What love?! You don't know what the fuck love is! You 'love' every whore and milkmaid who bats her eyelashes at you." He jabbed a finger right on Robert's chest. "Tell me, is it just Mya Stone or do you have other bastards out there that I don't know about?"

"I don't have to justify my sexual prowess to you, Ned," Robert sneered back, rage within him only stoked higher and higher. "But Lyanna is no peasant girl. I had my fun with them, but she will be my wife. My Lady of Storm's End… I'll treat her like a fucking princess and don't you dare say I won't!"

Jaw dropped, trembling at the gall of his supposed friend. Ned's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If you wish to treat her as a princess, then why did you…" Voice low and menacing like a growl, suddenly he roared. "...Fucking force yourself on her fucking twice!"

"Go find someone," Howland whispered to Beric.

The Lord of Blackhaven furrowed his brows. "Who?"

"Just find fucking someone."

The screaming match continued. "She wanted it, Ned!"

"You're not that stupid, Robert. I know you can tell when someone says no." He made a fist, wanting to punch the self-righteous face of the man he thought of as his closest friend. But he hesitated, still unwilling to go that far.

From the flicker in his blue eyes, Robert knew exactly what was going in Ned's mind. "You gonna slug me, Ned? Your own friend… we were goin' to be brothers, and you decided to back the dragonspawn rapist that stole Lyanna over me?" His voice was low, tinged with pain and rage.

Surprising him, yet it really shouldn't have at this point, Ned pointed an accusatory finger at Robert. "That is my goodbrother, you are speaking of, and I won't stand for you smearing our pack." Taking a deep breath, Ned stepped away. "Lyanna loves the Crown Prince. She is going to be his bride, not yours. If you don't understand that, I cannot help you, but stay away from her or you'll be sorry." He attempted to turn away, having said what he needed to say.

But Robert wasn't done. Laughing mockingly. "I can't fucking believe it. Eddard Stark, the king of honor." A sneer returned to his face. "Can't face the facts that his father sold his daughter like a Lysene pillow slave to some disgusting old man for a seat on the small council."

Stopping in his tracks, shoulders tensing and fists clenching, in a split second Ned had swiveled around and slammed a left hook right into Robert's jaw, splitting his lip and sprinkling blood over the ground. The Stag was quick on the counter, debilitating right cross connecting with Ned's shoulder. Snarling like a wolf, Ned simply charged, knocking both of them into a table in a tangle of flying fists and knees.

Frozen in place and barely able to walk without pain himself, Howland simply stood there until the clinking of chainmail registered behind him. "What in seven hells is going on here?!" thundered a bewildered Jon Arryn, mouth open in shock as he watched his foster sons going at each other like crazed Sothoryos apes. "Get them apart, now!"

Two Arryn guards and Lord Dondarrion raced in at the command of the Warden of the East, wading into the flurry of fists to break the two highborns apart. It was tough, but eventually Beric was holding Robert back while one of the guards restrained a hissing Ned. "I'll fucking rip off your cock!" Ned sported bruised ribs, an open cut on his forehead, and black eye.

"I'd like to see you try, pretty boy!" Robert shot back. In addition to the tourney injuries. His lip was a bloody mess and there were additional bruises all over his face and shoulders. Both men's knuckles were bloody.

Lord Arryn's fury dwarfed that of the boys once his shock wore off. "What is this?! Are these the two highborn, noble men I raised? That I molded into the epitome of Westerosi Lords?!" His eyes flickered between Robert and Ned, blazing with fury. "Cause all I see are two addled children killing each other over a toy."

Robert wasn't having it. "Fuck this." Pushing Beric off, he pointed at Ned. "The dragonspawn won't have your sister. She'll be mine if it's the last fucking thing I do!" And with that he stormed off, Beric in tow.

"I'll kill you first if you fucking get near Lyanna again!" Ned screamed after Robert, but by then he was gone. Hot blood of battle draining, the pain showed up. "Shit, my face." He rubbed his jaw gingerly, guided by his foster father and Howland into the chair.

"By the old gods and new, what happened, Ned?" For the life of him, Jon Arryn couldn't figure out what got into the two young men. "You and Robert are the closest of friends and now this? As disappointed I am, there is an explanation and it'll be easier to tell me than others who might use it for their own agendas."

Swallowing, wincing as he did, Ned had to admit that the Lord of the Eyrie had a point. "Robert… he forced himself on Lyanna, twice." Even now, after venting his anger with his fists, Ned felt his blood boiling.

If finding them wailing on each other wasn't enough, the stunned expression made itself right at home on Lord Arryn's face. "What… How do you know this?"

"Lyanna told me and Brandon the first time. It was their first meeting and… he apparently got carried away." Ned shuddered with disgust. "The second time was today, right before the joust." A tear fell down his face, unbidden and unavoidable. "I… overheard her… talking to the Queen… gods, I'm such a fool. A horrid fool…"

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. His faster father was peering at him, sad, contrite smile on his face. "It's not your fault, Ned… seven hells, it's mine." A deep, heavy sigh left his lips. "Robert… he's always been larger than life. Charming in a bombastic sort of way. That attracts smallfolk girls and daughters of lesser lords like moths to a flame, but I should have realized that a free-spirited wolf like Lyanna wasn't a good fit for him."

Ned hung his head, trapped in his hands. "Looks like we both made that mistake." The maester then arrived, beginning to poke and prod the Stark spare heir as he cleaned him up. "Shit... " Ned winced at the stinging poultice. "Still… never expected Robert to actually force himself on her."

"I doubt he thought she would reject him. In all my years of raising him, Robert's never been rejected as far as I know, and it seems that he's had more of a reach than I would have thought." It wasn't the first time Jon Arryn - despite loving the Baratheon boy as if he were his own son - wished that the younger Stannis had been the firstborn. The lad was dour and uncompromising, but actually had a skill for ruling. "I'll talk to him, Ned. A man who has friends would never be alone in his life, so you shouldn't throw them away unless they aren't worth saving."

A grumble left Ned's lips. "I'm not sure it's worth saving at this point."

Jon Arryn frowned. "Do not say such things, I raised you better than that." Running a hand through his close cropped chin beard, the Lord of the Eyrie sat next to his foster son. "Leaving aside your friendship with Robert, do you really wish to cost your goodbrother the loyalty of the Stormlands? House Baratheon has been faithful to the crown since the days of the conquest."

Biting his lip, Ned had to admit that Lord Arryn spoke the truth.

"Seems you and your sister will have a lot to learn when dealing with southern politics, Ned." A smile then returned to his face as he patted the northerner on the back. "I'll have to be in King's Landing for the wedding anyway. Elbert can manage things from the Eyrie for me, so I'll accept your request."

"I can't ask you to do that, my Lord." While Ned could think of no one better than his foster father to guide him and Lyanna through the rough and tumble world of court politics while still keeping their souls, he didn't wish to impose on him any further.

The older man waved him off. "Don't be daft. I'm happy to do it, and my heart will rest easy knowing that you and Lyanna are well-equipped in court. Given that your brother is to be the Lord of Winterfell, you'll need to find a place in the world and assisting your goodbrother as a councillor or even Hand could be it." A sly grin formed on Jon Arryn's face. "Perhaps you'll even find a lady you fancy."

A bright red blush formed on Ned's cheeks that dwarfed the bruises. "One thing at a time, my Lord." I may have already found her… But daughters of Lord Paramounts never married second sons.

---

"The wedding will be held in the Sept of Baelor," announced Lord Hand Jon Connington at the head of the table. Black Harren's council chamber was as large as his inferiority complex could demand built. As such, the four men and one woman currently within it made the accommodations look paltry and empty indeed. "It is a must, Lord Stark," he told the Master of Laws. "Propriety demands it, and it's where we can fit all the guests from all across the Seven Kingdoms."

"An affront to Northern customs… or at least that is what many of the Northern Lords will think." If Rickard Stark was being honest - while he intended on making his mark as Master of Laws, the wedding of his daughter to the Crown Prince came first - Lyanna wouldn't care if the wedding was in a quarry if she was marrying Rhaegar Targaryen. But tradition died hard. "Our faith in the Old Gods is part of our identity…"

Rhaegar would have liked nothing more than to give Lyanna her wish to marry in the Winterfell Godswood, but he was the Prince and she would be his Princess. Other factors had to be considered. "Lord Stark, the Faith is already up in arms over this - Maegor taking a second wife was what set into motion the Faith Militant Rebellion. We know enough about the High Septon to buy him off, but an official wedding outside of a sept would simply be too tough to swallow for them."

"And there are no heart trees in the Godswood." Queen Rhaella hit the nail on the head, as she was wont to do. "It wouldn't mean what a proper Godswood wedding would, if I know the traditions of the Old Gods well. A royal progress to Winterfell in the future could fix that - in front of the entire North and Northern Lords." Her son could have hugged her tightly. While Aerys barely liked anyone attending Small Council meetings, Rhaella was barred for 'being a weak woman.' Half the time, Rhaegar felt both his mother and his wives - well, wife and wife to be - were smarter than the rest of them.

"My wife is of Hightower blood," said Mace Tyrell. The entire Small Council gathered here, hammering out various issues before journeying back to the capitol. "The Faith will be riled about this… such is a wise decision, your Grace."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jon Connington gave Rhaegar an apologetic look before continuing. "I wouldn't worry about the Faith, at least in the near future… I think we should wait several moonturns before the wedding.

"I'm not going to wait," Rhaegar fumed. Gods, he ached without his Lyanna by his side. How had I truly existed without her all these years? Aside from times spent with his mother and children - along with the few happy moments with Elia not ruined by his father or their duty - his life had been truly empty without her. I can't wait one second more. "Give one week for her to be introduced at court and then we're going ahead. I'll deal with the backlash afterwards."

Connington cleared his throat. "Well, my Prince. The backlash has already begun." The Hand unfurled a note, handing it to Rhaegar. "This was sent from Sunspear several days ago. Lord Yronwood personally delivered it to me for the Prince's eyes."

Snatching the sheaf of parchment, Rhaegar peered at the elegant scrawl.

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,

I write to you not only as the Prince of the Seventh Kingdom but also as your brother by marriage the eyes of the Seven. The news of the Stark girl has only just reached myself at the Water Gardens, and it took days for my initial response to temper enough to write this letter to you.

As a noble Prince and loving brother, I am grievously insulted at your attempt to disgrace my sister by forcing her to endure the indignity of you taking a second bride. After centuries of war, our alliance was sealed through marriage between our ancient houses. Sealed through marriage once again between yourself and my sister the Princess Elia, only now such alliance is close to the breaking point.

My brother, Prince Oberyn, is journeying to King's Landing for this so-called wedding and to ensure my sister's continued position as the future Queen and my niece and nephew as the sole progeniture for the Iron Throne.

I trust that you shall know what is proper for House Targaryen.

Doran Martell, Prince of Sunspear

Rhaegar clenched his fists. "That jumped up cunt has the fucking nerve…"

"Even still, with the King's desire to prevent Tywin Lannister from obtaining support to… plot against him..." Each of the Small Council knew by now the motivations behind the King's desire for Lyanna's hand - even Rickard. "We can't afford for this to alienate Kingdoms when we're trying to secure a greater alliance."

"Five Kingdoms, Dorne, Reach, North, Vale, and Riverlands," Rhaella listed off, growing concerned. "Combined with the Lords sworn directly to House Targaryen, no force would ever challenge it… but if we lose Dorne in the fallout…"

The fact that both of them fell madly for each other was a delightful bonus to some, a headache for others. Connington was one. Rhaegar had his suspicions as to why, but did not wish to divulge them out of concern for his friend. As much as they quarreled recently, Rhaegar was loyal. "If you wed Lady Stark without at least giving the Lords Paramount the opportunity to air out their grievances then another rebellion could brew."

Rickard had his hands crossed over his chest, but even he seemed to agree. "I'd consider the Stormlands already alienated, then. My daughter wouldn't want the Crown Prince weakened for mere impatience."

"No one is suggesting that, Lord Stark," replied Rhaella. "But dragging things out won't make much of a difference if sedition and rebellion are already firmly set in motion."

"I am behind the crown wholeheartedly, your Grace," Mace wheezed, coughing as he tried to speak and chew on a pastry at the same time. "But… why would… Lord Baratheon be alienated? He is the foster son of Lord Arryn and the Prince's cousin."

Meeting his goodfather's eye, Rhaegar sensed a cold anger, and… guardedness. Is there something he's not telling me… wait, did the cunt try to force himself on Lya again?! Rhaegar forced himself to take a breath. If neither Lyanna, Rickard, Brandon, or Ned told him, then there must have been a good reason. "Let's just say he's affronted by the breaking up of betrothal negotiations that Lord Stark had with him prior to my father's decree." That placated Mace.

For Jon Connington, he raised a fire-colored brow but didn't breach the subject. Knowing him, he'd do his own digging. "If that is the case," he finally said after a modest contemplation, "Then we cannot afford to lose Dorne." He pointed to the parchment. "Three moonturns. Enough to get Lady Lyanna known at court, make some… arrangement with Elia." Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, not taking kindly to how Connington talked about his wife. The Lord of Griffin's Roost didn't heed the glare. "And find some way to placate Prince Oberyn. Buy him a whore, get him drunk… fuck him if you have to." The last came with a bit of bitterness.

"Wait." Rickard looked confused. "The second Prince of Dorne is a buggerer?" He curled his face in disgust - outside of Dorne and King's Landing, attitudes were still old-fashioned and anti-libertine. The North most of all. "And you tolerate that degeneracy?" The Crown Prince didn't fail to notice how Connington stiffened.

It was Queen Rhaella that moved to end the conversation. "It won't take long for Prince Oberyn to arrive, and court introductions are quick. Perhaps a shorter engagement would work?" She looked poignantly at her son.

"One moonturn." Rhaegar held up a single finger. "One. Does that work for everyone?" From the lack of disagreement, it seemed a proper compromise. Oberyn would certainly arrive from Dorne long before then. "Good. We're dismissed. I'll speak with you about the dealings with Lord Baratheon later, Jon." As Connington offered a small smile, Rhaegar was glad that their friendship was still there. Jon was a good man, one he was glad to have as an ally.

His mother hugged him close. "Go spend the day with your lady love. Don't waste the time you have." A kiss on the cheek and she was off.

Soon, it was just he and his goodfather left in the meeting room. "I don't like having to deal with Prince Oberyn, Rhaegar. People with loose morals such as that cannot be trusted."

Rhaegar sighed. "My goodbrother is a rather... eccentric individual. He likes to… spread his seed where he may, regardless of the field. We tolerate him for his intelligence and his loyalty to family." The Prince didn't necessarily like such conduct, but who was he to judge given his family's… transgressions in the eyes of many in Westeros.

"I don't want my family exposed to such depravity."

"Do not worry, he's very discrete." Last time Rhaegar saw him, he at least closed the door when half of Chataya's visited his chambers. A form of modesty, he had to point out. "But nevermind about Oberyn, I'll deal with him. Did something happen with Lord Baratheon?"

Now it was Rickard's turn to look uncomfortable. Gaze dropping to the floor, not wanting to meet Rhaegar's. "If you're asking me that, Lyanna told you what she wished for you to know."

A pit formed in Rhaegar's gut, half worry and half dragonfire. "What did he do to her?" His voice was low, a menacing quality.

"It's not my place to say…"

"Bullshit. Tell me what he fucking did."

Reaching up, the Lord of Winterfell grabbed his prospective goodson's shoulders in a fatherly squeeze. "My Prince… listen to me. You're already dealing with too much - as your councillor and future goodfather, dealing with a rebellious Stormlands shouldn't be added to your plate. It's a Stark matter and House Stark will deal with it." Rhaegar didn't look convinced. "You love my daughter, I can tell you do. You just need to trust her to tell you what you need to know."

Tension building, Rhaegar gradually calmed down. "Trust Lyanna." He did, he trusted her with his life.

"Good. Now try and make sure she doesn't get into a catfight with the Princess Elia." A rather rare grin spread on Rickard's face. "You're already in enough hot water with Dorne." Even the Prince couldn't help a chuckle at that.

---

"Alright, Brandon, I think you are japing me." Fire roaring in the hearth of the private dining chamber, an intimate setting that could hold about a dozen people maximum, was at only half that.

Brandon Stark held up his palms. "Hand to gods, my Prince. Why would I lie to you?"

While initially disliking the maltish bitterness of the northern ale, at the urging of his insistent and beautiful betrothed Rhaegar had kept at the cups - developing a taste for it after all. By the fourth cup, he was wonderfully buzzed. "It just doesn't make sense to me. Are you sure there aren't any direwolves south of the wall?" Rhaegar's words were slightly slurred, but he was still upright and lucid. Most would have collapsed by now, but the dragon blood burned through food and alcohol like no other. Imagine how much food Aegon the Unworthy had to eat to fuck him up that badly.

"I give up with this lad," Brandon huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Father, please put me out of my misery."

Smirking as he sipped at the ale, Rickard leaned over to tap his goodson on the back. "There haven't been any direwolves in the north since… hells, I think Brandon Snow was the last to bond with one."

Beside Lyanna, the Queen furrowed her brows. "Was that the one who nearly snuck into Aegon the Conqueror's camp and drive arrows into the eyes of the dragons."

Rickard looked impressed. "You know your histories, my Queen. Now I know where your son gets it from."

"Arrows into the eye of a dragon, simple arrows." Rhaegar shook his head. "The Dornish had some contraption to do the same thing to Meraxes, and even that had to be the length of a tall man."

"Weirwood arrows, my Dragon," Lyanna replied, rubbing his knee under the table. "They have magical properties, and I wouldn't doubt that the wood does too."

Rhaegar nodded, pursing his lips. "I'm suddenly less confused as to why Bloodraven carried a bow made of the same material."

"His mother was of House Blackwood," shrugged Brandon. "Only house south of the Neck that worships the old gods. The hill tribes of the Vale still do, but I wouldn't count them a proper house." Pitching back the mug, he drained a third of it. "One of the reasons we Starks don't like going south. Not very comfortable with the Faith of the Seven."

"House Targaryen feels your pain," Rhaegar said, causing a chorus of laughs from the Starks and his mother… Lady Catelyn being the exception, merely sipping at her wine. The only one not drinking the northern ale. That didn't escape the Prince's notice. "Our history with the Faith… they say that Baelor the Blessed and Aegon II were the only ones that had their unwavering support."

"One a crazed zealot that followed everything they said and the other a half-Hightower under the thumb of the patron of the Faith." Lyanna shook her head. "Sure, the Faith draws from the best pool of Kings." A soft hand tapped Rhaegar's shoulder, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I should take you to the Godswood of King's Landing. No weirwood trees, but I'll still teach you the ways of the Old Gods."

He turned to smile at her. "For you, I'd do anything." She beamed and leaned against him, Rhaella smiled widely while Brandon and Rickard looked pleased with their sister's soon to be husband. Catelyn… while she was leaned into the Stark hier, it was clear she was quite uncomfortable. Lips moving oh so slightly - a silent prayer. She loves Brandon, but would that be enough to tolerate the North? Rhaegar had his doubts, but people could surprise.

A knock on the door found Ser Jaime - he, Ser Barristan, and Ser Arthur on duty and sharing in the merriment - opening it, only to reveal a bruised Ned Stark. "Sorry I'm late," he mumbled, going straight for the pitcher of ale and draining it.

Brandon was the first to rise up, overcoming the shock at the state of his brother. "Fuck being late. What in seven hells happened to you?"

"Ned!" Lyanna was by his side, running a hand along his black eye. "Gods…" Suddenly remembering how he had stormed off after the joust, it was understood. "Robert?"

He snorted. Nearly sputtering as he drank the bitter liquid. "Aye. Robert." It didn't take long for him to tell the story, Lyanna confirming it. By the end, Brandon was seething. "I'll kill the motherfucker."

"I'll join you." Rhaegar was beyond caring at this point. Blackfyre would taste the King's Justice if he had anything to say about it.

"Sit back down, my son," Rhaella ordered. "I won't have you making rash decisions based on your emotions. That's how we got the Blackfyre Rebellions." Furming, it was a pleading look from Lyanna that finally caused Rhaegar to calm down.

The heir to Winterfell was a lost cause, though. "He's gonna wish he was dead by the time I'm done with him…"

"I already took care of it, brother." Ned sat down, leaning back. "He won't bother Lyanna again - Jon Arryn will make sure of that."

"How can you be so sure?" Rhaella didn't want to give an excuse for the Stormlands to rise against the crown, but the obsession their Lord Paramount had for her gooddaughter did worry her. "My sister was married to Robert's grandfather… I know how impetuous a Baratheon can be."

Rickard sighed. "If anyone can get him off our backs, it's Lord Arryn." Perfection was an illusion, but at least he seemed to know all the pieces. "My Prince, I take it that after the wedding, Lord Robert will no longer be a guest at the Red Keep?"

"Consider it done, Lord Stark. Father never liked him anyway." His father didn't like anyone, but that was beside the point. A solution want of justice, but for the sake of peace and politics, had to be done. The rest of the meal was in silence, but the Prince felt Lyanna's hand clasping his for the entire time. In the end, he was still coming out on top.

---

"You shouldn't see him." Brandon crossed his arms. "The prick doesn't deserve your sympathy. Or closure."

Catelyn sighed, heart heavy with guilt. "He's practically my brother, Bran. I care for him…"

Groaning, the heir to Winterfell suppressed his urge to throttle someone. There were many worries and concerns that plagued Brandon, most of which were objectively worse, but Petyr Baelish was arguably the most irritating of them all. "He's an insect that is obsessed with you. Don't give him the damn satisfaction to justify his delusions…"

His betrothed cut him off with a gentle kiss on his lips. A kiss that deepened, Catelyn running one hand down the hard planes of his chest while the other guided Brandon's hand to her breast. Brandon growling into her mouth and pressing her against the stone walls outside of the infirmary. Never before did she feel this way. Heart fluttering and core flooding with warmth, the lessons of her Septa against the temptations of the flesh going out the window in the face of Brandon of House Stark. Her greatest sin, her soon to be husband… Gods, she couldn't wait till their wedding day.

By some miracle they had managed to disentangle. Catelyn adjusted her hair and yanked up the collar of her dress to cover the love bite that Brandon so lovingly gave her. "I'll be back soon, Bran." She smiled. "Just remember, I am betrothed to you. Not him, you." That seemed to placate him, the handsome northerner leaning against the wall as she took a breath and entered.

Still confined to bed rest, splints tied to the broken limbs and bandages swathed around his wounds, Littlefinger's sullen frown brightened up at the mere image of Catelyn. "Cat." His smile was genuine and infectious.

Much as she wanted to go back to her childhood and the happy memories with him and her two siblings around the waters of the River Trident, Catelyn willed herself not to. Pursing her lips and looking at Littlefinger with a tiny glare. "Petyr, why did you do what you did?"

His smile faltered. "What are you talking about?" Baelish began to study her closely. A flushed cheek, bits of hair in haphazard whips, and the bare peek of a red mark on her neck… "Is that cunt outside?" The look on her face said it all - even coming to see him, she couldn't keep their passions contained.

"That doesn't matter, Petyr. You had no right to challenge my intended to a duel."

"I had every right. I love you, Cat."

She closed her eyes, restraining her emotions. "You are like a brother to me, Petyr. I love you, but not in the way you wish. I am promised to Lord Brandon…"

"He isn't right for you," Petyr begged.

"...and I love him and only him. I wish not to hurt you, but I will be the Lady of Winterfell. Not your wife, not ever." If she continued then she may fall apart, gazing upon one of the persons she was the closest to. That Catelyn Tully was close to - you are to be Catelyn Stark. "I will always support you, but I think it would be unwise for us to see each other for a long while. Goodbye, Petyr."

"Cat… Cat! Catelyn!" But she was gone. Leaving him alone yet again… to go to her betrothed. To him…

Something snapped within Petyr Baelish, head throbbing and fists clenching… Brandon Stark will rue the day...

---

Panting, coming down from their high as Rhaegar rolled off his future wife, he pulled Lyanna close to him. Their hair spread in wild tangles after their intense passions. "Gods…" the Prince managed to breath.

Calming her racing heart, Lyanna leaned up to kiss her Dragon Prince on the chin. "Aye… that was simply divine." Their wedding couldn't come soon enough. Beautiful day in the Riverlands, the afternoon before the Royal Party was to leave for King's Landing, the dashing Targaryen Prince and his stunning Stark betrothed were out for a ride and picnic in the woods. A simple ride and feast of breads, fruits, and cheeses turned to teasing, teasing to japing, and japing to them satiating their hunger for each other. Going as far as they could without depriving her of her maidenhead… Lyanna didn't know how long she could last. Every part of her screamed for the handsome dragon's length finally making her a real woman and filling her up, painting her womb with his seed. "Sing to me, my love."

It was a request he couldn't resist complying with. Driving Lyanna to tears at the close up rendition of Jenny of Oldstones. A gentle kiss led them to swap stories and memories. Each bittersweet tale on his part brought the direwolf's arms tight around her dragon's waist, her Prince's life not that of comfort and splendor. Memories of her own mother gave her different kind of sadness, tempered only by the warmth of Rhaegar as he held her tightly.

"She and father wanted more children," Lyanna finished, wiping the last tears from her eyes. They were propped against a large birch tree, Rhaegar directly against it and Lyanna cuddled into his chest. "I heard him and Ser Martyn speaking about it once, that the pack deserved to have one or two more members."

"I can imagine why," Rhaegar said softly, kissing her hair. It amazed her, that someone so strong and fierce could have such a gentle touch. "Rhaenys and Aegon are the light of my life."

The prospect of two adorable little ones with her betrothed's eyes brought joy to Lyanna. Not just two… "Tell me about them, my Dragon."

A wistful smile formed on Rhaegar's face. His children always gave him happiness even in his darkest moments. "Rhaenys… she's both the blood of the dragon and pure Nymerios Martell, a combination straight from the Seven Hells," he chuckled. "Vivacious, dramatic, and stubborn. A real hellion, but with a heart of gold."

"Sounds like how my brothers would describe me," Lyanna laughed. She couldn't wait to meet her future stepdaughter. "And Aegon?"

"Egg… that's his nickname. He's still a babe but I can tell he's a more quiet one."

"Like his father."

"No, I don't see him brood much. More a gentle quiet, like his mother thank the gods."

She leaned up. "I happen to adore his father's brooding. Makes him…" Lyanna kissed his lips sultrily, taking her bottom lip between her teeth afterwards. "Irresistible." Rhaegar beamed, kissing her languidly. Tongue probing into her mouth, making her mewl with pleasure. "My dragon?"

Having pulled away, Rhaegar peered down at his betrothed. "Yes, Lya?"

"Do you want more children?" He blinked, a quizzical look forming on his face. "I mean… most Targaryens have many, but perhaps you…"

A finger to her lips cut her off. "Oh Lyanna." She really was adorable. "Aegon… I thought he would be my last. Elia, she had a difficult pregnancy with him and Maester Pycelle recommended that she couldn't carry another babe." Rhaegar cupped her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. "I wouldn't want anything more than to give Rhae and Egg little dragonwolf brothers and siblings." He kissed her forehead, enjoying how she sighed in joy. "How many would you want?"

Sighing again, placing her ear against the gentle thud of Rhaegar's heart, her mind imagined silver-haired sons with grey eyes and raven-haired daughters with her Prince's violets. "Four."

A chuckle. "You've thought about this?"

She swatted his chest lightly. "Two sons and two daughters." Lyanna stretched languidly. "Thought about names as well."

"Care to share with me my future children's names?" Oh, Lya, you're perfect.

"Well, I always imagined being a Targaryen Princess as a child - granted, that involved swinging Dark Sister atop Vhagar as much as dresses and feasts." Both of them laughed at that. "Visenya, after the great Queen and Lyarra, after my mother." A gentle kiss on her hand made her swoon, knowing Rhaegar's agreement. "And Jaehaerys… after the Targaryen King beloved in the north."

"That still leaves one son unnamed."

"I can't think of a perfect second name, but I will."

So sure of herself, the Prince was greatly enjoying himself. "But why that number?"

"Rhaenyra had five, my mother had four and wanted more… but I hope that I'll be able to count little Rhae and Egg as my daughters as well. Not separate them from Elia, but…" There was no need to elaborate. Everything that needed to be said had been said.

It seemed too soon… hells, it felt like a lifetime had passed since that day Lyanna had seen him singing and he had seen her fighting. Dragons answer to neither gods nor men. "I love you, Lya."

She gazed up at him, eyes sparking and smiling from ear to ear. "I love you too, Rhaegar." Without warning, she straddled him, arms wrapping around his neck. "We still have so much to learn of each other, but I have no doubt that what I learn would only make me love you more… my King."

One hand went to stroke her hair. "I feel the same… my Queen."

Notes:

Seriously, was Lyanna ever not going to jump Rhaegar after that? ;)

The Quiet Wolf roars! Frankly, Robert had it coming. He and Ned may still "patch" things up just out of respect for Jon Arryn (Ned still has a soft spot for Robert), but they will never be the best of friends again. Cough, Rhaegar, cough. Had he been some minor lordling, Robert would be dead, but being the Lord of Storm's End insulates him somewhat. Lucky punk.

Littlefinger... he's gonna pull some crap.

A moment of bliss for our fav couple. Planning names for their children... so sweet. Missing one though :D

ñuha zokla - my wolf

Next up, Lyanna and Elia finally meet :D

Chapter 14: The Viper and the Direwolf

Notes:

Hey everyone! Unexpected quick update! Including many moments y'all have been waiting for!

Be sure to check out some awesome stories: Wolves of War by GulfYankee23 (on fanfiction.net), Howl of the Dragonwolves by Elphaba818, The Long Night that Was Promised by Dakkaman777 (on fanfiction.net), Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteWolf04 (on fanfiction.net), and From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120. All of the authors are great guys that have been the best of fans!

Enjoy and please comment :D

Horsehide bow scraping along the tight thread of the instrument, the notes of the Rains of Castamere brought contentment to Lord Tywin Lannister's mind. The musician added an extra flair at the end of the infamous song, rumor had that it was composed by Lord Tywin himself. Normally he preferred it the way it was, but this time the tune caught his attention positively. Ending the song, the performer bowed as Tywin clapped three times. "Good job, my friend. Good job."

"Mi'Lord approves?" A smile with several gaps where teeth had once been.

"Casterly Rock has found its new court musician, now please leave me." The musician was practically leaping as he left Tywin to his solitude… well, partial solitude.

"You're cheerier than usual." Lord Loren Payne of Payne Hall - formally Tarbeck Hall - crossed his arms, chuckling. "For once that frown can take a respite somewhere warm while that smile gets to spread its wings."

Normally, anyone who japed with frivolity more accustomed to the court of Lord Tytos rather than himself would find Tywin tossing him out of Casterly Rock with a kick in the ass, but castillan Loren Payne was different. Son of the master-at-arms that taught Tywin how to fight and strategize, faithful bannermen beside him at every battle in the Reyne Rebellion, he earned the right to speak and act without restraint in Tywin's presence. Something the man found more precious than the prized keep of the defeated Tarbecks.

Plus… the pulsing headache that came with collecting the taxes off the houses of the Westerlands lessened in severity whenever he heard the song of his greatest achievement. "Shouldn't you be with your newborn son?"

Loren's smile widened. "I would, but Lenora wants some time with little Pod. She's still bedridden and yet refuses a wetnurse."

"Reminds me of Joanna with the twins." Tywin leaned back, allowing the fond memories to bring him just a smidgeon of joy. It heartened his friend greathly. "Tax revenue is up for the fifteenth year in a row. My bannermen know I am not my idiot father."

"That is good," Payne nodded. "No one wishes to be a Reyne. Castamere is still flooded ruins if I recall correctly."

Dipping his quill into ink, Tywin began scribbling the figures into his ledger. No scribes for the Lord of Casterly Rock - all was done himself. "I've been thinking, perhaps when Cersei finally ceases to be a disappointment and finds a match of her own, I could give Castamere to one of her second sons. Finally have someone loyal in that place."

"What's the use? The Reynes tapped out most of their mines decades ago, and the ones they did have weren't worth much."

"Those are just the ones we know about, Loren. I think the Westerlands have yet to surprise us." A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter." At the glimpse of the person that had just arrived, whatever joy and contentment he had found disappeared. Headache returning and scowl marring his face. "What is it this time, Tyrion? Moon tea stock depleted again?"

Face bearing the cocky visage of his five and ten years upon the earth, Tyrion Lannister never ceased to drive his father to distraction. "No, the whores of Lannisport are safe from my wandering eye for today at least." Sauntering in on his stunted legs, he pulled up a chair and hauled himself into it. "I just came back from seeing the adorable future Ser Podrick Payne. Tell me, Ser Loren, would your son be able to squire for me when the time comes?"

Loren Payne laughed merrily, reaching out to clasp Tyrion on the back. "I actually am honored… just try to keep him out of all but the most clean of brothels."

Winking at his father, Tyrion nodded. "That promise I may be able to keep."

Tywin groaned. Tyrion was the bane of his existence with the drinking and whoring even at his young age, but the dwarf never giving him the excuse to throw him out into the world. To both Tywin's consternation and odd pride, Tyrion was smart in his escapades. Avoiding scandal with highborn mistresses, always discreet, and not slacking on whatever duties Tywin dumped on his plate. "Can you make your business quick, my son. I am a busy man."

"Ah, but I can, father." Out of his doublet Tyrion produced a letter. "Raven from Harrenhal. In Cersei's handwriting. For once she's not complaining about me." The attempt at a jape cause Loren to smirk but Tywin's face only hardened. "Here, father." Confirms the rumors, not that father would have noticed. Tywin Lannister didn't converse with the little people for information.

Grabbing the dispatch from his youngest son, the Lord of Casterly Rock perused it line by line. Certain words and phrases more visible than others.

...betrothal of Prince Rhaegar…

...Lady Lyanna Stark…

...appointment to the small council…

...Lord Baratheon and Eddard Stark not on speaking terms...

His face grew pale. Even he didn't imagine that Aerys would be that desperate… under no circumstances did this not involve him, Tywin knew. The small possibility this was some sort of effort to revive ancient Targaryen tradition or as an effort of religious fervor existed, but Tywin didn't hold his breath. "My Lord… what is it?"

"The Crown Prince… he's betrothed to the daughter of Lord Rickard Stark."

Loren blinked. "He'd risk shitting over Dorne? That alliance was the only thing that kept us from rising against him."

"Looks like Aerys is trying to make his son into Aegon the Conqueror." Tyrion laughed. "Two brides, both stunners if I remember. Gods, I wish I was a Targaryen."

Ignoring his son, Tywin rose. "Notify the stewards. We're leaving for King's Landing on the morrow, but send a message to our bannermen to be ready to call the banners at any time."

Dread filled both men. "Are we to go to war, my Lord?" asked Loren.

"I do feel that I cannot be of help in that department," Tyrion bemused, unable to resist being a wiseass.

"At this point… I have no damn clue." And that scared Tywin the most.

---

"Rhaenys! Come here!" Biting her bottom lip, Elia fought to keep from trembling. Her beautiful little girl was playing in the inner courtyard of Maegor's Holdfast with her nursemaids, all of whom absolutely adored her. Part of her wished not to disturb her, but with the banners of her King and her husband close approaching - bringing with it the Direwolf sigils of Rhaegar's new bride - preserving Rhaenys' mental stability was more important than even her own sanity.

"If you let your worries continue to consume you, you'll start vomiting blood." Once Rhaenys and her chief nursemaid disappeared in the staircase leading up to the second floor, Elia turned to her lady in waiting. "What's the problem? Your husband is just bringing over your new sister-wife. Not a large issue." At times, Elia didn't know whether Ellaria was being serious or trying to jape her. The two blended seamlessly together.

In any case, she did not appreciate it. "I am in no mood right now."

Ellaria rolled her eyes. "That's the damn point. You know as well as I do that only fussy Septons and their ilk actually care about this."

"House Targaryen hasn't practiced this since Maegor, and it didn't go well for him or Aegon the Conqueror."

"Oh please. I find it hard to believe that Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys weren't enjoying the feast of cock and cunts in their beds every night. If it weren't for my House's lucky scorpion shot, they'd have outbred Jaehaerys and Alysanne."

"We aving feast, muna?" Elia's eyes were drawn down to her daughter, staring up with the same violet eyes as Rhaegar.

Leaning down, Elia hefted her up, Rhae still small enough for her to lift. "No feast this time, my sweet dragon. Auntie Ellaria and I were just talking about… something else." A sharp glare caused Ellaria to groan and wink. "Kepa is coming home today."

It was as if the Targaryen Princess lit up as brightly as the Martell sigil. "I miss kepa. He bwing present?" Rhaegar never forgot to bring Rhaenys a little treat or trinket whenever he had to leave Dragonstone or the Red Keep for royal business - as a father, there was no one better.

Sighing, Elia steeled herself. "Yes, he's bringing you a second muna." If they were all to survive, Elia would have to accept Lyanna Stark's presence in their lives.

Rhaenys blinked. "Two muna? But you muna."

Love for her precious child, blood of her blood, Elia hugged close to her. "I'll always be your muna, but kepa is bringing… you know the story I told you of your namesake."

"Mmm-hmm," Rhaenys nodded. "Egg and Rhae and Vis, dwagon con-ker-ors…" Young though she was, she was also smart. "Oh, so you and two muna be Rhae an' Vis?"

"Yes, my dear." Elia kissed Rhae's cheek, relieved. "She'll love you as much as I do." I pray this to not be a lie. "Now, go off and play again. I'll come find you later." Rhaenys kissed her on the cheek and rushed off. "Well, that was brutal."

Ellaria chuckled. "I think you did that rather well. Since you'll be the resurrection of the conquering trio, when can I expect the feasts to occur?"

Face reddening when she realized what Ellaria was talking about, Elia smacked her shoulder. "Shut it." Even if she did share Ellaria's… preferences - Elia couldn't be sure - that was likely never going to happen. "I hope I didn't just lie to my daughter."

"I've been telling you for a long time, there are only two ways this goes down. Catfight central or feast. The in betweens will just end up with Black Brides all over again."

Elia shuddered. The sniping and clandestine infighting between Maegor's last three wives was legend. "You underestimate by desire to protect my children and my husband. Be it even my own house," a very real possibility given Doran refusing to come north and Oberyn already on his way. "I am a Targaryen Princess and that's where my loyalties lay."

"My Ladies."

Familiar voice behind her, Elia spun around to find her husband. Dressed in his armor and hair tied back in a bun, a genuine smile was on his face - happy to see her. "Rhaegar." Without hesitation, she walked over and hugged him. Inhaling his spicy scent. Whatever problems they had, he was her rock. "When did you get back?"

"Just now," Rhaegar replied. Clearly relieved that Elia wasn't bitter about the situation. She looked stressed, but otherwise the same understanding wife he had grown to consider his partner. "My father didn't want anything ostentatious."

"Believe me," Rhaella said as she walked up beside her son. "It surprised me to."

The Dornish Princess leaned down to kiss the Queen's hand. "Goodmother, welcome back. You must be exhausted."

Rhaella chuckled. "As much as I would love to see my grandchildren, traveling has taken its toll on me."

"I'll go change out of my armor. Afterwards, we can make introductions." The Crown Prince ducked out, meaning obvious."

Escorting her goodmother to the Queen's chambers, Elia turned to her. "Where is…?"

"Lady Lyanna? The Starks are a day behind even though she travelled with us. I think she wanted to explore the castle." At Elia's worried expression, the Queen laughed. "Do not worry, dearest daughter. You'll find yourself pleasantly surprised with the she-wolf of Winterfell." The clinking of Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold's armored boots behind them filled the resulting silence.

---

Used to the barren simplicity of Winterfell, what some perfumed lords or Tourney knights of Dorne and the Reach may have called spartan, Lyanna found herself dazzled. Not just appreciative of the beauty of what had been the premier architectural style of Westeros at the time of Maegor I. Gods… The history of that these walls held. Jaehaerys and Alysanne walking hand and hand as their Kingdoms prospered. Viserys I, desperately trying to keep the peace between his daughter and his wife. Rhaenyra, praying desperately for her warrior husband to come back to her. My book… this is where everything played out. Lyanna wondered if some young Northern lady would imagine being in her own shoes centuries in the future.

The Prince's personal quarters looked comfortable, hearth stocked with logs ready for nightfall. Intricate mosaics of Dragonstone and what Lyanna thought was the court of Daeron II covered the walls, all leading to the outside gardens. There were more specific touches, which Lyanna recognized as Dornish. Elia… Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, the moment of truth fast approaching. Forced to face the woman that was to her beloved what she would soon be…

Pacing about the solar, twiddling her thumbs as she usually did when nervous, a slight bump against her leg knocked Lyanna from her thoughts. Feeling something slide under the skirts of her grey dress, she pushed aside the pleated fabric to find a small red ball. Smooth leather and fitting easily in the palm of her hand.

"That mine."

Eyes drifting to the entrance to the gardens, Lyanna saw the originator of the voice. A little girl in a crimson dress. Raven black curls falling in waves across her shoulders. Utterly adorable. Lyanna couldn't help but smile. "This?" She held up the ball.

The girl nodded vigorously. "I's playing. Wanna play with me?"

Laughing joyously, as Lyanna approach she saw them. Eyes a so perfect violet that they could be recognizable to her anywhere. They were Rhaegar's eyes, which could only mean this girl was… "I'd like to play with you, but I really should ask permission from a Prince or Princess? Princess Rhaenys perhaps."

"Pwincess Rhaenys me!" Rhaenys jumped up and down, giggling in an infectious excitement. "I's Rhaenys!"

Struggling not to fall into laughs at how adorable the Princess was, Lyanna curtseyed. "Your Grace, I bid welcome into your home."

As if remembering what her mother and grandmother would do when receiving someone, Rhaenys copied the movements to the best of her ability. Given she was barely halfway past two, she lost her footing and fell upon the ground. "Oww…" Her lip quivered.

Lyanna's heart broke at seeing such a precious child - Rhaegar's precious child - in such a state and swept forward. Heaving Princess Rhaenys in her arms, she hugged her close. "Don't cry, sweetling." Lyanna pressed a kiss to the girl's cheek. "Believe me, I've been in worse scrapes. For a spirited child… wear it with honor." She pressed her finger on Rhaenys' stomach, tickling the girl back into giggles. Gods, she was falling in love with the entire Targaryen family.

But what Rhaenys said next knocked her off kilter. "You my new muna?"

The daughter of Winterfell wasn't well versed in Valyrian - something she would have to change now that she was to be a Targaryen Princess - but 'muna' was one of the words she did know. Her mother? "What do you mean, sweetling?"

"My muna say new muna come fwam Nowth." New mother… Ah, that explained it. The Princess must have told her daughter about Lyanna so as not to be confused. "You fwam Nowth?"

She smiled softly. "Yes, sweetling. I am from the North." Lyanna pressed another kiss to her brow. "I'm Lyanna of House Stark, and yes, I think I could be your new muna."

A big, toothy smile, violet eyes sparkling in the same way as Rhaegar when he was excited. "You new muna?! Can we play to-gefhter?" Squirming in Lyanna's hands, the chuckling future Princess set Rhaenys down. "What play in Nowth?"

Remembering how she dealt with all the smallfolk children, Lyanna understood what the precocious Princess was getting at. "Well, sweetling, in the North we like to play in the snow."

Her eyes widened in sheer awe. "Snow? I never see snow. Snow in Nowth?"

"A lot of snow." Lyanna spread her arms wide. "As far as the eye can see… Perhaps in the future I could show you myself."

"I wanna see snow!" By now, the excitement was so overwhelming that Rhaenys was jumping up and down with the biggest smile. The most joyous of laughs fell from Lyanna's lips, the girl's innocent joy utterly infectious. "Take me snow. Fluffy fluffy!" However, Rhaenys turned as the sound of scuffing on the stone floor drew attention to the entrance. "Muna!" Headlong she dashed for a raven-haired woman in a burnt orange dress, burying her face in the silky skirts. "I meet two muna. She Lwyanna, wuv her!" Pointing her stubby finger at Lyanna, Rhaenys jumped some more in the new arrival's arms. "She take me see snow. Pwese see snow. Pwease pwease!"

As much as Lyanna was just gushing over how adorable Rhaegar's daughter was, the arrival of the newcomer took her entire attention. Burnt orange, raven hair, olive skin… the way Rhaenys interacted with her could only mean… Without missing a beat, eyes like an owl before averting her gaze, Lyanna curtseyed. "Your Grace. Forgive me for intruding with your daughter without permission." Her mind had been whirring on making the right first impression with her soon to be sister-wife, but meeting little Rhaenys first wasn't one she imagined.

"She gweat, muna?" Rhaenys asked her mother with a smile.

Eyeing over Lyanna Stark with a quizzical look, Elia Martell was forced to smile back to her precocious daughter. "Yes, she seems to be." Glancing back at Ellaria - barely hiding her humorous smirk at the whole situation - Elia knew she wouldn't be of any help. "Rhaenys, why doesn't Ser Jonothor help you find your father? Muna would like to speak with Lady Stark alone." A bit put off, the prospect of seeing Rhaegar again was enough of a distraction. But not before Rhaenys ran back to the still kneeling Lyanna and planted a big kiss on her cheek.

Once the little cyclone of a girl had left the solar, Lyanna rose, her head still down with respect. "Your Grace, I…"

"No need to seek forgiveness… it's quite alright." All of what Elia planned for how to greet the woman who would be marrying her husband, the rigid formality and gradual scrutinizing… all went out the window the moment she found Lyanna Stark laughing and playing with her beloved daughter. A small, genuine smile curled on her lips. "Welcome to the Royal Quarters, Lady Lyanna. I suppose you and I will be getting to know each other quite well."

The woman's piercing grey eyes sparkled - Lyanna Stark wasn't anything that Elia expected. Breath of fresh air could be the appropriate term? At least on first impression. "I suppose so, Princess." Her gaze flickered behind Elia. "Is there any reason why that woman behind you is staring at me?"

Oh Gods… Praying that her lady in waiting didn't embarrass her, Elia forced a tight smile to her face. "Lady Lyanna Stark, this is the Lady Ellaria Sand, daughter of Lord Harman Uller and my Lady in Waiting."

It took a moment for Lyanna to remember they were Dornish - bastards were close to normalized there, even if they weren't able to inherit. There wasn't anything strange with Elia taking one as a lady in waiting. "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Ellaria."

A grin of some sort planted on her lips, Ellaria darted forward. Immediately taking Lyanna's hands in hers, eyes raking her up and down appreciatively. "Nice to meet you too, Lady Stark." The gaze lingered in rather… intimate places upon Lyanna's body. "My my, I never imagined you'd be so… beautiful."

"Um… much thanks, Lady Ellaria." Lyanna was growing a bit uncomfortable - behind, Elia pinched the bridge of her nose, praying this would end soon.

"So many silver-haired Valyrians and swarthy Dornish and Andals." Ellaria clicked her tongue. "Gets boring after a while."

What could one say to that? "For someone… predisposed to appreciating beauty." Lyanna was choosing her words carefully. "I cannot imagine those more perfect than Queen Rhaella or Princess Elia." The aforementioned Princess noticed the compliment - Lyanna meant it, for Elia was a rather stunning woman. Rhaegar was a lucky man even when she sought to be modest about her own attributes.

Ellaria laughed merrily, quite throaty and seductive. "Don't get me wrong, they have their looks, but the wild, natural beauty of the First Men is… refreshing."

Elia had enough. "Ellaria, please give the Lady Lyanna and I some privacy to speak."

Dropping Lyanna's hands, she turned back to Elia. "Alright. While I would love to get to know the future Queen more… intimately, I can't refuse a direct order, and there should be an influx of fresh northmen and women I can introduce myself to." Ellaria cast one last twinkling gaze to Lyanna. "Until next time, Princess." With that, she sauntered out, curvy figure swaying underneath her dark red dress.

Groaning, if Elia's plans had been scrambled by her daughter, they were doused in dragonfire by Ellaria. "Forgive me for that."

"Did she have a problem with me?" Lyanna asked, not knowing what to make of that.

"Ellaria still has a problem with court decorum clothes a necessity." Left to her own devices, she'd be naked and frolicking about a garden with other like-minded individuals. "She's like that with everyone, and believe me, she's actually a good lady in waiting."

Lyanna actually grinned a bit. "I know what you mean. Dacey Mormont is just as eccentric."

A perfectly styled brow rose. "Mormont of Bear Island? The ones that train their women to fight?"

"Just like the Martells of Sunspear." Lyanna shrugged. "Hard to be a woman of strength in certain circles."

That was something Elia could agree too. "Yes, it is. Though Prince Rhaegar is quite appreciative of a strong woman, most Targaryens are." From how her counterpart beamed, there was clearly more to that story. For another time… "Where are my manners, let's sit." Watching the direwolf of Winterfell move to one of the couches, Elia allowed herself the observations Ellaria had denied her. Her lady in waiting wasn't wrong, Lyanna Stark was absolutely beautiful. Chestnut hair reaching to the middle of her back, a smile that could light up the room, few men wouldn't find themselves smitten. But from the way she held herself, there was a power behind the beauty. Muscles toned and body hard and slender from activity and riding. Eyes piercing with intelligence. Inadvertently, Aerys had picked well for his son. Seated across from each other, Elia began. "Introductions to the Princess Rhaenys are unnecessary then."

A genial laugh. "One moment I was admiring the Dornish touch to the royal quarters, and the next she was there, asking to play with her."

"My daughter is quite the handful, isn't she?" It was a running debate whether she took more after her Dornish blood or Rhaegar's dragon blood - Rhaenys certainly didn't act like either of them specifically.

"Oh not at all." Lyanna spoke as if she was praising her own family - surprising to her, Elia didn't feel jealous. Only… relieved maybe? "She is an absolute treasure, as easy to love as her father."

And the tension - or at the very least the awkwardness - returned with a vengeance. Much as the two women tried to find common ground, the fact that they were to marry the same man would hang on them like a massive weight until they found a way to live with it. "You love Rhaegar, don't you?" That was quick… but she is right. He is easy to love.

Lyanna nodded. "What can I say… he swept me off my feet. Saving me from a betrothal to a man I despise."

"Lord Robert Baratheon? Aye, he is not one for a woman who isn't an adoring decoration and womb."

"Gods, you knew too? Why is it that the only person who didn't is my northern fool of a brother?" She loved Ned, but he still irritated her for not catching it - a shrug. "Eh, if he wasn't like that then he wouldn't be the brother I love. None of them would be."

"My brothers drive me mad sometimes as well. Oberyn in different ways than Doran." They had that in common, the only girls in a castle of men. "You seem like a good person, Lyanna. Not like the social climbers and greedy cunts that only see Rhaegar's title."

The daughter of Winterfell cast a grateful look. "Anyone who could raise that angel can't be that, either." It appeared that Rhaenys had unknowingly broke the ice between the two Princesses. "She told me something about a second mother?"

"What else could I really tell her?" Elia played nervously with her fingers. "To be honest, I was hoping that my statements would be proven true. That you wouldn't make Rhaenys feel hated as Alicent Hightower did to Queen Rhaenyra." The Dornish Princess didn't expect the other to understand the reference.

Turns out, she had underestimated the northern beauty - it was practically the best reference she could make. "The peaceful realm that Viserys Targaryen built was destroyed because his new wife couldn't come to terms with what his previous wife left." Elia cocked her brow, curious as to how Lyanna knew that particular story. Behind the willowy figure and sultry Dornish coloring and accent, there existed a sharp mind. Lyanna appreciated it greatly. "I know our situation is ideal, but Rhaegar isn't like most men."

Even given what they had been through, Elia thought the most highly of her husband. "No he isn't… they call him the Last Dragon in the capitol, and they are right. Something about him… he is a kind not seen in Westeros for centuries."

"You sense it too?" Lyanna felt a kinship with her soon to be sister-wife. "I want us to have a good relationship… for his sake and for the future of our adopted house. So perhaps we should take this gradually. Not force ourselves but without airs either?"

Elia nodded. "They say Northerners are simple people, but you… you will make a good Queen." The two women wore matching smiles.

Riotous giggles heralded the return of Princess Rhaenys… only this time she brought companions. "Kepa! Kepa! Muna Lwyanna here!" Lyanna watched as her beloved entered the solar, Rhaenys tugging on his left hand while in his right he cradled the most adorable little babe. Her heart clenched, both for the youngest member of the Targaryen family and imagining Rhaegar carrying her babe in such a manner. "She meet muna."

A flash of concern on the Crown Prince's face, eyes flickering back and forth between his wife and his betrothed relaxed him. Both were smiling, both seemed relaxed and not at each other's throats. Crisis averted. "I can see that, little dragon."

Both women rose, Elia glancing at him sweetly while Lyanna wore a look of absolute adoration. "Husband," the former greeted.

"Wife." Rhaegar leaned down to kiss her. Even with Lyanna in his life, he found that it just wasn't right without his Dornish Princess there too. The only two right decisions my father ever made. He turned to his northern direwolf. "Lyanna."

Lyanna stepped forward and crashed their lips together. Short, but filled with passion all the same. "Your Grace," she remarked saucily, biting her lip as she looked over him lasciviously. A hint for later. "Is this Prince Aegon?"

Nodding, Rhaegar took a chance and handed his son to his betrothed. "Aye, my youngest."

Accepting the babe gladly, Lyanna rocked him gently in her arms. Stroking his cheek. "Gods, what is it with you Targaryens?" While sharing the same Dornish features as his sister, Prince Aegon had far more Targaryen in him. The same silver thatch of hair and violet eyes that made Lyanna's heart throb with love. "In one week I've fallen for your entire family."

Reaching her husband's side, Elia leaned up to kiss his neck. "You could have done much worse, husband. I like her." A tension that Rhaegar hadn't known was there was suddenly released.

Suddenly, the babe began to cry, squirming in Lyanna's arms. "Oh no, sweetling, don't cry." Cooing at him, she gently bounced Aegon up and down. It didn't help.

"I think he's just hungry, Lyanna," Elia butted in, taking her still fussing son. "Let's get you some milk, alright, little dragon?" Casting them both an apologetic look for having to leave, Elia went to her chamber to feed Aegon in private.

Before Lyanna could run into Rhaegar's arms, the little bundle of energy had leapt into hers. "Lwyanna. Play dwagon wif me and kepa?!"

Feeling Rhaegar embrace the both of them, Lyanna sighed happily. How has my life gotten so lucky? "Yes, sweetling, kepa and I can play dragon with you?" After the whirlwind all of them had endured, something mindless and fun sounded just like what the maester ordered.

---

"No!" Shuffling along the glimmering marble floors of the great colonnade leading to the throne room, Aerys glared at his Hand with blazing violet eyes. "Under no circumstances will that conniving traitor grace himself anywhere near me!"

When dealing with his Grace, one either burned out quickly - sometimes literally - or learned just as quickly how to avoid triggering his temper. Aerys II Targaryen would always blow up, but there were different gradients. For Jon Connington, the art was in just getting a tongue lashing. "This is the wedding between your son and the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. As Warden of the West he would…"

Aerys slammed his fist against one of the stone columns. "And bring the Doom upon us?!" Robes wrinkled, hair matted, he looked nothing like the same debonair, regal King that had so graced the tourney grounds only days earlier. Something was on his mind, pushing him into a rather bad time of it. Perhaps the Weirwood Knight? A bloody helm and shield… seemed to calm him down but who really knew? "First he tried to bait me with his whore of a cousin, and now he plots the Doom! I will not have him here!"

"Your Grace," he continued as they reached the open doors to the throne room. "It would be more dangerous to your safety if you do not let him attend the wedding."

While Connington braced for another barrage of words, instead he only got a raised eyebrow. "Go on."

"The wedding would worry Lord Tywin, forcing the Westerlands to face hostile forces all around . If he wishes to strike preemptively by launching the Doom of Valyria upon King's Landing… he can't very well do so while he and his family are present in the capitol."

"I have his brat here," Aerys countered, though half-heartedly.

Connington crossed his arms. "Do you think he cares? That he wouldn't sacrifice his son in a heartbeat?"

The King pursed his lips. "I'd do the same, so I can see it." While his words worried Connington on a fundamental level, for the moment he was calm. "Get him here, but if I see him before the wedding I'll have you killed. Understood."

A deep and low bow. "I am at your service, your Grace."

"Good." A peek inside found exactly what he was looking for, interest and awe filling his expression. "Get out."

"Your Grace…"

"I said get out. Need I remind you again?" Luckily for him, Connington simply bowed again and retreated, leaving the King to shut the door and briskly walk towards the Iron Throne. His throne, the throne of his ancestors that now only he could enjoy. Not Tywin, not my brother. Me! Resting in front of it on the base of the stairs to the throne, the thin, perfumed form Lord Varys waiting on the side. "This is it?"

Reaching out to pat the two ironwood chests - lacquered black in intricate symbols of Old Valyria - the Master of Whisperers nodded. "While I know you would have wanted to be here the moment they landed in the harbor, but with the tourney…"

Aerys waved him off. "Yes, yes I know." Fingers ran along the wood, a warm tingle shooting into his fingers. "Where did your agents find them?"

"Two in the volcanic caves of Dragonstone, the freshest. The others we found in Essos, various Free Cities."

"Did you have to kill anyone to get them?" His eyes were gleaming.

Varys nodded. "There was one merchant in Pentos. Kept his manse guarded - they tried to be discreet but… sometimes only brute force can secure the King's will." He looked at the ground, feet shuffling. "There were no witnesses to our efforts. The merchant tried to hide them but my men… persuaded him to give us the location."

Expression almost sparkling at the information, Aerys stared upon the chests with awe. "You did well, Lord Varys. Now, leave me with my treasures." He didn't need to tell Varys twice, the eunuch making his exit without undue fuss. Fingers drifting to the latches keeping the chest shut, Aerys undid them and raised the lid to the first, jaw falling open slightly at the magnificence within.

Four dragon eggs, nestled gingerly in sand to protect them from the accidental harm of a jostling crate. Black with red swirls, green, white with grey swirls, blue with gold specks, each just as beautiful as the last. They were ossified into stone, scales smooth to the touch of the Targaryen King's fingers, but Aerys could feel it. Feel the tingle coursing through him. Almost feel the immense power contained within these eggs. Rushing to the second chest, opening it found four others. Blood red, a gleaming silver with blue swirls, burnt orange with red patches, and a radiant purple. The first and last of the second chest younger and warmer than the others. Eight beautiful dragon eggs, returned home to their rightful owner.

House Targaryen deserves these eggs. His father was weak, trying to hatch them with Dunk but failing spectacularly. But not Aerys, he would bring the dragons back, let the power of them course through his veins and finally end all the schemers and traitors…

'Aerry… Aerry…'

He froze, nearly falling to his knees in shock. That voice… it can't be… Only one person ever called him 'Aerry.' A supposed name of affection, but one that haunted his life for decades.

'My sweet goodbrother, Aerry… such marvelous eggs you have…'

Wrapping his arms tight about the chests, Aerys' eyes flickered around the dark throne room. "You will not have them, Jenny! They are mine! Mine, not some common whore's!"

A fluttering laugh, joyous and carefree, filled the massive chamber. Wisps of gossamer darting about through the darkness. Almost illuminating it before the specters vanished, Aerys' heart beating out of his chest. 'A King, a King, fire answer the call. Dragons awoken, enemies will fall.'

"Yes!" Eyes almost glowing from pure mania, the King grabbed the blood red egg, cradling it to his breast in spite of the heat of the scales nearly causing his skin to singe. "I am that King! I am to do what my useless father and your idiot husband failed to do! I AM THE KING!"

Suddenly the specter appeared right in front of him. Light hair billowing behind her angelic face - one that inspired a Prince to abandon his throne and nobility and smallfolk alive to fall in love with this simple woman… but to Aerys, the face was that of a demon. Sweat clinging to his skin and limbs trembling from fear. 'The tree of high heart, champion still ride.'

Warm piss ran down Aerys' leg to puddle on the floor, words stabbing him right in the chest. "No! You're lying you deceitful bitch!" The mystery knight was dead - his son brought the bloody helm and shield.

'A son she bears, your reign aside.' Leaning down to press a kiss to her goodbrother's forehead, Aerys watched as the spirit of the Lady Jenny faded through him, disappearing into the dark visage of the Iron Throne. Not a sound could be heard but the King's sobs, rocking on the floor with the egg in his arms.

Notes:

That... was far better than expected. Kudos to Rhaenys for being such a cutiepie :D

Tywin and Tyrion make their first appearance. And is that Podrick's dad?

Elia... she's trying to do the best thing for her family... and deep down she loves Rhaegar desperately. Let's hope it builds on the good meeting... and Ellaria is being Ellaria XD

Eight Dragon Eggs! Did anyone really expect that?

If I can get 50 comments. I'll update Wednesday!

Next up, Ned and Ser Arthur put on a show for the Red Keep :D

Chapter 15: Joyful Fights

Notes:

Here's the new update as promised!

Be sure to check out some awesome stories: Wolves of War by GulfYankee23, Howl of the Dragonwolves by Elphaba818, The Long Night that Was Promised by Dakkaman777, Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteWolf04, and From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120. All of the authors are great guys that have been the best of fans!

Plus, happy birthday to Elphaba818! Hope this is a good belated birthday present :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Soft sheets.

Such was the first thing that convinced Ned every morning during his groggy, post sleep state that he wasn't in Winterfell. No dream could conceive of sheets that soft, so he could only be in the plush luxury of the Red Keep. Transformed from the second son of the Lord Paramount of the backwater Kingdom into the goodbrother to the Crown Prince of House Targaryen himself. And for his sister to be head over heels for said Prince… Yep, I'd never dream up something this incredible.

While the sheets - especially in contrast to the warm yet rough furs and linens that made up the bedspreads of the North - made it very tempting to stay in and enjoy the amenities the royal family had to offer, early to bed and early to rise drummed into him by both his father and Jon Arryn brought him from the bed to his closet. A quick dry shave and splash of water on his face found him in his leathers and breeches emblazoned with the direwolf of his House. Rare in the south, but he rather enjoyed being the northerner in the southern viper den. The cockiness of youth, as Lord Arryn would say.

Strolling down the hallways towards the training ground, a turn of the corner found him face to face with his soon to be goodbrother. "Ned," Rhaegar laughed. "Do all northerners wake up so early?"

"Unless it's the morning of a feast, aye." Ever since the Tourney… since he had taken the initiative to meet Rhaegar personally, the two had gotten much closer - Rhaegar beginning to usurp Robert's place. Well deserved. The Prince was a man worthy of respect, especially in how he treated Lyanna. "Normally even us highborns have chores around the castle…"

Rhaegar eyed him with a twinkling curiosity. "A Highborn performing chores alongside the smallfolk? Have you heard of that, Oswell?" he asked one of the two Kingsguards behind him. Ser Oswell shook his head. "Arthur?"

"Sometimes squires do it," the Sword of the Morning conceded. "But the North doesn't follow knightly traditions if I recall."

"Northerners are… different that way. Brandon fed the chickens, I swept out the kitchen, and Lyanna…" Rhaegar watched him intently. "She brushed and watered the horses."

Tipping his head back, Rhaegar laughed merrily. Falling in love with his bride more and more. "Sounds like her."

Ned grinned. "Aye, it does." He wouldn't be surprised if Lyanna wouldn't do that here as well. "Anyway, afterwards, we broke our fast and then morning training. Wasn't much to eat, lest we throw up in the middle of a spar."

"Nope, never good" the Prince conceded. "We eat after our morning training. Our food is richer than that in the North, can't ever eat it sparingly. Besides…" He and the two knights shared looks. "We work up a sweat. Bruises… have been known to happen."

The northerner detected a sort of good-natured dick measuring contest going on. "I'm sure the southern tourney knights haven't trained with Umbers and Boltons in preparation for wildling raids."

Ser Oswell trotted forward, hand on Ned's shoulder stopping him. "You calling me a 'Tourney Knight,' Lord Stark?" Eyes narrowed underneath his helm.

While a quarter head shorter than the Hacker of Harrenhal, Ned refused to be intimidated. "If the boot fits, Ser Oswell. Fightin' wildlings is man's work. Makes tourneys look like tickle fights."

"Seems this should be settled on the training grounds," smirked Rhaegar. This was going to be fun. Grunting their assent, Ned and Oswell fell into place in the group, no further words needing to be exchanged.

Turns out, for the sun barely peeking over the eastern horizon of Blackwater Bay, the training yard of Maegor's holdfast was packed. Gawking Household guards of both the dragon and direwolf joined with the appreciative glances of the female staff to watch while the highborns trained. Some stripped to bare chests even in the chill, while all were drenched in sweat. The current duo were Lord Commander Gerold Hightower and… Brandon Stark. Sharp clashes of steel rang out as the training swords met, Ned and Rhaegar perching against columns to watch the duel progress.

An upward slash from Ser Gerold was skillfully parried by Brandon, the heir to Winterfell going on the offensive. "Your brother is good," Rhaegar commented.

"He's always been a natural with a blade," Ned replied, proud that his older brother could stand strong against such a renowned fighter. "Took to it like a fish to water… for me it took a lot of work to master the skill."

"Me too, believe it or not." Both watched as an attempted counterattack from Gerold was beaten back by sheer force of arms on Brandon's part. "Leaning heavily into his strength. Good, yet unoriginal."

Ned shrugged. "Depends on our enemies. Some wildlings… just need to crush underfoot. Others are nimble, need more finesse." He looked at Rhaegar. "I know both."

Raising an eyebrow, the Prince nodded. "Oswell doesn't mean disrespect…"

"Didn't suggested he did."

"Still… they're basically my brothers. Watching out for me… sizing you Starks up." There was silence while Gerold and Brandon traded the initiative several times. "They know and like Lyanna, but they don't know you yet."

Shifting on the cold stone, Ned nodded. "Understandable. We often meet our truest friends on the battlefield."

Violet eyes swiveled to him. "That sounds quite true, Ned, though I pray I won't have to learn that the hard way." Few rulers would admit that, too obsessed with their personal dreams of glory. "I'm good at fighting, yet I hate it." Ned admired Rhaegar more just for that statement. He'll be a great King… "I will enjoy clobbering you, or seeing Oswell clobber you." The quiet wolf only laughed.

Somehow, Brandon managed to sidestep a lunge by Ser Gerold, having feinted an assault to the left. Spinning in a riposte meant to fight Thenn warriors, the Stark heir slashed until his sword hovered over the join between the Kingsguard's helm and shoulderplate. "Yield?"

Ser Gerold snorted, accepting his loss with humility. "Yield." Arms dropping, he clasped Brandon's hand. "Good match."

"Likewise, your reputation is well earned." Finally noticing Ned, Brandon grinned tiredly. "Glad you could show up little brother… goodbrother." There was little formality on the training yard. Quite an egalitarian part of the castle, at least for those participating. "Care to join me for a spar, my Prince? I promise I won't be too hard on ya'."

The shit eating grin on Brandon's face made Rhaegar roll his eyes. "While I would love to, I'm sitting this out. Your brother already chanced Ser Oswell to a one on one."

To this, Brandon was surprised. "Really Ned? Bold of you."

"What can I say?" Ned answered, picking up a practice bastard sword, tip perfectly dulled and edge round. He twirled it in his wrist to acclimate to it. "I'm not one to show off my skills to impress my betrothed… or her pretty handmaidens." A chorus of laughs rang out at Brandon's expense.

"Oh very funny, little brother." Punching Ned's shoulder, it was all in good jest. "Tell you what, how's about you and I against Ser Oswell and…"Brandon narrowed his eyes, peering out at the various Targaryen sworn swords. Suddenly, a grin of mischief spread on his face. "The Sword of the Morning." There was a silence, broken only by a bit of murmuring. Arthur, in the midst of sharpening his second blade, stilled. Confused at his name being called. "Lest he's too busy to do it."

Ned glared at his brother. "Really, Bran? He'll fuck us up." He wanted to prove himself, not get his ass handed to him.

It only provoked a cocky smile directed at Arthur. "I can take him. What do ya' say?"

Shrugging, Arthur stood up. "Alright." Bored, he decided that the arrogant Stark heir could use a humbling. Nonchalantly he went to grab his swords.

"It isn't a fair fight, brother," Ned insisted. "At least we should get another man."

"Hold up." The Prince emerged at the center, hands up. "I have a solution. Ned, Bran, you and six of your best men against Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and Ser Gerold. Last man standing is the winner." Frankly, this was the closest to a fair fight as he could arrange.

Sharing a glance with his brother before finally grinning widely, Brandon nodded. "Done."

Oh brother… what have you done? Based on look Rhaegar gave him, the same look Lyanna had given him when he said he could break in a growing stallion and ended up having two limbs splinted by Maester Luwin, all Ned could do was ready his blade and fight like all the seven hells.

Ser Arthur Dayne looking like the world was his oyster didn't help.

---

"... Lord Mace Tyrell is a jovial fellow, but a bit of a buffoon. It's his mother that's the true mastermind of House Tyrell, but his own initiative is largely spent trying to find a husband for his daughter that would make her Queen. Expect him to try and sweettalk you into betrothing her to Prince Aegon."

Lyanna stared at Jon Arryn incredulously. "But Aegon's but a sweet babe." It had been her that woke in the middle of the night to bounce him the previous early morning. Her heart swelling as he immediately cuddled close. Not much time had passed before the children were seeing her as their new mother, and she seeing them as hers as well as Elia's. "And isn't the Lady Margaery but a babe as well?"

Lord Arryn gave a depreciating smirk. "Aye, that's irrelevant though. Betrothals can be sealed even before birth… My first bride wasn't even conceived before my father made the arrangements with Lord Royce… well, the Lord Royce at a time. I've lived far longer than you, my Lady," laughed the old Warden of the East.

"I wouldn't doubt you've lived a long and fulfilling life, my Lord." While his hair had gone completely grey and a set of wooden teeth fit into his mouth, Jon Arryn still possessed the aquiline nose and piercing blue eyes of a pureblooded Andal. The Arryns had been the first Andal warlords to establish their kingdoms, and he carried himself in that august regard. "My children will be able to choose their betrotheds." Lyanna's experience with Robert made her determined for such.

A shrug from Lord Arryn. "A noble sentiment, my Lady, but I fear you may not be so lucky while ruling. Compromises must be made, but being dragons that does make it more likely." They were seated in the gardens, immersed in the second set of discussions about the political climate of King's Landing - admiring the various bounty of flowers and trees. More than Lyanna had ever seen in the glass gardens or the Wolfswood at the height of summer. "You have to understand, my Lady. Much of decisions here are those of form rather than substance. Everything not just in self-interest but seeming self-interest. Bribery, torrid affairs meant on gauging information or reputations… oftentimes favors are offered only for the reason that the players involved want to be seen offering them, only to never actually complete or even start the favors." A bleak world, but one Lynna was determined to live in to be with Rhaegar. "It is fair to assume that there are few that one can trust in the game of thrones…"

"Except for blood, correct?" Lyanna asked. "One can trust blood?"

"The Blackfyre Rebellions suggest otherwise. Daeron and Daemon were both cousins and half-brothers." That was food for thought. Lyanna knew her brothers and father were trustworthy… Who among Rhaegar's family can't I trust?

"Lyanna." It was the Princess Elia, hurrying over to them in a brisk walk.

As Elia approached, Jon Arryn brought Lyanna's hand up for a respectful kiss. "I think we should pick this up later. Until then, my Lady." He bowed to Rhaegar's wife. "Princess."

Nodding, Lyanna turned to her beautiful Dornish counterpart. Smile widening on her face. "Dearest sister-wife." She took Elia's hands, leaning in to press a kiss on each of her cheeks - Elia reciprocating. They had dined together the night before while Rhaegar was inspecting the City Watch, discussing many things - one being the traditional Dornish method of greeting family. It appealed to the she-wolf, being informal and friendly. "I trust your morning is going well."

"It has, thank you. I was going to the training yard to watch my Lord Husband train, would you like to join?" The northern beauty nodded, radiant look glossing her face at the mere mention of Rhaegar. They walked side by side, Elia glancing back to see the Warden of the East stroll away, practically the epitome of the proper Andal lord. "So what was Lord Arryn doing by your side?"

"He's been discussing court procedure to me. How a northerner can properly integrate themselves into southern politics." Both ladies made an interesting sight, the fair-skinned, athletic northerner and the swarthy, graceful Dornishwoman - each a rarity in the Andal-dominated society of Westeros. Combined with the Valyrian Targaryens, I could see why there is tension against the crown. Elia couldn't help but think of such threats, and if Arryn was advising well then Lyanna would be thinking similarly. "Is it true that Rhaegar admits you into meetings of the Small Council?"

The Princess raised an eyebrow. "Did Lord Arryn tell you that? His Grace forbids women from sitting on the Small Council."

Something in Lyanna's expression fell. "Oh, well, I thought so. Some taboos are hard to break…"

Once they left the gardens and entered the Holdfast, Elia squeezed her arm. "Aerys never ventures into the Holdfast anymore, he keeps quarters near the Throne Room in case of Lannister spies. He has been known to walk the gardens, however." They began to ascend a staircase. "When he can, Rhaegar allows me into the council. I sit in the position of honor across from the Hand as his wife, so I wouldn't be surprised if you are afforded the same."

Light returned to Lyanna." Oh Gods… he really is something, isn't he?" She wore the genuine visage of a woman in love - clearly having had the moments of affection with the Crown Prince that sealed their bond beyond politics or familiarity. "It's been a whirlwind, but for the life of me I can't imagine a life without him anymore."

Elia sighed, a tiny spark of jealousy flickering in the pit of her stomach. "I know the feeling, Lyanna." She clasped her hands together, closing her eyes for a moment. The Lady of House Stark had practically been her shadow for the last several days, alone or joined by Rhaegar or their children - Rhaenys and Aegon already adored her, the former ecstatic at the stories of the Kings of Winter and riding with Lyanna atop her mare. It was as if Lyanna fit into their family, displacing none but rather carving out her own position. But she has had the moments I was denied…

"Sister? Elia?" Brown eyes opened to find Lyanna glancing worriedly at her.

As quickly as the feelings emerged, Elia suppressed them. "I'm fine." She smiled - long having come to terms with her lot, the sweet, gentle Lyanna deserved nothing but her friendship. Elia wanted to be friends with her and it was clearly reciprocated. "Rhaegar… there is no one better than he."

"Oh yes." Balcony opening up before them, Lyanna didn't see her beloved. Only her two brothers huddled together with six of their family's bannermen. Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull… Beyond, three Kingsguards waited patiently, practice swords lazily kept at their sides. "Not waiting all damn day, Stark," Ser Oswell called out.

Brandon glared. "Mugs of ale are on you tonight at the inn. Better get the silver stags ready."

Oh no… "Those dumb bastards." She shook her head. "It sometimes amazes me that we share blood."

"They're not really meaning to spar against Ser Arthur?" Elia asked incredulously.

"Sounds just like something Bran would do. Try to say he eat the sword of the Morning." Sure enough, he was making outrageous swings with his practice sword. "Ned… he probably thinks his honor demands it."

Elia snorted. "They'll lose. I've only seen Arthur bested twice. One each to Rhaegar and Oberyn, and that was after dozens of spars with them."

You cock-addled fools. Lyanna covered he face in her hands, frustrated at their stupidity. "Bran! Ned!" Her yelling caught their attention. "You bloody idiots. Get out of there before I tear you a new one."

Brandon reacted as if he was wounded. "Oh sister, you doth hurt me. Think I can't win this spar?"

"I think you overestimate your skills. Stop being an overconfident fool before you embarrass yourself." Her gaze shifted to Ned. "And you, what's your excuse?"

At that moment, Lya sounded a lot like their mother. Scolding them for tracking mud into the Keep. "Sorry, sister, but Oswell challenged me and I must meet the challenge."

She rolled her eyes. "Honorable fool." Elia stood beside, simply watching the sibling dynamic. Much like her and Oberyn.

"Don't worry about it, my loves." Hearing her beloved's voice, Lyanna found Rhaegar emerging from directly below them, arms open in apology. "Just settling a dispute over skill. Don't worry, it's a fair fight." Snorts and chuckles from the Northerners… all except for Ned and Howland Reed, both quiet. "No one will get hurt."

"You don't know that."

"Do not worry, my Lady." It was Ser Arthur Dayne, taking off his helm to look at her with his green eyes. "I shan't hurt your brothers when I defeat them." That drew a glare from Brandon but was sincere to Lyanna. She merely waved her hand, washing her hands of it. "Alright, shall we begin?" He raised his swords, as did Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent.

Each of the eight Northerners did the same, clustered into a loosely packed mass. The burly Lord Willam Dustin and his goodbrother Ser Mark Ryswell. The grizzled but kind Martyn Cassel and the scarred Theo Wull. Third son of his House Ethan Glover and the quiet Howland Reed. And oth the smirking Brandon and brooding Eddard Stark. Everyone around hushed their conversations, one enterprising maester's acolyte studying under Grand Maester Pycelle pulling out a quill and leaf of parchment to write notes of this. While merely a spar, it would be a worthy story for his future history of Rhaegar Targaryen's reign.

Sensing the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, Rhaegar merely clapped his hand to begin. Good luck, brothers, you'll need it.

At the clap, the Northerners charged. Brandon leapt at Arthur with a booming battlecry that would have made a Thenn Magnar proud, only for the Sword of the Morning to block the coming swing. Spinning a sideways kick to knock Brandon off balance - the first 'kill' of the match came technically to Ser Gerold, nudging his sword hard into the boiled leather covering the stomach of Mark Ryswell just before both of Arthur's blades rocketed into the cocky Ethan Glover. Ryswell just shrugged and hurried off the field, while the cocky Glover shouted profanities and only buggered off by a stern glare from the Crown Prince. Eight against three became six against three.

"Not a good start for your brothers," Elia mused.

Lyanna couldn't help but agree. "Come on, Bran! Watch your flank!"

Already having barely dodged a killing blow at his hip, Ned darted back to join with Howland. Only then launching themselves at Oswell. The Riverman knight handled one sword with the skill that Arthur did two, wrists firm but flexible as his blade matched each strike the northerners made. Ned lunged, trying to time it for when Howland sliced… but was a second too late. Oswell had just parried the slash and managed to dart away from the lunge. Blade slashing sideways on its own and forcing Ned the stumble to the left. Only Howland's repeated assaults broke Oswell from Ned, the Crannogman now his sole target.

Arthur found himself surrounded by three, four once Willam Dustin broke off as Gerold clashed with Ned. He kept his head on a swivel, swords turning constantly to keep his wrists fluid in movement. Smirking, the knight just where he wanted him, Brandon clicked his tongue and the four advanced simultaneously.

The courtyard echoed with the clashing steel. Each Northerner charging, slashes and thrusts going every which way as Arthur met each one. Arms nearly blurred with frantic yet graceful moves one would witness in the legends of old. Counters were forceful, pushing an attacker back several paces so that the Sword of the Morning could concentrate on the other three. At one time facing them all head on, Brandon's smirk turning to a snarl as he tried to slash upward, only to be forced by a double parry while Arthur kicked Theo Wull in the chest. Coughing, Wull was helpless against the training blade cutting right across his middle. Trying to keep up with the constant fighting, Rhaegar whistled. "Out, Wull!" He was only too happy to comply.

Coming up for a downward chop, Gerold was the first Kingsguard casualty of the day when he found Ned's sword at the hollow of his neck. The Crown Prince's call coming not long after. "First blood goes to the Quiet Wolf." Barely hearing Elia, Lyanna watched with interest as Ned went to rejoin Howland. Come on, Ned… show them how we fight in the North.

Howland was on his last legs. Sweat drenching his tunic and leathers, ankles close to giving out, Oswell easily overcame the half-hearted blows of the Crannongman - they trained to fight hit and run partisan tactics, not direct confrontation with armored knights and it showed. The heavy, two-handed blow sent Howland's sword to the ground and suddenly a blade was at his chest. Another loss for the North, but quickly followed by the second loss for the Kingsguards when Ned utilized the distraction and crashed into the preoccupied Oswell, knocking him down and poking his stomach.

Four against one.

Both swords shot through the air, Arthur taking on Cassel and Brandon in individual clashes while Dustin snuck up behind his comrades. A wise move after a lunge sent Brandon scrambling back, only for crossed blades to take out Cassel - the Winterfell Master-at-Arms prudent enough to sink to the ground after in order not to get in the way. Brandon got in several slashes but all were parried, Arthur managing to slip away and block a downward attack by Dustin… who felt the second sword slamming into his shoulder.

Two against one.

---

"I have orders from His Grace that Tywin Lannister is not to be provided lodgings within the Red Keep, My Lady. And with all due respect affording your station, I would advise that you keep your visits to the Red Keep to a minimum."

Storming down the corridors of the Red Keep as fast as the skirts of her dress would allow, Cersei Lannister cursed the powers to be in the Seven Kingdoms. From King Aerys II himself, to Aegon V for appointing him the heir, and lastly Hand of the King Jon Connington. Far more a Rhaegar loyalist than he was to the current occupant of the Iron Throne, he nevertheless shared Aerys' distaste of House Lannister. Such contempt was on full display on the early winter's morning when she sought on her father's order the appropriate lodgings for the Warden of the West due to his attending the royal wedding.

The nerve of that cunt. Cersei's hands balled at their sides, the red in her vision blocking out all else. I am a lady of House Lannister! We were Kings while they were nothing but goatherders in Valyria! Jon Arryn and that oaf Mace Tyrell both acquired premium guest chambers in the keep… This was all supposed to be mine! Even with letting go of her bitterness at losing Rhaegar, said bitterness cropped up at each instance of disrespect and humiliation inflicted on her by the King and his retinue - Rhaegar the only one ever respectful even as he brushed her off. If I want to see Jaime, I'll see him when I damn well please. Connington's dismissive threats notwithstanding.

And yet… the calm voice within her mind - increasingly present since her… health scare many moonturns before - told her the opposite. That Connington, whatever his actual motivations, bore truthful advice. That the increasingly erratic King would erupt at even seeing the golden-haired lioness. Increasingly secluded since arriving back in the capitol, that didn't mean he couldn't pop up out of nowhere right in front of her.

Perfectly made up without a hair out of place, that didn't stop Cersei ruining her maid's impeccable work by running her fingers through it. Trying not the scream in frustration.

The sudden grunt of pain from a ma threw Cersei back into reality. Blinking, a twist of her head revealed the packed training courtyard, dozens of men and women watching a man in leather armor collapse, clutching his shoulder as he wriggled moaning off the sparring floor. Catching the silver locks of Prince Rhaegar and the two Princesses viewing the spectacle right across the courtyard from her, Cersei panicked. Scrambling back until she ducked behind a large column, blocking her from view.

When she was sure she wasn't seen - she still didn't know why instinct made her hide - Cersei poked her head to peek from behind the column. There was the dual-wielding figure of Ser Arthur Dayne, pretty easy to pick out. Anyone in the south knew the Sword of the Morning. He assumed a fighting stance, one training blade kept level with his forearm while the other twisted in his wrist. Two others circled him with their own single blades. Cersei didn't recognize the tall, dashing man whose cocky facade didn't dampen with the sweat and exhaustion coating his face. The other… Cersei's eyes widened at the stockier, more guarded form of Eddard Stark.

He would have been thrilled to know that the tourney had left a big impression of him on Cersei Lannister. But at the moment, Ned's mind was everywhere but that.

Meeting the gaze of both of the Starks, Ned to his right and Brandon to his left, Arthur leveled his attack arm directly at the heir of Winterfell. Daring him to attack. Brandon did not disappoint, launching a leftward slash directly at the Sword of the Morning.

Split second behind, Ned attacked as well, swinging upward only to be deflected by the defending arm. The blades clashed, Arthur giving ground in a wide arc against Ned while his free swings pressed against Brandon… hoping to tire out the quiet wolf while forcing the wild one to grow desperate. Brows tight and face scrunched, the heir fell into the trap. Blows skilled and strong but also growing more and more furious.

Ned, however, refused to take the bait. Hanging back, committing just enough to distract Arthur's attention. We're not going to beat him on skill and strength alone. Probing to Arthur's right, trying to hit at his legs, the defending sword emerged from its position in a more aggressive parry. Knocking Ned back. He protects his vulnerable points too well… where doesn't he protect? A wild swipe by Brandon that came just close to hitting Arthur's hand caught his attention. Hmmm...

Swinging around, the kingsguard swiped at Brandon's head, the heir ducking… only for the defending arm to take a chance and lunge forward. Stabbing into Brandon's belly and sending him careening to the ground. "Ah shit!" coughed the wild wolf, smacking his palm on the stone.

One on one.

An inaudible gasp left Cersei's lips, eyes unable to tear themselves away even if she wanted to. Eddard Stark was alone, facing none other than Arthur Dayne. An eventuality that would drive even the most determined man to distraction, yet he refused to be cowed. Face solemn and hard… calculating, far different than the softness she had seen in him before. Heat pooled within her, joining with the apprehension. My gods...

"End it Arthur!" hooted Oswell. Much as Rhaegar did want to see his goodbrother do well, he agreed with the skeptical looks on his men… and even the Northerners. There was no way the Northerner would beat the Sword of the Morning.

Taking the sentiment to heart, the Falling Star went on the offensive. Charging furiously at the direwolf, twin blades never giving a moment of rest. Ned tried to chop with two hands, but the quick swings denied him that chance. Wrist aching as he struggled to one-handedly parry each of Arthur's attacks.

Lyanna watched, entranced at the back and forth just as all the others were. "He's better than Ned."

"Far better," was Elia's response. "Your brother, he thinks. Not like the others."

"Could he think his way out of this?"

A shrug. "I doubt it. Arthur's too good."

Each swing was tiring him out, each clash driving him further to exhaustion. Both blades crashed against his, Arthur determined to force Ned to heel, but Ned merely looked for his opening. For the killing blow Arthur would make. One that gave Ned the chance to try something. Hit him where he doesn't expect a blow… where he is weak in countering. And it came, Arthur's right arm parrying a wild strike by Ned as his left angled back to deliver an upward strike. Ned doubled back his blade with one last gasp of agility and lunged straight for Arthur's left wrist...

An echo rang out, sword clanging atop the stone. Nothing but the sharp intake of breath and the panting of the two combatants left standing. Finally paused in their clash, chests heaving and sweat dripping… Ned's sword pointing at Arthur's neck. Green eyes wide from under the helm, grey eyes just as wide.

Brandon was open mouthed.

Rhaegar could barely move in his shock.

Lyanna and Elia both shared the complexion of owls.

And from behind the column, Cersei felt her heart beating out of her chest. Unknowingly crossing her legs.

"Yield," Arthur finally said, rubbing at his struck hand just as Ned dropped his guard. Spar over. "Smart move, Stark," he offered, small smirk on his face. "I wish you well in the wars to come… not that you need it." Ned, catching his breath, returned it with a smile of his own. Not faint praise.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Ethan Glover blurted out.

"I'll tell you how he did," Rhaegar beamed, racing out to clasp his goodbrother on the back. "Scoping out his foe's weaknesses. Finding a proper attack point… this is a man I will be proud to have by my side in the wars to come!" Pulled out of their collective shock, the entire gathering began applauding, cheering. Brandon walking over to thump Ned on the shoulder while Lyanna whistled, their praise for their brother pouring out. This would certainly go in the histories - judging by the young acolyte's frantic scribbling.

As the cheering died down, Ned staggered to the refreshment table set up for the fighters, pouring a cup of the liquid provided. Downing the watered wine, letting the slightly sour liquid quench his throat, Ned watched as Rhaegar grabbed a practice sword. "Come on, Ned, my turn now."

He groaned. "I'm out. Exhausted."

"Fuck that. Don't be a weak woman. Get over here." He took a sparring stance, spurning all forms of armor for a simple thin tunic. "If you can beat the Sword of the Morning you can face your Prince. That's my command."

Sighing, Ned finished his cup and picked up the blade, moving back to the center of the courtyard. "Your move, my Prince." Rhaegar grinned before he lunged forward, blades striking each other for a split second before they began their dance.

Lyanna watched it intently, eyes locked on not her brother, but her soon to be husband. The way his muscles rippled under the tunic that did no favors in covering them. His long silver hair matted by the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The fluid movements showing off his immense prowess at war… Lyanna's core flooded with wetness. Gods, he is just… a… a man. "Magnificent… isn't he?"

For the Dornish Princess, seeing her husband in such a moment - and her future sister-wife practically coming to orgasm beside her - it was causing her nethers to grow wet as well. "We are very lucky," Elia finally croaked.

Neither of them noticed the green-eyed blonde across the courtyard, eyes staring just as intently. Join of her legs just as aroused looking upon the sparring. Only her eyes weren't trained on the Crown Prince.

---

"Come on, Rhaegar…" Lyanna whined, giggling as her beloved pulled her along the corridors of the Red Keep. Dress billowing behind her even as her athletic legs kept up with Rhaegar's large strides. "Tell me where you're taking me."

Feeling like the carefree lad he never was allowed to be - racing about the hallways desperate to impress the girl he was enamored with - Rhaegar tilted his head around to wink at Lyanna. "Wouldn't you like to know."

She pursed her lips crossly. "Oh shut it, of course I want to know." They both turned a corner, Rhaegar slowing to a walk. Handsome and simply… manly, after his spar with her brother concluded in a triumph for her betrothed. A hard fought one though, Rhaegar covered in sweat and musk and… oh gods… Her insides quivered just looking at him. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, she pulled him close against her under the coffered ceiling vaults towering high above and inlaid with mosaics and gold leaf. Such stupendous beauty and splendor for a daughter of the North - but Lyanna only had eyes for Rhaegar, her dashing Dragon Prince. "You come out of your sparring, all sexy and such…"

Rhaegar watched her suck her bottom lip between pearly white teeth. Her smile stirring him to painful arousal. "Oh really?"

"Aye." Lyanna ran her fingers down the length of Rhaegar's tunic, inhaling his musky scent. Confidence in her sexual expression growing by the day. "There was nothing that I wanted more than to take you to my chambers and devour you… and yet we are here instead of there." While her face radiated innocence, her stormy grey eyes were anything but. "Why is that?"

Surging forward, enveloping her in a savage kiss that stole both their breaths away, Rhaegar held her trim waist. Pulling back only when he needed air. "You'll see, Lya. I pledge on my honor that you will find it to your liking." At her deep inhale and nod, Rhaegar took her hand again and guided her down the tiled hallways. They were devoid apart from the errant guard or servant, bowing deeply and then going about their business.

In barely a minute, both of them reached two large ironwood doors. "So, am I here to see a pair of doors?"

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Must you be difficult?"

"Yes," she smirked back, causing him to grin at her. It was just so easy to slip into the back and forth of a compatible couple.

Fingers closing around the handles of the entranceway, Rhaegar looked back. "Oh, close your eyes."

"Rhaegar, really?" Lyanna huffed, hands on her hips. "We're not children…"

"Please?" he urged. Sighing, his soon to be wife complied, tapping her feet upon the stone floor impatiently. Not wasting more time, Rhaegar threw open the doors for her. "Go inside."

Gingerly walking forward, Lyanna's mind wandered in speculation. "Before I open my eyes, can you give me some kind of hint?" The she-wolf wanted to see if she could guess his surprise.

Placing his hands on her from behind, Rhaegar chuckled and placed a gentle kiss on her pale neck. "I promised that I would never chain you. That my future Queen would never have to become someone she isn't, become a different person than the one I fell in love with." His words were eloquent, the best of the volumes of poetry and epic stories his mother and maester had made him read during his childhood. "Well, here we are."

Hmmm… interesting. She didn't smell the hay or dirt of a stable so it couldn't have been something regarding Winter - her horse had taken to the large stables of the Red Keep like a fish took to water. Had it regarded her swordsmanship, they would have stayed in the training grounds. "Alright, my love. Can I open my eyes now?"

"Do it." Rhaegar felt like a kid on his nameday, eager for presents.

Lids fluttering back to see what he seemed so desperate to show her, it took a moment for it to register in her vision. Jaw dropping in shock and wonder as she twirled around. Eyes staring at the vast expanse she was suddenly in the middle of. "Rhaegar…"

A library, two stories tall and letting in direct sunlight from a series of large glass windows and a dazzling array of colors from various stained glass displays of Targaryen Kings long past. Surrounding the walls and branching out onto the open space were stacks and stacks of books. Thin picturebooks, massive tomes, intricately bound novels and epic poems, ancient scrolls. Lyanna even found a section filled with texts in the style of the Free Cities, of far flung lands whose books only made it in dribs and drabs to the Winterfell library. She had spent most of her time not sleeping or running wild outside the castle walls among the books, and this library had to be ten times as massive.

Lyanna turned to her future husband. Eyes glassy as she regarded him yet again with new eyes. "What is this, my love?" He had sworn to her that he would never chain her, that it was her wild, iconoclast nature that formed the basis of his love… but to see such a feeling expressed in reality… She was close to trembling, so vast was her love for him.

"When Maegor built the Red Keep, he didn't include a library. Concerned he was on other matters. It was Jaehaerys that commissioned this collection, expanded greatly by Aerys I." Rhaegar fell into step behind her, Lyanna pulling out a tome on the history of the North. Similar to what was in the Winterfell library, but simply thicker with information. "My grandfather, Aegon remodeled it into its current glory… the largest library in the known world, aside from the Citadel and the Great Library of Braavos. They say the Yi Ti have one as big, but they are an enigma."

Hand tracing several paragraphs of these one burning of Winterfell by the Bolton Red Kong's, Lyanna set the volume down and turned towards him. Seeing over his shoulder the vast collection of thousands of volumes - imagining how giddy her childhood self would have been here, all muddy from riding in the Wolfswood yet excited to sit at a bench and devour the histories of the Realm and the legends of Old Valyria and the Age of Heroes. And now, even close to marriage to the Crown Prince, Lyanna had to bite back a squeal of delight. "And all this?"

"All yours, my love," came the response.

Unable to contain herself, Lyanna flung herself at Rhaegar. Heart bursting with love and eyelids brimming with tears of joy. "You perfect… beautiful man." Frantic lips pressed all over his face, Lyanna desperately needing to show just how much Rhaegar meant to her. "I love you so much… thank you for this." Beaming, she kissed him again - longer and deeper.

Crushing her to his chest, needing her flush against him, Rhaegar took quick control of the kiss. Plundering her mouth. Wanting his powerful direwolf to feel loved and cherished. To be known as the latest of the mighty Targaryen Queens, unchained and free as the dragons they rode. The kiss broke, his hand moving to cup her cheek. "Lyanna…"

She gazed at him with hooded eyes. "I can't wait to read every volume in this library… but what are we still doing here, my dragon?"

Hesitating no longer, Rhaegar lifted Lyanna into his arms, drinking in her joyous laughter as he raced back to their chambers.

Notes:

That was fun to write! All the girls are enjoying the view of their respective men... even if they aren't their men... yet ;)

About Ned beating Ser Arthur in the end... I know Arthur is better than Ned. Basically better than anyone in the seven kingdoms. He was only defeated in the canon fight cause he was stabbed in the back. This shows that his senses aren't infallible. After beating all the other fighters, seeking to just end the spar, Ned basically used a trick and brains to score a one in a thousand killing blow... plus I thought it would be fun to have the legend be true. Ned defeats the Sword of the Morning, and no one gets hurt except for some bruised egos :D

Cersei still has the brattiness that comes from being Tywin's daughter raised to be Queen, that was unavoidable. But perhaps some unconditional love from a kind man is just what the Maester ordered.

Elia and Lyanna have a good relationship so far, but it's not going to be two dimensional. Very complex that will play out over multiple chapters.

Couldn't help but put the library scene in. Hammers home the contrast between Rhaegar and Robert. I can imagine Lyanna with little Jon, teaching him how to read :)

Next up, Ned and Cersei have a moment, and Robert is a baaad boy ;)

Chapter 16: Two Men, Three Loves

Notes:

Hey everybody. A little under the weather at the moment :(

Nevertheless, here's the promised update. Lots of stuff to digest.

Be sure to check out some awesome stories: Wolves of War by GulfYankee23 (on fanfiction.net), Howl of the Dragonwolves by Elphaba818, Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteDragonWolf, and From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"One year younger than Princess Lyanna?" Ser Oswell Whent asked.

Ned nodded, hands behind his back as the two strolled through the hallways of Maegor Holdfast's guest wing. "Aye, ten and six, strapping young lad… at least that's what the letters told me." Much to Ned's sorrow, he hadn't seen Benjen in years… gods, would I even recognize my own brother? "Trained by the master-at-arms of Winterfell since he could hold a sword."

"A silver stag says that the Princess taught him a few moves."

"I can't take a bet I know I'd lose," Ned laughed in return.

While a bit hostile when sizing him up days before, Oswell treated him as a brother in arms since the spar. "I'll have to tell you, Ned, there hasn't been a Northerner in the Kingsguard since… gods, must have been since Old King Jaehaerys."

"Most northerners find knighthood ridiculous," Ned replied.

Oswell shrugged. "Eh, it's the code we all grew up with. I think concepts of chivalry and honor run in every culture.."

"Certainly do. Benjen… he always planned to go to the Night's Watch, but the little boy pretending to be Aemon the Dragonknight would leap at the chance, I am sure." He shook his head. "Just a damn shame that Kingsguards can't wed or father children."

"You'd think so, but I think there is a loophole. If you don't marry and don't acknowledge the child as yours officially…"

"Huh, interesting… There's my brother's room." The plan was for Ned and Brandon to teach some new Household Guard recruits Northern fighting styles. Something to do.

But just before Ned knocked on the door, he heard a female moan. Followed by a distinctly male grunt. "Fuck… so tight…"

Does he have a whore in there? A chambermaid? Knowing Brandon's reputation, it would not shock Ned. "Oh, don't stop, Lord Stark…" That breathless voice did shock Ned.

Oswell apparently recognized the voice. "Catelyn Tully?" Slowly backing away from the door, he began to giggle. "Oh, that prim and proper little cunt… imagine what Lord Hoster would do if he heard his daughter was sinning so brazenly."

"Damn you, Bran," Ned groaned, the sounds of fervent copulation loud enough to reach even where they stood, two yards from the closed chamber door. "Must you deflower your bride before your wedding?"

"If they're gonna be married anyway, so what?" Not all Riverlands houses were as pious as House Tully. "I figure this means the training is put on hold. Find something to enjoy around here, Ned, though I doubt it'll be as good as your brother is getting." A muffled scream of ecstasy punctuated the train of thought.

Wandering through the garden aimlessly, Ned reflected on the lives of his siblings. While part of him wanted to smack Brandon upside the head for being reckless, truly he was happy for his brother. Bran marrying Catelyn, Benjen a Kingsguard, Lyanna falling madly for Rhaegar… Any initial worry and dismay had given way in the face of the Crown Prince's gentle heart and carefree personality deep down. A lifelong friend if Ned's instincts were correct. And Princess Elia… he no longer worried about her.

And that only leaves me. His father wanted Ned to manage Winterfell while Brandon continued to make connections within King's Landing for several moonturns, to hold the fort and help his future goodsister get acclimated to living in the North. After that… Ned truly had nothing holding him down anywhere. Second son, not committed to one of the warrior guilds as third sons usually were. Perhaps he'd get a keep somewhere, or secure a position on the small council on Rhaegar's patronage? A likely fallback…

Cool yet pleasant ocean winds calming his leather-clad form sweating under the southern sun, one thing remained completely unresolved. His love life. Being that second son gave him options, the freedom from forging alliances that Brandon or Lyanna didn't have - much as both of them found love matches. Plenty of maidens in the Vale or the North would die to snap up the Crown Prince's goodbrother, but when imagining a future bride only one came to Eddard Stark's mind.

Turning a corner, Ned stopped in his tracks. Resting against a low wall within a gazebo by the cliffside was the object of his imagination. Wearing a loose, ankle-length cerise gown with bell sleeves that somehow did little to hide her graceful figure, long blonde hair flowing freely behind her, she looked angelic. Completely out of his league, yet one Ned couldn't help but feel drawn to. Sucking in a breath, he walked towards her.

Having just visited her own brother, Cersei Lannister had to escape. The gardens of Casterly Rock provided such a refuge, and these did as well. Enjoying the moment alone until steps were heard behind her. A quick turn of the head found someone she was far keener on not seeing. "Lord Stark."

"Lady Lannister." Ned saw how she immediately looked back at the bay, but stepped into the space next to her nevertheless. "I believe this is the first time we've spoken since the hallway at Harrenhal." No reaction from her, but he wasn't a stubborn direwolf for nothing. "I wasn't able to apologize for that, so forgive me for my clumsiness."

Cersei snorted. "You speak to me just for that? Northern fool," she muttered, though part of her enjoyed hearing his brogue. Delightfully exotic from the cultured accents she associated with all her life.

He was not deterred. Ned just wanted to speak with her… Brandon would have called him a glutton for punishment. "Did you come to see your brother?" No answer. "I've met Ser Jaime. My sister speaks very highly of him, the Lion of Lannister."

A laugh escaped Cersei's lips, dripping with sarcasm. "They actually call him that?" It was ridiculous. She then realized he was… charming her. What is wrong with me? "Did you know this could have been mine?" That would drive him away.

Ned blinked. "Why?"

"My father wished to betroth me to Prince Rhaegar. Practically begged his Grace, only to be denied." The wound was still somehow raw, a life of being raised to be Queen falling apart just at the cusp… and yet at the spar, her hungry gaze wasn't on Rhaegar…

It took moments for him to answer that. "The gods… they work in mysterious ways…"

"Don't tell me you actually believe that?" Cersei made the mistake of looking at him. And now that she did she couldn't turn away.

"Everything is for a reason, my Lady," Ned said honestly, captivated by her green eyes. "My goodbrother, seeing him happy with my sister shows he wouldn't have been happy with you, and I think you know that it is the same the other way around." Political marriages were the norm in Westeros, but with advantage didn't come happiness. Ned had seen it, if not firsthand.

I want Rhaegar… I want to be Queen… I was born, trained to be Queen… And yet her thoughts… they merely proved him right. Wanting Rhaegar out of mere belief it was her path. But meeting those grey eyes of his, staring at her. The softness from Harrenhal had returned, but after the fierceness at fighting Ser Arthur, Cersei saw it in a new light. Gentle, not weak. Caring, not flowery. Her entire world felt like it was spinning on an axis.

"Why do you keep doing that?" she finally blurted out.

Ned blinked. "What?"

"That... stare... You keep staring at me like that. Stop."

"I apologize, my Lady." He truly didn't know why himself. Cersei was nothing but rude and bitchy, and yet the spare heir of House Stark felt drawn to her. Be it her beauty or something else...

"Why do you do that?" She ran a hand through her hair, huffing. "Why do I do it?" For days she couldn't get him out of her mind, fighting and sparring with the power of a wolf. He's a damned second son, unworthy of a daughter of House Lannister. A northern barbarian that her father would never let her marry. Gods, her thoughts were a mess.

Watching every color of emotion flash across her face, Ned didn't know what to think. "My Lady…"

Seven hells. Without warning, Cersei grabbed the Stark by the straps of his leathers. Pulling him toward her. Mouths meeting in an abrupt kiss. It was impulsive, borne from a desire to just see what it felt like. Smother the feelings by letting them happen, and yet…

They felt soft, warm… inviting. Just as his dreams were, yet far better. Ned soon felt Cersei sigh. Melting into the kiss, tension leaving her as he placed his arms at her slim waist. Lips parting as their tongues met. Gods… it was wonderful.

How good it felt, how… right it felt, several seconds of bliss ended once Cersei heard her father's disapproval ringing in her head. The same anger that had meted out to her when she was caught kissing one of the stableboys out of curiosity. A Lannister of Casterly Rock… one who never sells herself cheap. Never to someone lesser. And here she was, kissing a second son of a Northern Lord.

Just as abruptly as she had begun the kiss, she ended it. Pushing him away. "Stay away from me, northern bumpkin." Heart pounding, she turned and stormed off.

Standing there, unable to move, Only a hand against a column kept Ned from falling. Gods help him, but he couldn't help but want this woman more.

---

Nervously biting her lip, Lyanna tightened her hold on Rhaegar's arm. Letting her beloved guide her down the collonaded vault towards the Iron Throne. Never had she expected to be in this august and awe-inspiring hall. To be before the throne forged by Aegon the Conqueror himself, betrothed to the most beautiful, dashing, amazing Prince… But as the various courtiers, eyes gawking at the novelty of a Northern Princess being officially presented to them, the King, and the gods, she couldn't help feel slightly overwhelmed.

"You're going to be fine, my love." Rhaegar's whispered words calmed her, sending a feeling of serenity through Lyanna just as much as Elia's coaching had from only minutes before, outside the hall, had steeled her for the formal beginning of their betrothal. The Princess and soon to be her sister-wife had made her way to the base of the Iron Throne ahead of them, and Lyanna could see her comforting brown eyes urging her to continue.

Head high, smile on her face, and just ever so slightly leaning into her Prince, Lyanna would not be intimidated by the stares of the sycophants and favor curriers of Court. She remembered some of their faces from how Jon Arryn pointed them out. A balding man with a toad-like face. Lord Merryweather. A young man with silver-gold hair. Ser Monford Velaryon, heir to the Driftmark. A hard-faced knight. Ser Willam Derry, Master-at-Arms at the Red Keep. Lyanna could almost feel Rhaegar and Elia's pride for her… the latter nearly as important as the former. Her eyes drifting to Robert Baratheon of all people, it immediately shifted away, snubbing him.

Lyanna hid a smirk at how it gave made him wince.

At the base of the Throne was the Small Council, including Elia and her family. Lord Rickard and her brothers both smiling at her, giving Lyanna added strength. Beside the King himself - impeccably dressed form in royal robes and the ornate golden crown of Aegon IV sitting upon his head - stood the Red Griffin Jon Connington and the impossibly fat High Septon. "Presenting before his Grace and the light of the Seven," Rhaegar announced in a loud voice. "The Lady Lyanna of House Stark. A woman true of birth and pure of heart." Lyanna shuddered at the timbre of her Rhaegar's voice.

"I recognize the presentment of Lady Lyanna before the Royal Court," states Jon Connington, going by the script. Such had occurred for both Duncan and Aerys' betrothals, not to mention Rhaegar's with Elia in his lifetime. "She seeks formal recognition of her betrothal to the Crown Prince from the authority of King and gods."

With how central the Faith found itself in the royal tradition after the reforms of Jaehaerys I and Baelor the Blessed, it was the High Septon that descended first. Jowls of fat jostling for each step he took, Lyanna resisted a shudder when he clasped her hands with his - everyone knew where he put those hands. Only the children sharing his bed would also share his stash of sweetmeats. "Lady Lyanna, do you swear by the Seven to give your life to serve for the Seven Kingdoms?"

"I shall, your High Holiness."

Mentioning the names of each of the Seven, he drew a Seven-Pointed Star with a finger dipped in blessed oil on Lyanna's forehead. Surprising the High Septon, a glint of sunlight suddenly shone atop the star. "She has been anointed by the gods." Blinking in awe, he drew back. Handing the floor to the King himself.

"Well, my son," Aerys remarked. "You look more alive than I've ever seen. That…" he waved his spindly fingers at Rhaegar. "Annoying, brooding frown is finally gone."

Twinkling eyes found Elia, who smiled softly. From how Lyanna stood even taller in the corner of his eyes, Rhaegar could tell the smile reached his bride. "Your Grace, due to the decision of yours to extend my hand to Lady Lyanna, I have grown happier." He could see his father puff up at the praise. "Carrying out the will of the King brings me the greatest joy."

Aerys nodded. "The Young Dragon reborn, indeed. You and I will do great things, Rhaegar." His eyes shifted to Lyanna. "And you, Lady Stark. Are you prepared to be a proper Queen to my son?"

"Of course, your Grace." Lyanna curtseyed, eyes remaining on the King. "I am both his and yours to command…"

Suddenly his generally pleased expression turned sour. "Stop!" he barked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Ahead of her, Elia's face froze to that of an owl - everyone else was as confused as Lyanna was, but she seemed to understand. "Your Grace?"

"That curtsey. You are to supplicate your eyes to the ground when in the presence of the King."

Mind racing, perhaps Lyanna remembered when Jon Arryn explained the simple etiquette to her. It seemed so minute, she may have forgotten. "Your Grace… forgive me for my lapse…"

Aerys didn't care to hear her. "I should have realized this. An uncultured wildling from the North, not versed in proper civilization. Lord Rickard!" he addressed his Master of Laws, the aging Lord of Winterfell withdrawing behind a flat facade out of self-preservation. "Do you even teach proper manners in that frozen wasteland?"

"I… we… We can always do better, my King," he finally responded, shooting a quick look of apology at his daughter when the King was distracted.

"Your Grace." Rhaegar had flashbacks to the first presentment with Elia, only that one had been after their marriage. Equally disastrous as that had been. "I ask you to consider the circumstances…"

"When will I ever learn?" The King only heard himself. Waxing poetic like a drunk Bravosi philosopher. "I should have realized that foreign mongrel blood could only result in half-breed children unable to take the mantle of a proper Dragon. Daeron II, my own idiot father, and now my son's children from this Dornish whore." Insults of Elia were almost commonplace at this point, and the Princess let it roll off her back. "And now the new one ends up being dressed like some harlot."

There was no doubt Lyanna was beautiful. Her grey gown seemed to shimmer, the normal simplistic swirls and shapes replaced by a sort of floral arrangement - muted green leaves and stems trailing up the side parallel to Lyanna's arms, lavender flower decorations framing the lower cut of her dress just above her breasts. Her sleeves hung down in the style of the Crownlands, contrasted by the simple northern free waves of her chestnut hair.

But to the King, once his mood fell he found anything to criticize over it. "Look at this… disgusting thing. Unlike what some of you cunts thing," he hissed at the court itself. "This is not a brothel. Shape up before I have you all caned - and I'll do this uncultured harlot first if she doesn't change." He stood, shaking his head. "I am disappointed in you, Prince Rhaegar." Mumbling profanities to himself, he stormed out of the room. Leaving a stunned court behind to simply stare at the shock still Lady Lyanna. Her form trembling slightly.

Ned walked forward, wanting to embrace his sister, but was stopped by Elia. "In private." Seeing the Stark son heed her warning, she approached her husband. "Get her out of here, husband." Better this be dealt with away from the vultures of Court.

---

"Oh, my Prince…" Cuddled on the bed in her guest chambers with her betrothed, chestnut hair all tangled in a fair approximation of a bird's nest, Lyanna shivered with the aftershocks of her climax. "I feel better now."

A dark silver eyebrow rose, Crown Prince casting a look down at the face resting upon his bare chest. Clothed body curled flush against him - though the hemline of Lyanna's dress was hiked up significantly. Supremely sinful, and quite distracting. "I'm glad, Lady Stark?" Gods… it was as if they were Jaehaerys and Alysanne, married for decades and still passionately in love. He just felt so comfortable in her embrace. A feeling that he felt with Elia… "I'm sorry, for what you went through in the throne room."

Lyanna sighed, holding on tighter to her love. "I shouldn't have been surprised that his Grace would act like that. Everyone warned me." Unfortunately, she had gotten complacent. Too enchanted by the love Rhaegar, Rhaella, Elia, and the children were giving her to properly guard herself. "My fault, for exposing myself…"

"Never think that, my love. It isn't your fault." Not hers, and not Elia's… "Never your fault." Rhaegar felt so impotent, only able to comfort his betrothed after the fact rather than actually stand up for her - not that he did either for Elia. His greatest regret. A hand stroked at his back. "I'm here for you, Lya."

Inhaling his scent, she cuddled closer. Not wanting an inch of space between them. "I love you, Rhaegar."

"I love you too, Lyanna."

"You've given me everything I could ever want."

"I could say the same." He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. She was right when she said everything felt like a dream sometimes. It can't be this easy… this happiness… Arthur told him often to just let loose and enjoy the golden nugget that he'd been handed - well, the way the Kingsguard said it was much more profane but that captured the general meaning. "I'll be traveling to Dragonstone for a few days."

Lyanna sighed. "I don't want to be separated a single day, my dragon." For the wild she-wolf, the loneliness at being without her dragon was unbearable - perhaps one would point out a hypocrisy, but Lyanna didn't see it that way. The lone wolf dies…

He tightened his embrace. "It's just for a few days… to prepare the keep for our arrival after the wedding."

"Good point, my love." Another sigh. "Oh well, I suppose I'll spend more time with my brothers, or Rhaenys and Aegon."

Stroking her back over the woolen grey dress, Rhaegar smiled widely. "My daughter has taken a liking to you." Seeing his beloved interact with his little dragon, it was a sight that brought him a soothing joy. "This morning, she leapt in my arms, gushing about how 'Lwyanna' finally gives someone to play dragons with her."

The she-wolf laughed merrily. "How can I not love her, Rhaegar? She's so precious." Truth be told, Lyanna felt a pull around her betrothed's children… as if somehow she was meant to be just as much a mother to them as Elia. She still worried about usurping her sister-wife, careful about not denying Rhaenys especially time with the Dornish Princess. "I see how much you and Elia love them, and Gods help me but I'm starting to love them as much."

Gently grasping her chin, Rhaegar looked deep into her eyes. "You truly are perfect, my wolf." They kissed deeply, tongues slowly tangling before releasing. "And Elia? I see you two are getting along." Truth be told, he had experienced many sleepless nights in apprehension over them.

Lyanna kept her gaze upon his eyes. "I can see why you spoke highly of her. Elia is the type of Queen you will need - smart and savvy. I hope I'm half as politically astute as she is, your Rhaenys to my Visenya as you so often put it." She wriggled up his body till her face rested in the crook of his neck. "There's not much I want more than to have a good relationship with her."

Splaying his hand on her lower back, Rhaegar smiled softly. "You know, Rhaenyra and Alicent absolutely despised each other, fighting for years over who would be the senior lady in court. Jealousy and bitter pride poisoning the entire court of Viserys I." He didn't want to put the idea in his direwolf's head, but Rhaegar had to know. "Did you ever have any urge to fight over me?"

Two grey eyes found him, narrowing. "Don't get too cocky, my Prince." It was a teasing tone.

"I'm just curious."

She giggled. "Frankly… no. I never had that urge."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Surprisingly, she blushed. "It's embarrassing."

His interest was piqued. "Tell me, my love."

There were many reasons for Lyanna, but the reality of her true desires superseded all others. "Rhaenerya and Daemon weren't my only interests in your family, Rhaegar."

He leaned back, listening.

Taking his silence as an invitation to continue, Lyanna did so. "In my childhood, I always idolized Visenya Targaryen. Proud warrior queen fearlessly wielding Dark Sister into battle. You can imagine that a girl likely facing a life married to some old, fat lordling would find her life appealing."

"I presume nothing with you, Lyanna. You are unique."

She smirked. "Charmer." Lyanna nuzzled his chest. "In addition to wishing for my very own Prince Daemon… part of me always wanted to be Visenya Targaryen. And that included… Aegon and Rhaenys." Blushing, Lyanna felt like a pre-flowering maiden. "Gods, I must sound like a child with her head in the clouds."

"No, you don't. Hard to be that when you actually find your head in the clouds." They shared a laugh with that. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you and Elia can get along. She's… been through so much. I haven't exactly been the best husband for her." He looked away.

Now it was Lyanna's turn to look at him queerly. "Why do you say that? Something you care to tell me, Rhaegar?" Wishing to be as honest to her as she was to him, Rhaegar proceeded to disclose everything. Their sudden marriage, how both Aerys and Prince Doran prevented either Elia or he from seeing each other until the ceremony. Of the constant verbal abuse and whisper campaigns Aerys would instigate on Elia, getting worse with each difficult pregnancy. By the end, Lyanna was silent. "He's done this before… to Elia."

He nodded. "Yes. From our marriage four years ago to now… just as with you, every damn day." Rhaegar closed his eyes. "Every time we tried to get closer as a couple… it just never worked. She could only feel my father's bitterness and her family's mistrust, and I… it was my fault for not being able to protect her." A tear fell down his cheek. "Eventually, we just stopped trying." A sad smile on her beloved's lips… "With you it's so easy, my love. I… I thought it would be the same with Elia with time. Both of you are smart, headstrong, a lot alike, but after all she's been through. The pain caused her, pain all my fault."

Hooking her leg across his hip and straddling him, Lyanna kissed her beloved. Slow and sweet, pouring love with every passing second. Don't ever think little of yourself, my love. Beneath the mighty prince was someone that had suffered, a raw soul in need of love - just as Elia did. Those children deserve a loving family.

"Try her, Rhaegar… I think she'll surprise you." If the she-wolf of Winterfell had anything to say about it, Rhaegar would be gaining two loving relationships instead of just one from her arrival. It was simply so strange, encouraging him along the path in which she'd have to share him… but simply the true strangeness was how right it felt. As if it was destiny. "She loves you… just as I do. You just need to get passed this." Before he could speak, she kissed him again. Letting their mouths meld.

Gods… I'm turning into a Targaryen. Lyanna's girlhood dream come true.

---

Dimly lit by the combined yellow flicker of dozens of candles and the red-orange of the roaring hearth, the tavern was like almost any other from Dorne to the Wall. Loud, dirty, smelling of stale wine, piss, and unwashed bodies, the usual crowd of blacksmiths, washerwoman, and hedge knights looking for someone to forge them a new sword kept the place in decent business. A tidy profit.

However, that night, the collection of burly guards in stag colors drew the personal attention and service of the owner. For their Liege Lord was quite the glutton, and his coin was free flowing and plentiful. "Another," slurred the stormlord.

"My Lord," cautioned Ser Courtnay Penrose, his sworn sword. "Perhaps three is enough…"

He was cut off by a hand on his shoulder. "He says he wants another," growled Meryn Trant.

The two would have come to blows. "Fuck off, Courtnay," belted Robert Baratheon. "I'd worry more about that baboon's arse you call your head." The Knight didn't take it personally - the Lord of Storm's End had a certain way with words, especially when drunk. "Another of your finest Arbor gold!" He slammed a silver stag on the counter.

Chuckling, the owner took the coin and replaced it with a wooden goblet. "You have excellent taste, Lord Baratheon."

Goblet brought to his lips, Robert downed a third, belching. He had sparred hard that day, and was looking for fine wine and finer women to drown his sorrows. "That accent, I bet I can place it." Robert smirked. "Tarth?" A shake of the head. "Hmmmm… Blackhaven?"

"Got it, my Lord," winked the bartender and owner.

Robert laugher merrily. "I had a feeling there was some Marsh in you. How'd you end up in the privy of the Seven Kingdoms?" That drew snickers from his men.

The owner shrugged. "Followed the coin. Most lucrative here, and I got lucky. Seven above, I made my living and married a fine Northern girl from White Harbor."

"Northern, eh?" Drunken eyes landed on a dark-haired young woman serving drinks to a group of smiths. "She yours? Daughter?" A nod. "Got the look of the North." Spending time with Ned, gazing at his Lyanna, Robert could notice the blood of the First Men anywhere. High cheekbones, lean yet hard figure… she could pass for the woman denied him by the dragonspawn. While plenty of women had graced his bed since arriving in the capitol, Robert's loneliness and desire for Lyanna was reaching a breaking point. "How much?"

"I'm sorry, my Lord?"

"The girl, how much for a night?"

Fire rose in the marcher's eyes. "You have some fucking nerve…"

A clink on the wooden bartop, Robert's meaty palm withdrawing to reveal a gold dragon.

"My daughter isn't a whore…"

A second clink on the wood found another gold dragon.

It seemed as if the marcher's mouth was watering at the beautifully minted gold. "I wouldn't know where this would happen…"

A third clink and a third gold dragon. "Upstairs… your room." Even drunk, Robert was quite serious when it came to satisfying his lusts.

Covetous, the owner slowly covered the coins with the palm of his hand and drew them to him. "Alys!" he called gruffly. The girl stilled, grey eyes finding her father. "Take Lord Baratheon upstairs, now."

"Father…?"

"Do what he says or you'll be fuckin' sorry, now go."

Gazing at the pretty lass with a lecherous look, Robert hauled himself up. Trying to stay upright as his head spun. "Go enjoy yourselves, men. There's only one dagger I'll be using tonight." Laughing at his own jape, Robert sidled up to the girl. "Hw're ya' tonight, beautiful?"

Gulping, the girl felt intimidated. "I am well, my Lord."

"Yer' gonna take the pride of Storm's End now. I promise ye'll enjoy it."

Eyes flickering to her father, seeing him gesture to the stairs, the girl sighed. Best get this over with. - even if she didn't want to. "My Lord, please follow me." Even if the handsome man's drunken breath revolted her, it would be over soon.

From how Robert began groping her backside almost immediately, she could only pray that was the case.

---

"You're developing a strong relationship with Eddard Stark."

"He's a good man. Honorable and loyal." Loosening the laces of his tunic, Rhaegar pulled the cotton garment off his chest. "Not to mention a lot of fun once he loosens up. Broods too much."

Easing her nightdress over her body before slipping off her burnt-orange gown, Elia couldn't help but sneak a look. Eyes appreciatively traveling on his muscular upper body… only to shift away when he turned to her. "You're one to talk about brooding," she gently teased. It earned a chuckle from him as Elia hid her blush. The Dragon Prince was rather informal in their private quarters, respectful, but informal.

When Elia imagined her married life, the tales of Oberyn's exotic adventures had always been at the back of her mind. Sweaty, nude bodies intertwined, and she and Rhaegar's carnal lives matched such at the times they tried to be intimate. But… along the way she had diverged into the same lifestyle as a devout member of the Faith - never nude, never bare. A gown that covered all of her. Elia resented it, but feared the opposite more.

"You should befriend him… perhaps he could be your Hand?"

"Connington will be my Hand," Rhaegar replied simply, peeling the covers of their large bed back to climb in. Oftentimes, their most important conversations happened when in bed like this. "He is my most loyal friend."

Elia slipped in as well, though with an agonizing distance between him and her husband. "Connington doesn't like me, nor the Starks. I don't think you should trust him too much… especially the way he looks at you." It was the same look Oberyn gave attractive young men, only with longing as well as lust.

A sigh. "I know… perhaps Ned would be a good Hand." Rhaegar chuckled darkly. "I'd certainly be a better friend to him than Robert."

"You should execute Robert," Elia spat. "For what he almost did to Lyanna." Honestly, Elia was not surprised she rushed to defend her soon to be sister-wife.

"I wish I could do it myself, but I can't. Perils of ruling." Rhaegar handled the burden well, especially since Elia was there to help him share it… and even better since Lyanna came and gave him the complete adoration he craved. On one hand Elia was ecstatic for her husband, while on the other… "I'll have to sail to Dragonstone for a few days. Prepare it for our household's arrival after the wedding. Will you and mother make sure Lyanna prepares for her formal presentment to court?"

Reaching out to squeeze his hand, Elia nodded. "I will."

Squeezing the olive-tanned hand back, Rhaegar felt a pull. One as strong as his with Lyanna. The call of his dragonblood to pull his mate closer. To yank her close and embrace her, to express just how much he truly loved her - his silent partner and rock for so long, mothering his children and accepting with open arms his direwolf. At the cusp of giving in…

Her sobs echoed through the chambers. "Elia…"

She recoiled from his touch. "Am I a Dornish whore?"

The words broke his heart. "Why would you…"

"Tell me the truth!" she shrieked. "Am I an unclean Dornish whore?!"

His father. It had to be - Rhaegar had always wanted to know why Aerys betrothed him to Elia if he considered the Martells unclean, but never did ask. "My love… of course you're not…"

Attempting to hold her, the Princess of just five and ten slapped him. Eyes red with anger and tears. "Just get out! Get out!" Grief of his own covering his face, Rhaegar did as bid.

Rhaegar wished that had been an isolated incident, but that would be a lie. Cloistered most of her life, the still young Princess had entered into the hostile court of his garrulous, mercurial father as a supposed spy for her older brother - Varys having told him alone. He couldn't blame her for how she suffered. Only his father…

And himself.

Elia was older. Wiser. Stronger. A perfect wife and Queen in all that mattered… but there was still an indescribable sadness about her that broke his heart. Tortured his soul.

Much as he wanted with her what he had with Lyanna, Rhaegar couldn't bear to see that pain return to her. Their hands broke apart. "Good night wife," he spoke softly. If he'd have to suffer so that she wouldn't, he'd bear that burden.

Hearing his breathing level out in sleep, Elia sighed. Clutching the pillow against her side tighter - the linen-covered goose down cold against her cheek. Cold… not my husband. Tears began to soak the linen. It wasn't the first time in her life that the Dornish Princess wished she could cuddle close to her husband. Seek out the intimacy she so desperately craved with Rhaegar. The father of her children, the attractive Dragon Prince that stirred so many feelings inside her. But yet…

"He is your husband, not your lover. You are to do your duty, give him Dornish heirs, and bind the Iron Throne to Dorne, that is it."

"See here bitch, if it wasn't for the good deal I got for you… I wouldn't sully my line with your mongrel blood…"

"This child smells Dornish. Like her mother, so get her out of my sight!"

Begging for intimacy, desperate of it, Elia couldn't bring herself to do it. The memories so painful in her mind. Worry eating her away, that her heart would only collapse if she opened it… only to be rejected. Such was what formed their routine. Guided both her and Rhaegar into the partnership that worked so well. That calmed the tempest of the Seven Kingdoms and birthed two beautiful babes. The light of both of their lives.

But said routine of reality had suddenly blown apart by the howling winds of the north. By the beautiful, kind, utterly amazing she-wolf that had roared into their lives and seemed to occupy a place not able to dislodge. Rhaegar loved her, Rhaenys loved her, Aegon loved her, Rhaella loved her… seven hells, even Elia was growing to love her. A friend, a confidant, a fellow traveller in the poison-filled waters of King's Landing, willing to defend their family to the death if need be.

Oberyn would say I crave to see her as the sister I never had.

Ellaria would say I want her as much as I do Rhaegar.

Doran would say I should be on my toes. Ready at a moment's notice to defend Aegon's birthright from the northern interlopers.

Elia would dismiss both, but truth be told she didn't know what to think. Didn't know what to believe. Lyanna is providing Rhaegar the love that I cannot… Lyanna loves Aegon, would never steal from him… Rhaegar would never hurt me… I am content with my life...

All was broken when a strong arm wrapped around Elia. Pulling her around and tugging her against the hard plane of her husband's chest. "Elia… my wife…"

Walls breaking, at least for now, she closed all distance between them. Holding him close. "We lost so much, Rhaegar… but I can't lose you. I…"

In agony, only with her in his arms did he begin to feel his heart calm. His pain begin to ebb - just as with Lyanna, a maze of feelings just as strong beginning to reform. "You won't, Elia. You won't," he murmured, stroking her hair.

Aegon the Conqueror. Could he be Aegon the Conqueror? He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood. His uncle Aemon's words… gods, he prayed for them to be true.

Rhaegar couldn't imagine his life without either of his beauties in his life.

Notes:

I have to admit, Cersei lusting for Ned is very fun to write. Her dress is the one from when Ned confronted Cersei in season 1. Oh the irony XD

Aerys... he's decompensating. Getting worse and worse, and now Lyanna is a target.

Elia and Rhaegar's relationship is hard to construct, largely cause it's very subtle and complicated. They are guarded with each other even though they love each other, and while Lyanna may make her jealous, there's a connection there that is driving Elia to try and rekindle things with Rhaegar and vice versa. There's gonna be many layers here. It may seem to be quickly going well, but that's a bit deceptive.

So... perhaps a certain blacksmith we all know may have been conceived...

If I get 50 comments, I will update Friday.

Next up, Ellaria and Dacey have an interesting conversation ;)

Chapter 17: All in the Family

Notes:

And here we go :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

Pushing his chest up off the sweat-drenched skin directly below him, the Dornish Prince redoubled his angle and thrust his hips forward. Cock spearing through the tight channel slick with the finest Lysene oils. "Gods…" he grunted.

Head turned to the side, his newest lover's mouth was open in a silent scream. "Fuck… me… Prince…" she gasped in broken Common Tongue, her Yi Ti-ish accent alluringly exotic. "So… good…" Arching her back, she impaled his cock even deeper into her ass, burying her face into the pillow to silence her screams. Her alabaster skin and slanted eyes contrasting deliciously with his swarthy features.

Oberyn Martell grinned. He loved the beautiful yet inexperienced - tight and explosively orgasmic. Delighted that he was to scandalize even the rather libertine Dornish society, he had seen blushing maidens fuck like wanton whores once he was done. Like the lone spice trader with whom he and his entourage hitched a ride to King's Landing. Hard and aloof at first, but after several days practically dragging him into her chambers.

"So… close… my… Prince…" Her voice was hoarse from previous bouts of lovemaking. The exotic appearance - his first Yi Ti lover, ironically enough - drove Oberyn mad with lust, hard enough to spear through her rosebud. Exciting him to be her first.

"Erupt for me, slut." One hand kneading a bouncing breast, Oberyn sank his teeth into her pale skin just as his cock bottomed out inside her. Feeling her rosebud clench hard around him, her screams echoing within the cabin. Lover collapsing spent onto the bed.

Pulling out, Oberyn chuckled lightly at her lazy hiss - kissing the flushed skin. "Such a beautiful woman."

"Mmmmm…"

"You have improved greatly. One of the best lovers I've had in the longest time."

"Mmmmm…"

Pulling on his loose silk tunic and trousers, Oberyn pulled the thin covers on top of his lover's back. "I shall return for supper," he said as he clipped the curved Dornish scimitar to his hip. "Then we shall go again." He didn't know how much of it she understood, given neither spoke their native languages. The language of love is universal. If he'd see her in several years with a young, half-Dornish babe, he wouldn't be surprised. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Roustabouts dashing about on their various tasks, the front bank of sails unfurled to catch the trade winds blowing off the Pentosi coast. "Should be hitting King's Landing in a week or two," commented the first mate that morning. Oberyn was lucky that he had found a steady source of female cunt, else he'd be lost in his thoughts. Increasingly dark and angry. Several of the guards were already splinting sprained limbs from how he lashed out during their sparring sessions. Damn you, Rhaegar. Damn you. It had been him that argued to Doran not to send their innocent sister to the King's Landing viper den, but there she was about to suffer the worst humiliation.

"I know what you're thinking." Oberyn turned to find Ser Gulian Qorgyle, his best friend and foster brother from his time at Sandstone. One of the few men that could both keep up with his sense of adventure… and expansive sexual appetite. "You're not going to kill the Prince."

"And why shouldn't I?" huffed the Prince, knowing how petulant he was acting but not caring.

Qorgyle met his glare. "Because that would leave your sister without a brother." Fuck, he has a point. "And the whores from Volantis to the Wall will cry, women and men." Fuck, a double point.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to make it easy on him. Aegon will sit on the Iron Throne by hook or by crook." On this, Qorgyle nodded - from Doran on down, the Dornish nobility would not condone being in the Seven Kingdoms any longer unless the marriage alliance was respected.

The sudden footfall upon the wooden deck shook Oberyn from his thoughts. Eyes alert, quick footwork from his light combat stance sent his careening effortlessly out of the way as the spear lunged where his stomach had been. The Prince of Dorne drew his scimitar and spun it to block the counterswipe of the attacker. Steel clashing against gleaming bronze as the attacker redoubled, twirling her spear above her head before charging at the far taller target...

Only for Oberyn's skilled swordsmanship to knock the spear out of the attacker's hand, palm flying out to smack between her neck and breastbone - sending her sprawling onto the deck. Lips curling into a smirk, Oberyn reached down with his hand. "A valiant effort, my dear. But it is clear you need more training to properly face the Red Viper."

Eight year old Obara Sand scowled, nonetheless taking her father's hand to haul her up in spite of her humiliation. "How did you spot me?" she asked incredulously, rubbing her sore bottom. "I made sure I was hidden until the right moment."

"Footfalls." Ruffling his daughter's hair, he chuckled. "A proper warrior of the ambush makes sure her feet make no noise upon the ground." At the girl's curses, his chuckles turned to laughs. Bringing Obara and Nymeria along helped just as much as fucking to calm his anger. "Go on and find your sister. Get her some supper and then continue to train."

Bowing to her father, Obara turned, muttering something about burying a spear in Prince Rhaegar's head. "Aye, she's clearly your daughter," quipped Qorgyle.

---

"You know," Ellaria Sand stated as she tilted her head back, dark eyes following the northerner currently walking towards the tray of drinks. "It is usually the host that chooses the refreshments." She put a heavier emphasis on her sultry Dornish accent, something she was wont to do when meeting someone new… especially someone as gorgeous as the Mormont of Bear Island.

Displaying the classically northern bluntness that added to her wild beauty - much like her lady the future Princess - Dacey Mormont waved her off. "You are in my rooms, Lady Ellaria… wait, are bastards called 'Lady' in Dorne?"

Bold… I like her already. The bastard daughter of the Lord of Hellholt laughed. "Some are, some aren't. I wouldn't call myself ladylike, but I figure the position of Lady in Waiting to Princess Elia mandates it."

Dacey considered the answer. "Fair enough." Her attention shifted to the glass and metal decanters resting on the table. "Your Dornish reds are too… sour and yet subtle… how is that even fucking possible for a proper drink? Practically shit."

Patriotic sentiment dictated Ellaria should send Dacey a biting retort, but she wasn't overly patriotic for her homeland. Curious she was, however. "Oh, and what would you consider a proper drink?"

A plebian metal jug, clearly hand-forged in a northern smith, jostled as Dacey picked it up. Contrasting with the expertly blown Tyroshi crystal goblets she poured a gleaming amber liquid into. "Here, unless you're too much of a coward, Sand?"

"I'll try anything once, Mormont," Ellaria sent in riposte. Taking the goblet, she immediately knocked it back in one gulp as she would with Dornish reds or Arbor golds… Big mistake. She immediately felt a burning sensation down her throat, dainty hands curling into a fist to hit her chest. Coughing and sputtering. "Seven fucking hells…" Ellaria croaked. "What the fuck… is that?"

Grinning as she gently sipped at the liquid, Dacey leaned forward. "Barley whiskey, brewed and distilled on Bear Island. One of our biggest exports next to lumber… It'll warm ya' up, huh?"

Sure enough, a fiery heat had spread from her throat and stomach to the rest of her body rather quickly. Oddly welcome in the sudden chill, the promise of a quick spring premature. "You are more than I thought you'd be, Lady Dacey."

"Oh, and what were you expecting? Some kind of country bumpkin awed by southern finery?" The she-bear's eyes narrowed.

"Frankly, yes," came the blunt reply. There was a silent tension before suddenly both women burst into laughter. Enjoying the ice break as Ellaria held out her hand for another shot of the killer whiskey. "Perhaps if I pace myself, I'll get used to it."

Dacey topped off her goblet. "A safe assumption to make." They both settled into their seats, comfortable together for the first time since the Dornishwoman had abruptly knocked and then forced her way into Dacey's room. "I think our ladies are getting along. Old gods be good."

Ellaria clinked glasses with her Northern counterpart. "That was my main worry, at least in the short term." Crossing her legs, she kicked absentmindedly in the air. Exposing the slender, toned skin. "The Princess' main concern was that her son wouldn't be disturbed in the line of succession."

"Lady Lyanna would never do that. Given the nature of House Targaryen and her love for Prince Rhaegar, she was prepared to make the best of the situation."

Eyes twinkling, Ellaria sipped her whiskey. Much more bearable in dribs and drabs, smokey taste actually quite welcome to the palate. "In love you say? The Prince works fast… It took a month before Princess Elia fell for him."

This confused the she-bear. "I haven't seen the Princess overly affectionate with the Crown Prince." Nothing like Lya, though. Dacey had stopped counting the times she walked into Lyanna's chambers to find she and the Prince sucking face. It was both heartwarming and slightly disturbing. "There seems to be… a tension."

"Ah, that." Ellaria shrugged. "His Grace the King… made Elia's life living hells. That was before he grew quiet and brooding, constantly sundering whatever attempts they made to get close and intimate. Prince Doran did the same, only before the marriage - the Princess loves Rhaegar, she's just afraid to admit it."

Quite deep, but Dacey understood. There were many northern families that were quite familiar in conduct, the Boltons obviously but others coming to mind. "They sometimes need a kind word… or a kick in the ass."

Lined with a light touch of paint, Ellaria's lips fluttered. Smirking at the comment. "Theirs is a close family, and one under siege by forces no one within this Keep can identify as of yet. Crown Prince Rhaegar, Queen Rhaella… my Lady and yours, they need a proper support system to give them the unvarnished truth. That is why I sought you out, size you up and such." She smirked at Dacey's raised eyebrow. "What? Surprised?"

To her credit, Dacey broke her tough facade to look a bit sheepish. "I just pegged you as someone more…" she tried to think of a word that wouldn't insult.

The Dornishwoman finished it for her. "Degenerate? Frivolous?" at Dacey's embarrassed blush, Ellaria laughed again. "Don't worry, I take it as a compliment, scandalizing those around me." It was a skill she partook in from her maturity in Hellholt.

"I would think that your position would preclude such behavior." Dacey liked joining Lyanna in unladylike pursuits, but in Winterfell and under the disguise of a Mystery Knight was not the same as actually in court. "Do you not worry about hurting the image of Princess Elia?"

"Well of course I don't flaunt it for all of court to see… what kind of idiot to you think I am? Reputation is one thing when it's merely rumors and discreet activities, that's why the highborn men keep their mistresses and lovers under wraps." Given the proclivities of most in court, they were not ones to judge. "I'm not all fucks and good times, though that's my appeal. Already spread my bounty to three of the Stark guards. They do know how to wield their second swords." Now it was the northerner's turn to cough and sputter - Ellaria had seen it before. "You're a maiden, aren't you?"

Cheeks flushed the ripe red of cherries. "I can't see how that's any of your concern."

"You are. If you weren't, the reaction would be far more muted." Suddenly shy, Dacey turned away, still blushing. "Oh, don't worry. It's nothing to be ashamed of… I just find such things incredibly constraining."

That particular moment, a blonde servant girl no older than Dacey entered. "Could I be of service, my Ladies?" Her eyes flickered between Ellaria and Dacey, suggestive and familiar for the former while appreciative and hopeful for the latter.

Ellaria shook her head. "Not for Lady Mormont here, at least not yet. As for me, come around tonight, Marcey." Leaning up, her hand swatted the girl's ass, coaxing a pleased giggle before she left. Grinning to herself - memories of enjoying this particular servant's… oral talents rather recent in her memory - her eyes once again settled on Dacey. Shock written on her face. "Oh come now. Surely you had your fun with your female companions on that iceberg island?"

The red flush was persistent for the she-bear. "I've… I've never."

Oh, this wouldn't do. "What is it with you northerners? I thought you'd be wild and uninhibited like your lands, but instead I get tough but prudish, no no no." She stood from her seat, taking Dacey's hands and pulling her up. "Come. Come over here to the balcony." They leaned over, side by side. Two stunning beauties in a thin Dornish gown and a light grey northern dress respectively. They both showed off their slender builds and killer curves, but one bared much to the elements while the other was far more modest. "Look, who do you see?"

Dacey peered into the courtyard, which wasn't busy but not empty either. "Guards on patrol… the washerwomen taking loads of laundry to the wells… what of it?"

"See that tall, hulking guard. At the front with a halberd? I let him and his wife into my bed two moons ago." She quickly pointed out another. "Those three? They fucked me in each of my holes at the same time… it was marvelous." This was quite fun. "Oh, those two women? One of them devoured my flower while I speared my fingers through…"

"Stop, please stop." Dacey would have to be bleeding if she had been any redder. "Why are you doing this?"

Throwing her arm around the northerner's shoulder, Dacey patted her hand comfortingly. "Don't be so prudish, Mormont. Our sexuality… its as divinely sanctioned as our eyes or our breathing. There is nothing more beautiful than making love, and I've had a lot of beauty since my maturity." Elaria lasciviously reached down to pinch her new companion's rear, causing Dacey to flinch. "Stop being so tense. We only have one life to live, why not make the most of it?"

Shaking her head, Dacey sighed "It's not like I… I want to do most of those things." A shudder coursed through her body at the very thought. "Gods, I want to lay down my barriers and give into my carnal desires, but… I think I could only trust doing such with the man I love."

Ellaria nodded. If there was one facet of society she could appreciate, it was romantic love. "I understand… now what would this kind of man be? Or do you have a particular man in mind?"

Gaze shifting back to the courtyard, Dacey suddenly came across Ser Arthur Dayne. His twin blades jostled in their scabbards as he briskly made his way towards Maegor's Holdfast. When his eyes looked at the balcony by chance, she looked away. Unable to meet his gaze.

None of this was lost on Ellaria. Oh Dacey… my first impression was correct. You are interesting. Her mind whirred at a mile per minute, lips curling up at the possibilities. I do love a challenge.

---

"My Prince, our food stores had to be broken into,"Maester Marwyn explained, struggling to catch up with Rhaegar's large strides. A balding man with a crown of scraggly hair round the edge of his dome, the man was incredibly smart and worldly. Hence the Citadel sending him to Dragonstone. Both Rhaegar and Elia figured the stuffy Archmaesters just wanted to get rid of him. "We expected you and the Princess back over a moon ago, but the delays… I couldn't let the food spoil."

Turning, placing his shoulders on Marwyn's shoulders, Rhaegar looked at him earnestly. "My friend, I do not begrudge you for it. Just make sure the pantry is stocked with fresh food for when I arrive with my children and both my brides."

The Maester blinked. "Would a northerner appreciate the bounty of the seas?"

"When it's harvested by Lord Lucerys Velaryon fleets and prepared by the finest cooks in the Seven Kingdoms, then I would think so." Rhaegar laughed and cuffed Marwyn lightly on the arm. "See to it." With that, he made his way towards the stairs leading down to the grassy plains of his personal domain.

Rhaegar loved Dragonstone. Loved everything about it. Most didn't understand the appeal, given the foreboding look of the dark stone and sharp boxes and curves of the former outpost of the Valyrian Freehold turned keep for House Targaryen. It had nothing on the flowery beauty of Highgarden, the lush greenery of the Water Gardens, the sheer size of Harrenhal, or even the rugged beauty of Winterfell, but to him it felt like the part of him that he so missed. The Red Keep was Westeros, but Dragonstone harkened back to the time of the dragons, of his glorious ancestors that were so close to conquering the known world.

The Crown Prince craved such a closeness… he felt it in his blood. His bones. An inner calling to the dragons and dragonlords of old, much as it confused him. Rhaegar couldn't wait to share it with Lyanna - he was quite apprehensive about it. While he told himself that he had no reason to worry, part of Rhaegar did fear his beloved's rejection of Dragonstone.

Hopefully her wedding gift will dampen such fears.

Dragonstone laid on a dormant volcano, liquid fire long having ceased spewing destruction. His Aunt Jenny often would make Rhaegar tremble as a child with tales of the wild Cannibal or Sheepstealer that lived in its thermal vents, both of them falling into fits of giggles when she pounced on him during the scariest parts. Now though, the greatest contribution of the volcano was the lush soil… fields of grass, the royal family's personal vineyard and garden… and a copse of sentinels, oaks, soldier pines, and chestnut trees that nestled on the far tip of the island.

Approaching, Rhaegar could already see crews of laborers at work. Digging at the direction of several surveyors - and two nobles. One short and squat, the other tall and thin. "My Lords, how goes the planning?"

Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall - formerly squire to Ser Oswell and a friend to the crown - turned and bowed as his Prince arrived on scene. "Seems the place is a bit haphazard for a proper Godswood, but a few trees felled here and some planted there… it could work for your purposes, your Grace."

"You speak too much like a master mason, Blackwood," Howland Reed chuckled. Bruises from the Tourney long healed, though he still bore a wincing gait from the sparring session. As a northerner though, he shared the swagger of how Ned defeated Ser Arthur - and the respect gotten from the knights in the capitol from being on the winning side. "A godswood… it holds the very spirit of the Children of the Forest. The essence of the soul itself. You can't just plan it down to fine scribbles on paper."

Blackwood rolled his eyes. "Forgive me for wanting the Prince's experience to be perfect."

Laughing again, Howland looked at Rhaegar. "Proves my point."

"Enough." While the squabbling amused him, for Rhaegar there was something far more important than his amusement. "I brought you here because of your expertise… and discretion." In their long-running feud with the Brackens of Stone Hedge, House Blackwood had the craftiness melded into their blood - Lord Bloodraven being the best example. And Howland… he kept Lyanna's identity as the Knight of the Laughing Tree secret for the entire Tourney. "How soon can you get the sapling here?"

"It's on its way, your Grace," Howland bowed. "Received a raven from White Harbor just last night announcing the departure of the ship."

Sighing in relief, Rhaegar closed his eyes. Trying not to feel completely over his head. "Gods, this is all new to me. Please explain what we're supposed to do with this?"

Both men were truly here because they worshipped the Old Gods. Lord Blackwood for his connection to the crown and being in possession of the largest Godswood south of the Neck. Howland… Rhaegar could trust him, the Reeds were some of the most spiritual houses in the North, and he had access to the Weirwood saplings the Godswood would need. As such the crannogman cleared his throat. "You'll need a walk around it. Ironwood trees, that's good, a connection to the North."

"Queen Alysanne got them from Alaric Stark during her famous royal progress to the North. Planted the saplings and watched them grow." A piece of history long forgotten in all but Targaryen family lore. Rhaegar intended to jot them all down so that they would never be lost. "And the Weirwood, it goes in the middle?"

"Always. The heart tree and the carved face upon it is the most important part, your Grace," Blackwood explained.

Rhaegar regraded this. "I'm not sure how to ask, but why a Weirwood? What does the face represent? Is it some sort of icon or idol?"

Shaking his head, Howland reached out and took Rhaegar's hand. Gently placing the palm upon a sentinel pine. "The old gods, they are all around us. Both in the heavens above and the earth around us. The heart tree and it's face… they were carved by the ancient Children of the Forest and First Men connected to the gods through magic. Wargers, greenseers, all carving not an icon, but a means for the gods to truly see a person and hear their prayers." The crannogman's muddy-grey eyes bored into him. "That is why you must never lie in front of a heart tree. They are watching."

Fascinated, Rhaegar lamented not being taught even the simple religious beliefs of much of his people. Years of compromise with the Faith has left House Targaryen shackled to it. Abandoning any form of understanding of other faiths, let alone remembering the true beliefs of Old Valyria. It made Rhaegar empty, as of his heritage was torn from him… his family torn apart from their past as those like Baelor the Blessed, Princess Rhaena, and Queen Naerys abandoned their dragonblood for the shackles of their faith.

Thinking about the old gods… it felt as if Rhaegar was letting himself be unchained from those that despised him. "And the carvings? Who would do it on the sapling from Greywater Watch?"

Howland smiled. "Someone with the blood of the ancient magic would do… even Valyrian magic."

Lyanna and I, carving together… Rhaegar couldn't wait to see the look on Lyanna's face. Gods, he was incomplete without her. "I know just the carving tool." It remained in the keep, a memento of Queen Rhaenys. The Crown Prince was saving it for a special occasion, and this certainly qualified. Lyanna will love it… Elia… He had never done something this special for her, never truly made this a home for his first wife, the woman that had sacrificed so much for him. For their family, for how he was bringing in yet another bride into their union for whom his love was boundless. The only time she's ever be happy here was when she took Rhaenys into Aegon's Gardens…

Aegon's Gardens… It would be a cheap substitute for the happiness Elia deserved, but it was at least a start. "Well… See to it, my Lords."

"Your Grace?" asked Blackwood, while Howland just looked at him with knowing eyes.

"I need to send a raven to the capitol. Excuse me." Just before he left, Rhaegar wordlessly rested his head against an Ironwood tree. Hoping to find more than just the whispers of his blood.

---

Squirming in Lyanna's arm, Prince Aegon Targaryen's cries nevertheless tapered off. Soothed by her gentle rocking and soft tune of the northern lullaby. Purple eyes glancing up at his soon to be second mother - not that Lyanna restricted her growing feelings till the wedding - it worked like a charm. Aegon stretched his arms in a toothless yawn. Utterly adorable as the she-wolf set the now dozing baby into his portable bassinet.

"Sleep tight, little dragon." Gods, she couldn't wait to feel her own blood - Rhaegar's blood - growing inside her.

"You are amazing with him." She turned to find Elia staring at her, small smile on her lips. "Even his nursemaids aren't as good at getting him to sleep."

A gentle laugh came from Queen Rhaella, sitting opposite both her gooddaughter and the empty chair of her future gooddaughter. The three women were gathered for a quiet morning together, a tradition that Rhaella had begun with Elia and that she gladly continued for her son's second bride. "The entire nursery staff loves Rhaenys and Aegon, but nothing can compare to a mother's touch. A mother's love." She leaned over, pouring a cup of piping hot liquid into three porcelain cups that a servant had laid out for them earlier. "Elia always had a magic touch with them, and it seems you have it too."

Lyanna blinked. "Even though I'm not their blood mother…"

The Queen waived her off. "Nonsense… Visenya wasn't Aenys' blood parent, yet she gave him the same loving comfort that she did the infant Maegor when Rhaenys died. Actually, it was her idea to hatch Quicksilver - saved the poor child's life."

"I thought Visenya and her sister-wife's brood were strained?" Elia asked. "Maegor and Aenys as adults certainly were." Much as she wanted to hug Lyanna tightly for being such an angel to her children, words sounding a lot like Doran were telling her to be cautious. To watch out for duplicity as he had said in a letter to her - the Starks seeking to supplant her blood in favor of theirs. She refused to believe it, but it was there nonetheless.

"Vicious lies by the Faith and the Citadel," Rhaella spat. While many Targaryen Queens since the Dance of Dragons had been quite pious in the Faith, Rhaella inherited the original skepticism towards the Starry Sept. "They were quite close. The family lore has Visenya being the one who proposed the Dragon's Wroth… she and Aegon were never the same, always sad. Always… incomplete." Both women listened with rapt attention, feeling honored at hearing the family lore of House Targaryen. "But enough of that." The Queen put on a brilliant smile. "Something happy…"

"What is this drink?" Lyanna sipped it, feeling a calm sensation at the delicious brew.

Elia cut in. "It's called tea, brewed originally in Mother Rhoyne but now a Dornish staple."

Lyanna nodded. "Delicious. We should ship this north." In agreement, Elia figured she could talk to Oberyn about it… if he didn't kill Rhaegar and Rickard first.

"Oh, my dear Lyanna," Rhaella gushed. "What was that song you sung to the little dragon?"

That was something happy. "Oh, it's an old northern lullaby. Tells the tale of a King Brandon Stark, killed defending his realm and mourned by his family and bannermen. We play it at funerals, but a softer version…" Her eyes glossed over with a half-serene, half-melancholic look. "My late mother, Lyarra Stark, always sung it to my brothers and I before bed…. I miss her so."

"My mother… I really don't remember her," Elia murmured, misty herself in spite of the attempted shift in the conversation. "She died when I was but a young girl."

As for Rhaella, her mother was known to all. "For all those that loved Queen Betha… it was the honor of a lifetime to be witness to her true love." Each having lost their mothers - and in all but Lyanna's case their fathers - it was an additional avenue of relation.

Eventually, they did manage to shift the conversation… this time to the Lords of the Small Council. "Honestly, things were better when Tywin was here," Rhaella confessed.

"He always had something up his ass," Elia said to a chuckle from Lyanna, "But he knew how to run the Realm. Connington is… competent and loyal, but he tends to be both bolder and, strangely, less imaginative. I think his Grace selected him to enforce loyalty above anything else."

"Makes sense, considering he cut public spending to the bone. The King's Tourney was the first major project in the last five years."

"Is there any coin left for spending on the Realm?" Lyanna inquired. "My father was forced to increase the land and harvest taxes three times during my lifetime - once I knew better I always assumed it was supposed to pay for the cost of the War of the Ninepenny Kings." While House Blackfyre had marshalled significant funds and resources in its heyday, Maelys Blackfyre was quite destitute, forced to rely on borrowed funds from his Essosi backers.

Rhaella scoffed. "My husband's treasury is filled to the brim - gold bullion, silver ingots, millions of coins, boxes filled with precious gems, even luxury goods. Our debts from that war were paid long ago, as was my father's debt to the Iron Bank, the Rogares of Lys, and House Hightower, all incurred in trying to hatch dragons after over a century without them." The Queen sighed, and neither Princess needed to inquire further. The Tragedy of Summerhall inspired tearful bards from Hellholt to Last Hearth.

"Only debt not paid," Elia mused, shifting the subject back from its tangent, "Is to Tywin Lannister. Five hundred thousand gold dragons… though…" She couldn't help but smirk. "That isn't caused by inability to pay on His Grace's part." Much as she hated the King, the Dornish dislike for the Westermen didn't evaporate due to the presence of a greater foe. "Lord Mace may be an oaf and a fool, but he's good at counting coin… only thing he is good at."

Lips pursed, Lyanna leaned forward. Hands clasped together. "If he's so good at counting, why isn't that coin being spent where it could do some good?" While Winterfell had an emergency stockpile of coin, the harsh climate of the North made every bit outside of it spent on either buying food or repairing infrastructure damaged by the frequent winter blizzards.

"His Grace… he hasn't spent more than a silver stag more than absolutely necessary." Rhaella sipped at her tea, neither Princess missing how the fingers curled round the cup trembled slightly. "And absolutely is very strictly defined. Treasury's only grown and grown, especially since Duskendale." Duskendale changed so many things - before, he had at least been somewhat bearable.

"Besides." She didn't used to be a cynic - Elia had dreams, hopes, romantic fantasies just as Lyanna did. But while the Northern Beauty's came true, the Dornish Princess found herself trapped in hells alongside her husband. They forged a bond under such circumstances, but no one could call it the same as what he had with Lyanna. Her heart still throbbed from the pain of it. "Even if the coin and bullion was released, you think his Grace would personally implement the payments? The Lords he delegates that to would just insist on funneling it through their own ideas of what constitutes a proper endeavor. Probably their own pockets."

Lyanna leaned back, thinking. "Has anyone asked the people?" Twin blinks. "The smallfolk, the merchants? The guilds? Anyone ask them for what they need? My father always does that in Winterfell, the gates always open to grievances and audiences from his subjects."

Both the Queen and the Princess have blank stares on their faces. "I… I was never allowed to socialize with the smallfolk," Rhaella confesses, eyes downcast. "My father was famous for it, but the septas that he had tutor me over my mother's objections… they always said it wasn't proper to socialize 'with rabble.' And Aerys, he doesn't like to leave the keep or his wheelhouse when traveling."

The she-wolf knew from prior conversations with Elia that she had similarly lived a cloistered life. Unable to interact with those not highborn or servants. "His Grace… he stopped hearing audiences years ago, after hearing Tywin was conducting them behind his back."

"Perhaps someone should change that?" Lyanna's mind was racing, ideas blooming same as with the moment that birthed the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Noticing the she-wolf thinking deeply, Elia found it quite sweet until a shadow appeared in the doorway. Eyes wide, she immediately stood and curtseyed. "Your Grace." Rhaella and Lyanna turned their heads, and within a split second joined her.

Sour-faced, the King strode into his Queen's chambers. Ser Gerold and Prince Lewyn standing vigil. "Where is Viserys?" he demanded of Rhaella. "He's not in his chambers." Aerys was not in a good mood.

Rhaella steeled herself. "Forgive me for worrying you, your Grace, but he is enjoying his afternoon by playing with his niece."

"You would let my son around the Dornish smell? He'll turn into a mincing buggerer like all of them." While Prince Lewyn and Princess Elia were directly affected, it was Lyanna that opened her mouth to say something. Just slightly, immediately drawn back… but enough for the King to notice. "Something to say, Lady Lyanna?"

Eyes glancing at the floor in supplication, she shook her head. "No, your Grace."

He snorted. "That's what I thought. And don't think I haven't seen you playing with that half-breed. You will stop at once, lest she turns from a slut into an uncivilized barbarian." Almost turning to leave, he suddenly noticed Lyanna's dress. A modest cut from the Dornish Marches, just like Jenny used to wear...

Without warning he grabbed the warm pot of tea and dumped it all over Lyanna. The young Lady yelping in the sudden shock. "Get rid of that dress. My son won't have a whore for a Queen like this one," he gestured to Elia and stormed out. Footsteps thudding as he retreated through the hallway.

Immediately as silence returned, Rhaella moved to grab whatever cloth was in reach while Elia raced to Lyanna's side, drawing her in an embrace as the fierce she-wolf began sobbing. Unable to comprehend what had just happened. He won't get you too, sister. I won't let him.

Notes:

Wow, Aerys. Wow. Borrowed some from Ivan the Terrible of Russia... who kinda has a parallel to Aerys - strong ruler at first but who descended into madness by the end.

Looking at Lyanna, seems she wants to have an actual responsibility beyond the ceremonial function as Queen. Perhaps Daenerys will have a role model :D

Oberyn will be Oberyn...

Hope the Ellaria/Dacey moment was what y'all hoped.

Rhaegar is a great husband already :)

So... perhaps a certain blacksmith we all know may have been conceived...

Next up, Tywin arrives in KL.

Chapter 18: Working Women

Notes:

Lots of stuff to get into this chapter :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

Eyes raking the image in the looking glass, Cersei shook her head. "No, I can't have this."

"Calm down, my lady," Melara Hetherspoon cautioned, placing a comforting hand on the blonde's arm. "You need not calm down, it's only your father."

Shaking off the hand, Cersei felt flustered. Sensing the errant strands out of place of her crown of braids, the tiny crease in her lime-green gown, the dark circles in her eyes… "That's right, it's my father! If I'm not the perfect Light of the West… I know he blames me for not seducing the Crown Prince, and now a Stark of all women..." With Jaime in the Kingsguard and Tyrion… being Tyrion, she was his last hope for securing the legacy Tywin Lannister built.

"Come now, my lady. I wouldn't speak ill of the same family whom the man you fancy is from."

Cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. "I told you that in confidence."

"Do you see anyone around?" The daughter of the Castillian of the Rock was pretty much the only person Cersei trusted aside from Jaime… more so than Jaime on many occasions. She knew plenty of things no one else did - including about Ned. "He's quite a catch. Clever, gentle, handsome… and defeating Arthur Dayne?" She whistled.

"A second son, Melara." Cersei closed her eyes, trying to not imagine the kiss...

"Being the goodbrother to Prince Rhaegar can't hurt."

"Father won't see it that way."

Her childhood friend rolled her eyes. "I think you aren't seeing it the right way, Cersei. You were raised to be Queen, but the Crown Prince doesn't want you. Expand your horizons."

Before she could snap back, there was a knock at the door. "My Lady, riders bearing your father's sigil are close." Trying but failing not to panic, Cersei smoothed back the loose strands of hair and raced out of her chambers.

Nestled in the shadow of the Red Keep and Dragonpit, the manse was personally selected by Jon Connington for House Lannister… as such, it was large and comfortable but in the Dornish style. Sandstone walls, fountains, palm trees… Anything to irritate the Lion of Casterly Rock, further proving Rhaegar's words.

Perhaps he was right about the two of us...

At the center of the assembled household, Cersei immediately curtsied as the line of horses came into view. Behind the fluttering lion banners was Tywin Lannister. Joined by several Westerlands lords, her jovial uncle Gerion, and… Tyrion. At the gruff nod of acknowledgment before their father dismounted his Crakehall-bred stallion, her eyes met the same sparkling green of their mother, Tyrion smiling and nodding at her. Of course you're here.

Cersei curtsied again. "Father…"

The Lord of Casterly Rock's frown was as hard as his polished Westerlands plate was dazzling. "Shut it." Tywin's tone left no room for arguing. "You and your brother, the solar. Now."

"But Father…"

"Now." It was clear he was one bit of defiance away from bellowing - Cersei knew enough not to argue. Merely curtsying once more, she fell in alongside Tyrion to follow him into the guest manse.

"I'll be off to the tavern, brother," announced Gerion, always in the mood for laughter and drink. He was clearly where her disgusting brother got it from, but with the golden handsomeness to back it up. Not speaking, he shot his niece an apologetic look. Sorry… and good luck.

As soon as the door to the lavish solar was closed did he let it out. "You had one job, daughter."

"Father, I spoke to the Crown Prince…"

"Oh, you spoke to the Crown Prince?" He chuckled. "Does that mean that the ravens were wrong? That you are marrying the Prince instead of Rickard Stark's brat?" Almost ready to throw something, Tywin's lips pursed tight. Calming himself. "Are they in love?"

That was an easy question to answer. "You weren't there at the tourney. One couldn't pry them apart with two elephants."

He groaned. "Of course they are." He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Well, looks like our chance for you to be Queen has changed into me salvaging this family from disaster." Tyrion silent and trying to melt into the furniture, all Tywin's attention was on Cersei. "Is there anyone that did take this… development with Lyanna Stark badly?"

"I think Robert Barathon was quite insulted. He was Lyanna's betrothed before the King made his announcement."

"Hmmmm, that's a start." Tywin sighed. "Do nothing, say nothing. As of this point, we have no alliances." He muttered profanities. "Gods, if you had done what you were supposed to and had Jaime not joined the damn Kingsguard…" The grey lion continued mumbling as he made his exit. "...to be close to your bed... none of this would be happening."

The two siblings were the only ones left. "Well?" Cersei spat, not wanting to even look at the… thing that killed their mother. "Thinking you can make me look even prettier by reminding men of what ugly looks like."

Pressing his hand against his heart, Tyrion fake pitched back. "Thou hast wounded me." The Imp chuckled, making his way to a decanter of summerwine. "It's good to see you too, sister. If only Jaime hadn't donned the white so he could be here too… though I figure it's better than him donning the black."

Cersei shuddered at the thought. "Gods, must you be an insufferable little shit?" Just as her brother began filling his cup, she snatched the decanter from him, tapping off her own goblet.

He shrugged. "That's my skill. I'm witty, I drink, and I know things." Tapping his forehead, he finally was able to pour himself the alcohol. "Father is right, you know. About why Jaime joined the Kingsguard."

A scoff. "You know nothing, Tyrion."

"Ah, but I do…" Tyrion winced, look of sympathy not one Cersei wished to have from him. "I hadn't said anything before about… it. But you must know that I'm sorry about the…"

"Don't say it." Cersei shut her eyes tight, gripping the goblet so tightly that it almost snapped the crystal. "Just… don't."

Seemingly wishing to discard the advice, Tyrion thought better. "Alright…" They were silent for a moment, sipping their wine. "The capitol seems to agree with you."

She laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Seems everywhere I go, they make it obvious that I'm not in favor of the King."

"That's more father's issue. I guess now you can believe me and Jaime, instead of pining over the Prince."

Tyrion always had the ability to stab right to the heart of the matter. "Well, you don't have to worry. I've long accepted it."

That drew a raised eyebrow. "I'm honestly shocked. No commissioning some blood maege to curse both the Starks and the Martells?" Cersei groaned, but unable to counter - that did sound like something she would have done. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you found someone else to fancy…" He suddenly quieted.

"Don't… don't be ridiculous." Ever Cersei didn't believe she sounded convincing.

Almost choking on the wine, Tyrion stared at her with wide eyes. "Wait, you do fancy someone?! Oh… this is just perfect." He was grinning ear to ear, making Cersei want to punch him. "What lucky man has the Light of the West pining after him…"

The conversation was cut off when Cersei splashed him with her wine. "If you want to see Jaime, you'll need to get dressed." With that, she walked out.

Watching his sister leave, Tyrion shook his head. "Good luck, you poor, dumb bastard. Whomever you are." He raised the goblet sardonically. "You have your work cut out for you."

---

Ser Barristan Selmy had lived a long and interesting life as a knight of the Realm. Unhorsed Duncan the Tall in the King's Tourney. Slaying Maelys Blackfyre in single combat. Serving as a Kingsguard for decades. All such violence... and yet it was this that truly made him squeamish. "Shall I try and find the Lady Dacey, my Lady?"

"No need to bother her, Ser Barristan," Lyanna called out from the closet. "I have the two of you to help me."

While the giggling Princess Rhaenys was over the moon, Barristan fought a groan. Eying the many dresses, scarfs, and cloaks that were laid out on the bed as if they were rotten corpses. They call me Barristan the Bold, and here I am having to judge dresses. If it wasn't for it being the beloved Lady Lyanna, the knight would have considered just walking out.

Lyanna breezed out, lavender purple riding gown form-fitting above her waist but with a loose, puffy bodice. "Well?"

"You pretty, muna!" Rhaenys chirped. "Dwess match kepa eyes! Isn't that wight, Bally?" She held up a dark grey tabby cat aptly named Balerion, cuddling it close. Lyanna watched with affection. She and Rhaenys were inseparable since Lyanna's arrival.

"Oh, my little sweetling." Lyanna lifted the Princess and blew raspberries on her stomach, causing her to laugh. Such happiness was treasure in the court of Aerys II Targaryen. "And you, Ser Barristan?"

Barristan's smile fell. "Um… You do look… my Lady…" At that moment - timed so perfectly as if he could hug her - Princess Elia Martell walked into the room. Behind her was Ser Jonothor Derry, not one of his most beloved people. "Your Grace."

She nodded at him, but her attention was fixed on Lyanna. "Sister, where is Aegon?"

Setting Rhaenys down, Lyanna gestured towards the nursery. "Changed his swaddling clothes and put him down for his nap." Since she had arrived and… bonded so well with the Princess and infant Prince, Lyanna had split childcare duties with Elia, both of them dedicated to a rather… hands on policy towards raising babes. It had actually been the Dornish Princess' idea, one that was causing both ladies to bond as well.

Relief was seen on Elia's face - a genuine gratitude. "Gods, thank you." Her worst fears about the northerner were thankfully absent. Lyanna rapidly becoming her closest friend, the sister she never had… one who was about to make a massive fashion mistake... "That dress doesn't work." The Dornish Princess clicked her tongue in disagreement.

"Muna pwetty, muna." While it could tongue-tie most, Rhaenys understood her toddler speak.

Elia ruffled her hair. "Of course she is, my darling." Rhaenys wasn't lying - Lyanna was striking. A perfect balance of wild beauty and elegance. Had Elia been like Ellaria… The Princess turned her back and raced to the bed, hoping to hide her blush. "Dearest sister-wife, that dress is perfect but not without Rhaegar beside you, complimenting his Valyrian eyes."

Sighing, Lyanna placed a hand on her hip. "Well, what should I wear?"

Rifling through the gathered garments, something caught Elia's eye. "Here!" Grey fabric, styled with white trim and ice-blue stripes. "Same color as that of the winter roses of your crown… and of the North."

"Oooooh." Rhaenys jumped up and down, yanking Lyanna by her skirts towards her mother. "Muna, wear pwetty dress."

"Seems the Dornish approve," the she-wolf smirked. "Ser Barristan?"

Damn… He thought he was out of it. "Um… I defer to Princess Elia's expertise."

Lyanna snorted. "Quick save." Eyeing the well stitched fabric once more, she nodded. "I like it… wait, his Grace?" Her expression had changed from joyful to worried… scared even. Practically trembling of another run in with King Aerys.

The Dornish Princess wanted to shove a dagger into the King's back for cowing the fierce Lyanna Stark. Words planned with Rhaegar the moment he returned. "He's locked in his own chambers, mulling over… something or other."

"Good…" The smile returned. "Mind helping me out, sister?"

Elia furrowed her brows. "Isn't Lady Mormont here?"

"Usually she would help me, but she's been spending plenty of time these days in Ellaria's chambers and chattering over gods' knows what." Lyanna shrugged, not knowing what to think.

The Dornish Princess had some thoughts about what Ellaria could be doing... Eyes flickering to Lyanna holding the dress, and then to the silk screen that separated the changing area from the rest of the northerner's chambers, that caused the same thoughts of what she could be doing... Stop it, you're not Oberyn.

Luckily, as she had saved Barristan, Rhaenys saved her. "I's 'elp, muna."

"Well how can I say no to that offer?" With Rhaenys beaming - something that melted both their hearts, smile exactly like her father's - they ducked behind the screen. "Sister, do you know why I'm getting dressed in riding clothes?"

"Um… to go riding, I believe?" Sometimes it was unavoidable to pick up Ellaria's snark.

"Very funny." Lyanna rolled her eyes. "When Rhaegar gets back from Dragonstone…" Gods, I miss him. Even a day without his embrace was too much to bear. "I'm having my first Small Council meeting. I've been preparing with you and Lord Arryn every day for it."

Elia shrugged. "You shouldn't have to worry," she said in her alluring Dornish accent. "Mostly just the councillors squabbling over this and that, plus Mace Tyrell talks about how his sons or daughter would make wonderful spouses to the Targaryens… all very mundane."

"Mundane is how things are done in Westeros, sister." As Rhaenys helped her step out of the dress she was in, Lyanna felt no compunction speaking in front of the Kingsguards. She trusted Ser Barristan with her life, the old knight rapidly becoming a friend. Gods, she often teased Rhaegar with the secrets he told her. "And I've realized one reason why we aren't respected, being women."

"The fact that most of the councilors are either lovers of men or old fools married to demure shrews might have something to do with it."

Lyanna laughed. "Yes, but also that we merely give advice. None of us do anything, supervise something. Take on a project." She kissed Rhaenys on the forehead when the little girl assisted in tying the laces. "Queen Visenya ran the capitol. Alysanne went on royal progresses. My own mother personally handled winter preperations. That's what we need to do, and why I'm going into the city." Gently puffing up her hair, the outfit was completed. I look good. "And why you're coming with me."

It took a moment to register. "What?"

"You heard me, Elia." Breezing out, Lyanna did look like a northern princess. Utterly stunning - Elia understood quite well how Rhaegar would fall for this beauty, a little too well. "Trust me, it will work. My father has already arranged for us to meet with the City Watch, the main merchant guilds, and at the Sept of Baelor… plus why shouldn't the smallfolk meet their future Queens?"

While normally highborns and smallfolk could mingle in the Water Gardens, Elia's frail condition had precluded such. Learned and smart, such kept her largely secluded and nonworldly. Naturally, she was a bit nervous. "I… what if…" Lyanna's hypnotic grey eyes were very convincing. "Ser Barristan, your thoughts?"

Clearing his throat at his name, Barristand the Bold nodded. "Aye, I do think that is a good idea. Your counsel is valued by his Grace, and anything you can do to ease the burden upon him would be most appreciated… but a word of advice." He was sworn not to tell, even the Prince's loves, but it gave him insight. "Talk to the smallfolk, hear their concerns."

Lyanna beamed. "Of course." She turned to Elia. "You in?"

What else could she say. "Count on it." Lyanna's smile grew wider and she kissed her sister-wife on the cheek. The lips tingled as they left Elia's skin.

---

With a loud scrape, the whetstone almost sparked as it traveled across the edge of the castle-forged steel. Sharpening the blade to a proper level for combat… a proper knight takes care of his weapons, and they take care of him. Seated upon the bench at the edge of the gardens, Arthur Dayne reflected on the words from Prince Lewyn when the Sword of the Morning was but a squire - rhythmically sharpening his sword, such words had served him well over the years.

It was a lovely winter's day, spring almost on the horizon by the vagaries in the winds. Arthur enjoyed the moment to himself. Serene and quiet, even with his friend and charge on Dragonstone he appreciated the boredom. For a combat veteran, boredom was something to be greatly appreciated…

"Well, hello there Ser Arthur," came a sultry voice to his left. Calling for his attention.

Absentmindedly looking over his shoulder… Arthur quickly turned around. Blood rushing from his head to his groin. A kingsguard took his vows seriously… but no vows or training could prepare him for what he saw.

There was Dacey Mormont. Arthur had seen her constantly since the Tourney, admiring her wild beauty from afar with the appreciation only a chivalrous man could give an attractive woman. Now though, Dacey's slender form was sheathed in a skin-tight silk dress. Forest green and of a Dornish cut. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, something that made him shudder with desire.

This must be the goddess of love and beauty…

Trying to hide her trembling form, Dacey bit her lip. Confident lady of Bear Island suddenly subsumed with the lovestruck maiden that Arthur seemed to draw out of her. She fought to keep her cool "Mind if I sit here?" she asked.

All arthur could do is stare at the goddess slacked jawed, unable to speak.

Such a reaction boosted Dacey's confidence. "May I sit here?" she asked a bit louder.

Still speechless, all Arthur could do was motion for the lady of the North to sit with him. Hand absentmindedly brushing against his shoulder, he could feel a tingle spread.

Dacey felt a spark from her hand when it touched his shoulder. She looked around, trying to find anything to break the silence. Her eyes settled on the sword. "So... is that the famous Dawn?"

He was shaken out of his fog - a question the knight could actually answer. "No, castle-forged. House Dayne is not House Lannister, my Lady. We can't afford two special swords." Arthur chuckled, trying to compose himself. "Dawn is actually in my chambers." She pouted at that, which he found to be the most attractive thing. Gods, who is this temptress?

"Sorry to hear that." She sighed, stretching... pushing out her bust. Dacey found it all pretty obvious, but immediately could tell a life as a chaste knight had left Arthur was clueless with women. It worked like a charm, boosting her confidence. "I wished I could have seen you sparring that other day."

Arthur managed a smile. "Well, you can watch me practice and spar anytime you desire, Lady Dacey."

The way he said her name so… reverently, it nearly made Dacey swoon. "I would very much like that, Ser Arthur." Smiling, she stood. "I best bid farewell for now. The Lady Lyanna has a large household to manage. Till later." Emboldened, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. Walking away.

Hand reaching up to touch his cheek, Arthur released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Gods… what a woman.

Turning a corner through the gardens, and then another corner, and then another and another, Dacey suddenly collapsed against an imported Dornish palm. Eyes closed and a hand to her chest, calming her racing heart. Oh gods… I kissed Ser Arthur... Lips still tingling, she could feel her smallclothes drenched from just being near the breathtaking Dornish Knight.

"Well, well." Dacey looked up to see Ellaria standing there, smirk on her face. "Aside from this pathetic display, I could have sworn you were some kind of seductress. Imagine what would have happened had you played a random guardsman…"

"Shut it." Dacey smacked the Dornishwoman's hip. Pulling her hair out of the ponytail. "I can't believe I didn't lose it out there."

Chuckling, Ellaria took a seat beside her. Leaning back against the palm. "Don't feel bad about it… truthfully, it's clear that you're besotted with Ser Arthur." She sighed. "Love is beauty, to be treasured at all costs."

Dacey smirked at her new friend. "This is someone that took two washerwomen to bed just yesterday."

"I said I treasure love, not fuddy-duddy social constraints imposed by some old man in a septon's robes… or by some arbitrary oath of knighthood." Wrapping an arm around Dacey's shoulder, Ellaria pulled her into a friendly hug. "We've got his attention, and confirmed him besotted. Now…" She pulled back with a wicked grin. "Now it's time to make you so irresistible he won't be able to resist, vows or not."

Just the prospect of having the handsome Sword of the Morning in her bed, never to let her go, drove Dacey to utter lust and longing. "What do I have to do?" Grinning, Ellaria pulled her up and led her back into Maegor's Holdfast.

---

The Grand avenue of King's Landing was flooded with people. Men, women, and children alike raced to the fringes of the cobblestone streets, the balconies of homes and shops overlooking it. "Looks like news of the tourney spread quickly… and far." Lyanna waved at the crowd, many of the subjects of House Targaryen heaping upon them praise and adoration. Flowers fell upon the street to be crushed underfoot by their horses - Winter preened at the attention - or the guards of both House Stark and House Targaryen.

"They love you, Lyanna," said Elia. Initially reserved as she journeyed out of the Red Keep for once, the complete friendliness of the crowd were drawing her out of her shell. "A love story born during a mighty tourney."

Headed for the Great Sept of Baelor, the reluctance of the septons and Most Devout to support the polygamorous union didn't seem to extend to the populace. "Seven bless the Princesses!" a rather loud man shouted.

"Grace to the Mother and Maiden for you!"

"Gods save the Princess Elia!"

A smirk cast upon Lyanna's lips as she looked to her side at the now blushing Princess. "Seems they love both of us."

Elia felt a bit modest, and surprised. "I had no idea… my father and brother always kept me secluded for fear of my health."

"Your health will improve with a more active lifestyle, Elia, I promise. And I told you every ruler should keep connection with their subjects." Elia smiled back - given the circumstances, the gods were certainly kind upon the two Princesses. Married to the same man, but on the way to being the best of friends.

Out of the crowd raced a small child, no older than three or four by the looks of him. The child's approach was so sudden, Winter suddenly stopped. Snorting and shaking her neck, shoed feet stomping on the cobblestones. "Whoa, whoa…" Lyanna pulled back on the reins, guiding the normally gentle mare to a gradual halt.

"Your Grace, your Grace!" the boy jumped up and down. He had thin, brown hair in wild cowlicks that made him look absolutely precious.

"Dale! I told you not to run off." The boy's father scooped the child in his arms, tall with closely matted dark hair.

"I have a gift for the Princesses!" the boy… Dale piped just as the guards approached. Weapons drawn.

Ser Jonothor was in front, frown on his face while Barristan held back. "State your business, peasant." He began to draw his own blade, the man's turquoise eyes widening as he clutched the boy tightly.

"Put it away, Ser Jonothor." Scowling, he complied. Boots plopping atop the cobblestones, Lyanna walked towards the man and child. Stark colors and simple style framing her wild beauty as a halo, Lyanna Stark held the same aura as any Targaryen. "Greetings," she said to the man with a genuine smile. "I am Lyanna of House Stark."

Initially dumbfounded, the man set his child down and fell to his knees. "Your Grace… Davos Seaworth… of Flea Bottom at your service."

Having dismounted as well, Elia shared a look with her future sister-wife. Both finding his polite fealty quite charming. "You may rise, Davos Seaworth," Elia said in her exotic accent. "And who might this adorable child be?" The boy perked up as attention finally drew his way.

Back on his feet, a relieved smile formed on Davos' face. "This little scamp." He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Is my eldest son, Dale. My wife has another at home, and we're expecting a third." From his adoring tone, it was clear he loved his family.

Smiling, Lyanna crouched on her one knee, coming face to face with Dale. "Well greetings, Dale. Where do you live?"

"Flea Bottom, your Grace," he said shyly, in awe of Lyanna's beauty. "Are you really from the North?"

Oh, this boy is precious. Beaming, Lyanna pointed to the direwolf pin on her dress. "See this? This direwolf is the sigil of House Stark. My blood used to be Kings in the North, but now we serve House Targaryen." Dale looked in complete awe. "And you said you had a gift for Princess Elia and myself?"

He nodded vigorously. Out of a threadbare pouch he pulled out a winter rose. Blue petals glistening in the sun. "Flower from the north for the Princess."

Lyanna took the Rose in hand, shocked at how perfect it was. "Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek and gently placing the flower in her hair. It matched her beauty. "I will treasure this always." The crown from the tourney was pressed and preserved, and so would this - one did not throw away such good luck.

Face having lit up, Dale hurried towards the still standing Elia. "For you, Princess." He handed her a bright red flower. "Dornish Apple."

Gasping, Elia knew it had to be a coincidence, but Dornish Apple was her most favorite flower. "You are the sweetest little thing," she cooed, leaning down to kiss his forehead while affixing it to her hair like Lyanna. Both Princesses looked absolutely radiant. "Where did you get these, my dear?"

Floating among the clouds after the two Royal beauties kissed him, Dale suddenly turned guarded. "Umm… I found them." He averted his eyes with guilt.

With Lyanna and Elia exchanging looks, Davos put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Dale… tell the truth," he said sternly.

Hanging his head, the little boy couldn't meet the gaze of the Princesses. "Malgren's flower stand." A tear fell down his cheek… "Sorry, your Graces, but Papa just bought a house with more than one room and we have no coin..." He trembled in fear…

Looking up at Davos, the man shrugged - embarrassed. "I'm a… sailor, your Grace. 'Ave a ship… times are hard."

"Don't cut mi' hand off, your Grace," Dale cried. "Just wanted to 'ive you the flowers…"

Unable for her heart not to clench, Lyanna hugged the boy to her. "Don't worry, Dale. You're not in trouble." She looked back at Elia, who nodded.

Stepping to her horse, Ser Jonothor interjected. "Your Grace, we shouldn't keep the schedule delayed…"

"It's fine, Ser Jonothor," the Dornish Princess waved off. "Where's my coinpurse?"

The Knight hesitated - Aerys was known for his stingy ways, barely spending the treasury on anything. "His Grace wouldn't take kindly to his gooddaughter spending coin on rabble…"

A glare came from Elia. "My coinpurse, Ser Jonothor."

"Here, your Grace." It was Barristan who complied, smiling softly. He kept it ready, having a feeling that the Princesses would act just like the Crown Prince on these jaunts.

Nodding at Barristan, Elia picked out two coins, handing one to Lyanna - who leaned before Dale with a smile. "Little one, here you go." She tucked a copper star into the boy's hand, who stared at her with wide eyes. "Sneak this on the florist's stand while he's not looking." She winked, causing Dale to giggle.

Elia pressed a silver stag to Davos. "Buy him a play-sword. He has the makings of a powerful knight."

Completely dumbfounded at their kindness, Davos bowed. "Your Graces honor me with such generosity… I shall not forget it."

Releasing Dale from her hug, watching the boy race to hug Elia with relish, Lyanna turned to Davos with a radiant laugh. "We're looking for someplace in the city that could use aid from the crown. Care to point us in the right direction?"

Davos pursed his lips. "My dear wife manages the orphanage… it has been overcrowded and undersupplied since the Blackfyre Rebellions started."

Imagining poor orphan children being neglected broke Lyanna's heart. "Then that is where we'll go." She remounted her horse. "Thank you Davos Seaworth, I shan't forget your kindness."

As they rode off with their guards, Davos hoisted his son atop his shoulders. "Will we see them again, poppa?" asked Dale.

The smuggler chuckled. "Stranger things have happened in mi'life, my boy."

---

"We can't say enough how pleasantly surprised that you've arrived here, your Grace."

Walking alongside the matron of the orphanage, Lyanna couldn't help but shake her head. Lips curled in a small smile. "I am merely a Lady of the North at this point, my Lady. I won't be a Princess till my wedding day." A day only weeks from now. It felt so surreal for Lyanna… a complete joy that still didn't seem real.

The matron waved her off. "Oh please, the way the children reacted to you and Princess Elia… you're a princess to them." If Davos and Dale were a pleasant surprise, Marya Seaworth was all of that and more. The daughter of a carpenter, she nevertheless was quite intelligent and well-mannered. A kindly smile and warm demeanor proving she was perfect for this profession. "I'm only glad you came when you did…"

"Another! Another!"

Both ladies' eyes were drawn to the cluster of children seated in the common room of the orphanage, all gathered in awe around a single chair in the middle. Seated upon it, legs crossed underneath her gold and orange dress of a conservative Dornish style - apparently there were such styles - Elia looked out affectionately among the children. "I'm sorry, lovelies," she said in her native lilt. "But I will have to go."

A chorus of sad groans and pleas left the children, all of different ages and even homelands. Most were Andal, but the cosmopolitan nature of King's Landing attracted denizens from the North, Dorne, the Free Cities - even some as far away as the Summer Isles. "But we want to hear more about Princess Nymeria!" begged a boy.

"Did she really cross the Narrow Sea?" another child asked, this one a tiny wisp of a girl, scrawny but with the piercing violet eyes of Lys.

Much as with Rhaenys', those eyes were trouble for Elia. She couldn't say no to them. "Alright, I'll finish where I was. About why Nymeria led the Rhoynish people from Essos to Dorne."

Perching herself on the entranceway, Lyanna couldn't help but listen in. Smiling at the happy, excited expression that Elia wore. Rhaegar will be delighted. She looked like there was life in her eyes for the first time the northerner had seen her, a true sense of purpose. Pure, unadulterated beauty… She blinked. Normally it was only Rhaegar that made her dazed that way.

Elia's words knocked Lyanna out of her strange reverie. "The great Princess Nymeria ruled the land of Ny Sar, the last great domain of the Rhoynish people… but they were under threat."

"No," the Lysene girl breathed.

"Was it the Ironborn?" another asked.

"Shut it, silly," said a rather martial boy. "It was the Dothraki scum!"

A chuckle left the Princess' lips. "No, my darlings, it was the dragons of Valyria." Over two dozen dumbfounded stares found her. "The Valyrians went to war to expand their domain, targeting Nymeria. She and her people fought bravely, but in the end were no match for the wroth of the dragonlords."

"Is that when the ten thousand ships sailed?"

Leaning down, Elia ruffled the girl's silver hair. "You are much too smart for your age, little one." She grinned at the attention. "And across the sea they went, finding refuge in Dorne where House Martell gave her a home and a husband… I wouldn't be sitting here today if Princess Nymeria didn't sail the Narrow Sea for Dorne."

An inquisitive child didn't let it go there. "But if the dragons made them leave… why are you married to the Prince?"

Eyes finding Lyanna, Elia recovered quickly. "There was war between them for centuries, but then Good King Daeron made peace. Marrying our houses together, saving thousands that could have died in war. Prince Rhaegar and I… we made sure that the peace would last."

A swarthy child, clearly of Dornish blood, raced to hug the Princess. "Thank you… you hero." Surprised for a moment, Elia quickly returned the hug… which soon turned frenzied as all the other children sought to get their fill of the future Queen. Both Lyanna and Marya erupted in merry laughter. There was nothing but happiness in this moment.

But once attention shifted to the state of the orphanage, such happiness turned sour. "Those children are living in filth," Elia hissed to Marya as soon as she disentangled herself from the group embrace. Both she and Lyanna had regaled them with tales of their homelands - spending double the time here than at the Great Sept or the City Watch barracks.

Marya sighed. "I know it's not ideal…"

"Not ideal? The building is barely functioning." Lyanna had seen ruins abandoned in wintertime that were in better condition. "Cracks in the walls, mortar falling apart… there are barely any logs for the hearths." The draft was intense… if it bothered her then gods only knew what the children were enduring. "Shouldn't the crown support the orphanage?"

"Aegon the unlikely did during his reign," Elia added.

"I remember that… my husband was just a child at the time, living here. That's where we met." When Davos spoke of her, it was with adoration - Marya looked the same when speaking of him. "But priorities change. Only funding we ever get is from a Northern bard." Behind, no one saw Barristan tense slightly. "He sings in the streets and gives us the proceeds."

At least someone cares. "That bard sounds like a real angel," Elia remarked.

"That's northerners for you," smiled Lyanna. "Tough, but we care." There were some exceptions, and not all named Bolton. "Where in seven hells would the coin go instead of here?"

Shrugging, Marya could only offer what she had heard about. "The Faith needs to be bribed, so the Sept is plated with gold leaf. The City Watch needs to be loyal, so they get an extra purse of silver stags to spend on wine and whores. The merchants have clout, so the wharves are doubled in size. Who is going to care about the orphans? At least, who that matters?" On Marya Seaworth, Lyanna could see the same look on smallfolk everywhere. One of futility, that any highborn would every pay them attention except to rob them blind or satiate his carnal desires.

Sharing a stare with Elia, it seemed that the Princesses had found their purpose for the Realm.

Notes:

Lyanna and Elia are setting up their tenure as Rhaegar's powerful Queens, and we got to meet young Davos and his family. More to come with them :D

So Tywin, Tyrion, and Gerion make their appearances. In this story the Maggie the Frog thing went far differently, so Melara lives. Hope y'all liked Tyrion and Cersei's relationship.

Poor Barristan. Reduced to a department store attendant XD

Next up, Oberyn makes his KL debut.

Chapter 19: Red Viper

Notes:

Red Viper arrives, and Rhaegar and Elia make moves towards a proper marriage.

If you guys like Jon in Essos stories, check out A Jade Dragon by bykim0120. Awesome new fic!

Enjoy and please comment :D

Knife slicing through the soft flesh, Rhaegar smeared the piece of fish in goat's cheese and brought it to his mouth. "Mmm… delicious catch today."

Across from him in their private dining quarters, Elia nodded. "The fishermen wouldn't dare offend his Grace with subpar food." Too many… cautionary tales for them not to learn such lessons. "Where is Lyanna? Shouldn't she be here?"

"She wanted to be." Since falling into a rhythm with their marriage, Elia and Rhaegar had broken their fast together. Alone and unfiltered with each other. Such was the trust and respect between them. "But Egg has the winds and she's watching him over."

Elia smiled at the thought. "She loves our children."

"That she does." It was… almost fate, he thought. "Your brother shouldn't worry about her seeking to displace them from their birthright."

"He won't. Doran rivals Lord Tywin in protecting the family legacy." He may have a slight point… if not about her, then about the Starks… Elia shook away the ridiculous thoughts. "I think you should worry about our family, husband."

Rhaegar blinked, confused. "What do you… ah." He lowered his head, both feeling a knife stabbing through his chest and the dragonblood boil in his veins. "My father…" When his mother told him of what happened to Lyanna… as a proper husband, all anger left him as he went to her, pulling his beloved into a hug. "He's doing it again."

"The difference being Lyanna has a proper support system. A family that cares for her, a love match that was allowed to blossom." She took a deep breath. "We need to protect her, Rhaegar, now that we are able to…" Unlike with me. Elia didn't blame Rhaegar, and wouldn't broach the subject. If we look back, we are lost… An old Dornish proverb. "She is someone worth protecting… I'm happy she's here, Rhaegar. A breath of fresh air that we all need."

A smile crossed his face, thinking of his Lyanna. "She does make me happy." His mother had said he smiled more in the last moonturn than the entirety of his maturity prior.

Pang in her heart, Elia's voice dropped to a murmur. "Unlike me…" It was unbidden, but seeing Rhaegar so affectionate with the northern beauty stirred the dormant longing.

Rhaegar heard the soft words nonetheless. "What?" Seeing her withdraw into herself, he pressed it. "Tell me, Elia."

She sighed. "I'm glad she gives you the joy I could never give you."

"That's not true." It hurt Rhaegar for her to say that… knowing it had merit, though having nothing to do with her. "You've given me the greatest joys of my life."

"Leave our children out of it," she snapped, in spite of herself. Inhaling deeply, the Dornish Princess calmed herself. "I haven't alone brought you joy, Rhaegar. Our situation wasn't ideal and we got past that but… seeing you with her…" A tear fell from her eye in spite of herself. "Don't change your love for her, but why couldn't we ever…" She trailed off, hating herself for exposing he vulnerability yet again.

Wordlessly standing, he walked to his wife's side. Pulling her quiet yet surprised form up. Brushing away the tears with his thumb - staring at the beautiful olive-tanned face and dark eyes. Rhaegar remembered the moment in their bed, the peace they found in each other's arms.

Love… it is of itself its own duty.

The kiss shocked Elia initially, but she quickly succumbed to her feelings. Finally allowed to be free.

Arrived to inform them of the small council meeting, and show off the giggling Prince Aegon, Lyanna gently backed out at seeing the lover's embrace. "Well, little one," she whispered to the baby. "Looks like our family is whole after all." She was all smiles as she walked down the hallway.

---

"This is unexpected," Lucerys Velaryon whispered, leaning over in his chair.

Flat expression on his lips, Jon Connington eyed the other members gathered in the Small Council chambers… cautiously. "A royal decree is a royal decree." He scratched the flame red hair framing the handsome face.

"But to call Lord Redwyne as well as myself?" The Master of Ships had finally returned from Braavos, the young Paxter Redwyne having handled matters in his absence. "In all my years serving his Grace, he never called a meeting of all of us."

"That's why I figured there was something important on the agenda… major reforms." His gaze settled on Rickard Stark, the Lord conversing with Lady Lyanna. Eyes narrowing. "Besides, his Grace doesn't involve himself in mundane issues of ruling. Rhaegar called this, and for the life of me the only thing I am sure of is that it involves our northern comrades."

Velaryon, loyal to King Aerys since the day he had been crowned, looked at him incredulously. "You mean the Prince didn't tell you the agenda?"

Connington grimaced, but shrugged. Happened more and more lately. His closest friend was being bewitched by the northerners, he knew it. "Can't be helped, but I am still Hand."

"For now." The Lord of Griffin's Roost had little response to that. Especially as the alpha wolf began chuckling at some japing story the future Princess waylaid to him. Gods, first Elia and now Lyanna.

Once the doors opened, the small council stood. Connington looked forward to drowning his sorrows in his work - and yet, this wouldn't spare the pain. In strode the Crown Prince, the Princess Elia holding his arm. Her smile was one that could illuminate a moonless night as she relaid some story, while Rhaegar's laugh covered his face in a carefree joy Connington had never once seen. One that made him more attractive than ever… When did they patch up?

Leaving a sweet kiss on his lips - as if all their problems had evaporated - Elia moved to a seat directly beside her sister-wife as Rhaegar moved to Lyanna. "Dearest betrothed," he said just as affectionately.

His words caused a flutter in Lyanna's chest. "My Prince." Her sultry whisper was followed with a kiss of passion. Sparks shot out that rendered her breathless. Taking her seat as the others did, she glanced at Elia with a huge smile… one the Princess returned. One happy family.

One that felt to Connington like a shard of ice to the heart.

"Alright," Rhaegar remarked as he took a seat at the head of the table. "Shall we begin?"

"Your Grace," coughed the sputtering Pycelle. For those veteran to court, it was as if the Grand Maester was born a tired, perverted old man. "I must protest the inclusion of these…" He motioned to both Elia and Lyanna.

Brandon Stark, having accompanied his father, slammed his palms against the table. "Watch what you say about my sister."

"Brother," Rhaegar lifted a hand, causing the hotheaded Stark to draw back with a glower. "These… what, Grand Maester?" His anger was cooler, but no less powerful.

"You know your father has prohibited women from sitting on these councils."

"My father has entrusted me from these meetings, and I want my wife and future wife to sit in… so I suggest you shut it." Aside from further sputtering, the Maester complied. Both women looked upon their husband with awe, affection… and just the hint of lust. The blood of the dragon had its allure.

"Anyway, my Lord goodfather requested this session of the Small Council to detail a proposal of his regarding the system of justice." And there it is. Connington leaned forward, eyes on Rickard and ears perked. He had a feeling he wouldn't want to miss anything.

Clearing his throat, Rickard nodded. "Aye, but first I'd like to mention word I received from Lord Commander Qorgyle at Castle Black." Being the Wardens of the North, House Stark usually had the best relations with the Night's Watch. "Seems the wildlings are banding together."

"Pish," Connington said dismissively. "Wildlings never form together. They're barbarians."

"They're First Men, blood the same as I… only purer."

A chuckle. "My point exactly, Stark." There was a terse silence.

While Lyanna didn't take kindly to Connington's statement, she clearly wished to move on for her beloved's sake. "The histories tell of Wildlings banding together during times of great danger or sorrow… who are they following?"

"A Watch deserter, one Mance Rayder. Apparently Qorgyle found the Frostfangs and the Burned Men have already pledged to his banner, so to speak."

Rhaegar nodded. "Mace, did your forces take down that massive bandit brotherhood?"

Lord Tyrell blinked. "Yes, your Grace. Fifty prisoners set to hang."

"Take them and two granaries of wheat and ship them to Eastwatch. I'll empty the cells here and throw in five hundred swords and spears for the Watch."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Rickard replied. Beaming, Lyanna caressed his knee in thanks. You'll be a wise, just King my love. "On something closer to home, I have completed my review of the current system of the King's Justice and found it incredibly lacking."

Ah, that's what this is about… "I'm not sure what Lord Stark has found lacking. All major crimes are adjudicated through three judges handpicked by myself. They are fair and efficient." Since Lord Mooton's senility and death, the King's Justice rested on his shoulders.

"The concern I have is related to consistency, not integrity. Various decisions by the judges do not match either rulings in previous cases before the King's Justice, but also fly in the face of local customs of the Seven Kingdoms. I believe we must develop a uniform body of law to dispense with the King's Justice, rooted in both precedent and local custom."

"Such is impossible. The records alone would be impossible to maintain." The Starks will not take away my authority here.

But Rickard knew his background. "Archmaester Ebrose and an Acolyte of his by the name of Qyburn have created a system of paper and parchment making that render each far cheaper to produce. We can prepare the proper records, your Grace."

"I agree," Rhaegar said. "You may go about your changes, but slowly. I do not want a disruption in the King's Justice."

Connington couldn't believe what he was hearing. "My Prince, I argue against making such changes to tradition. In the chaotic atmosphere of the current times…"

"Chaotic atmosphere?" Rhaegar's violet eyes darkened. "Watch yourself, Lord Jon. I would think the Dornish would approve of more consideration for their local customs." Piping down, Connington realized he had lost this fight.

"My Lords," said Lyanna, interjecting. "There is a particular matter I wish to discuss."

"Go on, my Lady," Rhaegar replied, rather quickly after Lyanna spoke.

Smiling at him, Lyanna looked at Elia who nodded. United front? "Princess Elia and I have made trips into the city under our official banner. Making a tour of the various institutions owned by the Crown and the Faith…"

"That is a breach of protocol," stated Lord Merrywether. "No Queen should debase themselves by meeting with dirty smallfolk."

"This journey among our people was necessary, my Lord," said Elia, voice biting. "If we hadn't done so, then the sorry state of our city's infrastructure would have continued to be ignored."

Lyanna nodded. "The Crown orphanage is dilapidated and relying on private alms to merely keep its wards fed and warm. And as you can smell, our city is filthy. There is little fresh water other than a smattering of wells."

"All cities suffer from such," Connington pointed out. Lannisport had the same noxious smell - though far from the level of King's Landing.

"White Harbor does not, largely due to the competent administration of Houses Manderly and Stark." Lyanna crossed her arms. "As such, I propose we seek coin from the treasury in order to not only conduct proper upkeep, but to also construct several aqueducts to bring in fresh water from the Kingswood and Storm Mountains."

Mace Tyrell looked at the two Princesses with his ruddy eyes, seeing their seriousness. "We don't have coin for such expenditures."

Elia narrowed her own eyes. "There's plenty of bullion in gold and silver - the crown mint hasn't issued new coin in a decade… the forges and molds can be fired up once more, Lord Tyrell."

As the Princess and soon to be Princess continued prattling with Mace Tyrell, Connington's gaze shifted to Rhaegar. His best friend, childhood companion, training strenuously in the yard and hunting in the Kingswood together. The most beautiful man I've ever seen… In all honesty, the Hand of the King knew from the moment he laid eyes on the Crown Prince what his feelings were. Unrequited, but no less strong.

When he was simply brooding and quiet - even after the marriage to Elia - Connington could imagine even a secret fulfillment of his deepest desires. But now, Rhaegar stared at his betrothed with the same adoration that Connington saved for him. And even worse still, his gaze at his current wife had a hint of deep affection, more than the Hand had ever seen before. It felt like a knife to the heart.

But his eyes then fell on Lord Stark. Even as his daughter spoke, roping in even Pycelle into the discussion, the Lord of Winterfell only had eyes for Connington. Grey steel hard with… contempt. And Connington's blues only stared back, just as hard.

The entire meeting found itself interrupted as Captain Alliser Thorne of the Household Guard - a tough if enthusiastic professional soldier - entered the chambers. "Forgive me, my Lords, my Prince, Princesses." He bowed at Rhaegar and both ladies. "Prince Oberyn Martell is at the gates."

Face falling, Rhaegar looked at Elia. The Dornishwoman was equally guarded and worried. "Is he among them?"

Thorne shook his head. "No. A rather foul-mouthed bastard girl told me to… um… 'milk a snake's tit' when I demanded his whereabouts."

Rickard Stark hid a smirk, Lyanna giggling softly, while Brandon Stark didn't even bother to hide his amusement. Barbarians. The Crown Prince and Princess kept their composure. "Well, if I know my goodbrother, I know exactly where he'll be." Rhaegar sighed. "Thorne, prepare my horse."

"No." Violet eyes found Elia. "It's best if I do this alone."

"Anything problematic?" Lyanna asked.

Elia gave her a small smile. "Nothing I can't handle, but my brother… can surprise." Understatement of the week.

---

Cowl draped over her dark locks, Princess Elia wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of perfume that filled the air. It practically seeped through her skin. "I don't like this, Princess," Ser Oswell said under his breath. As with her dark orange cloak and cowl, he wore the simple armor of a hedge knight. Blending into the crowds, while three gold dragons bought the silence of the proprietor. "Must we meet him here?"

"Red walls have ears, Ser Oswell," she whispered back, halting as a bare-chested whore passed them. Eyes undressing both newcomers with thinly-veiled lust. Yes, his favorite type of place. "Better to get this out of the way…" More lustful stares, though it would definitely have been greater had they known she was the Crown Princess. Best that they avoid the same crowds as before.

Oswell nodded. "Good point, your Grace."

While the main sanctum where the girls put themselves on display for the highborn clients, the innards of the brothel was far less garish. Ser Oswell wordlessly stood guard at the door while Elia entered. Immediately hearing female moans. She smirked. Never change, brother.

Resting atop a large, circular bed were three nubile figures. Two engaged in a torrid embrace, while an equally nude whore flashed goo-goo eyes at a yet unseen entity. "Come back to bed, my Prince."

A throaty laugh responded, one Elia recognized instantly even after all these years. "I have a pressing engagement at the Red Keep, my lovelies. But I'll be back. Court… tends to be boring."

"I resent that," Elia finally made herself known, stepping into the well of the large room. Finding the - thankfully clothed - form of her beloved brother. "The Red Keep includes me, and I thought my brother found my company delightful."

The nude whores scrambled to fall on their knees, while Oberyn's eyes lit up with happiness. "You're dismissed," he said flatly. "Go." Picking up their clothes, skimpy that they were, soon the two of them were alone. "Elia…" Lighter-skinned than most salty Dornish - a trait he shared with Elia, while Doran was a shade swarthier - Oberyn's accent was a heavy lilt. "Couldn't even wait to see me, could you."

Crossing her arms, Elia looked him over. "Why am I not surprised to see you here, baby brother?"

"Ah," he leveled a finger at her, chuckling. "I am older than you by two years." He was clad in loose princely tunic and trousers, a gentle gold rather than the burnt orange Elia favored.

"If you acted older than five and ten, then perhaps I'd treat you such." She clicked her tongue. "What would mother say?"

Another laugh. "Given what she and father enjoyed, I doubt she would have any reason to complain." He made his way to a series of decanters, skipping the wine for a glass of Dornish apple juice. Merry in his wine, women - or men - and song, the Prince of Dorne was smart enough to imbibe his drink sparingly. "But if she was, she'd be proud I have clothes on this time." His resulting smile could light up the room.

Elia rolled her eyes, cringing. "I've lost count of the times I've seen your stones and stick, Oberyn."

Oberyn gave her a cheeky smirk. "One could think that after becoming a Targaryen, you'd lose your disapproval in that sort of thing," he said, flirtily.

Eyes narrowing, Elia ended up punching him hard in the shoulder. "Shut it." Rubbing his afflicted shoulder, Oberyn stared at her for what seemed like minutes before they suddenly laughed uproariously. Unable to keep it up, Elia threw her arms around him. "Oh, brother, I missed you."

"Even my roguish charm?" he asked.

"Especially that. Always did make me laugh." Their embrace was tight, close since their childhood in the Water Gardens - coincidentally, the only times she ever remembered fondly. "I couldn't wait to see you again. Why didn't you send word? I had to hear it from Lord Varys."

The Prince cocked an eyebrow. "Never trust a eunuch. I've found the ones I know to be very… bitter people. But alas, my lover of the voyage was needing to sail to the Driftmark before nightfall, so I had to burn out my energies somewhere." The carefree, sultry expression suddenly hardened. "Best I do that, lest I snap and kill that cunt of a husband of yours."

Sighing, Elia motioned to the bed. "Doran sent you, didn't he?" She kept her hands in her lap.

Oberyn slipped onto the bed beside her, crossing his arms. "I didn't need our brother's order to come here, sister. Not when you're being dishonored before my very eyes."

"You realize none of this is Rhaegar's fault?" Glancing over her shoulder on instinct, the Princess' voice lowered. "His Grace made the order for betrothal. And he refuses to set me aside."

"But does Rhaegar desire this marriage to the Stark girl?" Elia didn't answer. Eyes falling to the ground. "That's what I thought."

"He's a good man, Oberyn. He deserves to have some happiness…"

He scoffed. "And you don't? What happens when the Starks convince him to set aside Rhaenys and Aegon in favor of his bastards from Lyanna?"

From her glare, that crossed the line for Elia. "The only person I've seen that cared for my children more than Lyanna is myself, Rhaegar, and the Queen."

"Might you think she's pulling some sort of mummery?" Oberyn was no stranger to such in his travels. "Fooling everyone?"

This did cross her mind in frantic nights of worry since Rhaegar told her of the King's decision, but seeing Lyanna holding Rhaenys - seeing how affectionate and loving the northerner was without any airs… "I don't think Lyanna would do such a thing, and I know Rhaegar would never dishonor me. Aegon never dishonored either of his sister-wives."

"That's not what the histories say."

"The histories are wrong."

There was silence, the only sound being their breathing. "Well, forgive me for wanting to see it for myself." Elia let out a breath she had been holding. It was a start.

---

"Authorization to mint one hundred thousand gold dragons?" Lyanna shook her head, eyebrows knit together in frustration. "This is a travesty."

Hand resting on the small of her back, Rhaegar rubbed her spine gently with his thumb. "Calm down, love." She looked just as breathtaking in the light blue gown of the south. Hopefully spring will bring warmer weather. Heat brought outfits with more skin. "That's five times the last allotment the small council has allowed in three years."

Lyanna looked at him incredulously. "One aqueduct alone would cost double that. Not to mention the repairs needed for the orphanage and public baths." Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan trailed several paces behind. "I'll be lucky to simply build half of one."

"You've put a lot of thought into this, Lya."

"Wouldn't you?" She looked up at him, looking forward to simply relax with her beloved. "I'm going to be your Queen, and you trust me to be unchained…" Her eyes sparkled with love. "I have to prove that I can repay your trust in me."

Without saying a word, Rhaegar leaned in and kissed her. It was sweet, short but pouring with affection and appreciation. "I love you."

Her smile was wide. "I love you too." She pursed her lips. "I don't think Connington approves of me."

"He's in a power play with your father, I believe. I'll try and smooth it over, give him some additional authority in other places."

She nodded as they turned the corner into their solar. "Good… and perhaps after mine and Elia's projects are underway I can convince Lord Tyrell to…"

Her words were cut off by a sudden scream… one that erupted from her own throat as a sharp kick sent Rhaegar slamming back-first into the wall. Sharp bronze spearpoint leveled right at his neck. "Greetings, goodbrother," said a tall, fit man with olive skin and a seductive Dornish accent. "Didn't think I'd come after you, huh?"

"Oberyn!" Having sprang up from the couch, Elia looked like she was going to explode with rage. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Let my husband go!" All around, the four Kingsguards had drawn their weapons.

"Can't do that, sister." Oberyn turned, cocking a quirky look right at the Crown Prince. "Not until Rhaegar realizes how displeased I am in his conduct towards you."

Gulping… Rhaegar almost felt the spearpoint pressed close to his neck. "Goodbrother… It's not what you… ulg… think."

"Put down the spear, Prince Oberyn," Arthur demanded, twirling his two swords and readying an attack. "Don't make me kill you."

Oberyn was less than amused. "Oh fuck off with that heroic shit, Arthur. I just wanna talk to him." He knew the Sword of the Morning wouldn't attack his childhood companion. "You really don't want to know what I think, Rhaegar. You really don't…"

Suddenly, another gasp left Elia when the Dornishman felt cold steel pressing against his own neck. "I suggest you obey Ser Arthur." The new voice was that of the Lady Lyanna, grip tight over the dagger ready to cut Oberyn's throat. "House Bolton isn't the only northern house whos blades are sharp."

Trying not to move too much, Oberyn swiveled his eyes to look upon the woman threatening him. "Is that my knife?"

"Was actually quite easy to remove from your belt," Lyanna responded flatly, voice hard.

He looked back at Rhaegar. "Is this your new bride?"

Pursing his lips, Rhaegar nodded the best he could. "Aye, this is Lyanna Stark."

There were a few seconds of silence before Oberyn grinned. "Oh, I like her. She has spunk." Spear retracted back to his side, the solar was soon filled with the scraping of steel against scabbards. "First person to get the jump on me."

"The family has a talent for it," Rhaegar said, rubbing his neck. "Her brother Eddard defeated Ser Arthur in a spar."

Now this surprised Oberyn. "Don't jape me on that." It was as if two brothers were bantering at this point - Lyanna figured it was a Dornish thing… or a Targaryen thing. Who am I kidding? My brothers act just like that. "Arthur?" The kingsguard nodded, eyeing Oberyn suspiciously even though they were childhood friends. "Well shit, I better meet him." Quickly taking a seat, Oberyn crossed his legs and waited for things to settle. "One can ascertain why I am skeptical of this entire thing, correct?"

Elia placed a hand on his knee. "Brother… I…"

"Doran made me swear to ask you about Aegon and Rhaenys. They better still hold their superior place in the succession, though he's more worried about it than myself."

Rhaegar could answer that easily. "Lyanna and I have spoken about it, and she doesn't wish to contest that." The two of them joined hands, while Lyanna's kind eyes found Elia's. None of which escaped Oberyn's notice. "She loves those children."

"Hmmm… I find that hard to believe."

"Prince Oberyn." Lyanna's voice was kind, but firm. "Those precious children… it's hard not to love them. And I do, very much so… just like their father."

She seems genuine. "That goes into my major concern." Oberyn was not going to mince words here. Laying all the cyvasse pieces on the board, this would give him a feel for how he would conduct his more thorough observations later. "Dishonoring my sister. His Grace's idea or no…"

"He sleeps in her bed." Eyes found Lyanna, many wide with shock. But she didn't back down - honestly, it didn't bother her. Only Elia would she allow in such a position, and while any other would stoke jealousy and anger, imagining the olive-skinned beauty in… Lyanna hid her blush. "My betrothed has shared a bed with his current wife ever since arriving in King's Landing, with my encouragement."

Pursing his lips, Oberyn looked at either royal, looking for a tell. Then at Arthur. "This true?"

Arthur nodded. "Every night, Oberyn. I wouldn't lie."

"No you wouldn't… yet…"

"There is no yet, brother." It was Elia that spoke now. "I know you worry for me, but considering your habits you can't come out with the default conclusion that this is dishonoring of me."

At that moment, the click of wooden soled sandals upon the stone floor filled the room as Ellaria entered. "Your Grace." He curtseyed to the three royals. "The cooks have said that the feast shall be prepared by the time the sun sets, and whether you wish that Princess Rhaenys and Prince Viserys dine with…" She fell mute at seeing the newcomer.

Oberyn quirked an eyebrow. Raking over the new arrival from her hair to her ankles. "Sister, who is this?"

Of course this happens. An amused glint in Lyanna's eyes, Elia sighed. "This is Ellaria Sand, my Lady in Waiting."

"Oh, so you're the famous Ellaria Sand?" Standing, Oberyn approached the now quiet woman. For once, she said nothing - seemingly starstruck. "Lord Uller's daughter?"

Her lip quivered, rendered nearly mute as the handsome Dornish Prince rapidly approached. "Uh… yes, my Prince," she croaked. Despite herself, Elia bit back a laugh. It was just so precious. "And you are Prince Oberyn?"

He chuckled. "Your arrow has pierced true." Oberyn was now only inches away from her sultry form in the dark red wrap of a dress, slitted to expose her midriff in a sort of diamond shape. "I could tell you were of Hellholt - you look like your father… only far prettier."

Ellaria giggled… giggled! "No one would call my father pretty, so perhaps you speak correctly."

Nodding, Oberyn's eyes sparkled before turning to his sister. "Well, this about covers everything. I won't kill you, Rhaegar… for now at least. Just don't do anything foolish."

"Wouldn't dream of it, goodbrother," Rhaegar replied, not bothering to turn around. He would rather not see Oberyn wantonly eye-fucking the equally wanton Ellaria.

"And it was wonderful to meet you, Lady Lyanna," he bowed, drawing a smile from her. "Sister, would you mind if I dropped in on my niece and nephew."

Elia saw nothing wrong with that. "Certainly." Her lips curved into a tiny smirk. "Ellaria can escort you."

"I can…?" she almost yipped, only to compose herself. "Yes, I can. And the cooks…"

"Tell them to set a plate for both my daughter and brother," Rhaegar saved her further words at a shockingly high pitch.

Oberyn offered his hand. "Lead the way, my dear." She slowly looped her arm in his, letting herself guide the Prince to the nursery wing.

Suddenly, Rhaegar let out a laugh once they were gone. "He finally met his match."

"More like she met hers," Lyanna countered, laughing as well. "Was that how I looked when we met?"

"You were worse than that." He grinned even when she smacked him with a cushion.

Letting out a breath she didn't even know she was holding, Elia felt relieved. "That went far better than I thought it would… though Oberyn would be the most likely to support this. Doran… he'll need more assurances on the succession issue just to stay quiet."

"I don't intend on depriving Aegon of his birthright," Lyanna said firmly. "I said it before and I'll shout it from the Sept of Baelor if I have to."

"Optics, Lyanna, optics." The fatigue of the day was getting to her. "This can all be discussed later. Perhaps the Prince would like to escort us to dinner."

Rhaegar smiled. "It's still an hour or so till sundown."

"The gardens then," Lyanna said. "I'd love to see the winter roses in bloom." Both beautiful women looking at him, how could he say no?

---

Having witnessed much in his young but eventful life, Lord Varys didn't bat an eye at the haggard appearance of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, wild glint in his eyes. Ready to hear the words of his Master of Whisperers. "What have you to say, Lord Varys."

Bowing low, the eunuch didn't flinch at the King's condition. He was too valuable to worry, and too smart to put himself in trouble. "Interesting whispers from my birds, your Grace."

"Well? Plots? Another Faith Militant Rebellion? Some Blackfyre brat we missed?" It heartened Varys for how his King understood what threats could materialize. "Those prelude the Doom, you know." Then again, maybe not.

"Nothing that serious, sire. Just… Mace Tyrell has authorized a minting of one hundred thousand gold dragons." He was careful on what information he disclosed. Any man would notice an entire cyvasse piece hidden in the folds of one's robe, but one or two pieces could disappear undetected.

Confusion in the King's glittering eyes. "What? I never authorized this?"

"His Grace, the Crown Prince made the authorization."

"Oh." Aerys scoffed. "Probably wants to pay for a bigger wedding. A hundred thousand dragons is nothing."

Forgive me, my Prince. "Such payment is for a project spearheaded by the two Princesses, Elia and Lyanna. They have been authorized to manage all expenditures of said coin."

Eyebrow raised, the King leaned in. "What are you talking about, eunuch? Those two are weak women." I thought I squashed that bug a while ago. Elia was beaten down and Lyanna was on her way there.

He had to gauge his words carefully. "Northerners are stubborn, your Grace. From what the birds sing, Elia is emerging once more as a favorite of your son, Prince Rhaegar growing closer to her once more."

"That little slut." Aerys slammed his fist on the arm of the throne. "I always knew my son was weak. Swayed by the pleasures of the flesh like his addled uncle."

Nodding, Varys said nothing. Hoping that this report wouldn't cause more pain. "The Lady Lyanna, your Grace. She seems desirous that the Prince get along with Princess Elia."

"Why? What's it to her?"

"My birds don't say that, but not only is she pushing them closer together, but also she is seeking a close relationship with Elia."

Aerys snorted. "Over my corpse does a Dornish slut or a glorified Wildling get control over my domain - Daeron II and my own weak father let their bitches walk all over them and look what happened." Even in his increasing madness, Aerys was proud of how he culled Elia Martell's seductive control over his son before it even happened. Now Lyanna Stark threatened to ruin it. "This is Tywin's doing, I just know it!"

"Lord Tywin has not left the guest manse since he arrived, your Grace."

"That…" Stark… Stark… the same First Man blood as Jenny had… Ah fuck. Aerys' fists tightened, sharp nails cutting his skin. "I should have been more fucking cautious, and look where this balderdash gets me." It was already too late to pull anything before the wedding. "If Tywin sees anything, he'll just swoop in with his maeges and fuck with me."

Varys blinked. "Your Grace, the maeges and mystics are in your employ as you instructed me…"

"Get out. I need to think." Varys complied, leaving the King alone with his jumbled thoughts. That northern barbarian will learn her place. Rhaegar was his son. His.

I won't let Jenny get him from beyond the grave…

"Ghost of High Heart… Champion will ride…"

A cold sweat formed on his forehead. Could the Stark bitch be… No, impossible. Even Jenny couldn't turn a woman into a powerful knight… Head throbbing, Aerys rose. Disappearing back into his sanctum to let his eggs calm him.

Notes:

Everyone knows that Oberyn would do something like that XD

I get people would think Elia and Rhaegar are moving a bit fast, but they are married and were very close and caring for each other before Lyanna came in. It makes sense to jump into a sort of honeymoon phase, especially when they have been secretly wanting to for years. Still gonna be a slow burn.

Connington... he must know Rhaegar won't return his feelings, but seeing him happy with his brides is still painful.

Aerys is still a jerk.

Next up, Ned and Cersei meet again.

Chapter 20: Ladies in Red

Notes:

Longest chapter yet.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"You actually kissed Ser Arthur?" It was deja vu with the last morning of the King's Tourney… though the roles were reversed this time. Now, it was Lyanna that was styling Dacey's hair into a series of complex plaits around a slender ponytail - the latter on her insistence. "Last time I saw you speak, you were close to hysterics."

Dacey groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know what to say..." Nevertheless, the smile was unavoidable. "But I did kiss him." She giggled. "He was just as flustered as I, and Ellaria says I should go for the kill tonight."

She was certainly dressed to impress. A northern gown of forest green, decorated with blue and white lines. It fit her lithe form perfectly. "What do you exactly want with him, Dacey?" Lyanna asked, finishing up the last plait.

"What you have with Rhaegar," she replied quietly.

Mouth open slightly, Lyanna regarded her Lady in Waiting with new eyes. "Wow… well…" The Mormont warrior was… a great fit for the Sword of the Morning. "Go for it, though perhaps you should wait to go for the kill till we're on Dragonstone. More privacy." Dacey smiled at her, grateful for the advice.

A knock on the door drew their attention. "Everyone chaste?"

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "No Ned, I'm locked in a torrid embrace with Rhaegar as we speak." Her brother entered with a small smirk, tut-tutting his finger at her. But he stilled as soon as he caught her outfit. "Gods… you look beautiful, sister."

Honestly, Lyanna knew that. It had been Rhaella's idea, and the royal seamstresses had done an excellent job. The gown was of a mix of silk, collar high and easing down to a tight black bodice inlaid with rubies and onyx. Skirt red with black lines, the crimson was topped off with an ornate three-headed dragon right underneath her breasts, framed with cloth of gold. Lyanna looked like the Targaryen Princess she would soon be - the only hint of her birth house being a crown of Winter Roses atop her braided hair.

"Well, that's my cue to leave." Dacey stood. "Take care of her, Ned."

The door closed behind her, leaving the siblings alone. "Not that I'm not glad to see you brother, but I thought Elia would escort me down?"

"I just wished to speak with you, sister." They were a study in contrasts, Ned dressed in a grey gambeson and breeches. All simple yet dashing, hair tied back into an attractive bun. Even with the male beauty of the south, Lyanna knew he'd turn heads tonight. "We've both been too busy lately."

"That we have. Fire away."

Ned cleared his throat. "Who else knows… about you being the Mystery Knight?"

Lyanna's good mood turned ashen. "Where… where would you get such an idea?"

"Howland. When I confronted Robert."

Cursing under her breath, the future Queen folded her arms over the dragon sigil. "Are you going to berate me about being stupid? That I shouldn't have done it… because I don't regret it. That joust gave me my Rhaegar…"

"Lya, I'm proud of you." He smiled as her eyes widened. "I just am worried… Lord Arryn warned me about tonight. That the worst of the worst would show up, and if this secret gets out…"

She shook her head. "Besides you and I, no one but Howland, Dacey, Rhaegar, and Arthur know. I swear."

Ned let out a relieved breath. "We need to keep it that way.

"Brandon?" Wandering along the hallways, aquamarine gown emblazoned with the white lace trout of House Tully, Catelyn heard the voices through the tiny crack in the door. "Brandon, dear?" She leaned in only to find it was Eddard. Maybe Brandon is already waiting outside the ballroom…

"I'll have to admit, Lya. It was beautiful seeing you knock that asshole Ser Frey on his ass." Catelyn stilled, unable not to be intrigued as to what her future goodbrother was saying. "I had no idea you could joust." Joust?

"Oh brother, you know well enough that I can ride. What makes you think I couldn't joust too?" A throaty laugh followed, leaving no doubt that the second voice was Lyanna Stark, her goodsister. "In all honesty, the hardest part was when Dacey and Howland procured that armor for me." Armor… wait, she couldn't possibly be…

Ned's laugh followed. "Did he paint the laughing weirwood?" Catelyn's jaw dropped. Lyanna's the Knight of the Laughing Tree? She felt a tingle of glee course through her - the biggest piece of gossip in the Seven Kingdoms… and she was privy to it! "I know he did."

"Oh he did." Suddenly, Lyanna's tone shifted. "You can't tell anyone, brother. Rhaegar… he was ordered by the King to kill the Knight and bring him his head." Whatever glee Catelyn held was halted. Killed by the King? But the Knight didn't do anything? Why would the King order such a thing?

"My lips are sealed, sister."

Leaning back, Catelyn pressed her palm to her lips. She couldn't share this, not in good conscience. Harming her own goodsister… Family, Duty, Honor. The daughter of Riverrun had a duty to protect her family… But… it's just such juicy gossip… Her head spun with the magnitude of what she heard.

"Lady Catelyn?"

Turning around, Catelyn gasped softly and immediately curtseyed. "Princess Elia." Followed by her Lady in Waiting, the wife of the Crown Prince eyed her curiously. "I was just looking for my betrothed, Lord Brandon."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "I saw Brandon head for the ballroom. You can meet him there."

"Thank you, your Grace. It is much appreciated." Rising, she curtseyed once more before making her way to the ballroom. Eager to let her beloved calm the tempest in her system.

Still curious, noticing something off about Lady Catelyn, Elia glanced at Ellaria. "Is it just me or does she seem a bit suspicious."

Ellaria snorted, quite unladylike. "The Tullys irritate me - worst sort of holier-than-thou fuckstains. I bet she's been touching herself and then trying to find the Sept to beg for forgiveness." Her opinion of Catelyn Tully left no room for doubt. "Can't we get this over with, I really want to get to…"

"My brother?"

While a blush adorned her cheeks, Ellaria at least tried to look defiant. "And why not? He's a strong, virile man worthy of me."

Smirking, Elia giggled. "You're perfect for him, I have to say." Moving to face the door, Lyanna and Eddard had just opened it. "Lord Stark," she greeted before embracing Lyanna lightly. "Dearest sister."

Returning the embrace, Lyanna pulled back and looked over Elia appreciatively. "My my..." Aside from the dragon, all the colors on her sister-wife were reversed, sporting a crown of Dornish apple flowers. "Absolutely gorgeous."

Brown eyes also raked over the Targaryen colors. "I should say the same for you."

Behind, Ellaria snorted. They looked just like her when appreciating the female form. As I said, catfight or feast. Too bad they are both clueless.

"My Prince."

Hearing Ned, both ladies came face to face with the most enchanting violet orbs. Darkening before their very eyes, their beloved Crown Prince dressed in the same red and black - outfit hugging every bit of thick muscle and trim waist. Hair free flowing about his shoulders. "Rhaegar," Lyanna husked.

"Husband," Elia husked as well, equally entranced. Ever since their moment in their dining chamber… she was breaking more walls she had erected every day. Unable not to lust for her husband.

"Rhaenys and Visenya reborn," Rhaegar murmured. Making them beam at him, while Ned rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Problem Ned?"

He glared back. "I'd prefer if you didn't lust after my sister in front of me." All three girls giggled at that, Lyanna lightly swatting him in the arm.

Rhaegar laughed. "Since I am the Prince, I shall not follow that command." Lyanna now swatted him, though harder. He laughed louder, holding out both of his arms. "Shall we, my beloveds?" Without hesitation, his ladies took the proffered limbs. Looping their hands in his. They would make a statement entering together, but for reasons both political and personal, all three were absolutely willing to do so.

---

The grand ballroom of the Red Keep had been constructed during the days of Viserys I - the heyday of Targaryen glory and peace prior to the Dance of the Dragons. Featuring prominently in The Dragons Dance, Lyanna had always imagined how magnificent it was when the heroes of her youth had graced it. Even under the neglect of Aerys II, reality didn't even begin to compare. High windows set inside pointed arches lining the entire chamber, glass chandeliers each holding dozens of oil candles personally lit by the many servants, and a floor of polished marble that could hold hundreds of guests. It was all she could ever have imagined, and with Rhaegar sidetracked with Brandon by Lord Yronwood and Lord Dayne, her escort had whittled down to her sister-wife.

"There's Leyton Hightower, I'm honestly surprised he made it," Elia pointed out a soft-looking man in a fine Reach doublet, speaking with Lord Tully. "Very well-connected to the Faith," she mused sardonically, causing Lyanna to snort. "Ah, and there's Lord Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall Hall." A fit, powerful knight, though Elia spoke of him as if there was some delicious gossip. "He made waves years ago," she leaned close to Lyanna, sprinkling with mirth. "Training his only daughter in swordsmanship."

Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "And that's a problem?"

Her sister-wife squeezed her shoulder. "Women learning how to fight, rare but not unheard of among highborns. But women being raised in front of her father's bannermen. Dressed in boy's clothing and trained as a knight? Scandalous."

"And his liege Lord is Robert." Both of them found the boisterous Stormlander belting out a bawdy song with a cluster of Lords and Knights, serving girl on his arm. "I doubt he'd think women knights should be tolerated."

"Honestly, I doubt that he's sober enough to care." Sharing a laugh, the two women found someone stumbling into their path. "And this is Tyrion Lannister - already famous by reputation."

Flagon of wine in hand, the four-and-ten half-man cocked a charming grin. "I wouldn't think I was the youngest to ever Make the Eight, but I'm honored the future Queen has heard of me."

"Make the Eight?" Lyanna asked.

Elia rolled her eyes. "It means having carnal knowledge with one woman in each of the seven…"

The she-wolf held up her hand. "No need to finish that." On any other man, it would sound piggish, but Lyanna couldn't help but admire the dwarf.

"I haven't actually done it, but I will." He peered up at her. "So this is Lyanna Stark. I can say, if you weren't betrothed to a man who could behead me with Aegon the Conqueror's sword, I would try and properly bed a Northern woman." He shrugged. "A sweet maid in White Harbor doesn't really count, does it?"

Sharing a look with Elia, both of them quite amused when most other highborn ladies would be insulted, Lyanna smirked. "I'm curious, how would you try to seduce a woman such as me? With gold, perhaps?"

"Cause the dwarf can only enjoy a woman if he has coin?" When both ladies were a bit shameful, Tyrion burst out laughing. "Most of my women are whores, so it's true." He rather enjoyed their cross looks. "Anyway, I'm so young so I'm already charming them when I go in with my best grin. Then I show off my lion-emblazoned tunic and then tell them the best dwarf jape I've ever heard. Disarms them."

"Oh really?" Elia crossed her arms. "I like to laugh, tell me your best."

Tyrion drank from the flagon, smacking his lips. "So I walk into a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass. I ask the madame for a woman, for mine has left me, but they keep eyeing the honeycomb and a jackass. I tell her that my wife prayed to the Seven for three things that they granted her, in a manner of speaking." Both Princesses were engrossed, wondering where he was going with this. The first was for a house fit for a queen, so he gave her this damn honeycomb. The second prayer was that she have the nicest ass in all the land, so he gave her this damn donkey…" Lyanna couldn't help but chuckle at that - Elia was equally amused. "And the third… well... she asked that my cock hang down past my knee." He paused for effect.

Lyanna blinked. "And how does that involve you being a dwarf?"

"I used to be six foot three!" he blurts out, grinning. It took a moment but Lyanna and Elia - to his delight - nearly fell over themselves as laughter rocked their bodies. "Normally highborns don't like that joke. Kills among knights though."

"Trust me, that was rather perfect," the she-wolf said through giggles, hoping they weren't drawing looks. From the side, she noticed her brother waving her over… next to her betrothed, his eyes smoldering as they stared intensely. Mmmmm… "It was lovely meeting you, Lord Tyrion, but we have to go."

Eyeing the group, Tyrion nodded. "Husband calls, eh? I understand." He reached up for their hands, pressing kisses to each of them. "I've never had a highborn tell me they enjoyed my company." And he waddled off to bury himself in the frivolity. Leaving two of the Realm's most powerful women with a positive impression of him.

To say Rhaegar's embrace was warm was underestimating it. "I do wish you'd stay close to me."

"You don't control us." Lyanna's mood countered her words.

"Allow me to rephrase, I would want you to want to stay close to me." Kissing both on the cheek, he lured Lyanna to his and Brandon's conversation. "You already have met Lord Tyrell, but allow me to introduce you to Lady Olenna Tyrell." Beside the finery of the Lord of Highgarden was an older woman. Face wrinkled and swathed all around, leaning on a cane and her green and gold dress sprinkled with decorations of roses.

"The Queen of Thorns in the flesh." It was clear from Elia's tone that the historical enmity between Dorne and the Reach hadn't completely died. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her either."

Olenna chuckled. "You do forgive me if I don't see myself welcome at Sunspear, Princess." Her green eyes were charming, but Lyanna could see the deviousness in them. This woman was not to be underestimated. "My my, I can see why the Prince is defying the Faith for you, Lady Lyanna. A handsome family, the Starks." Glancing over at Brandon, her thoughts on him were obvious. Lyanna chuckled while the heir to Winterfell hastily made his exit, mumbling excuses. "Forgive me, but I'm a widower and no one is ever to old to look."

Mace was equally mortified. "Mother…"

"Oh shut up, I'm having a conversation with my sovereigns." The rumors of who actually ruled the Reach looked to be true. "I admire the Starks, Lady Lyanna, the only First Men Kings to actually resist the Andals. Gods… 'Winter is Coming,' those are proper house words. Makes me shudder."

"Your words are rather charming, Lady Olenna," Lyanna offered graciously.

The Queen of Thorns didn't put on airs. "Pish. 'Growing Strong.' Set a rose on fire and it fucking dies. Set a winter storm on fire, and it's blown out. Count yourself lucky that Aegon the Conqueror got the North to bend the knee, my Prince."

Rhaegar laughed. "Oh, I do." An arm wrapped around Lyanna. "I'm also glad that Dorne bent the knee peacefully." His other wrapped around Elia.

"A lucky man, my Prince." Her wrinkles crinkled as she smiled. Someone then caught her attention. "Ah, Lord Redwyne! Mace, deal with him till I get over there." The Lord of Highgarden sighed and left. "A dreadful bore, but he's my goodson," she shrugged. "Do come to Highgarden on your next royal progress. I have an offer that you can't refuse." With that, she was off.

The Princesses leaned in to their beloved. "Well, that was interesting."

"Aye, interesting is the word to describe her." Elia's eyes narrowed. "I also don't trust her. I know Mace wishes his daughter to marry Viserys, but Olenna wants her for Aegon. I'd bet my last gold dragon on it."

Sighing, Rhaegar placed a kiss on Elia's forehead. "We will betroth Aegon to someone he approves of when he's ready to be married, I promise." Elia seemed to relax in his arms. "Now, I believe I owe my bride a dance."

While Lyanna wanted to jump at the chance, she would have rathered they dance first at their wedding. "No, I think you should take Elia." The Dornish Princess looked at her with wide eyes. As if asking if she was sure. "I'm sure, show the world that neither of your brides are strained, my love." Leaning in to kiss her, Rhaegar nodded and led Elia off, the Princess giving one last look at her - one of… gratitude? Enjoy, sister.

Alone, for the first time that night without any hangers on or the presence of her family, Lyanna looked around. Her betrothed and sister-wife had the floor to themselves for now, dancing to a jaunty minuet. Soon, Prince Oberyn joined them… with Ellaria on his arm. The two looked the picture of affection. A quick glance to the right turned into a rather prolonged one as Ser Arthur, 'Ser Stuffy' himself, was laughing at a jape told by Dacey. The two of them rather cozy. Her father and… one brother, were speaking to the Queen, who was watched over by an obviously adoring Jaime Lannister. Love is in the air, I suppose. Even with Aerys, even with the culture shock, Lyanna knew this was where she belonged. With Rhaegar, Elia, Rhaella, Rhaenys, and Aegon. And the other babes… She patted her stomach, hopefully a little dragonwolf would be growing there soon.

"Lady Lyanna I presume."

Turning, the she-wolf came face to face with a tall man. Broad shouldered and with thinning golden hair. He wore a doublet like Tyrion's, roaring lion emblazoned on the front. "Tywin Lannister." If anyone outside of the House Targaryen was known across the Realm, it was the Lord of Casterly Rock. She curtseyed shallowly. "A pleasure."

"Quite." In spite of his reputation, he was polite. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

Feeling it rude not to accept - and Aerys nowhere in sight - she nodded. "Lead the way."

While the minuet was rather spicy and fast-paced, once in his arms Tywin led slowly. "You seem to be acclimating well to court life." It appeared that he wanted to talk.

Lyanna wouldn't deny him, though she fought to keep her expressions in check. "It is difficult, yes, but I have a good support system."

"Ah yes, Princess Elia and Lord Jon Arryn, a fine duo." His moves were impeccable - the very epitome of a cultured Lord. But underneath was a caged lion… she would need to be careful. "They say Starks don't fare well in the south."

"Whomever said that didn't read about Theon the Hungry Wolf, or Cregan Stark… or Torrhen Stark for that matter."

"He lost his crown."

"Not a single drop of Northern blood was spilled… the same cannot be said of Loren the Last."

Expression giving away nothing, the tiny twinkle in his eyes found Tywin looking at Lyanna as if new. "You are right." They changed direction, Tywin spinning her around. "But the saying is out there. One true of all Starks since Cregan - quite confusing since the Blackfyre Rebellions drew nothing yet now your father is in the south. Strange, don't you think?"

Lyanna wasn't fazed. "Winter is coming, Lord Lannister. Best be prepared."

He blinked. "Ah yes, Winter is coming. Very true."

Elia felt lightheaded, as if her world was spinning… hells, she was literally spinning as her husband guided her along the dance floor. The red and black gown swishing over the stone floor - Rhaegar's hand spreading heat through her body with its place at her waist. Looking into his violet eyes, Elia could see the young Prince she had married, enamored with the Princess of Dorne and determined to make her fall in love with him. Only now, a stronger, wiser man. Gods, she felt her insides quiver in his arms. Bright smile infectious as the two laughed merrily.

Twirled around, she noticed the figure of the northern beauty that had so upended their lives for the better… is that Lord Tywin? "Husband… Lyanna…" Rhaegar peeked over her shoulder, then laughed. "That old cat can surprise me sometimes."

Leaning against the wall, watching the husbands or suiters guide their ladies along in the graceful southern minuet, Ned found himself envying his sister. At least one Stark gets a lion. He wasn't one to sulk, but sometimes it got the better of him.

Trying not to be noticed, even for the quiet wolf it didn't always work out that way. "Ah, if it isn't the 'Quiet Wolf.'" Dornish lilt heavy, sure enough Ned found the form of Oberyn Martell sidle up to him, arm wrapped around Ellaria. "They call you that here in the Red Keep, but I didn't know why till now." His longcoat of gold silk fit him like a glove, dotted with embroidered suns. "Your sister and brother are enjoying themselves, and yet you're here on your own." He pointed to Brandon, currently putting on a show for the partygoers with a giggling Catelyn Tully. The girl was clearly shy, but Brandon had a way of drawing people out of their shell. Oberyn had met the elder Stark son, and he was very fun - if disappointing since he didn't swing Oberyn's way. "Why don't you?"

Ned shrugged. "No lady that fancies me."

"Strapping young man like you. Goodbrother to the Crown Prince? The ladies should be flocking around you… or men" Oberyn wiggled his eyebrows, causing Ned to blush a bright red at the implication. "Don't get discouraged. I can tell if someone is that way just from looking."

Ellaria laughed. "A man after my own heart," patting his chest. Unlike the other men here, Oberyn's outfit showed off plenty of skin. "The Prince is right, you know. You'd have any woman you want if you softened that brooding scowl of yours." He didn't, just staring ahead. "Suit yourself."

But Oberyn wasn't deterred - he knew Ned's type well. "Hmmm, I think it's not that simple, my dear," he told Ellaria. "You may fancy a lady you don't think you can fancy." Catching a flicker in his eye, Oberyn followed the young wolf's line of sight until… "Oh." There she was, gossiping with a group of ladies from the Reach. He grinned, rather impressed. "The Light of the West, eh? Bold."

Hunching his shoulders, Ned tried to disappear into himself. "Don't tell anyone."

"My lips are sealed." He wrapped an arm around Ned. "You and I are going to be goodbrothers quite soon in a manner of speaking, so let me give you some advice. I wouldn't worry. Tywin is a hardass and obsessed with social climbing, but I think you'd have more of a chance than you think." Looking back at Cersei Lannister, the beautiful blonde quickly averted her gaze. She'd been staring at Ned. Aye, far more of a chance. "You'll be in her cunt before the week is out, write it down." That earned another flush of red from the quiet wolf and a sultry laugh from Ellaria.

The minstrels finished off the tune, pausing and immediately rewarded with a standing ovation. Breaking apart from Tywin, Lyanna added a northern war cry to the mix. "That was a dance… you know your way around the floor, Lord Lannister."

"It's an art you can never unlearn, only grow rust with," the lion responded, cracking his knuckles. "For what it's worth, I believe you'll be a good Queen." Somehow, Lyanna could tell he was sincere.

"Thank you, Lord Lannister…" she smiled slyly. "Though I believe you should keep that to yourself, considering where we are." Best the King didn't find out. That is a scene I do not want to witness again.

A glint in his eye being the most humor Tywin would display, he then caught movement in the corner of his eye. Servants rushing towards the doors, others pouring wine and setting a fine slab of honey-braised boar on the royal table. That could only mean one thing… "Well, Lady Lyanna. I must bid our conversation to a close." He bowed to her, kissing Lyanna's hand. "It was a pleasure."

Brow rising, Lyanna nevertheless dipped slightly. "The pleasure was mine, Lord Tywin." Watching the lion of Casterly Rock disappear into the crowd of revelers, she was startled by Elia tapping on her shoulder. "A little warning next time."

"Sorry," her sister-wife replied before a pair of thick arms wrapped around her. She beamed, heat rising inside her. "Husband."

Rhaegar had made his way single-mindedly to each of his Princesses, far outpacing his mother and goodfather behind him. Pleased at Elia's reaction, it was joined by Lyanna lighting up at seeing him. "My dears," he said with affection.

Wanting to kiss him but not wanting to make a scene, both let their eyes show their passion - each settling for a single peck on his cheek. "We missed you, my love," Lyanna told him.

"Politics, a cursed business. I know I'd rather be with both of you." A gentle caress of the smalls of their backs made Lyanna sigh in pleasure and Elia shiver. "So I saw you dance with Lord Tywin, what was that about?"

"Lord Tywin?" Rhaella and Rickard finally caught up. "What did he want?" asked the Queen.

Elia chuckled. "I was just about to ask the same thing."

Rickard knit his brows. "Whatever it was, it wasn't good… no offense, Ser Jaime."

"None taken, Lord Stark," Jaime replied. "I love my father, but I serve House Targaryen."

Lyanna took a deep breath. "The dance was fine, he was polite, but… It was all… very strange and pedestrian. Just asking me the most random of things."

"I'm thinking he was trying to see if House Stark was adopting a hostile stance to House Lannister due to the betrothal."

A groan from Lord Stark. "Gods, I barely seek peaceful leverage… the South has no understanding of the Northern ways."

"They barely understand their own ways, sometimes," Elia remarked dismissively.

Nodding, the Queen gently pressed her fingers together, surreptitiously stretching her legs - she was not the prime of youth anymore… though ignorant of a certain admirer that did not care. "Power, coin, and a proper legacy, that's all Tywin really wants." Rhaella shrugged. "It's hard to read him. Even Joanna couldn't."

At Rhaegar's raised brow, Lyanna sighed. "He did ask a lot of questions about father. How he was reaching to the south for alliances. As well as his interactions with the King."

"So that's it, then." Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose, dropping to a low whisper. "Father and Tywin never got along, but now he thinks the Lannisters are plotting the Doom of Valyria."

"But that's…"

"Mad? Aye, it is." Eyes closing, the Crown Prince truly felt the weight of the Realm on his shoulders. "I'll try and deescalate matters with him after the wedding, once things calm down." On Dragonstone, away from his father's toxic court, things would be easier.

"Well, his leaving abruptly may indicate he does see me as a threat…" She trailed off as Elia shook her head. "So what do you think that means?"

"Simple, his Grace is arriving." They had little time to prepare before the heralds made their announcement.

---

"Make way for his Grace!" The song ended in mid tune, dancers and revelers ceasing their merriment and quickly backing up to either side of the room. Large doors opened to Ser Gerold, Ser Jonothor, and twenty fully-armored members of the Household Guard flanking the entrance as the King entered. "Presenting Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name. King of the Seven Kingdoms!" The herald's words were loud and precise. Taking care to deliver the words without flaw for the benefit of the King. He was known to cut tongues of those who couldn't.

Bending the knee while his mother curtseyed, Rhaegar couldn't help but thank the gods that someone had cleaned up his father. The long, stringy hair was trimmed and styled, nails clipped, and a fresh set of red and black robes swathing his thin frame. He looked like an elderly, but regal King - looking so much like his own father Aegon V. "Your Grace," he offered as Aerys approached them at the head table.

"Your Grace." Rhaella took her husband's hand in hers and kissed it sweetly. Answered with a curt grunt. Far better than he could have done.

Unfortunately, Rhaella's relief had been premature. Aerys' gaze had landed on the two Princesses, notably their dresses. The Queen said a silent prayer of grace to whomever was listening once she noticed the flash in her husband's eyes. One she knew very well. "What is this?" he spat. "Is this your doing, wife? Dressing the Dornish Whore and Wildling in our house colors?"

"We thought it would serve well for the unity of our house, your Grace," Elia answered. Both she and Rhaegar noticed with dismay at how Lyanna had drawn back, not willing to speak. No, sister… no. Just as she was about to climb out of it, the Princess saw her sister-wife fall for the same callow as she was forced to adopt years ago.

Aerys snorted in disgust. "Diluting the blood and culture as much as our cunt father and great-grandsire, then?"

Targaryens, Lord Stark, and Princesses eager to just take the abuse and let the King move on, unfortunately the arriving Brandon Stark opened his mouth. "Doesn't Princess Elia have Targaryen blood through Princess Daenerys Targaryen?" One could hear a pin drop, something dark flickering in Aerys eyes at the young Stark before a serene smile appeared. Leaving them with a mere nod before walking off.

As soon as the King sat down at the royal table seated for one, the Lords and Ladies rose from their knees. Beginning to shift and mingle once more. Rickard led Brandon off to lecture him, while Rhaella was escorted by Ser Jaime to converse with the Tyrells. As for the Prince and his brides, all three had to adorn the fake smiles of court as still more Lords and Ladies approached them with congratulations. "My Prince, my ladies." With a smile that looked quite out of place on a quite hardened face, a lord with the look of the Reach appeared in front of them. "Forgive me, Lady Lyanna, for we haven't met. Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill."

Dornish Marches in the Reach… tough warriors, enemies of the Dornish. Randyll Tarly sure looked the part - especially as his scowl was largely directed at Elia. "Pleased to meet you Lord Tarly," she told him. "Where is Lady Tarly?"

"She is at our keep. Just gave birth to my first child - a son and heir."

"Congratulations Lord Tarly," Rhaegar offered kindly. "As a father myself, that is a rather important moment in one's life."

Tarly's scowl turned even more sour… if that was possible. "Ah yes, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys." His eyes swiveled to the dance floor, where all of them found Oberyn locked in a traditional Dornish dance with Ellaria Sand. "Hopefully they'll take after their father's side, then."

Rhaegar felt his ire rising, especially as Elia averted her gaze. Learned helplessness cowing her yet again. But before Rhaegar could respond, Lyanna cut in. "Why do you think that, Lord Tarly?"

"I've heard about the… perversion of the Martells, Lady Lyanna. Best to keep that away from the Crown. Aegon the Unworthy caused enough suffering with his whoring to repeat it."

Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "On the contrary, Lord Tarly, Princess Elia is as loving a parent as I would hope the heirs to the throne would have. Certainly she wouldn't abandon a babe just having left his mother's womb to ingratiate herself in social climbing, and since his two children are with him in King's Landing…" The she-wolf smirked. "Neither would Prince Oberyn."

Eyes flashing red for a split second, Lord Tarly realized who he was speaking to. "Your Graces," he mumbled, making his exit.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Rhaegar nearly bawled over in laughter. "Finally, someone pushes on that stave up his ass." He pressed a kiss to Lyanna's lips, then hugged Elia. "You're a wonderful mother, my love."

My love… The words from him felt like the sweetest of hugs. "I know… speaking up doesn't always end well for me, though."

"The dragon has three heads, sister," Lyanna told her, remembering an old tale from Aegon's Conquest. "We look after each other."

Their conversation - as were all conversations - stilled as the King rose. His herald smacking the edge of his staff on the stone floor to grab attention. Aerys held a silver goblet in his hand, filled with Arbor gold. "My Lords and Ladies," he announced, voice even and free from even a hint of madness. It heartened the royal family and those on the Small Council. "The greatest thanks from House Targaryen to you, who have journeyed here to celebrate the resumption of the proper history of Valyria. My son, reasserting the Doctrine of Exceptionalism the way Kings Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Strong, marrying the beautiful Winter Rose Lady Lyanna Stark."

A chorus of claps, all eyes on Lyanna. It truly emphasized what an honor she was given, addressed before the Lords of Westeros by the King himself. She smiled and curtseyed at the King, hiding the worry. Masking how guarded she was at the obviously fake words. Her family shared the same thoughts, only wondering whether the King would speak in innuendo or be blunt.

As a smug smile fell on the King's lips, the intent was recognized immediately by the Queen, Princess, and Crown Prince, faces falling. "Interesting thing about House Stark. Their Lord, Rickard, is a fine and loyal man. Fulfilling his obligation under the Pact of Ice and Fire… unlike his ancestors." He snickered. "Had Cregan Stark not been a dawdling coward, Queen Rhaenyra may have won over the usurpers."

Rickard paled, Brandon snapped his goblet in half, and Ned's eyes widened. Knowing exactly what was to come, Elia took Lyanna's stunned hands in her own for support. Seemed no matter who it was, Aerys was determined to humilate and torture anyone that Rhaegar would love. "It's alright," she murmured to her sister-wife, noticing how Rhaegar couldn't even look at his father, hand on the small of Lyanna's back. "We look after each other."

"Honestly, the Starks have been the worst of all noble houses," the King continued. "Staying in their frozen land, not leaving even when the Kingdom was most at threat. Only when Queen Alysanne kissed their asses did they bother to show loyalty to House Targaryen, and I have it on good authority that Alaric Stark merely sought to have an affair with the Good Queen."

You lie! Ned wanted to shout it to the rafters. But he refused to be a fool… he'd been enough of a fool with Robert.

Across the floor of the grand chamber, Cersei Lannister saw the somber northerner duck out the side doorways to the balcony. Once selfish heart throbbing with empathy for him. But she couldn't follow him while the King continued.

"Unfortunately, I have had the displeasure of my son and heir disrespected and maligned by goodfamily." Aerys felt his spirit soar at the suppressed anger from Prince Oberyn, only wishing that he could see the pain on Princess Elia's face once again. "But House Stark has finally learned its place. With this marriage bringing our wayward brothers to the north into our fold, they can finally enjoy the trappings of civilization so long denied them." He held his goblet high. "To Rhaegar and Lyanna!"

Even for the humiliated Starks, there was no escaping the bittersweet toast. "To Rhaegar and Lyanna!"

Hammering a foot against the stone slabs of the main keep, it hurt like all seven hells but allowed Ned to vent his anger. It had become a habit for him since the tourney, still a brooder but enough self-loathing and torment to lash out alone or burn out on the training yard. Rhaegar loved Lyanna with all his heart, but he wasn't the jailer. Likely, he was a prisoner of his father just as Lyanna now was." Gritting his teeth, he kicked the stone once more.

Rushing out as fast as she could without drawing attention, this was how Cersei found him. The emotion on his face even more attractive than the brooding. She was silent, standing just outside the entranceway. Stilled by the close proximity to the young man that haunted her dreams. That she had kissed…

Finally, she spoke. "Lord Stark."

Tensing at the voice, Ned turned and felt the pain drain from his system. Taken over by the golden-haired lioness that has so captivated him. "Lady Cersei…" He straightened himself up. "Forgive me, but I just walked out to get some air. I can move if you wish your privacy." Even after being insulted, he just couldn't be anything but enamored with this woman.

Cersei held up a hand. "No… it's quite alright. Stay." She wanted him to stay. Heart soaring when he did. "For what it's worth, I have been on the end of his Grace's barbs too."

Unable not to chuckle - either that or cry - Ned leaned back on the wall. "Tywin's daughter, aye." He had barely spoken to her, but somehow it felt easy to. "It doesn't bother me, but I do worry for Lyanna."

"She has the Prince's love." Surprisingly, Cersei only felt a slight twinge of pain at admitting it. Perhaps I've moved on… "I don't find that surprising. She is very beautiful… a trait that runs in your family, it seems." The easy praise was so foreign to her, but she wanted to say it. It was true, Ned Stark was very handsome. She could tell that he would grow to surpass his older brother in that regard.

Since Cersei's last words to him were calling him a 'Northern Bumpkin,' Ned wondered where she was going with this. "You are quite beautiful yourself, my Lady." The dress was a simple maroon, hugging her curves and bringing out the golden pleats of her hair.

"Well…" she blushed in spite of herself. "Thank you, my Lord." The way he still looked at her, as if she were a goddess... Cersei chewed her bottom lip, a habit picked up from her mother. "I'd like to apologize."

"Apologize for what?"

"For my rude words in our last meeting." Everyone she knew would be gaping at Cersei Lannister apologizing, but it seemed right.

Ned blinked, surprised himself. "Yes, that was... rather rude." He looked her over, not for the first time imagining her bare. As much as he would want to resume their kiss, his honor emerged. "But you were right, Lady Cersei. I am but a second son - we shouldn't be doing this."

"No... we shouldn't," she finally says, but her green eyes darken at him regardless. "We would have no future..."

In spite of himself, in spite of his words, Ned took a step towards her. "It wouldn't be honorable, for a courtship with no prospects." Closer he walked, an almost magnetic draw.

"It would be for the best" Her voice was rough with desire. Going straight to his groin.

To hells with it. How could something like honor compare to this golden enchantress? With a growl that could rival a direwolf, Ned lunged. Hand quickly wrapping around the smooth column of her neck as the northerner crashed his lips against Cersei's. Plunging into her mouth, desire spiking at the sultry moan of the lioness. A hand moved to cup her rear through the maroon fabric of her dress, guiding her to the wall.

Feeling the northerner push her back, Cersei couldn't be bothered to care. It was as sudden as their first kiss, but there the similarities ended the lioness roared with hunger. A sensual clash of teeth and tongue. Gone was the quiet, brooding Eddard Stark, replaced by a ravenous direwolf intent on making a meal out of her.

When their kiss broke as she hissed, back colliding with the wall behind her, she bared her graceful neck for him to feast on. "Please…" It came out as a gasp… changing to another moan when Ned's hand pushed down the strap of her dress and his lips found the creamy skin.

Stop… visible… dishonor… Words of caution cast aside by the sounds and taste of her. Wolfsblood uncaged within him. Pinning her to the wall, Ned's hands began to wander. Ghosting over places that he only dreamed of feeling on any woman. Trim waist, ample breasts, a tight rear. Leaving her neck, the moment his gaze met her lidded greens did they kiss again.

Falling further into the Stark's embrace, Cersei wrapped her right leg around his hip. Both gasping as his clothed member hit her core over her smallclothes. Am I letting him take my cunt? Ned's fingers touching the bare skin of her shoulder, Cersei moaned yet again. Of course I am.

"Sweet sister." Tyrion stumbled onto the moonlit deck, wine sloshing from his goblet as his bloodshot eyes peered for Cersei. "Father is making his exit, and I believe he wants us to…" What he had once thought was some random couple suddenly came into view. Goblet falling to the floor as he sobered up almost immediately. "Sister?"

The last finally got her attention. Her arousal changing to horror as she pushed Ned off of her. Brows knitted in confusion, the northerner followed the line of sight to find the Imp wide eyed at them. "Fuck…" he heard Cersei murmur while he backed away.

Blinking, Tyrion figured after several seconds that he wasn't hallucinating. "Well, I was worried you weren't enjoying the night, but I can see you're having the best night of all of us." Lips curling upward to chuckle, the amusement died once he caught a glimpse of Cersei's mystery lover. "Wait… Eddard Stark?"

You have got to be fucking kidding me… "Fuck off, Tyrion," she hissed.

"Well, that was what you were about to do, Cersei." Hiccupping, the imp began to giggle. "I congratulate you, Lord Stark. Taming the mighty lioness."

Cool air having calmed his raging desire, Ned was mortified. Not at his and Cersei's passion, but the fact they were caught - not that it made a visible difference. "I should go," he said evenly. "Lord Tyrion, Lady Cersei." Trying not to flush the deep crimson of Cersei's gown, he made a quick exit. Still wrapping his head around what had just happened.

Eyes following Ned like a lost puppy, pleas for him to stay dying on her tongue, Cersei's loss changed to rage as she found Tyrion once more. "Must you ruin everything, you little cockroach?!" She didn't bother to wait for Tyrion before marching inside, body still humming from his touch.

---

"That went well, all things considered."

A mirthless chuckle left Rhaegar's lips. "All things considered being right. Lyanna truly shined tonight, and my father only hurts his own cause."

Connington nodded, standing right beside the Crown Prince. They made some sight, the fiery black and red of Rhaegar's colors matched by the vibrant inferno of Connington's hair. Both fit, powerful men in their prime. It had become the jape of court that Rhaegar snapped up enough beauties for the both of them. Little did they know… Connington was discreet about that facet of his life. At least to most. "He only redoubled the urge of those who already hate the Starks to continue to hate them. His Grace swayed none." Forgive me, my silver prince, if I don't out myself as in the former category.

"I thought I could get Lyanna to Dragonstone before he aimed his fire on her. Please insure that a boat is ready for the night after my wedding, Jon."

"Consider it done, my Prince." He'd make the command tomorrow, loathe as he was to participate in Rhaegar shackling himself to another woman undeserving of the beautiful future King. "Perhaps you shouldn't leave? You're the only one that can truly control him."

Rhaegar pursed his lips. "He is decompensating before my eyes, aye." He ran his hand down his face, fighting the frustration welling inside of him. A frustration and hurt that Connington had never seen him free of - except when with him as children… and now with his two brides. "But I owe it to my family to get them out of here first. If I could take my mother and brother to Dragonstone, I'd do so." His violet eyes met the Hands, intense with a desperate plea. "You'll have to hold the keep until I return, and protect my mother."

Nodding, there was no way the Lord of Griffin's Roost could disobey that order. "You can count on me, Rhaegar." Skirting the line he had set for himself… the urge simply too strong to completely ignore, Connington placed his hand on Rhaegar's shoulder blade. To everyone else a comforting pat between friends - but in reality… Gods, it was torture for him. Being in the company of the perfect man only to know that he would never be his. Hand lingering, fighting the compulsion to drift lower on the Crown Prince's body.

Noticing his beloved - both his beloveds - Rhaegar smiled softly and looked at Connington… who dropped his hand. "Well, I should take my wife and my bride back to the royal quarters. End the day with the two that I trust best." He chuckled, not noticing the flicker of pain in Connington's eyes. "Goodnight, Jon."

"Goodnight, my Prince."

Watching the small crowd of guards and ass-kissers following his sister, goodbrother, and... goodsister?... heading back to the royal apartments, Ned leaned back in his chair and sipped at the goblet of wine. Cringing at the sickly-sweet taste. "How can the southerners drink this piss?"

Brandon snorted. "Please, this is the best wine the Arbor has to offer." The heir to Winterfell gulped the wine, already deep into his cups. "The stocks at Riverrun can't compare."

"It tastes too… tart for me. Give me a proper ale any day," Ned replied. "That doesn't have the hint of overripe fruit."

"Oh Ned." Shaking his head, Brandon reached over and shook his shoulder affectionately. "What in Seven Hells did you do for all those years in the Eyrie for drink?"

"Mineral water mostly… the Hill Tribes brewed a sort of ale." He shuddered at the memory, but it was better than wine. "Had to just stomach it the rest of the time, all my friends japing me over it."

"I'd jape you over it, Ned. Gods… where's your sense of adventure?" If Bran was angered over the King's insulting speech, he had moved on quickly - or the alcohol and his short attention span made his moods erratic. "We're in the fucking capitol city of Westeros, our sister about to become royalty! Imagine what the two of us could do? Rhaegar could request us to sail the world for him!" His glassy eyes were nonetheless manic with excitement at the very idea.

Ned glanced at his brother with a cocked brow. "Really? You're the heir to Winterfell, brother. The North… and Lady Catelyn, will need you."

He waved Ned off. "Pish, father is healthy - I won't be needed for a long while yet."

"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell."

"I don't plan to be without an heir for long. Catelyn is a good mother, she'll raise the babe well."

She'll raise that babe to be a Riverman follower of the Faith, if you're not there. He bit his tongue though, downing the wine even though it tasted horrible. Wanting to forget. "You're living in a dream world, brother."

Bran looked at him queerly. "What creature bit you in the stones?" His face darkened. "The King?"

"Something like that."

His mood changed on a silver stag yet again. "The gall of him…" Bran at least had the guile even drunk to speak in a whisper. "How dare he attack our House. After all we fucking did for him!"

"He wanted us to surround Tywin Lannister for a… let's just say insane reason. Same reason he had Rhaegar marry Princess Elia, and his treatment of her… is still worse." Even while speaking, Ned wasn't listening. Mind elsewhere. Green eyes… warm mouth… moans that still made his cock twitch just thinking about it.

Stout lot it did me. Consumed by their passion that they were, the words they had spoken still rang true. Any relationship would be impossible between them. Few Lords Paramount would marry their daughters to a second son without a keep, practically impossible if said Lord was as ambitious as Tywin Lannister. You chose to fancy the most difficult woman, Ned.

Thinking more on it, the only regret he had was that they were interrupted… and that scared him. Something about Cersei Lannister made his honor evaporate. Yet... perhaps the greatest honor was following one's heart? Lyanna did, and House Stark was at the height of its power.

"Oh hells," he heard Bran mutter. Turning his head, Ned felt his entire mood sour. Robert. As if his luck couldn't get any worse. Insulted by the King, cock blocked by the Imp of Casterly Rock, and now being faced with the former friend he hadn't spoken to since threatening to cut his balls off.

Unsurprisingly, Robert was tipsy - face flushed and swaying slightly as he walked. What did end up surprising Ned was that tipsy was all Robert was. At this point most festive nights, if not passed out he'd be barely standing and with vomit coating his clothes. But his eyes were alert, hair still well-coiffed, and doublet free of grime. He looked like the proud, handsome Lord of a warrior house that he was. "Ned," he murmured sheepishly. "Lord Brandon."

"Robert." Ned wasn't keen on taking a swing at him. It would only complicate matters, so he kept himself polite but guarded.

Brandon had no such restraint - and it wasn't all the wine. "Lord Baratheon." He looked ready to explode at any minute.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Robert at least had the sense to pick up on the tension. Fuck, Ned was my brother. He felt like shit. "Um… what a night. Sorry bout that business with His Grace… he's my great uncle, so I feel somewhat culpable…" Not that the damn dragonspawn cares. "I guess…"

"What do you want, Robert? I'm in no mood for your drunken nonsense." The night with Cersei had left Ned bitter and sexually frustrated, in desperate need for a cold dunk in the ocean and sleep.

He stiffened his spine, ready to take his rap to the knuckles. "Ned… Lord Brandon… I'm sorry."

The Starks looked at each other before turning back to Robert. "I beg your pardon?"

"What can I say Ned, 'cept I'm sorry. I didn't have my head on straight…"

"No you didn't." Just the fact that Robert Baratheon of all people was apologizing was momentous. The burly stag never let down his pride, and the fact he hadn't drank himself into a stupor that night seemed to mean something. Jon did tell me to not give up on him.

He forced himself on Lyanna.

It doesn't serve Lyanna well to make him an enemy.

"You really expect us to believe you?" Brandon spat. "Fuck you and the stag you rode in on."

Swallowing, Robert looked over at Ned. "You feel the same way?"

"Honestly, Robert?" The quiet wolf pursed his lips. "Yes. What you did… I can't trust you around Lyanna anymore."

"And us? Our friendship?"

"If I wanted to save it, what makes me think that you would be one to trust once more?"

"'Aight," Robert sighed. "Slug me."

Ned blinked. "What?"

"Ya heard me, Ned." He stuck out his face, angling it into a juicy target. "Slug me. I'll give ya a free shot cause I was an ass to your sister. Come on."

"Robert, I'm not slugging you." That was just what House Stark needed, the Princess' brother caught assaulting the King's great-nephew mere days before her wedding. "I'm no brute."

He cussed a blind streak. "When did you become some Lysene buggerboy? Stop taking up the ass and slug me!"

"I'm not giving up my honor…"

"Oh for the love of the gods…" Without warning, Brandon lunged. Right hook leaving a sharp crack into Robert's jaw just before his knee lurched up to ram into the gut. Double blow felling the Lord of Storm's End, wind knocked out of him. "That's for Lyanna, you drunk fucker."

Jaw dropped, Ned stared at his brother. "Gods, Bran."

Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you didn't want to?"

Coughing, wheezing as he struggles to inflate his lungs, Robert manages to bring a finger to his lip, feeling it slip. "Went for a double hit, there," he sputtered.

"Second was for me. Ned already got his licks in."

There's a silence before Robert starts laughing uproariously. "Now that's a punch I can drink to, ya' son of a bitch!" He wagged his finger at Ned. "By the Seven, Ned, are your arms made of ice or something?" Hauling himself up, he grabbed a half-empty goblet of wine off a table and downed it. "Had to let your dashing brother fight your battles for you? Can defeat Arthur Dayne but can't slug me? I get ya' prefer a sword cause yer' pecker's small."

Ned crosses his arms. "My 'pecker' might not get as much work as you, but it's just fine." Then all three of them started laughing. Jon Arryn's words filling Ned's mind, he knew that he couldn't let a hate brew between Robert and he. Never would he trust him so implicitly, never would he allow Lyanna anywhere near him, but the man that was practically his third brother did deserve some consideration after years of being closer to him than all his other siblings. "Come on, let's head to the gardens. Sober up a bit."

"Fuck that, I'm gonna find me another flagon."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Brandon grinned, mood once again shifting. "Perhaps I'll visit Catelyn when the night is done."

"You and Lady Tully… fuck, she's a pretty thing. A Lady fit for a Lord, I shall say."

A Lady fit for a Lord… Golden hair filling his mind, that flagon of wine did sound appealing to him.

Notes:

o many different characters making their appearance. I'll just let this sit here :D

Wowza, those dresses for the Princesses!

If I can get 35 reviews, I'll update on Tuesday.

Next up, Ned and Cersei meet again.

Chapter 21: If the Walls had Ears

Notes:

Hi all, chapter as promised!

Someone made a comment about the ages of the characters and I think I should address this. Yes, I aged up many characters (Dacey... at this point she can be considered an OC House Mormont character). I have my reasons, namely that I dislike how Martin made so many of the characters end up getting involved in major things such as marriage, rule, and lordship at such a young age. Dany was too young to marry at age 13, same for Jon to go to the Wall. I prefer the show of making them 16, and this is what I chose to do with this story. If anyone doesn't like it, then fine, but it's what I'm comfortable writing.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"You're quiet, wife," Aerys broke the silence, watching her from the looking glass.

Rhaella blinked. "There's… not much to say, your Grace. Not with preparing for the wedding." Danger. Apprehension. Rhaella felt both when her husband showed up - for years, he never graced her bed, her chambers. Preferring to sleep alone in a private solar closer to the Iron Throne.

The King was still sharp and observant when he wanted to be. "You disapprove of what I said about the Starks, don't you?" Jaime tensed from where he stood, gingerly stepping ever closer to Rhaella.

A sigh… there was no escaping this. "While… your words were… truthful." Her lies were seamless, knowing to give him the least amount of rope. "I think our son's betrothal feast wasn't the right time?"

"Wasn't the right time?" The King turned, eyes almost glowing a bright purple. "And when do you think the right time would be, wife? When the Starks have joined with Tywin to surround me?" A deep breath, throat scratchy. "No… they must be nipped in the bud now."

"If you say so, your Grace. I trust your judgement." Rhaella hoped this would be the end of it.

But sadly, she didn't usually get what she wanted. "Lyanna… a little bitch, isn't she?" The Queen said nothing, knowing Lyanna's only crime was loving Rhaegar. "Just like the Dornish whore… I don't trust them." He walked to the window. "Our children, Rhaella, gods - they are strong. Strong with the blood of the dragon."

A sense of loss filled Rhaella at the many babes she lost. "Aye, they were perfect."

"It was Jenny that took them away." He kicked at the wall. "Jenny and Dunk, they killed my perfect babies and poisoned Rhaegar. Turned him into my worthless father." Aerys turned, looking intensely at Rhaella. "Well I won't let that happen, wife. Not with Viserys and not with our new babe."

Stomach dropping into a painful pit, Rhaella felt as if she had been hit. "What?"

"Yes, a girl! It is preordained!" Without warning, he picked her up, pulling her close against him. "A proper dragon bride for Viserys, uncorrupted by Jenny."

Suddenly, he moved to kiss her in full view of his Kingsguard seemed to notice how she involuntarily flinched. Just a slight movement, but the damage was done. Rhaella screamed as Aerys shoved her, knocking her into a table covered in jewelry and sharp silver trinkets.

"You won't deny me, wife!" he snarled. "You will do your duty! And this time you won't destroy Viserys and our daughter as you did with Rhaegar! I won't let you!"

Pain in her arm and food, Rhaella could only nod. Completely stunned at the turn of events.

Staring down at his wife, Aerys' faraway blinked. "Seven hells, I need to think." He needed to be with his eggs. "Clean her up," he barked at Jaime, leaving without another word.

With the slam of the door, Jaime darted to his Queen. "Are you alright, your Grace?"
He easily hefted her back to her feet - delicate frame on his.

Rhaella nodded, eyes filling with tears. "I'm alright," she murmured. "Thank you, Ser Jaime. I just need..." Feeling something dripping down her arm, Rhaella looked and found a long but shallow cut in her arm. "Oh fuck, the last thing I need…" With that, nothing can stop her sobs. Used to her brother's treatment, somehow this was too much to bear.

Jaime had always been the more gentle of the Lannister twins, but rage burned inside him. A powerful protective instinct for the woman he loved. "Let's clean this up," he ground out, trying to keep strong for her. Nodding, one badly-placed step upon the floor caused Rhaella's ankle to twist. With a yelp, she almost tumbled to the ground… only for a pair of strong arms to hef her back up. "Try not to make me do this thrice, my Queen."

She smiled half-heartedly, eyes sparkling from the tears. "I'll try not to…" Testing the waters, Rhaella placed her foot back on the ground… only to wince. Rhaella was a Targaryen Queen. She'd bear it. "Just don't go too far away."

"Fuck this," Jaime finally said, taking matters into his own hands. With a yelp from her, the Lion of Lannister lifted her bridal style. Intent on carrying her to the bed as painlessly as possible.

Forced to wrap her arms around his neck to steady herself, Rhaella opened her mouth to scold him for the breach of protocol… But her objection died on her lips. Jaime was carrying her slight form as if lifting a feather. Her tongue grew dry at the feat of strength, unable not to sigh at the inhale of his masculine scent.

As soon as it began, it was over. Jaime depositing her on the bed and moving to grab a wet cloth. Rhaella shivering in spite of herself, missing his arms handling her so effortlessly. Her tears were forgotten, head spinning with thoughts alien to her.

Returning, Jaime placed the cloth on the wound. Rhaella hissed in discomfort, but a soft stroking of her arm calmed her. It took the knight everything in him not to give in and kiss her there. Inability to truly take her pain away only fueling his own anger. "You shouldn't have to take this… from him."

Turning her head to glare at him, there was no anger in Rhaella's eyes. Just worry. He couldn't help but hold out a forlorn hope. "Don't speak, Ser Jaime."

"You deserve better than a husband who hurts you." Apparently, excoriating the Starks in front of the entire Realm wasn't enough to satiate his rage against Brandon Stark for his comment. It was a common sight, Aerys triggered by something and then expanding his rage to any slight or whatever problem his mind could dredge up. The Queen that Jaime loved was the easiest target. "A husband that doesn't deserve to live."

"When that husband is the King," she replied, praying he would simply let it go. "Kingsguards shouldn't speak ill of the King they serve." Ser Jaime was the only light of her life not of her blood. So much like Joanna that it often shocked her - having him was like having a piece of her long-dead childhood friend and companion.

His unrequited feelings drove him far beyond what his oaths as a Kingsguard determined was proper. What was smart. "It would be easy." Cersei often said he spoke or acted before he thought. This was one of those times. "My sword, his back… your pain would be over."

Violet eyes widening, Rhaella grew red. "Never speak of such things!" Barking with anger, but derived from fear. Rhaella couldn't bear seeing him beheaded… or burned alive. "You are out of line, Ser Jaime, and have been out of line the entire night." She saw him grimace but Rhaella didn't stop. "He is your King. If you cross the line again, you shall be dismissed from my service. Are we clear?"

Hanging his head, Jaime only nodded. "Forgive me, my Queen. I did not know what I was saying." He did feel foolish, but there was the extra pain of truly hurting his Queen. Rising, unable to look at her without shame. "I'll fetch Pycelle for you."

Rhaella felt cold when Jaime left the bed. No, don't go… Almost reaching out and begging for him to stay - but her words actually hurting him, it broke her resolve. More painful to her than even Aerys' words.

Approaching the door, Jaime took one last glance at the Queen, hearing her soft sobs return. Steeling himself in spite of it being a dagger to his heart, he managed to leave the chambers. Stranded in the corridor, suddenly the rage spewed forth. A hushed snarl as he slammed his fist into one of the columns, pain of cut knuckles and sprained bones radiating through his hand.

Now Pycelle would have two injuries to treat.

---

A fire roared in the hearth, filling the chamber with a toasty warmth. Princess Rhaenys nevertheless burrowed under the goose down. Shivering from the chilly winter's knight drifting from Blackwater Bay. "Muna, I's cold…"

Lyanna could only chuckle. "This is cold? You've never been north of Dragonstone, have you?" The girl shook her head, causing her to lean down and hug her close. "My my, what will happen when you see snow?"

That perked her right up. "Jump in snow!"

"Settle down, little dragon. You still need to sleep." She and Elia had arranged to switch parenting duties each day, trying to get both Rhaenys and Aegon used to Lyanna as a mother So far, it worked wonders… if the princess would go to sleep. "Oh, my sweet summer child. How about I tell you a story of snow… the greatest snow in the history of the North."

Curling into a smile, Rhaenys nodded. Wide violet eyes trained on her new mother.

She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the words that Old Nan had told her in her childhood. "The snows were so intense that they fell a hundred feet deep."

"Wow." Lyanna doubted that Rhaenys truly knew what a hundred feet meant - a mountain of now taller than even the Wall.

She nodded, continuing - while cleaning up the dark, fearful elements of the tale. Old Nan liked to try and frighten them which in all fairness was what she, Ned, Bran, and Benjen would ask for. Rhaenys… at merely three namedays she wasn't ready for that. "The First Men called it the Long Night, when the sun hides for years and children are born and live their lives all in darkness. A night thousands of years ago that lasted a generation."

"Where was sun?" Rhaenys asked innocently.

"No sun, hidden by the snowclouds."

"Why? Sun awways rise."

"Because of the white walkers, little dragons. Big ice monsters, skinny as bones. They swept through cities and kingdoms, riding their dead horses, hunting with their packs of pale spiders big as hounds…"

She stopped as Rhaenys gasped, pulling the covers over her head. "No muna… kepa and Sewr Awtur save me frwam white walkers." Even with paring down Old Nan's details, Lyanna had scared the princess all the same.

Both adorable and heartbreaking, Lyanna pulled back the covers to pepper Rhaenys' face with kisses. "Don't be worried, little dragon. The white walkers are gone."

Violet eyes blinked hopefully. "Rweally?"

Lyanna nodded. "A great hero emerged. Forging a sword for a hundred days and a hundred nights a sword of burning flame called Lightbringer. With it, this hero took on the white walkers and destroyed them, bringing sun and summer to all of Westeros. All waiting for the dragons to journey from Valyria to become their kings and be all cute." Lyanna began tickling Rhaenys, making her giggle.

"Muna, stop… he he…" Falling back on the mattress with a wide smile before yawning. Arms stretching above her.

"Looks like it's time for bed sweetling." The she-wolf pulled up the covers to wrap around Rhaenys tightly, kissing her forehead. "Goodnight, little dragon."

As she made her way to the door, a soft whimper called her back. "Muna…"

She couldn't refuse the plea. "Yes, Rhae?" Sighing, Lyanna sat in the chair next to the tiny bed. "What is it?"

"Do you wuv me?"

Lyanna blinked, not a question she expected. "What do you mean, sweetling? Of course I love you." She did - she truly did, as much as a child of her own womb. Of this, Lyanna was certain.

But Rhaenys wasn't convinced. "Why?" Suddenly, a tear fell down the girl's cheek.

The sight made Lyanna's heart clench. "Rhae… why are you crying?" she asked, voice catching with fear and worry. "Please tell me." I can't see you like this…

What she ended up saying broke Lyanna's heart further. "I hear red man speak wif owld robe man." Red man and old robe man… Connington and Pycelle? "They say 'Muna Lwyanna no wuv Dorne. Muna Lwyanna get wid of me and Egg'" A soft sob left her. "I wuv you, muna, no get wid of me…"

At that moment, Elia arrived at the door. Wanting to kiss her beloved daughter good night after putting Egg to bed, only to hear her crying. Worried, she almost entered but was stilled by Lyanna's voice.

Now it was Lyanna who was crying. "Oh sweetling… my sweet little dragon…" She kissed Rhaenys' cheek, burying her face in the nest of black curls. The Princess smelled like Rhaegar only with a more gentle scent. "I will never do that to you. I love you with all my heart and soul, just like your father and brother."

"Pwomise?"

"I promise." Why do you love this girl? A nagging voice asked within her, negative and questioning. She is not yours… Lyanna wished to scoff at it, tell the voice to piss off, but… Why did she love Rhae and Egg? Why had they wormed their way into her heart so quickly? "You're just like kepa, you know that?"

Rhaenys smiled. "Kepa is the bwavest, stwongest man."

"That he is," Lyanna swooned. "I love him so much, little dragon." Yes, Rhaenys and Egg were the children of the man she loved, but instinct told Lyanna that they were as much her destiny as the children of her womb - of Visenya, Jaehaerys, Lyarra, and the son as yet to be named. Old Nan and her mother had often said the Starks were a line seeped in the magic of the old gods, so perhaps it was that. "You are practically my daughter, and when he and I are wed you will be in the sight of gods and men."

"I wuv you, muna."

Ears pressed against the door, Elia pulled back. Chest feeling tight. Part of her glad that Lyanna was taken with Rhaenys so selflessly, but there was still that tiny worry. A pain at seeing another woman earn the sort of unconditional love from her precious child. The woman my husband loves too, without the baggage we have…

Mind and heart a swirling cauldron of emotions, worries, and rationalizations that she was overthinking everything, Elia walked back to her shared chambers with Rhaegar. Needing his arms around her. Not hearing the next part of the conversation…

Hugging, Rhaenys nuzzling into Lyanna's neck, all was how it should be. "Don't you worry, my little dragon. Kepa and both your munas love you very much."

"Mmmm…" Something came to mind. "Do me wuving you make me wuv muna no more?"

Brows furrowing, Lyanna pulled back. "No."

"Red man say that. That you twy to take me fow youself… I wuv muna too." Whereas there was sadness before, now there was conflict in the poor girl. A deep confusion as to her circumstances. Had she hidden this for so long?

A burning anger for Jon Connington formed in Lyanna's veins, but that was for another time. "Listen to me, Rhae. Dragons answer to neither gods nor men. Others are normal, but you are extraordinary."

"Extwaowdinawy…" Rhaenys tried but failed to pronounce the word. Gods, I could eat her up!

"Elia is your muna, and she loves you so much. I would end myself before I take you away from her." Her family's sayings kept coming back. "My own muna once said 'The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.' We are part of a pack, and nothing will rip us apart if I have anything to say about it."

One last smile on her lips, Rhaenys drifted off to sleep. Face free of worry for the first time in days.

Lyanna softly kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, my sweet babe. Your pack loves you so." Quietly she made her exit, unaware that Elia had ever been there.

---

"If there are gods, they truly hate me right now." One moment, Cersei was in her chambers, a glass of wine in her hand and mulling just how irritated and horny she was, and the next brought the most annoying person she knew to disturb such peace… or rather restless silence.

"You don't have to get testy with me, sister," Trion drolled, leaning against the armrest of his chair. "I'm happy for you. Ned Stark is quite the catch if you think about it." He belched, causing Cersei to roll her eyes.

"I thought you were sober?"

He offered a tiny smile of apology. "Mostly sober. Had to have a little liquid courage to get up the gumption to run the gauntlet by seeing you. Personally, I'd much rather make the eight…" Tyrion wiggled his eyebrows.

Groaning, Cersei wondered if she could smother him with a pillow before anyone noticed. Eh, too impracticable. "You're a pig." Why the fuck do we have to be related?

Giggling again, Tyrion looked somberly at his only sister. Certainly better company than Aunt Genna's half-Frey brats with Jaime too busy. At least Cersei had some restraint about her. "At least thank the gods it was myself that found you close to losing your maidenhead and not father… he doesn't need the added difficulty that murdering the brother of the future Queen would give him..."

Sigh leaving her lips, Cersei just wanted this torture to end. "Tyrion, I'm tired and I have a headache…"

"All things that Ned Stark is likely glad you didn't have while he was devouring you." Catching her murderous glare return, Tyrion put his hands up. "Alright, that's my last one.' While normally a debased disgrace to the Lannister name, when he did grow serious Tyrion looked exactly like their father - and with the brains to back it up. "This isn't some infatuation. You really fancy Eddard Stark?"

Sighing, Cersei let her head fall back. "I can't believe I'm talking to you about this." Frankly, since Melara had nothing else to add and their pasts made talking to him… awkward, it was either Tyrion or Gerion. With Gerion away at the moment… "Yes, I fancy him."

Nodding, Tyrion leaned forward. "And why is that? To be honest, he doesn't seem like your type." All dour and brooding, Ned Stark would be quite dashing but wasn't the type to ever flaunt it. Definitely not the kind of man Cersei tended to favor. Quite the conundrum.

"I don't know." It frustrated her sometimes. "With the collapse of my almost betrothal to the Prince… Something just attracted me to the Stark. It baffles me." Much as she despised Tyrion, it did feel good to disclose this. The weight on her chest wasn't as heavy. "Ironic, my first words to him was 'Stuff your apology, northern fool!'"

"That's practically foreplay for you, sister." He grinned, leaning back against the chair like an arrogant lord holding court. But he grew serious. "Do you think it's about…"

Blindsided there, Cersei glared at her brother. "Do not go there, Tyrion."

But Tyrion was determined to explore this - for both his curiosity and whatever clarity Cersei could obtain. "Your outlook, I mean when you left for the tourney you still desired to be Rhaegar's wife, but your entitlement to it was nothing like before father made you drink the tea."

"I told you not to go there!" Her eyes shut tight - Cersei had finally put the pain of that moment to bed, only for her hated brother to bring it up again. "Don't, don't, don't…" She withdrew, almost tearing up.

Tyrion may have been an ass sometimes, but unlike what many - sometimes including Cersei - said, he was no monster. "Alright, sister. I won't refer to it again." There was a silence, allowing her some breathing space to resume her composure. "Personally, I think you should let that Stark boy have his way with you. You'll be far less wound..."

Now the proper Cersei Lannister returned from the show of vulnerability. "When you were a babe, I almost smothered you with a pillow. Wanna see if I can do so now..."

"Alright, Cersei. I know when I've overstayed my welcome." He pushed himself off the chair, hobbling out on his stunted legs. "One last thing. Don't let father's ambitions dissuade you from having your direwolf… he's probably gonna end up on the small council one day. Follow your heart and count yourself as lucky as Lady Lyanna."

Watching Tyrion leave, Cersei rose and walked to her bed. Falling upon it - staring at the ceiling. Gods… Tyrion, little monster that he was, ended up having a point. Perhaps that even as she pined for Rhaegar, little affair with Jaime notwithstanding, there had been a change about her after… Even in her own thoughts, Cersei couldn't bear to think about it. Ned Stark is no dashing prince or handsome knight.

He is handsome… and a fighter. No one that fought Ser Arthur Dayne and won could be thought of as anything different. A good man.

But he is a northern barbarian, a second son of a backwater Lord…

A man who set my loins on fire… Groaning loud, she buried her head in her pillow. Hoping that her sleep wouldn't be disturbed too much by the burning between her legs.

---

Bouncing the cute little bundle clutched tightly to her bosom, Elia cooed gently. "Sleep little one. Muna's got you close… that's it." Violet eyes that were just like his father looking up at her, Prince Aegon yawned, arms stretching above his head before he fell asleep in her arms. "Rest up, little dragon."

"By the gods, motherhood agrees with you." Walking beside her in the gardens, listening to the hummingbirds buzz around the various winter blooming flowers planted by the groundskeepers, Oberyn watched his sister with a pure smile. He always did love his family as he did life. "Last time I saw you, you were pregnant with the tiny Princess."

Elia chuckled, being with child the first time she felt truly content with her lot in life. The first time Rhaegar and she managed to truly connect, however strained. "You have more experience than than me with childrearing… the bearing, not so much."

Oberyn shrugged. "I saw Nymeria's mother give birth. Believe me, I'm glad I was born with a cock." He smirked as Elia rolled his eyes. "Stop being so prudish, dear sister. It's how our parents made us."

"You sound just like Ellaria… and that isn't a complement by the way." Still bouncing Aegon, Elia looked at a newly planted shrub of winter roses. They are beautiful… She'd come to recently appreciate the wild beauty of the north.

Normally observant, his wistful remembrance of the night he had arrived - nude body tangled with an equally nude goddess in her bed - took his concentration. "Ah, yes. I hope the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms isn't angry that I… sampled her beautiful Lady in Waiting."

She narrowed her eyes. "I hope that you weren't referring to Dacey Mormont." All she got was a quirk of Oberyn's head. The woman that sampled half the Red Keep, sleeping with ten Northern guards and maids since Lyanna arrived in King's Landing… of course she falls for my brother. "I bet she took you to Chataya's."

He shook his head. "No, no brothel. Dear Ellaria Sand was worth ten whores, the way she could do this one thing with her tongue…"

"Alright, that's enough of an image." Elia didn't want to throw up while she held Aegon. "But only one woman for you? I'm surprised, brother." Oberyn grinned in response. "So I take it I'll have to find a new Lady in Waiting."

There was a slight silence. "About that… you need not worry once I leave."

It took a moment, but Elia did a double take. "You little bastard." She was simultaneously in jest and deathly serions. "You defiled my Lady in Waiting and are parting with her without another word?" Shaking her head, at that moment Elia sounded like their deceased mother. Quite scolding. "Why must you do that, Oberyn? She has an attraction to you."

"It was her idea, dear sister. And the beautiful Ellaria is just like me, a free spirit."

The Princess glared crossly, huffing. "I think obliviousness runs in our family if you are that boneheaded."

Smirking softly, Oberyn pointed out to Blackwater Bay. "See there, a thousand lands to explore. I am second in line to Doran, and he already has three children healthy as horses. I'm not required to inherit anything, so why not spread my wings."

"Because you have an actual connection with Ellaria?"

He shrugged again, spreading his arms. "I can't discount that. If we are meant to be, then she shall grace my life again." Oberyn leaned down to smell one of the flowers. "Let's leave it in the gods' hands."

"I think you're making a mistake, brother."

"Many women in my life, dear sister. Two daughters… at least that I know of." Another chuckle, another eye roll. "If there's anyone that knows the vagaries of love, it's me. Now your goodbrother, he's hopeless."

Elia furrowed her brows. Couldn't be Viserys… "Brandon?" No, he's a ladies man… "Ned Stark you mean?"

A nod. "Aye, spoke to him at your betrothal feast. Quite a brooder he is - worse than Rhaegar if you can believe it."

"You spoke to Ned Stark?" Oh, now this I have to hear. They took a turn out of the gardens, wandering close to one of the open yards of the keep. Members of the household guard trained in the distance, supervised by the up and coming knight Alliser Thorne - loyalty to House Targaryen bordering on zealotry. Though she was still miffed about him and Ellaria, Elia had learned in her time as Princess not to hold a grudge for very long. "What did you discuss?" she asked, easing Egg in her arms as he slept.

"Oh, just his pining after Cersei Lannister."

If she wasn't holding Aegon, Elia would have probably fell over in shock. "Eddard fancies Cersei Lannister?" Gods, that is something no one would have ever expected. "I greatly pity him."

"I don't. If he is able to nab the Light of the West, she'll fuck his brains out. A seasoned lover can always tell that type of woman. Cersei is that way… and so is your sister's wife." Oberyn wriggled his brows.

Biting her lip, Elia blushed. "I wouldn't know anything about…"

"Obara!" he barked at a child around eight namedays. "Keep your arms up. You're sparring, not dancing." Matched against a Martell guard, the girl did as she was told - improving greatly. Lyanna would like Dornish custom, I believe.

Lyanna...

She looked up to find Oberyn staring at her. "What troubles you, sister?"

"Oh… nothing."

"Don't give me that. Our brother might be fooled, or too oblivious, but you never got to pawn me off so easily." He crossed his arms. "Why are you so pensive lately?"

Secretly craving a sympathetic ear, Elia spilled everything. From what she observed the night before outside Rhaenys' chambers, to Lyanna's monopolization of Rhaegar's adoring gazes, to the slow reconnecting she found herself having with her husband. Speaking of things she was ashamed to say or think… Oberyn wouldn't judge her, so it just came out.

Oberyn merely listened. "Alright," he finally spoke. "Turns out I was right all along about you and Rhaegar loving each other. I saw it when Rhaenys was in your womb and it just took a little push to get your heads out of your asses."

"Enough, Oberyn. I'm being serious right now." Easing Egg in her lap, she ran her fingers through her raven locks. "My mind is spinning and I have no way of calming it."

"Alright. Firstly, you have nothing to worry about."

She blinked. "And why is that?"

"If Lyanna were to try and usurp you, she would have made moves already." That had been proven the moment Lyanna held a knife to his throat to defend Rhaegar. Oberyn could see it in her eyes. "My worries…" A sigh. "You are my first priority, Elle." A name only Oberyn ever had for her. "If Lyanna was usurping you… if the Starks are usurping you, which is still something I can't dismiss at this point in time." Eddard… he was harmless. The man seemed more preoccupied with his own love life than anything political, placing him as a guileless novice at the game. Brandon seemed like an oblivious fun-lover, while Rickard was hard to read. Still have some work to go. "Our brother on the other hand, he ranted to me for a whole day about the need to keep Aegon's birthright."

Elia groaned. "He's always been more obsessed about the family legacy than his actual family." Her confusion about her role as her heart pushed her to Rhaegar but Doran's orders pushed her towards being a spy for Sunspear had clouded her early years. Preventing a true bond with her husband before Aerys began abusing her. She wouldn't forget it.

"Look, I wouldn't worry about Lyanna… while Doran would be stubborn about this, I see her love for your children as genuine. There's no faking that kind of adoration, and I honestly think you didn't hear their entire conversation. You may well be taking it out of context."

Elia had to admit he had a point. "Brother, I'm glad Lyanna cares for Egg and Rhae. I'm glad she cares for Rhaegar… I've had more affection from him now than at any time in our marriage, but would he have ever done so if not for Lyanna?" Her greatest source of dejection at the moment, that Rhaegar's love was just guilt.

"Why are you overthinking it, just enjoy having an actual husband." Of course it wasn't as cut and dry. "Dragons are not deceptive by nature, sister. Not when it comes to family." He smirked slyly. "Do you want to know why it is that you are so emotionally frazzled."

Egg whimpered, so Elia was distracted by him - missing the smirk. "What?"

"I think that you want to make love to both Rhaegar and Lyanna." That caught her attention, jaw dropping. "What? Every girl that tried it in my presence enjoyed herself."

That merely earned him a smack on the shoulder.

Notes:

Aerys is spiraling further out of control, but even here poor Jaime can't properly console the woman he loves :(

Rhaenys is adorable and Lyanna discovers some important context about herself and her feelings... but Elia may have heard her out of context. Good thing she has Oberyn... but will he be enough?

Writing Cersei in this story is just so much fun.

Next up, Lyanna and Elia take a trip to the city with a certain someone.

Chapter 22: The Northern Bard

Notes:

Hi all, chapter as promised!

A Happy Birthday to GulfYankee23! Be sure to check out his story Wolves of War (on fanfiction). Great read.

Enjoy and please comment :D

PS: anyone among the readers who is or knows someone that can do original artwork for this piece?

Tonight was the night - a night where he would finally clear his mind before his wedding. Lacing his boots, Rhaegar admired the scuffed leather and rawhide laces that so adorned them. More precious to him than all the fine footwear that lined his closets. Jenny had got them for him. The woods witch turned Princess had guided him through Maegor I's hidden passageways, allowing young Rhaegar a safe place to play his harp. And when he was older… other things.

Even without Ser Barristan this night, he would enjoy it.

"My Queen," Rhaegar heard Ser Arthur say from outside the door. Uh oh. "Forgive me, but Prince Rhaegar is asleep."

"It seems rather early for that," he heard his mother reply. "And why would he be sleeping alone when he has shared Princess Elia's bed since he has arrived." Not waiting for Arthur's answer, Rhaegar found his mother throw open the door before he could dash for the secret escape route.

"Mother…" he managed to stammer, eyes wide. "What are you…?"

Frayed leather boots, trousers splotched and moth eaten. If not for his lustrous silver hair, he would look like a common smallfolk laborer. The idea, I so suspect. "I should ask you the same question, my son." She couldn't help but smirk.

"Forgive me, your Grace," Arthur said from the doorway. "But I don't think you would have wished me to detain the Queen."

Based on how he trembled and shifted his eyes, Rhaella didn't blame either Princess for finding him utterly adorable. "Uh… well…"

Rhaella giggled. He was just as cute as he was when a babe. She walked over to wrap her arms around her eldest boy. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Rhaegar. Did you think that your mother wouldn't notice how often you would sneak out of the Red Keep?" At his embarrassed blush, she smiled. "What were you doing out there to begin with?"

Motioning for his mother to sit down, as he found a chair Rhaegar felt a bit unburdened. "Sometimes I needed some time… to be free of my duty even for a little while." It had been so enjoyable that he couldn't stop himself. "Plus…"

"You wanted to see your domain." At his nod, she leaned over to kiss his brow. "You take so after my father, it's uncanny." Her son was perfect, who would be a wise and just King. "But I didn't come to talk to you about this."

"What did you wish to speak of, mother?"

They were seated close together, Rhaella feeling an overwhelming love and affection for her perfect son. The person that made dealing with Aerys worth it, a worthy burden to bear. "Ever since Lyanna came… I've seen you happy, Rhaegar. Happier than you've been for a long time."

He smiles. "She makes me happy, mother."

"And Elia?" His smile faded into something… unsure. So much history there. "I haven't been blind, my son - how affectionate the both of you are to each other." Obvious explanations such as placating Dorne did come to mind, but Rhaella knew her son. Those moments were genuine. "Everything's changed."

For the life of him, Rhaegar couldn't lie to his mother. She would see through his bullshit. "What can I say?"

"You love her." It wasn't a question.

"She's the mother of my children, my confidant… yes, I do love her." He had seen it in the past, especially of his own family. The political marriage set aside by a stronger royal in favor of a loving, lustful second relationship - be it marriage or a simple mistress. Not everyone has the luck of grandfather, marrying only for love. "I see the pain in her eyes, the bitterness… I blame myself." Rhaegar had tried to keep in his hurt for so long, but Rhaella was always someone he could confide in.

"You don't need to tell me more, my son." Her letters to her uncle Aemon - he had been her rock during the most painful of times, and his stories of the past had brought much knowledge to her. "You are more like my father than you realize, Rhaegar. Even in allowing a place in your heart for more than one."

Rhaegar's eyes widened, shifting from his lap to gaze at his mother. "Grandfather… loved two?"

Rhaella nodded. "It was a trying time for House Targaryen. Plagues, wars, rebellions. Lord Bloodraven kept it together, but only barely. As the youngest son of the youngest son, my father never expected to be King so he sought to marry for love… and he loved his sister. My aunt Rhae." It had been no secret, hence her and her elder sister Rhaelle's names… or why Aegon had asked her to name her son Rhaegar. "They wished to marry, but after all the plagues brought Maeker to the line of succession, he forbade it."

"Why?" While polygamous marriage was forbidden for fear of antagonizing the Faith - Daeron II choosing to alienate his half-brother rather than letting him take two wives - the Doctrine of Exceptionalism still applied to siblings.

"She was promised to another Lord. Someone who would secure our position." Rhaella sighed. "As such, he journeyed the Realm and fell in love with my mother." A chuckle escaped her lips. "But for the entire time of their marriage, Aunt Rhae was their lover."

The Prince was absolutely stunned. How did no one know of this? "His search of the dragons, it was to be able to openly marry Rhae, wasn't it?"

He doesn't need to know the other reason… not yet. "Aye, that was my father's main goal. Tragically, his efforts killed not only himself, but also both of his loves." A tear fell down her cheek. "You, my son, have fortune on your side that he didn't. It's in our blood, don't deny it."

Luck, providence, fortune. Could his duty, as Aemon told him, be loving these two beauties? "Thank you, mother."

Smiling, Rhaella rose and kissed Rhaegar's cheek. "Just make sure Elia knows you love her independent of Lyanna. They will never let you go."

---

Elia looked at the she-wolf incredulously. "So wait, Arthur never left Dacey's side all night?"

A grin was planted on Lyanna's face, both of the princesses leaned forward on their loveseats - gossiping like two and ten year-old maidens. "He did, not that Dacey sees how momentous this was. All she can do is point at Ellaria and disclose that Arthur tried nothing but a hand on the small of her back rather than fall into bed like Oberyn did." There was no real secret where the Dornish Princess' night had been spent following the betrothal feast. "She's not just smitten with Ser Stuffy. I have little doubt that she's in love with him."

"What is it with you northerners?" laughed Elia, swatting at Lyanna's knee. "Diving in and shaking up matters like a blizzard? Arthur was a stoic septon before the she-bear showed up."

"And Ellaria? I'm sure her teaching Dacey the Dornish ways of seduction didn't have an effect?" Lyanna sighed. "Arthur was as stoic as a septon, while Ellaria had a much easier time of it. At least her target in Oberyn was someone not against a quick roll in the hay."

Crossing her legs, Elia glanced up at the ceiling. "Not a roll in the hay, sister." She paused for effect. "Ellaria's in love with him too… at least that's what I think." An incredulous laugh. "My lady in waiting, the woman that sampled half the cocks and cunts in the Red Keep, in love… and with my brother no less."

"Knowing his reputation, I doubt their wild ways would cease even if they tie the knot."

Blinking, Elia's jaw dropped. "Gods, you're right. That would be scandalous… right up their alley."

They were in Lyanna's chambers, sharing a glass of Dornish Apple and talking about literally everything under the sun. While Aerys and his conduct towards both of them did come up, both restricted their conversation to happy things - the wedding was in the morning… the moment where Lyanna would have her dreams come true with the man she adored since first laying eyes on him. Neither were interested in having a sullen mood prior to that momentous occasion. "Did you ever think you'd get to be here?" Lyanna suddenly asks, causing Elia to blink.

That was an… interesting question. "I'm not sure what you mean, sister?"

"We all know that I never expected this… even in spite of dreaming of something similar for years… but the Martells have married into House Targaryen before. Rhaegar has Martell blood. Did you expect it, or was it a surprise?"

"I…" There were so many competing emotions here. "I thought it a possibility… it's what my father and brother raised me for, but everyone thought Cersei Lannister would end up as Rhaegar's." The thought of the lioness having her paws on the Prince made Elia's blood boil. Possessiveness, a sign of love. Ironically, the inner voice sounded like a mix of her brother and Elia. "I hoped for a happy life as in the songs. That certainly was dashed rather quickly." Elia looked away, fighting a tear.

Lyanna reached over to clasp her sister-wife's hands. "I can see you two together recently, how happy he seems. Things are getting better." A small smile formed on the she-wolf's lips.

Elia shifted her gaze to the northerner. "And it truly doesn't bother you?"

"No. I trust Rhaegar to love me with all his heart alongside you, sister. Does it bother you?"

No… yes… perhaps… I don't know… Most of her didn't, but the nagging view of her brother persisted - a fear for Aegon and Rhaenys. The fear from that night she had listened in. "Not since you showed your love for my children."

"Our children, as much mine as babes of my womb will be yours." It was how Rhaella described Aenys and Maegor while their father and Mother Visenya were alive, and Lyanna wanted the same. Seeing how wonderful Elia was as a mother, her children by Rhaegar would be well raised by her… and it was simply the best way to go forth. One united front.

"Our children," Elia corrected. You may love them… but your family might not say the same. Politics had a way of ripping apart sentimentality. Something in Lyanna drew her notice, as if she was hiding something… "Lyanna. What's wrong?"

A sigh. There was no hiding it. "Connington." Elia tensed. "Rhaenys overheard something he was telling Pycelle… at least I think it was Pycelle. I think the Hand was trying to sow doubt about us, that I would take Rhaenys away from you." Her fists clenched.

Elia noticed this. Years in the Red Keep taught her to read the genuineness of emotion… and Lyanna's was genuine. Was that what all this was about? What I heard? The Princess felt bad now… for misunderstanding. "There's no need to worry, Lya. I know you won't take her away from me."

Do you?

Yes…

Lyanna felt relieved a bit, but the underlying issue remained. "There's some reason he hates me… and you."

"He's in love with Rhaegar." Lyanna stared at her. "I can tell the looks. They're the same ones you give him."

"Oh… well. Rhaegar can't help him there."

"I know that… from personal experience." The two of them laughed.

Suddenly, a groan could be heard through the walls, followed by an intense creak as one section of stone slabs swung open. Elia practically jumped, while Lyanna both had her heart struck and instinctively moved ahead of her soon to be sister-wife. Facing the threat…

Only for Rhaegar to appear. "Ladies… hope I didn't frighten you."

Both trying to calm their hearts, it was Lyanna that first picked up a pillow to chuck at her beloved. "You cunt! What was that? Where did you come from?!"

"The Red Keep has tunnels created by Maegor, only accessible by the Royal Family…" Elia explained, but not before throwing a pillow herself. "But that doesn't excuse your being a cunt!" another pillow before Rhaegar strode right before them. Making them notice his simple clothes… and how handsome he looked in them. "What… what are you doing here."

He smiled. "Here." A bag was handed to them. Rifling through it, Lyanna pulled out a simple peasent's dress and clothes. Eyes questioning. "We're going out… to the city."

"You can't be serious?" Elia asked more on the practical side than her desire. "Wait… is this what you and Ser Barristan kept doing at night?" That was one mystery solved.

Lyanna would ask him about these trips by Ser Barristan. "I think he is… where are your guards?"

Rhaegar's grin widened. "None. Blackfyre is enough." He patted his sheathed sword before handing Lyanna a personal longsword. "Oh, you'll need this."

How the smirk spread on Lyanna's face made the Dornish Princess shiver.

---

"Oh, Bran…" A long mewl escaped her lips as Catelyn felt her betrothed's tongue snaking up the column of her neck. Shivering at how madly good it felt. "We should… stop…"

Reaching a patch of skin behind her ear, Brandon suckled it. Enjoying how the Tully girl writhed underneath him. "Why?"

Catelyn's hips bucked up as if on instinct - humping his crotch for relief. Whimpering at the strip of silk that shrouded her womanhood from his nakedness. "Because… not married…" Her mind said this was against the way of the Seven, but gods… her body wanted more.

Noticing this, Brandon chuckled. "We're betrothed." He had bedded many women. While they were generally better at the actual act, gods… seeing the prim and pious Catelyn Tully melt beneath him was amazing. "We shall be married."

"Still… not… mmmm…"

Hands grabbing the hem of the nightdress, her own wool dress having been discarded with his clothes upon the floor barely moments after he entered her chambers, Brandon rid Catelyn of her last strip of fabric. Licking his lips at the sight of pert breasts and a thatch of fire red hair at her womanhood that matched that of her head. "Kissed by fire…" he whispered deeply, attacking her breasts.

"Fu…" Even in passion, she bit back the profanity. "Bran…" Catelyn was teetering on the edge…

"Tell me to stop, Cat." He grabbed his member and tapped it against her entrance. One that only knew his touch.

The jolts through her core ended even the tiniest whimper of protest, and Catelyn bit her lip with a silent groan when Brandon pushed inside her. Feeling an explosion of pleasure that she had never before known. Wordlessly, she wrapped her legs around his hips, surrendering to him as he kissed her deeply. How could something so wrong feel soooo good… Her septas had to be wrong…

Spring in his step, Brandon leaned over to kiss the beauty passed out in his bed. Catelyn shivered in her sleep, snuggling against the pillow while murmuring his name. "I will enjoy making heirs with you, sweet wife," he chuckled. Tying his scabbard on his waist and heading off to meet with Elbert Arryn for a spar before bed, he left his chambers only to stop in his tracks… "Oh, Prince Oberyn."

Smirking, the Prince of Dorne crossed his arms. "I had come minutes ago, but it seemed as if you were busy."

Brandon wasn't Ned or Lyanna, so he only grinned. "Yeah… I was preoccupied with something… or rather someone." They proceeded down the hall, Oberyn walking beside him. Hells, he's fun to be around.

"I wouldn't have imagined Catelyn Tully to be anything less than a Septa."

Blinking, Brandon was only mildly surprised that Oberyn knew who he was bedding - most of him didn't care. "Eh, I'm sure you know what it means. Women not keeping their hands off you?"

Oberyn grinned. "Not just women." There was a slight silence. "Worried about dishonoring her?" At Brandon's quizzical look, he held up his hands. "I'm the last person who could pass sentence, but I'm simply curious."

Shrugging, Brandon clicked his tongue. "We'll be married in six months at the most. She takes moon tea. Harmless sin, and I don't even follow the Faith of the Seven. Uptight fools."

"You and I are kindred spirits, Brandon Stark." This person is probably less of a threat than his brother. He'd push him just a tiny bit more, gain a little certainty. "The moon is beautiful tonight… though I far prefer it at sea. Now there… you are truly able to see the expanse of the heavens."

Brandon laughed. "I envy you, Oberyn. Able to travel the world, see new places, fuck beautiful women of every color and creed… that's the life I was born to live."

A quirked eyebrow. "But you are the heir. Supreme power over the North only behind that of the King… perhaps Rhaegar would even make you Hand?" He'd peg Ned as a sooner pick than Brandon, but Oberyn wanted to see his reaction.

"Pfft…" Brandon snorted. "The North… it's fine cause the people there are wholesome, but King's Landing… I'd rather be anywhere else. Too many unctuous fools. I just hate the pretenses, the guardedness. No one is open or fun down here… like you and me."

Oberyn smiled. "Aye, Brandon, like you and me." Things were going well. "I do wish I could come here more though, to see my sister and her children."

"I wouldn't begrudge you for that, I'll be coming here a lot to see Lyanna as well." Brandon shook his head, smirking. "Rhaegar's a lucky man, two beautiful wives. I'd very much like to be in his place… only, not with my sister…"

He patted the other man's shoulder. "Oh, I understand." Yes, not a threat at all.

---

Somehow, Ellaria Sand had expected her friend to show up dejected and scowling at her chamber door. "Please, enter," she managed to say as Dacey simply brushed past her, falling on the bed and burying her face in a pillow. "Make yourself at home."

"I don't know what to do, Ellaria," Dacey groaned. "Nothing is working."

The bastard lady was merely thankful that Dacey hadn't arrived half an hour before. Bed tidied, cum stains washed off with a wet cloth, and a still hard Prince Oberyn shooed out of the room. "Tell me what happened." Much as Ellaria would have loved to swoon about her insatiable new conquest in the Martell nobleman, Dacey came first.

"It was humiliating. I batted my eyelashes and presented myself in front of Ser Arthur like some roast boar and he simply escorted me to my room after a few dances. His hand on my back was the only touch I had!" She truly hated herself. Angry for letting herself fall so hard for the unattainable Sword of the Morning. "This was all a mistake."

For a moment there was silence as the more experienced woman digested the information. Ellaria began laughing, deep and throatily. "You are such a delight, Dacey. So nice, so innocent."

Dacey sat up and glared, hands on her hips. "This isn't funny."

"Yes it is." Wiping her face, Ellaria pulled her friend in for a hug. "Oh, Dacey. Calm down - everything is gonna be fine."

"How, you don't possibly know that?"

"Oh, but I do." Sitting on her knees, hands tucked into her lap, Ellaria felt like a young girl hosting friends over in her chambers - or as a teen hosting friends for… other things in her chambers. "Arthur has never coupled with a woman."

Eyes going wide, Dacey suddenly understood. "I had no idea… he seemed so calm and dashing…" Knowing this… it explained their first meeting - how tongue tied he was. "He's never had experience with a lover."

"Let me tell you something about Arthur… he's been able to keep his celibacy for so long where most other knights of the Kingsguard fail because he has an iron will. Ignorant of females that he is, he knows how to resist them." Dacey's face falling made Ellaria chuckle. "But he grew up with the Dornish - the sexiest women in the Seven Kingdoms, but he's immune. Compared to them, those other Andals are nothing." She waved her hand dismissively, "But the wild beauty of a Northerner… earthy and powerful…" Ellaria clicked her tongue. "Know how to use it properly and you'll have him in the palm of your hand."

Gulping, Dacey imagined it. She couldn't picture any lover besides Arthur Dayne, giving her first to anybody but the enigmatic Sword of the Morning. The she-bear finally know how Lyanna must have felt during her courtship with Rhaegar… deeply enchanted. "Tell me what I must do."

A wide grin broke out on Ellaria's face. Satisfied… dangerous. "First," she clasped her head on each side. "You must look him in the eye. Love comes in at the eyes."

Love comes in at the eyes. Dacey nodded. "What else?"

"Always keep your hands on him. Hands or lips." The blush on Dacey's face was just too adorable. She definitely needs a good fuck. "Tell me, have you ever touched anyone before… in any manner?"

"Umm…" It was dreadfully embarrassing - the northern convention did infect Dacey in some manner. "A few guards… stableboys…"

Ellaria rolled her eyes. "Pish. Servants are easy. Touch them the right way and they'll finish right where they stand."

"Finish?" Dacey inquired. At Ellaria's knowing look, she blushed again. "Oh."

"Relax, Dacey." She placed a comforting squeeze on her shoulder. "You're going for a mighty knight, so your touches and kisses will have to be…" Ellaria's voice dropped. "Powerful… seductive…" Her hands drifted down Dacey's arms, leaning to just above the ear. "Overpowering…"

Suddenly, Dacey found herself flipped over. Pinned to the bed. "Uh, Ellaria…" She was silenced when her friend kissed her full on the lips. Tongue entering at her gasp. "Whoa, what?" she managed to sputter when the fellow Lady in Waiting pulled back. "Why did you do that?" More shock than anger.

Still pinning her hands, Ellaria's eyes danced with mirth. "You're wound tightly, Dacey. Not knowing," she said, leaning down to kiss along the Northern beauty's neck. "Just how to let go. To enjoy your body… you don't know just how sensitive your body is." Slowly, Ellaria began to work at the laces of Dacey's nightshirt. An expert for both smallfolk and noble ladies alike. "You must know all before you seek to seduce the mighty Arthur Dayne.

"I…" Dacey may be damned to the seven hells by the Faith for this, but damn if it didn't feel amazing. No deeper feelings other than lust, but Ellaria amplified the latter, playing Dacey like a fiddle. "But… we're friends…"

Ellaria kissed her again. "Shhh… I don't expect this to last longer than tonight." The Dornishwoman peeled off her own thin nightgown. "Just learn, and enjoy." A hiss escaped her lips when their bare skin met - friend as Dacey was, gods knew how much Ellaria wanted her from the beginning… at least only once. "When you are Ser Arthur's Lady, only thank me."

"Mmmmm… alright." Allowing herself to surrender, Dacey pictured that wonderful image as she started to learn more about her body than she had ever thought possible.

---

"'At'll be five stars, please," said the jolly street vendor, smiling as the coins clinked on the wooden counter of his cart. "'Une moment, ladies." He moved to the smoking portable oven in which the rounded pies cooked to a juicy warmth.

Rocking up and down on the balls of her feet, Elia fidgeted with the blue roundel at the end of her new necklace not for the first time that night. "I have to say it again, Lya. This is beautiful."

Paying two gold dragons for it, Lyanna felt that it had been her that got their coin's worth. "You deserve it, sister. And I have to admit that the bounty of the North compliments you."

"What is the stone called?" It was surrounded by six gold chains hooked to the silver band, nestling the sphere tightly.

"It's called kaskagos. Only found in the north and in some places in the Vale." She patted the pouch in her cloak, gift secure within. "Had to find some way to repay you." A needle-like knife in the Dornish style. Lyanna had almost squealed when Elia dropped it in her hands. Her woollen cloak made as perfect a place to hide it as it did the sword Rhaegar gave her. Perfect to skewer any being that threatened her… and yet no one did. It's safer here than in the Red Keep.

The Dornish Princess in hiding grinned. "Had to give you something for your wedding… and what does Lady Lyanna like more than…" It really meant more than that, as did her gift, but neither of them were able to realize it at that time. Something caught her eyes.

"And 'ere ya' go." Plopping two steaming pies on the counter, the vendor beamed on his chubby face. "Enjoy, though I'd 'ike em spoons back."

Picking up her pie, Lyanna dug the spoon in and drew out a healthy helping of chicken, carrots, and cheese. Searing hot, but her tongue exploded nonetheless. "Gods… this is good." Only Old Nan's kidney pies were better.

"You're right sister… it is good." Elia was scarfing hers down, not caring about propriety. "Have you considered opening a store?" she asked the vendor.

"Maybe, 'after I's get a wife and babe, 'abably." He laughed. "Tell yer' friends bout me. Ot Pie's pies." His belly jostled as he laughed harder.

"Will do… mmmm…"

The marketplace was bustling with people even as the large and bright moon was high in the sky. Shopkeepers and merchants plying their wares, vendors offering all kinds of food - sausages, syrup-glazed fruit, freshly baked breads and pastries, and juicy pies to name a few - and the dozens of minstrels, jugglers, and other entertainers… the intense night life drew those from all over the city. A cross-section of Westeros as was possible - both Princesses could understand why Rhaegar would enjoy coming here. Strolling around while he had 'a surprise' to take care of, they felt more alive than any time in years.

Licking her fingers clean of the bits of grease and flakes of crust, Lyanna looked up to find a small crowd gathering around one of the many fountains dotting the marketplace. "What's that?" It seemed as if dozens of people were flocking towards the commotion, almost all of them clad in the outfits of poor laborers or simple tradesmen.

Herself curious, Elia shrugged. "Who knows?" First instinct leaned her towards a street minstrel - there were several in the marketplace, often in troupes, competing with each other for the coin and attention of the hustle and bustle within the marketplace. However, none seemed to be as popular as the crowd that gathered around this hypothetical minstrel. He could be a quite skilled musician. "Perhaps..."

Sensing the look in Elia's eyes, Lyanna pieced the train of thought together. "You don't think…?" Now this was interesting. "Let's see if you're right, sister."

Both thin and quick on their feet, the two beauties managed to shimmy and wheedle their way through the milling crowd. The smell of unwashed bodies made their noses curl in distaste. Yet, neither cared. People were jovial, laughing and japing with each other. Children racing about with homemade toys or none at all. An earnestness about them that was absent in most highborns, the Princesses feeling more at ease among the former

And plenty gushed about the particular minstrel. "Thought I 'econized 'im."

"E's 'een gone a'hile."

"'Ank 'de gods ee's back."

"He's so handsome." The latter came from a young girl. No older than three and ten by the looks of her.

"Always keeps his head under the cloak," replied a companion.

Lyanna grabbed Elia's hand, leading the hidden Princess forward through the final line of people - finding a hooded figure sitting on the lip of the fountain. Face hidden… but both Princesses knew it was him. Knowing that toned, brooding form anywhere.

"Did you know he did this?" Lyanna's beloved, sneaking out into the city to simply play his harp and sing to the smallfolk? Gods, Rhaegar. I love you. He just couldn't stop being the perfect man. Strong yet caring. Gentle yet protective. She wanted to rush out to hug him, but was unable to root herself from her perch at the front of the throng of people.

"He never told me… but now certain things make sense." Sometimes he and Ser Barristan would disappear, unable for her to find them. Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell would keep her from Rhaegar's personal chambers - apparently both had snuck out of the Red Keep.

"Our man is breathtaking," Lyanna breathed.

"That he is." At that moment he stood up, hair still masked by the cowl but his face coming into view. Smiling softly until those violet eyes - glowing under the torchlight of the market - came in contact with the two women. Elia saw his expression change from surprise to an almost warm glow. She shivered with delight at her husband's attention.

Unwilling to make either Elia or Lyanna wait any further, Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming tonight, listening to me…"

"Sing the Bear and the Maiden Fair!" came one request from the crowd. Lyanna wished to ask him to play Jenny of Oldstones, but that song was for them and them alone.

"The Dornishman's Wife!" was another, words slurred by the clearly drunken man.

Rhaegar nodded at that. "Tempting, tempting," he announced with a grin, eyes boring in on his wife. Elia blushed and shot her husband a cross look. Lyanna giggled in her joy. Reminded that the particular song was a bawdy one. Cheeky bastard…

The crowd kept calling out requests. "Flowers of Spring, Jon!" came the call of the young girl from earlier.

Jon? "Is that his name?" Lyanna asked.

"Aye, Jon Snow of the North. The Seven gave him his voice."

Lyanna's head shifted to Rhaegar in surprise. Jon Snow of the north… by the old gods and new, I'll kill him. Apparently the Crown Prince had hidden his identity as a northern bastard lost in King's Landing…

"Almost meant to be, if you think about it," Elia whispered into her ear.

"I love that man so much." Her sister-wife was right… they were meant to be long before they even met.

Watching Lyanna smile so adoringly, Rhaegar knew just the song. "Prince Rhaegar is getting married on the morrow." There were cheers at his name. "Therefore, I shall dedicate this song to his beautiful wives." He could swear both women swooned.

Fingers strummed at the harp. All noise stilled, drawn to the beautiful music made by the hidden dragon. Haunting, yet almost an intensity about it.

"Search for the glory I knew all along,

"I face the flames, thy touch on my hand,

"Alone facing our final dawn,

"Alone I stand a complete man."

Elia recognized the song. Dance of Dragons, one about a pair of lovers dying in each other's arms during the Doom of Valyria. Normally, it was played by a troupe of minstrels… but Rhaegar's voice was so hauntingly beautiful that no one noticed.

"All I have is one last chance,

"I won't turn my back on you,

"Take my hand, they'll drag me down,

"If you burn then I will too,

"And I will meet the flames with you."

There wasn't even a sound from the crowd, people lured from the rest of the market by the stunning chords of the harp. Rhaegar's voice so beautiful that even the gods had to be listening.

"Our love burns anew,

"There is nothing left,

"I can't face the doom without you,

"There's nothing left to lose,

"Our fight finally ends,

"I can't face the doom without you."

"Embrace me tight until I hurt,

"I understand there's nothing left,

"Pain so close to the heart,

"Lest eternity forgets."

Rhaegar watched as the crowd stilled, enchanted by his voice, occasionally one darting forward to drop a coin into a small sack by the fountain. He closed his eyes, letting his fingers pluck the notes on pure instinct.

"Our love burns anew,

"There is nothing left,

"I can't face the doom without you,

"There's nothing left to lose,

"Our fight finally ends,

"I can't face the doom without you."

He found the figures of both his wife and his betrothed. Dressed as simple smallfolk maidens but just as beautiful. Oh how he loved them. Lyanna, the wild direwolf that filled the hole in his heart. And Elia… at that moment he understood what his grandfather must have felt, the dragonblood in him pulsing with enough love for two. There was still much to repair, but the Prince was sure of what wanted.

Preparing the last of the song, he stared at the both of them. Lyrics tragic, but his expression telling both of them that such tragedy would never touch their marriage if he had anything to say about it.

"Gods be kind,

"Gods grant us grace,

"Don't leave me ever again,

"I'm with you forever, the end.

Tears coated the cheeks of the onlookers, even the most salty character. Men closing their eyes as they were moved by the powerful words, women of all ages melting from the angelic lilt of Rhaegar's voice. Hands still intertwined, Elia felt Lyanna reaching over, seeking to lock together their free hands. Unable not to tremble as their beloved serenaded them. For as he walked about, his sparkling purple eyes never left them.

"Our love burns anew,

"There is nothing left,

"I can't face the doom without you,

"There's nothing left to lose,

"Our fight finally ends,

"I can't face the doom without you."

There was a silence just as the song ended. Hanging over the market like a baited breath… it ended abruptly as hundreds began clapping. Whistling their admiration of the mysterious minstrel of the North named Jon Snow. Dozens came to drop coins in the sack. Bronze stars and silver stags… even a gold dragon every now and again from a well dressed merchant.

Lyanna wiped the tears from her face. "That was even more beautiful than when I heard him first."

"Rhaegar…" whispered Elia, ever mindful in spite of her heart fluttering from his voice. "Whenever he sang, I forgot my pain." She started to sob. "I… I never told him… how much it always meant to me…" Her sister-wife pulled her into an embrace - gods help her, Lyanna's arms were just as comforting as Rhaegar's.

When they pulled apart, he was gone. Crowd starting to disband and go about their business. Lyanna kissed Elia's cheek and tugged at her hand. "He shouldn't have gone far."

They found him in an alley, hidden from the view of the market. Seated upon the stoop of a dark shop waiting for them. At seeing them, Rhaegar smiled and stood. "My loves…" He staggered back when both of them practically charged into his arms. Almost knocking him down with a tight embrace. Lyanna was the lucky one to reach his lips first, kissing him deeply. Rhaegar had barely any time to breathe when they broke apart before Elia sought him out. Her subtle Dornish fragrance oh so different from the wild, piney scent of his northern beauty, but in no way less pleasant to him. "I take it you liked."

Pulling back to stare into his eyes, Elia felt the same spark between them as they shared during their wedding. Before the hope had died… "You were amazing, my Prince." Now, it was slowly resurrecting.

Lyanna couldn't stop kissing his cheek. "Love you. Love you… gods, I love you." Both simply felt giddy, two maidens swooning over the man they loved. "I can't believe you're a simple bard."

Rhaegar shrugged, slightly embarrassed - leading to more kisses from the ladies. "Aunt Jenny got me started on it. My father hated when I played in the Red Keep, so she would disguise me and we'd play for the smallfolk. After she died… Barristan came with me." He pointed to the sack of coins. "I only wanted to practice my music - the coin would go to charities across the city."

"Charity… wait. You're the bard at the orphanage!" Elia grinned, finally figuring it out. "I should have known. Matron Seaworth has high praise for you." She leaned in to kiss him deeply.

Rhaegar chuckled against her lips. "Honestly, this was the largest haul I've ever managed to get for them." He reached his hands out to wrap around their waists. "The two of you inspire me."

Kissing his neck simultaneously, Lyanna finally remembered something. She pulled back, lips crooked in curiosity. "Jon Snow?"

He blushed a deep red. "Oh, Lyanna. No."

While utterly adorable, Lyanna didn't let up on the pressure. "A northern bastard name, Rhaegar? I need to know."

A plea to Elia, all three still locked in an embrace, went nowhere. "I want to know this too." Her accent added an extra emphasis. "Tell us, husband."

Rhaegar closed his eyes, sighing hard. "Needed to keep myself hidden, yet also exotic… Valyrian features aren't common here." Having decided on it years ago, before even Elia, the memories were foggy. "I can't explain it… the name just called to me. As if someone with that name was important in some way…"

A finger on his lips cut him off. "Rhaegar…" Lyanna's eyes glistened with happy tears. Allowing the full weight of the song and how perfect he was to return. "You are mine… ours… I love you so much." Unable to say the words, Elia only nodded in agreement. Both women resumed the tight hug.

Smiling widely, Lyanna leaned into his shoulder. Letting the sweet, generous man she was to marry on the morn make her feel all the love in the world. Is there truly any better? Kind Marya Seaworth recognized them immediately, but luckily she merely winked at them knowingly, the only one besides her, Elia, and the Kingsguards who knew of Rhaegar's charity. Just how amazing he was. That he does it with no public praise only makes him more perfect. Finding it so easy to be affectionate with the man she loved… with no audience but Elia, who by this time tomorrow would be her sister-wife. Never did she think she'd be living out her childhood fantasies, but here she was.

Only Lyanna's mind was whirring. Jon… The name called to her too. Jon… Prince Jon… Prince Jon Targaryen…

Notes:

So here we have the origin of Jon's name :D Seems poetic, doesn't it?

Yep, a little change in backstory... I mean why not? It could have happened. Gonna have ramifications down the line, though.

Oberyn being Oberyn and Ellaria being Ellaria ;)

Dance of Dragons is adapted from Without You by Breaking Benjamins.

Next up, part one of the wedding! If I can get 35 reviews, I'll post Tuesday.

Chapter 23: Royal Wedding Part I

Notes:

Hi all, wedding part one!

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Agh," Rhaegar hissed, feeling a bit of hair caught in the buckle of his chestplate. "Careful there."

"If you could stand still, I wouldn't be yanking on your hair, you royal dolt," Elia shot back, biting her lip in concentration as she put the finishing touches on the ceremonial set of armor that would clad Rhaegar during the ceremony at the Great Sept. Lighter and more flamboyant than on the battlefield, without plate gloves and topped off with a blood red cloak. "Besides, this is quite distracting."

Nestled alone in the Prince's chambers, the couple enjoyed a quiet moment of affection. One they hadn't truly shared in a while. My fault, Rhaegar thought bitterly. But he wouldn't bring Elia down into melancholy, especially today. "And how is it distracting."

She huffed. "You men, dressing in armor all the time." The strap was pulled through the buckle and affixed to the loop. Elia moved to the second. "Knowing what it does to women between their legs yet always so hard to take off when you decide to ease our discomfort." Finishing the second loop, Elia swatted him lightly. "Men."

"By that logic, it's safe to assume that I am causing discomfort between your legs," he replied, grinning.

Elia's swat was harder this time, yet she smirked. "Cheeky cunt." But she knew he was right. Gods… this man… The dam was bursting, Elia allowing herself feelings long kept under wraps. They were opening up gradually, but it just felt so right. We're going to be hurt eventually… No. She wouldn't sabotage this before it even truly started. "There, all done." Facing him, Elia hugged his chest.

Rhaegar returned the embrace. "You are the perfect wife, my dear Princess."

"And yet you see fit to get another," she teased.

"Doesn't change what I feel for you."

Pulling back, Elia peered up at him. The moment changing from light to heavy. "And what do you feel for me, my Prince?" Her expression was half lust, half guarded curiosity.

Before he could answer, a tropical cyclone burst into the room. "Muna! Kepa!" Each had to brace themselves as Rhaenys slammed into their legs, jumping up and down. "Wedding here! Wedding here! Take me! Take me!"

There was no chance either royal couldn't be charmed by their sweetling of a daughter. "Oh my love." Elia leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You'll have to stay here at the Red Keep."

Rhaenys pouted, as if being denied admittance to the wedding was akin to killing her entire family. "But I wanna see muna and kepa get mawwied, muna."

Laughing, Rhaegar hefted his daughter in his arms. The Princess' mood changing immediately with a flurry of giggles as her father kissed her face repeatedly. "Relax, little dragon. You'd rather not be somewhere that boring. Just a lot of talking and talking and standing still…"

"Ewwww… that bowing, kepa." Elia laughed merrily, wrapping an arm around her husband's waist. He knew just the right thing to say to their daughter. He's such a good man. A man any woman was lucky to have as a husband.

"Told ya, my sweet sweet girl." He held her close. "Muna loves you and I love her. We'll have plenty of time to spend together at Dragonstone together. All five of us."

"Fwive? Muna too?"

Such babble of a toddler, Rhaegar instinctively knew it. "Yes." A strong arm pulled Elia in too. "Muna will be there too. Both your Munas are precious to me." Pressing a kiss to Elia's lips and earning a look of disgust from their daughter, Elia blushed. Looking away, wishing that the moistness between her legs would go away before the ceremony.

Gods… I do love him.

In another part of the Red Keep, Lord Rickard Stark was having trouble with the more mundane tasks of a household. "Father, I see you tie knots in the Winterfell courtyard. How is it you can't braid hair."

"Well…" He cursed under his breath at his third failure. "When your late mother handled it for you… and then Nan handled it for you, I didn't have much incentive to learn such a skill now did I?"

"Yet you can put your hair in a bun?" Lyanna was having fun flustering her father.

"That's different. Simpler, not…"

"Woman's work, father?"

Rickard stomped his foot in frustration after his fourth attempt immolated. "Gods…" he let out an exhale. "Lady Dacey, can you assist me?"

Head up, Dacey shook her head. "Apologies, my Lord. I'm preoccupied with a pressing matter." Her 'pressing matter' turned out to be tossing silver stags into an empty chamber pot several yards away.

Unable to keep in her giggles, Lyanna forgot her nerves. "Dacey, please finish my braids."

The Mormont warrior turned lady in waiting stood, taking the place of her Liege Lord at the Princess' hair. "I'll fix this up quickly. Wouldn't want you to be late at your own wedding, Lya."

"My wedding…" It still didn't cease to amaze Lyanna. That she was finally getting married… to her Prince Daemon. All of her strength was deployed so that she wouldn't scream in glee at the fact. "Father, are you alright?"

Rickard wiped away a tear, trying his best to remain composed. "You… you look exactly like your mother on her wedding day." The Starks weren't the most sentimental of people, but sometimes there wasn't a chance to be anything otherwise. Seeing Dacey had finished in a minute what he had taken thirty to fail, Rickard moved towards a box resting on the table beside his bed. "I have something for you, one from your mother and one from me."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna gasped when he took out a crown of winter roses. As beautiful as the one Rhaegar had crowned her at the tourney. "Is that…?"

"Aye, this is my contribution to your wedding… besides giving you away that is." He gently placed it atop her braids, making what was already a beautiful bride radiant. "You're already known as the Winter Rose of Winterfell. Why not become what you're called?"

Lyanna wiped away a tear of her own. "Oh, father…"

But Rickard wasn't done. Out of his pocket, he took out a silver pin. Melded into a direwolf… the sigil of their house. "My mother gave this to your mother when she was to marry me, and now I give this to you." He tucked it into her gown, patting it lovingly. "Today, you pass into House Targaryen, but you will always be of the North." Beaming, Lyanna threw her arms around her father, hugging him close.

---

The bells chimed a total of three times - twin rings per yank of the rope atop the seven belltowers, the Great Sept of Baelor heralding a massive crowd of cheering smallfolk outside the commencement of the wedding of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his she-wolf Lyanna Stark. A second bride, but such fact ignored by all but the most highly devout of the city. Everywhere else, the tale of the daughter of winter riding across the dregs of King's Landing with the sun of Dorne with coin for the poor and hugs for the children brought out the adoration of the crowd. Flowers lining the avenue to Aegon's High Hill as they roared their love for both Princesses and the Prince that held their affections.

Inside, the coffered dome overlooked the hundreds of guests, separated into four squares around the great seven-pointed star. The iconography was everywhere, especially right before the altar in casting a mighty burst of afternoon sunlight streaming into the well. It irritated many of the northerners, but they put up with it. It was a long way from Winterfell after all. The High Septon huffed, wiping a sheen of sweat from his face from the heat of his corpulent frame. Standing close to him, the Crown Prince's armor clinked as he wiped the same sheen from his forehead… albeit for different reasons.

A feminine pair of lips curved crossly. "Calm down, husband," Elia whispered, ever so slightly leaning towards Rhaegar. "If you tap your foot any harder, you'll break the stone."

Suddenly noticing his nervous tic atop the marble floor, Rhaegar stilled his foot, crossing his arms over his ceremonial armor. "Forgive me."

Elia giggled softly. "There's no need to be nervous, love." Voice low so that neither the King nor the fat septon would hear her, she quickly kissed his cheek. Seeing him relax. "She's going to show up." If one had asked her two moons before if she'd be both standing there… and alright with standing there, Elia would have laughed. Lyanna Stark… she was a winter's gale - upending everything. "Just as I did."

Turning to her, Rhaegar's nerves melted in the face of her brown eyes simply looking upon him. "Aye, I know." Records of the wedding of Aegon the Conqueror lost to history during the Dance of the Dragons, the only precedent for multiple marriages - that didn't have the bad omens of the Black Brides - in had been the second and third weddings of King Maegor. The small council had studied records of his third with Queen Tyanna, especially in relation to Alys Harroway. As such, Elia was present right at the groom's side. "Thank you, for being here."

She smiled widely. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." She would stay there until the ceremony in which she would wait on the last step before the altar, wearing the red and black wedding cloak of House Targaryen, emblazoned with its sigil. "I…" I love you. Somehow, it died on her tongue.

He took her in, noticing the burnt orange gown of Dorne underneath. Gossamer, giving a hint of the exotic olive skin. Her chest and waist hidden by a colorfully etched red sun. A simple act of defiance from the Princess of Dragonstone, one that made Rhaegar burn with desire. I love you. But as with her, the Crown Prince whiffed. Simply waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Rhaegar's breath left him when the Kingsguards opened the golden doors, revealing his bride to the entire gathering. Dear Balerion above… Hand looped in the crook of her father's arm, Lyanna was the picture of divine beauty - a goddess of ice presented to join with his fire that day. Their eyes met in that moment, and he saw the grey sparkle with love and affection from even that distance.

Making her way onto the floor of the sept, her dress sparkled in the sunlight as onlookers bowed and curtseyed lightly. Breaking from a traditional color of cream, it was instead an ice blue, piercing and vibrant as her personality. Dark blue swirls marked blizzards of snow that sent a chill through most - but the daughter of winter wore her arms bare in showing off the toned muscles of an expert rider and fighter… though only Rhaegar and the Starks knew just how well. Simple braids of her chestnut hair were topped with the trademark crown of winter roses. She is so beautiful…

The two Starks reached the van of the gathered nobles, where the line of royals waited to watch the proceedings. Rhaella greeted her future gooddaughter with a gentle embrace, while Viserys peered at her sweetly. Aerys, for his part, curtly nodded when she curtseyed deeply for him. Both Ned and Brandon hugged their sister tightly - Catelyn Tully smiling at her from beside Brandon. The last time where they would greet Lyanna as a Stark - the white and grey cloak about her shoulders bearing the Direwolf sigil would soon be replaced to match what Elia wore.

Three heads, like the dragon of House Targaryen.

Rickard kissed Lyanna on the forehead, allowing her to ascend the steps. Releasing her from his house to her husband's. As with the wedding of Maegor and Tyanna, Elia embraced her soon to be sister-wife and kissed each cheek. Their hands clasping together for but a moment - both pulling away with a tingle. The moment was over quickly, but leaving Elia in a slight daze, butterflies in her stomach, as she stepped to her place. It's their day, relax.

Absent a veil, now that she was before him Rhaegar was delighted to see her face bare to him. To be able and gaze unobstructed at her beautiful eyes and loving smile. Lyanna overjoyed to see his silver hair and strong jaw - wishing she could reach out and kiss him right there. Surrounded by the massive statues of the Seven and the hundreds of noble guests, the only ones either cared about in that moment was each other.

Clearing his puffy throat, the High Septon began. "Your Graces, Lords and Ladies. The ceremony before the sight of their most Holy Seven shall begin." Turning to Rhaegar with ruddy eyes, he gestured to the large folds of cloth draped over a stand to his left. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Wordlessly, Lyanna turned, shivering with delight as Rhaegar's strong fingers gingerly removed the direwolf cloak from her shoulders. Much as she loved the House of her birth, there was no stopping her from the exact dream of her childhood coming true. Glancing at Elia, the Princess understood exactly what she was thinking.

Rhaegar folded the cloak with reverence, ensuring the direwolf was proudly displayed on the top when he set it down - the Northerners in the hall nodded and whispered their respect, while Aerys simply snorted. Weak boy. Trying to ignore Tywin's presence so as not to give the upstart kitty cat any satisfaction. Eyes trained upon his son as he took the Targaryen cloak and draped it upon Lyanna's shoulders, hand running down her bare arm. It was official. Lyanna Stark was now under the protection of House Targaryen.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Having run through the step long before, the couple joined hands - a warmth coursing through them - as they stood side by side. The septon produced a ribbon and tied a knot around their joined hands, symbolizing the union of Lady Lyanna into the family of Rhaegar Targaryen. "Let it be known that Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lady Lyanna of House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Ned watched them with a smile. Way to go little sister. Flickering to how Catelyn clasped Brandon's hand with hers, the younger Stark son felt a loneliness about him. Wishing for his own lady to be beside him

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." Words that caused both Rhaegar and Lyanna - as well as Elia, all three feeling a sudden connection - to silently sigh with joy.

In the rear of the assemblage, underneath the judgemental statue of the Crone, Cersei had a sigh of her own. Joining her father, brother, and uncle in trying to avoid the King's attention, the emptiness in her soul was unable to escape. Needing something to fill the void, but all options out of reach.

"Look upon each other and say the words."

Robert's hands clenched in a sullen fury. It was he that was supposed to be up there. I'm gonna have to get good and drunk tonight. Wine and mead would be the only weapon he had to fight off his urge to throttle the dragonspawn.

Turning at the High Septon's command, Lyanna basked in the sparkle of Rhaegar's white teeth bared in a brilliant smile. Eyes a vibrant violet from the love and emotion swirling within him. Her own mind in a sort of trance, she couldn't believe that the gods were actually granting her wish. That she could bear her heart and soul completely to the same man that she had dreamed of for so long. A man far better than she could ever imagine in a dream.

Standing beside the statue of the Mother, Jaime Lannister prayed without hope that one day his dreams would be answered. To grant the same enchantment to the women he so boundlessly loved.

Rhaegar and Lyanna spoke simultaneously. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

"I am hers…"

"I am his…"

"And she is mine…"

"And he is mine…"

Almost swooning, Rhaella allowed herself to be swallowed by her son's happiness. Knowing the only way she would see such adoration was from afar. Vicariously through her beloved children.

"From this day, until the end of my days." No truer words could ever be spoken. A marriage built on unconditional love. Forged in the same tradition as Aegon the Conqueror, his sword strapped to Rhaegar's side and the spirit of him and his Queens dwelling in all three. No force by man or god could break them apart. Elia could feel it too, a bittersweet moment, knowing that it would be Lyanna her husband bedded tonight - and Rhaegar her sister-wife would bed. Somehow, both thoughts sullied her happiness equally.

Rhaegar began his favorite words of the ceremony. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." Cupping her cheek, locking their gazes, both groom and bride surged forth and crashed their lips together. Uncaring of the onlookers, the passion of the dragon and wolf unavoidable in its intensity.

As the Lords and Ladies clapped, applause thundering underneath the cavernous dome, Aerys scowled. Love, pfft. Love was for the weak.

He had a lot more work to do.

---

It was said that Northerners made for quite a party. Boisterous, not tethered to social conventions of the Andal knights, once the fiddlers invited by the newly christened Princess of Dragonstone put their bows to the strings all bets were off. And judging from the laughs and smiles from the other Lords, it was quite infectious. Many wished to celebrate the newest member of House Targaryen.

Eyes trained on the table holding the groom and brides, Ned gingerly sipped on his ale - a stout northern lager imported from White Harbor. The three were huddled together after House Velaryon offered their fealty, Elia leaning left nearly on top of Rhaegar to tell a story. Both newlyweds listening intently before bursting into a merry laughter - Lyanna swatting Elia's hand while Rhaegar kissed her chastely, arm around the bride. Can't argue there… that's a happy family. Much as the septons would lambast it, the First Men of antiquity hadn't begrudged polygamy… or incest for that matter. My sister is happy, that's all that matters.

Certainly more than his own happiness, considering how alone he was.

"Ned, mi'boy!" Meaty hand slamming into his back, Ned struggled not to choke down his ale when Robert plopped next to him. Horn of strong-smelling liquor in his other hand. "Yer sittin' alone like a woman bleedin'. Join the fun!"

Wiping the froth from his lips, Ned made a quick look to the royal table. Finding Lyanna raising an eyebrow for a split second before turning away - not wanting to see Robert more than necessary. Good thing I chose a seat far away. "Didn't think you'd be welcome here, Robert?" They did patch things up to an extent, though without the filial intimacy of before. But Rhaegar and the Princesses were another matter.

Robert waved him off. "Gotta represent my Kingdom as it's Lord Paramount." He snorted, taking another swig. "Connington a fart-length ride from Storm's End. He can handle it… or Stannis. He's boring enough to beg for the pass-out conversations." Smirking, he wrapped an arm around his non-blood brother. "That reminds me of a proposition for ya."

"What would that be, Robert?"

"Got plans after this? On what yer' gonna do?"

That took some thought. "Depends on what my father requests… otherwise I have no idea." He could go back to the Vale, or stay here with his family… or go to Casterly Rock and beg Tywin Lannister for… Best to forget that.

But Robert's statement surprised him. "Come down to Storm's End with me. Help me put it to rights." He lightly poked him in the stomach. "Stannis has a stick up his ass and Renly… well… he'd be Lady Renly if he rules." He laughed boisterously. "It'll be like the good old days… Let's make sure they don't fuck up my father's legacy."

Ned smiled softly at that. "While I do remember fondly our time together, I must decline." Robert's face fell. "It is my duty to my house to do what is best for it… and the North."

"Oh Ned, so honorable." Robert giggled at that. "Duty is like moderation. Keeps ya' goin' for a while, but damned if you're not fuckin' miserable the entire time."

Tell that to Mya and gods knows how many more bastards that I don't know of. But he didn't say that. "I can't see myself in a life of adventure, Robert." Ned knew what life he did want, gaze falling on a flash of blonde hair among the Westermen.

"Every son of a bitch makes their mark on the world. Already made mine." Not that Ned would think it was to be proud of.

Ned sighed. "I already did Robert"

"Oh, how?"

"I think I found my lady." It just slipped out.

"Yer' shittin' me!" Robert smacked him on the back. "Good luck to you, Ned! I look forward to the wedding."

Much as he and Robert had already drifted apart so much, the man's pep talks did fill him with confidence. "And I would invite you… if I can get her hand." He finished off his ale and stood, ignoring a motivational comment about a proper bride's tits from the Lord of Storm's End.

"It shall be the happiest day of my life when we are finally family, your Grace."

Rhaegar nodded at the beautiful redhead. "I am sure my goodbrother is also counting down the days."

Catelyn Tully sighed softly, swooning. "I know he does."

"As am I your Grace, Princesses." Hoster Tully had the same expression as his daughter - the two were a lot alike. "Our grand alliance between the great houses of Westeros is the highest honor, and the Prince of Dragonstone is welcome to the hospitality of Riverrun whenever they wish."

Forcing a congenial smile in spite of her dislike for House Tully, Elia nodded with her husband and sister-wife. "Your kind words are greatly appreciated by all of us, and on behalf of myself, the Prince, and the Princess Lyanna, we accept and shall take your invitation to Riverrun under advisement. It would be our honor to be guests of such a noble and ancient House." It left a sour taste in her mouth, but politics was politics.

Both bowing, Lord Hoster and Lady Catelyn left the dias, the former towards a cluster of his noble bannermen and the latter towards her betrothed - Brandon yanking her to him and tugging her towards the dance floor. The Dornishwoman raised an eyebrow at her sister-wife, who shrugged and laughed. Dipping into his cups, the heir to Winterfell was even more boisterous than his charming personality predisposed him to.

Out of the corner of their eyes, someone else began to walk up to their table. Giggling banter between the three royals waned as the figure approached. One whose presence had a sort of aura surrounding her. The music even seemed to dim as almost a third of the guests glanced in the direction of the table. "My Prince... my Princesses." The woman before them curtsied at the three of them, voice different and smokey. Dripping with innuendo and a hint of seduction.

The woman was beautiful, that much the Prince and Princesses could see. Skin pale as alabaster, dark crimson hair styled in an elaborate braid and equally red eyes piercing through a person's soul. Completing the domination of the color was a form-fitting red dress that left little to the imagination, topped by a red-gold choker inlaid with a ruby round her neck. Rhaegar blinked. "Greetings, Lady..."

"Melisandre. Melisandre of Asshai." She spread her arms in a conciliatory gesture. "As the designated representative of the Temple of R'hllor in Volantis, I congratulate you on your marriage vows, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna." The piercing red shifted to Elia. "And to you as well, Princess, bound here under the laws most ancient."

Peeking at her sister-wife, Lyanna's gaze met hers and they both shivered involuntarily at the implication of the words - unknowing whether it was genuine or manipulated by this woman. A Red Priestess from the Shadowlands… a religion and race known to dabble in dark magic. "Thank you very much, Lady Melisandre," Lyanna declared politely. "That is very kind of you."

"Excuse me, but why is a representative of the Red Temple here?" In all her life, Elia hadn't ever seen the Faith of R'hllor take an active interest in Westerosi affairs. There were some in King's Landing and Dorne, but those were mostly missionaries.

"His Grace personally requested the aid of the one true faith for pressing matter, Princess," Melisandre responded quickly, her gaze flickering between each of the royals. Expression serene. "The Red Temple sent me to answer his request.

Rhaegar exchanged glances with his wives. Outwardly neutral but both sensing his worry. "And what assistance would my father, the King, wish from the Red Temple?" he asked.

"I cannot say," Melisandre smiled cryptically, "But I would have come regardless."

Lyanna could sense it. There was something… off about Melisandre. The tone reeked of someone who was used to manipulating those to her will… or the will of her god as she saw it - but also seemed sincere, strange as it seemed. "Well, we welcome you to westeros, Lady Melisandre and hope you can help his Grace for whatever he wishes." The latter was a lie, but Lyanna hoped it would end the conversation.

However, she didn't leave, instead staring at all three of them. Red eyes seemingly glowing. It was disconcerting. "Um... is something wrong, Lady melisandre?" asked a curious Rhaegar. Subtly, Lyanna motioned to Ser Barristan just in case, who placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"The fire was right, Prince Rhaegar. He never lies..."

Elia had heard the stories of the Red Priests seeing visions in fire, so she wasn't as bewildered as her spouses. "What does the fire tells you?" Both Rhaegar and Lyanna looked at her as if she spouted two heads.

She stepped closer, almost leaning over the table. Ser Barristan took another stride forward but there was no threat in Melisandre's expression. Only a… powerful intensity. "Your line…" she breathed, voice low and audible only by the three royals. "Your line will break the Curse of Old Valyria."

Blinking, Lyanna's confusion had not dissipated. Though she did notice how Rhaegar tensed up - eyes wide. "You mean Aegon? Or Rhaenys?"

"Your line," Melisandre pointed to Lyanna. "Your blood, Princess Lyanna. Many great things will come from all of you, my Prince and Princesses, but the blood of Ice and Fire holds the salvation of the blood of the dragon."

While only Rhaegar seemed to know what this curse was that she spoke of, all of them were affected by the Red Priestess words "My firstborn?" Lyanna wanted to know. Jon or Visenya?

"You shall soon find out, your Grace." Bowing low, the Red Woman backed away. "I bid you a joyous marriage, my Prince and Princesses. May the Lord of Light grant you his blessing." At the almost absentminded acknowledgement from Rhaegar, she made her exit into the crowd.

Elia cleared her throat. "Well. She was... something else."

"What's the curse of old Valyria, husband?" Lyanna asked, wanting to know.

Seeming to come out of his daze, Rhaegar blinked. "Oh… oh nothing." He waved it off.

She reached out, placing a palm over his hand. "Tell me, my love."

He groaned. "Just some ancient curse that put an end to Valyria and was said to be the cause of the 'Targaryen Madness.'"

"I've heard of this," Elia said. "They say the Valyrians defied the Gods with their hedonism and lust for power."

"...and to teach them humility they eradicated nearly all of them, yah yah yah… It's a ghost story used to frighten children." He hoped they'd simply let it go. Not to distract from their wedding.

Accepting it for now, Lyanna placed her hand on her belly. Jon… He will achieve extraordinary things... I just know it.

"What's that, my love?"

Did I speak my thoughts? "Oh, tis nothing my dragon, just thinking out loud." Rhaegar smiled, leaning over to kiss her.

Drumming her fingers idly on one of the long tables set up in the Great Hall - chosen over the gardens due to the unnatural winter's chill that still fell upon the capitol - Cersei picked up the jeweled goblet for the Dornish red inside… only to set it down upon only smelling it. Much as she wanted to get drunk… what was the point? It wouldn't fill the tempest in her heart. The parading of the man she was supposed to marry and the sister of the man she fancied all happy and joyous at their marriage. Just reminds me of the shit my life is. Even her twin… any idiot could spot the goo-goo eyes Jaime was making for the Queen. If you think I was forbidden love, brother…

Every path she had ever wanted to take… blocked off. Ended before it ever began, all because she was Cersei fucking Lannister. Daughter of the great lion of Casterly Rock. Her name was once a source of pride, but now she just wished it had been anything else.

As if her situation couldn't get any worse, look who happened to show up. "Beloved niece of mine! Beautiful Light of the West!" Gerion Lannister wrapped his arms about her shoulders, rubbing his knuckles on the nest of braids on her head in what he dubbed a 'noogie.' Fuck my life… "Why so down in the mines? I'd have thought - hic - you lived in Castamere!" He guffawed at his own joke.

"Oh uncle, if that were the case she'd be wet." Tyrion was an almost exact copy of Gerion in personality - Aunt Gemma said he had their father's wit, while Cersei was certain a demon gave him his looks - down to the tendency to drunkenness that so infected them now. "But you know her… everything neat and in place." As he said, her deep-sleeved maroon dress with a slim waist and bronze lion emblazoned both on the bodice and the gold choker round her neck was immaculate. "Mustn't run and mustn't play, lest it ruin little Cer-say." That caused another round of laughs that could only come from drinking.

"Shouldn't father be insisting you keep to your best behavior?" she hissed.

Gerion somehow found even that hilarious. "That old kitten? He won't show himself around here out of expediency, even though the King is wherever the fuck he is." Cersei blinked, noticing for the first time that Aerys wasn't present. "So, why aren't you celebrating?" He turned to Tyrion, sloppily jostling her. "Wittle Cer-Cer isn't even nailed to her brother's side as in these dumb things." A groan left her mouth at the childhood nickname.

But Tyrion's resulting grin, quite sobor in spite of his drinking, that made her skin bristle. "She misses the new man of her dreams. The gallant Florian to her Jonquil!" he sung like a really bad bard. Luckily, no one was listening.

Cersei almost threw the goblet at him. "Shut up!"

This only got Gerion's attention. "Oh, and who is this handsome, handsome man that wants his cock in your cunny?" If he wasn't her uncle, she'd hit him too. Gods, save me from these...

"My Lady." Cersei looked up… only to be struck mute by the familiar, beautiful face of her hero. "May I ask for a dance with the Light of the West?" Ned Stark asked, grinning confidently but trembling inside.

That powerful grin made Cersei actually wet. "Um…" She stood, smoothing out her dress. "You may, my Lord." Taking his hand, she hesitantly matched his smile as they walked to the dance floor.

Two sets of green eyes watched. "Who's that?" slurred Gerion.

Tyrion belched. "That's Eddard Stark, Lyanna's brother."

"Cer-Cer likes him?" At Tyrion's nod, he wiped his eyes. "Shit… well… damn." His niece was finally interesting.

"Who's that my brother is dancing with?" Lyanna asked Rhaegar, pointing to the floor.

Squinting through the dimly lit hall, Rhaegar could almost swear… "That's Cersei Lannister."

"Fuck off." Lyanna couldn't believe it. "Really?"

"It appears," Elia murmured, "That horses have sprouted wings like Bittersteel." Many might not see it, but the three could tell there was something other than politeness there.

The dance was a slow one, northern minstrels replaced by those of the south. Allowing Ned to keep one hand in Cersei's and one on her waist. "So, you seem in a cheerier mood tonight, Lord Stark," Cersei asked haughtily. Trying to recover her composure.

He chuckled lightly. "It isn't every day that one's sister becomes a Targaryen Princess." Guiding her in a twirl, she did so, trying not to giggle from the move. Eddard Stark was a good dancer - another layer to his enigma. "Yet, you seem a bit sad."

Looking away, Cersei concentrated on the steps of the dance. "Just a bit alone. Facing some truths I'd rather not face."

"And why is that?"

Damn him. He seemed to be on a mission to pry it out of her. "Because what I once wanted and currently want are simply unattainable." Her steely look melted at his grey eyes. Staring at her as if she were the only person in the world. Once again, Cersei reflected at how unexpected this all was.

Swallowing, enchanted into near silence by the hypnotic gaze of the lioness, Ned took a moment to find the courage… "Would you…" He took a deep breath. "Perhaps we should take a stroll in the gardens, Lady Lannister. We can talk… freely there."

Cersei's creamy lids fluttered shut, green eyes glistening. Quite conscious of the warm feeling of his hand on her waist. "I think that I would enjoy that very much, Lord Stark."

Notes:

Yep, everything's shaping up to a beautiful wedding night :D

Lyanna's dress is a northern version of Sansa's dress when she married Tyrion.

Melisandre's here!

Next up, part two of the wedding and all the smut! If I can get 35 comments, I'll post Saturday.

Chapter 24: Royal Wedding Part II

Notes:

Hi all, The smut that was promised ;)

Hope everyone is fine during the Wuhan Virus chaos. Stay safe and cautious, everybody, and rest assured. Us authors will provide proper content to last y'all during it!

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Would you like to sit, my Lady?" Ned asked, gesturing to a low stone bench in the middle of the flower gardens. "I am sure your footwear is quite uncomfortable."

Nodding absentmindedly, Cersei made her way to the bench. Guiding Ned to sit right beside her, his closeness causing her a pleasant shiver. "Thank you, Lord Stark." They had been talking for what seemed like an eternity - from the banal to the political, anything was used simply for them to continue in their little world. Alone together in a surreal daze, where it could just be the two of them. "You were saying… of your brother and sister, the Princess?"

"Aye… I suppose I'll have to think of Lyanna as my sovereign instead of my sister." Ned chuckled, which caused Cersei to smile as well. "Anyway, Benjen and she were only a year apart, and were quite close. Father ended up discovering him teaching her his swordplay lessons."

"Quite the scandal." Tywin would have killed her had she tried to learn swordplay with Jaime.

Ned shrugged. "Father was angry at first, but my mother managed to convince him that Lyanna should learn." It had been Rickard's deathbed promise to Lyarra Stark to let Lyanna train. "Any similar tales between your two brothers?"

Cersei laughed bitterly, it not reaching her eyes. "Aye, those two are thick as thieves. Always listening to Uncle Gerion's adventure stories and then acting them out - Jaime the brawn and Tyrion the brain. Terrorizing everyone and yet charming them at the same time." She shook her head. "I get why they would fall for Jaime's good looks and rapier wit, but that little monster?"

While most who referred to their own kin in such terms would repulse Ned… there was no way this woman could repulse him. He knew on instinct there was something deeper. "I think you may be jealous of their bond, my Lady."

"You had to think to figure that one out?" Cersei remarked sarcastically, glaring at him from where they sat. "Of course I'm jealous. As children, Jaime and I were inseparable. Now, he tends to spend just as much time with him as with me." Granted, that was before he left for the Kingsguard - best that he did that.

"Perhaps he sees that you and Tyrion are all he has left of your mother?" Such was why Ned was close to Lyanna in spite of their age difference. He figured it would be the same.

Blinking, she opened her mouth to deny… but was unable to. That had never occurred to Cersei. Gods, he's right. Most found Joanna's looks in her and personality in Jaime, but for Jaime himself? She was closer to her father or Aunt Genna in personality, while Tyrion's obvious kinship with Gerion belied much of him being exactly like their mother. He loves us no matter what we say about him, just as mother did…

She shook her head. Tyrion didn't deserve Cersei's sentimentality. "Jaime sees what he sees. What I see... he killed my mother."

"My lady, babies can't be kinslayers. They can't mean for that to happen to the women that birth them." He reached out to place his hand on hers.

Cersei recoiled from him, anger raised. "Do you know what it's like to lose a mother, Ned Stark?" she spat. Even after years, losing Joanna was a sore spot… especially after what happened before…

The answer was but a murmur. "I do."

All anger left her at his words. What? Lessons from their maester on the various Northern houses were of little interest for her, so Cersei had assumed Lady Stark was simply at Winterfell tending to the North in Rickard's absence. His mother was lost… Seeing his caring expression grow hard, brooding, she recognized it as one they shared. Cersei bit her lip, suddenly hating herself for ripping her hand away - for snapping at him. Slowly, she eased her hand back under his.

As with her, the wounds of losing a parent would never heal. "My mother died seven years after Benjen's birth - he was a difficult, spring birth, and she didn't survive the next winter." Ned fought the tears in his eyes. "Benjen barely remembers her, while Lyanna remembers less than Brandon or I." A wistful smile came at the memories. "She was the kindest woman, but a wolf when need be... not unlike your own mother my Lady, with what you have told me about her."

There was a silence. "She died from weakness after your brother's birth?"

"No, the gods decided it was her time." He would never blame Benjen, even if she had died as Joanna Lannister. "We were all heartbroken - father most of all - but we cherished her memory as she would have wanted."

Cherish her memory. While she never thought of it before, even Tyrion left a wildflower on their mother's grave on his birthday... the day of her death. "I've never been able not to blame my brother for it..."

Ned reached over and took her other hand in his. Taking a chance to both be closer to her and give her comforting advice. "My lady, I'm sure it must have been heartbreaking to lose her, but please don't judge your brother for a crime he did not commit." He watched her bite her lip, conflicted… and utterly beautiful. "You said Jaime loved your mother as much as you - did he ever blame Tyrion?"

A tear falls down her eye. "No... he never did..."

Seeing the tear, Ned embraced her. Relishing the feel of her in his arms. "Just let all the pain go. It will be fine, I promise."

Even as he almost commanded her to let out the hurt still inside her, Cersei wouldn't. Just couldn't… Much as Ned Stark's words made sense, it was too far of a reach for her. Instead, she merely held him, inhaling his scent. Letting herself relax in the unfamiliar yet simply right feel of the enigmatic northerner. One she had met only a moonturn before. It felt as if she'd known him forever. It felt as if destiny itself was pulling her closer to Ned.

"What are we doing here, Eddard?" It was the first time she ever said his name, and it sounded so good on her tongue. "We'll never be together... yet I can't stop thinking about you."

Ned pulled away, looking into her eyes. "Me neither… Cersei."

She shivered at her name on his lips. "Why... why do you seem to care about me so?"

Blinking, her blunt question stumped him for a moment - Ned decided to be honest. "Most speak of your father, and connect you to him or the failed attempt to betroth you to Rhaegar." Cersei fought back a groan at his mentioning that, but Ned wasn't finished. "I focused on you, the person that you are. You're passionate, intelligent, beautiful, strong, yet delicate and womanly - I can't explain it more than that, but you allure me."

"We've barely spoken..." she ends up blushing. Even Jaime had never praised her so broadly.

That had come to his mind many times before, but for the first time Ned decided to follow his heart. "That's what you are my lady. Even a 'northern fool' like myself can see it."

Gods… A second son, a northern barbarian… a wonderful man… Titles and power suddenly seemed just so abstract to her, while this affection was real. Unable to take it, she pulled him in for a kiss. Getting the closeness she had so craved. It started slow, soft. Exploring each other and committing to memory - but it didn't take long for it to deepen. Tongues battling, hands trying desperately to restrain themselves from shooting to the most intimate bits. Picking up right where they left off the previous night.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, Ned pulling her flush against him. More a chance than I think… Oberyn was right. He could feel himself getting worked up, close to the point of no return. Duty and honor told him one thing, but at this point Ned couldn't seem to care. Fate pulled him in the other direction, the brooding Ned Stark meeting his match in Cersei Lannister. Perhaps love is the greatest duty... "Come to my chambers," he blurted out, blushing hotly when he realized what he said.

Cersei, lightheaded from the kiss, couldn't think straight. But her words were just as unavoidable as his. "Guide me."

---

"You really want the wedding in Winterfell?" Hoster Tully asked, deep in his cups and slightly surprised. "I can have the ceremony prepared at Riverrun in a fortnight."

Smiling apologetically, Rickard shrugged his shoulders. "While I would love to avail myself to your hospitality, Hoster, Catelyn will be the future Lady of Winterfell. It's a chance for her to settle into her position."

That made sense, but the Lord of Riverrun was less than enthusiastic. "Before the godswood?"

"Naturally."

He blinked, shaking his head. "The only sept in the North is in White Harbor, perhaps we could compromise and have it there. Far easier journey by ship than moving up the Kingsroad…"

"Ah Hoster," laughed Jon Arryn. "You're just not wanting to get too chilled from the northern blizzards."

"There is that," acknowledged Lord Tully.

"Then buy a coat," Lady Olenna Tyrell said gruffly. The four of them were huddled together at a table, three Lords Paramount and one de facto Lady Paramount shooting the breeze. "You know it must be at Winterfell."

Hoster sighed. "Very well. Winterfell it is. I shall inform my daughter to begin packing her household." He stood, leaving his cup behind. "Till later, my friends."

"It has been a pleasure, dearest Hoster," waved Olenna, a polite smile worn on her face till he walked out of earshot. Dropping to a sour frown, she leaned to Rickard and spoke bluntly. "He should just put on the folded robes and join the Most Devout." The Lord of Winterfell blinked while the Lord of the Eyrie almost spat out his wine in laughter. Tapping the table, the Queen of Thorns stared intently at her Northern counterpart. "That daughter of his will destroy your house."

Rickard raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon, Lady Olenna?" While the first comment had been mindless needling, this one concerned his House directly.

She scoffed. "You heard me, Lord Rickard. Gods, did all the winter blizzards make you deaf?"

A look at Jon Arryn found the old Lord raise his palms in surrender - he wouldn't get involved. Probably smart of him. "I don't see what you mean, my Lady. Catelyn Tully is a kind, dutiful maiden that seems to love my son very much." His eyes found the both of them, Brandon lifting the laughing redhead in his arms, twirling her around while his daughter and her spouses clapped from the dias.

Such a display only caused Olenna to roll her eyes. "Plenty of love matches out there, but there's more to a proper alliance than love. My idiot husband loved me, but he could have fallen for a dunderhead in five minutes and Highgarden would have been a ruin." She sipped at her wine, rather enjoying the Stark's blank stare and the Arryn's giggle.

Unlike Jon Arryn - simply an amused bystander - Rickard was confused by the Lady Dowager of Highgarden's line of commentary. "What deficiency do you see in Catelyn Tully?"

"She'll try to turn Winterfell into the Starry Sept. Push aside the old gods and replace it with her own pious traditions."

Rickard rejected Olenna's assertions. "She respects our traditions my lady." House Tully was a good match for them, both politically and personally.

"Did you bother to ask her?" Such alliances rarely were done outside of conversations between fathers - had it been among southern houses there wouldn't be a problem, but the Starks were northern.

"I am certain she knows that not to would earn the mistrust of the Northern houses," Rickard tried to defend his heir's betrothed.

Olenna shook her head. "That doesn't sound like the Hoster Tully I know. It's been said the Blackwoods make sure to always meet him outside of their keep in case he sees their Weirwood." Jon nodded. Those stories had crossed to the Vale as well as the Reach.

"Ever since we were the Kings in the North, we were steadfast in our ways." He was adamant. "We will not change that, and Brandon will not allow it."

She smacked her wrinkled hand on her face. "Oh you poor, deluded northern fool. Tullys may be many things, but malleable is not one of them. They aren't harpies like the Ironborn and some other houses." Those that were she could recite from memory. "But they are stubborn, bullheaded, and quite impulsive even if it bites them in the ass." Olenna placed her hand on Rickard's. "Be wary, for I doubt your position in the North is as strong as you think."

Rickard's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Shrugging, the Queen of Thorns pointed to a corner - where Roose Bolton sat drinking in silence with Stevron Frey and Wyman Manderly. "That man, he's a snake. It's too cold for snakes up there, but I know one when I see one. Don't give your heir any leeway for that man to exploit."

Ah… of course. It was a common refrain. When not the Blackwoods and Brackens or the Martells and Tyrells, it was the Starks and the Boltons. Had it been Roose's father Royce, Rickard would have agreed with Olenna completely… the son was more an enigma. Quiet and crafty, but no sign of the opportunistic brutality that the house of the Flayed Man was notorious for. "I know Roose can be sneaky, but he is one of our most important vassals."

"Please, Rickard," Jon cut in. "I worry you are looking at this too rosily. The Boltons are not a house to be trifled with."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not looking at this naively, Jon. I actually want to foster his heir in Winterfell when one of them survives past the cradle…" Keeping his rival close could finally normalize relations. "Poor man, he's lost his third already."

"That's smart of you, but beware Catelyn Tully." She poured herself another cup. "I actually think that Lannister bitch would be a better Lady of Winterfell. Tywin's brood, they have no beliefs except for personal gain. Makes them... adaptable."

"Mhm, a lion and a direwolf do make for a mightier sight than a trout," laughed Jon Arryn.

"Brandon would never go for it. Tywin Lannister as his goodfather?" Rickard shuddered. There were some alliances he wouldn't go for - no sense in antagonizing Aerys further.

"You do have another son? Quite the smart one, I believe. Quiet but a lot of potential."

That caused Rickard to shake his head, much as the alliance could be beneficial if in the right moment. "Tywin's no Tytos. he will never wed his only daughter to a second son, even if he is the goodbrother of the King."

"You can decree him to be your heir. It's been done before... Gods wish I had done that," she mumbled about her dunce of a son.

Rickard gasped, aghast at the thought. "No, I could never do that to brandon." And I doubt Ned would ever allow it. "He might drive me mad sometimes, along with his sister, but he is still my heir and he'll make me proud."

Finishing her wine, Olenna grabbed her cane and used it to stand from the table. "Your funeral," she drolled, strolling away to find smarter company. The man's too honorable for his own good.

At the dias, the Queen had finally made her way to congratulate her son and gooddaughters, hugging each of them. "You look positively radiant, Lyanna."

Her smile could light up the entire room. "This is the happiest day of my life. I feel radiant, your Grace…"

"What did I tell you?" warned Rhaella, scolding as a mother would. "Especially now, my name is Rhaella to you."

"Better do as she says, my love," Rhaegar offered, smiling cheekily to a swat from Elia.

The Dornish Princess nevertheless held the same smile at her sister-wife. "I slipped up a lot as a young wife. She never let me forget it."

Lyanna laughed. "Alright, Rhaella." The two shared yet another hug.

Off to the side, Jaime watched the scene with half-satisfaction, half-longing when someone smacked him on the back of the head. "Argh… what the fuck, uncle?"

"Ah, so I finally got yer' attention," slurred Gerion Lannister, somehow able to walk in spite of downing two flagons of Arbor Gold. "Go make your move."

Jaime rubbed the still sore back of his skull. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Even drunk, the youngest of the five Lannister siblings knew when to keep his voice down. "You and the Valyrian beauty. Go ask her to dance."

Face going red, the kingsguard wished Gerion hadn't said that. "Uncle… I like my head the way it is."

"Oh pish, it's just a dance… his Grace won't be alive forever." Gerion shoved him forward. "Now go, or I'll tell your sister that it was your idea for Tyrion to milk his eel into her turtle stew."

Judging the peril of a dance with the Queen was far less likely to have him killed than Cersei's wrath, the Lion of Lannister hastily approached just as the Queen was about to descend the steps. "Oh, Ser Jaime," Rhaella remarked, stopping herself before she could run into him. "I may be a little tipsy."

He gulped. "You look fine to me, your Grace." Jaime bit his tongue and offered her a hand. "Enough for a dance?"

Rhaella blinked. "Ser Jaime…" Not that she didn't want to. She very much couldn't decline an offer to dance with a handsome young knight, but…

"His Grace is retired. I'm probably the only person besides the Prince who could and…" Both peeked at how he listened to Lyanna regaling him about a story of a wildling raid. "He's busy at the moment. Shall we?"

There was a silence before a grin stretched on the Queen's face. "It's been years since I had a proper dance. Lead the way, Ser Jaime."

---

The corridors were deserted. Hopes for a raucous bedding ceremony having drawn servants, guards, and whatever highborn invitees to outside the official royal quarters, leaving the guest ones practically abandoned. Given that a drunk Brandon Stark would likely be showing up now that the party was slowing down - with or without his betrothed for some post-wedding fun - the two would-be lovers knew to rush. Not making haste, but not at a ponderous pace by a long shot.

Biting her lip, Cersei's heart pounded in her chest. Her velvet lined wooden pumps clicked on the stone floor beneath her, echoing in the cavernous halls. Anything for her senses to focus on. Anything to calm her racing heart against the feel of the pair of eyes undoubtedly staring at her from behind. The soft breaths of the man that had caught her fancy only a moonturn before…

A thought coming to her, Cersei added an extra sway to her hips. Lips curling into a smirk when she heard his breath hitch. Normally, she enjoyed manipulating men - even her brother - to get what she wanted, but at that moment she merely wanted to please him… and glad that she succeeded.

"Do… do you know where you're going, Lady Cersei?"

Her name on his lips didn't cease to cause shudders to go through Cersei. A few nights ago might have been blamed on the alcohol, but she hadn't had a drop to drink tonight. "I've stayed in the guest quarters before… Lord Eddard." Turning the right corner, they came upon a dead end hallway. "Though I need to know what room you're in."

Chuckling, Ned moved to slide ahead of her. Bare hand brushing her waist, causing her to jump a bit. "Allow me to lead the way, this time." The little tug of war between them, a battle for dominance both scathing and so soft as to be seductive, he rather liked it. As if the two of them fit like pieces of a childhood block her hand in his, he gently led the Light of the West towards his particular chambers at the end of the hallway. "Here we are… Cersei."

"Are you nervous... Eddard?" At that moment she was nervous, but not from what an observer would think. Face to face against the enigmatic, brooding, handsome northerner… after the little but no less meaningful contact they shared, Cersei was actually worried she wouldn't measure up. It was an… unexpected feeling.

Ned was silent, merely opening the door. Thoughts clouded by this intoxicating woman now returning with full force. Certain... uncomfortable truths. "Aye," he murmured as she walked into the room past him, closing the door behind him. "I am nervous."

Cersei's face fell. Worried that he might be backing out, the first man she truly wanted since she and Jaime. Wordlessly, she turned away, looking at the open window and the bright moon in the inky-black sky. "Why is that?" she almost croaked. Half-unwilling to know the answer.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Ned decided to be honest. "I… well… you'd be my first woman."

Turning abruptly, the lioness found herself gaping at him. Not in any circumstance expecting that. "You're first…" Someone as handsome as he… this had to be some kind of jape. "Aren't you of twenty namedays?" Surely he's had a smallfolk maiden, lonely older widow, or something?

But his initial statement was the truth. "While Robert often pushed me, I never took any of the women he threw at me up on their offers." There had been quite a few of both high and lowborn, but Ned had refused them all. After meeting Cersei, he realized whom the gods had been saving him for. "You would be my first."

"But your brother…" While not as notorious as some of the other noted womanizers in court, Brandon's flirty nature had gotten around.

"I am not my brother, Cersei."

Thank the gods for that. Regardless of what some said, Ned was by far the more attractive of the two. "Why did you wait?" She wanted to know.

Ned looked away, face resembling a ripe strawberry. "I couldn't dishonor any maidens, or risk shaming my house and myself with a bastard." Cersei gulped. The former isn't an issue for me. "With you… gods, Cersei." Running a hand through his hair, he struggled to find the words. "...I can't help myself. We've only truly spoken twice, and yet you're my clearest weakness." He turned, grey eyes so dark they were almost black. "And I don't regret these feelings."

She shivered. His wolfish gaze filling Cersei with lust. "I shall be your first." She spoke it as if holding some sort of crown. "I… I hope I am up to the task."

Taking big strides, Ned cupped her waist. "You already are… I am enchanted by you, Cersei."

His simple words of passion more incendiary than any of the flowery speeches and lascivious propositions of all past suitors, Cersei closed the distance between them. Fusing their lips together, frantically begging for entrance which was immediately granted.

Unlike Rhaegar, Ned wasn't a bloody poet… but in this he didn't need to be. Lack of experience outweighed by enthusiasm, one hand wrapped tightly round her waist. Pulling her flush to him. Cersei gasped into his mouth as the kiss grew even deeper. The other hand tangled in the crown of braids. Tugging hard, needing the golden locks loose as he began pushing her to the bed.

Cersei felt the pain, and yet it only spurred her on. Delicate fingers fought off the cumbersome long sleeves to ghost over her new lover's body. Admiring the hard planes of the northerner's body that had fought and defeated the Sword of the Morning. Kiss never breaking, devouring his mouth with the hunger of a lioness, Cersei struggled to undo the laces of his doublet and trousers just as her hair fell down in waves and loose braids. Her gold, lion-emblazoned choker clattering to the floor to expose her neck. She needed him bare… impatient to finally feel this man inside her.

To truly see if he could tame the mighty lioness.

Kiss finally breaking when she slid the formal wear off his torso and hips, Ned attacked her neck. Encouraged by her wanton moans while he moved to her own dress. Exposing her shoulders as he pushed it down. Robert had often complained that highborn girls were prudish and inhibited compared to the more earthy smallfolk, but Cersei held no such compunctions. She was pure lust, and it drove something inside him. Brought the inner wolfsblood from beneath the dutiful, quiet exterior.

While it was deliciously tight across her slim body, Ned's insistence brought the entire dress down to her hips, nearly ripping it… not that either cared in the moment. Causing a sharp intake of breath - she wasn't wearing smallclothes. "Gods…"

Shivering under his gaze… hungry with desire for her, Cersei grabbed his head. "Don't speak." She couldn't handle hearing his sweet northern brogue. They fell onto his bed just as she brought him to her chest. Gasping when her wolf - my wolf - latched to a heaving breast. Don't… stop. Licking, nipping, and sucking, Ned's stubble tickled her skin. Bringing her so much pleasure. Inside… please inside...

She was breathtaking. A goddess in his eyes. As soon as he glimpsed her nude form, all honor and propriety was forgotten. Cersei Lannister was his sin, and gods help him he did not care. Devouring her breasts. Hands fondling her waist and stomach, urging a leg to hike around his bare hip. Desperate, wanting to finally feel a woman - this woman - surrounding him, he fished for his rock-hard length and began to guide it towards her entrance… though fumblingly unable to find it...

While it was truly adorable - he was a virgin after all - Cersei could only grow impatient in her lust. Reaching down and batting his hand away, causing a hiss from her lover as she wrapped her digits around his length. Pulling it to her entrance. Locking her legs around his waist so that Ned's only recourse was to slide inside her.

"Fu…" All words were silenced with a kiss, Cersei's hand fisting in his hair to keep him in place. Hot and wet walls sheathed him, an indescribable feeling. The goddess beneath him urging him on, begging him to thrust...

Cersei let out a scream inside his mouth. This was no tender passion, but a mating rut once he slammed into her… and she loved it. Craved it. Yes… yes… yes… Her dreams had been filled with his touch since the tourney, but nothing could compare to the truth. She wedged her free hand between them, finding her nub and stroking at it. Wanting to shatter with him.

Walls tightening around him, Ned increased his force through gritted teeth. Watching Cersei's hypnotic green eyes roll into her skull. It didn't take long for the winter blizzard to howl within him, finding his release buried deep inside her.

Feeling his seed coating her walls as she attacked her nub... the lioness couldn't hold. Shattering around him, a rippling climax coursing through her entire body. Cersei felt him collapse on her, his welcome weight pressing down on her still shuddering body. Kiss broken, room filled with her pants and his grunts. Magical.

And so they found themselves enjoying the trembling aftershocks tightly wrapped together on their sides facing each other. Arms pulling them flush against the other, legs intertwined. Cersei's head was buried in his chest while Ned stroked her back. Fingers delightful on her bare spine. Sighing happily with love.

Love?

Yes, love… rather close to it. Never did Cersei feel so loved in her life, not even with Jaime - with them it was merely a taboo thrill, as thrilling as being Queen was to her. With Ned… she could feel herself truly falling for this man.

The reality of their situation hit her like a collapsing castle wall. A tragedy worth a hundred songs.

Unknowing of her thoughts, yet thinking nearly the same, Ned buried his face into Cersei's golden locks. So exotic - unlike anything in the north. "I don't want to ever leave this room," he murmured into her hair.

"Me neither," she responded, inhaling his northern scent of pine and snow. It was simply so easy to be close to him. A man that both understood her feelings and yet tempered them.

"By the old gods… we should run away together." Ned wished to fully confess his love, but it would cause him so much pain. Never break an oath you make… never make an oath you can't keep. He couldn't keep such an oath to her. "You'd love Winterfell... It's boring compared to here, but better - calm and free."

She kissed his chest. "Anything sounds better than being bored to death on Casterly Rock." They shared a laugh. "Nothing much happens there. No drama since father defeated the Reynes."

Ned leaned in to kiss her, skirting the pain of their reality - banished temporarily by passion. "I'd marry you in an instant, Cersei."

"I…" She would have died to marry this man, someone that truly cared about her and not her body or position. But Cersei was like her father in that way. Often killing her sentimentality for the greater good. "Alas the 'Lion of the Rock' would never allow his only daughter to wed a second son. He is no Tytos, Eddard." Her grandfather let her aunt Gemma marry a Frey… not the heir to the Twins. Knowing how Tywin hated her uncle, Ned didn't stand a chance.

Ned sighed, heart heavy. Drifting into his brooding, but the feel of her hugging him tighter banished those feelings. It wasn't fair to either of them to add on to the inevitable. "At least we have tonight." A night he would remember for the rest of his life.

Looking up at his words, Cersei smiled. A smile that turned into a smirk, rolling him over so she straddled him. Pinning his arms above her head and grinding into his crotch. Reveling in the direwolf's groan. "We have tonight…" she purred, bringing his hands to her breasts. "All... night..." Sorrow was once again lost in their passion.

---

"Make way for the Princess!" Ellaria called out into the hallway, voice loud and dripping with sex. "The night of her deflowering has arrived!"

"Fuck you," Lyanna replied evenly, causing gasps from some of the highborns carrying her in spite of her smile. Such was the compromise with tradition her husband - husband… I quite enjoy that - had insisted on. The women would carry her, while the male guests had hoisted Rhaegar on their shoulders, singing The Dornishman's Wife at the top of their lungs to the Crown Prince's chambers.

"That's what Prince Rhaegar will do to you," grinned Dacey, pretty much all the Ladies Paramount and royal household giggling as they carried her. Two were missing in the group of laughing and singing maidens. Rhaella, she knew, had retired at Ser Jaime's insistence when the Queen was close to collapsing after three fast dances with him. Don't think I didn't see what you did there, Ser Jaime. As for the other... Where is Lady Lannister? Last she saw, Cersei was leaving for the gardens with… oh. Lyanna grinned, which the ladies thought was for their japes. Good for you, big brother… If Ned actually was… intimate with Cersei Lannister, then she had to have passed top muster.

Her thoughts on Ned's sex life evaporated as a male hand smacked against her leg. "Your man is waiting!" whistled Bran, another smack hitting the rup of Catelyn before he joined the other drunk Lords racing back to the great hall. Whooping and jeering. Lyanna rolled her eyes just as the women set her down in front of the Prince's chambers, Ser Oswell and Ser Barristan standing guard.

"Alright, the fun is over. Shoo." Elia practically pushed the ladies away, alone among them to know the gravity of a wedding to a Targaryen Prince. How exhausting it was. "Holding up, Lyanna?"

Gulping, Lyanna nodded. "Aye, I am." She just couldn't stop smiling.

Her smile was infectious. "I'm glad." The two Princesses hugged tightly, bound before the gods to the same man rather than simply by affection. "I'll leave you to your night. Just relax and let him know what is pleasing and what isn't. He…" She blushed a bit. "Knows what he's doing."

Lyanna blushed as well. "I'll keep that in mind." Leaning in, she kissed Elia's cheek. "Tell Rhae and Egg that I love them."

"I will." And with that, Elia shut the chamber door behind her, leaving the newlyweds alone to their wedding night.

Rhaegar was waiting for her by the bed, stripped out of his fancy doublet, breeches, and all the other finery of a prince. A simple maroon sleep tunic covered from his neck to the middle of his thigh, showing off plenty of muscular leg and dark silver hair dotting the top of his chest. Lyanna drew her lip between her teeth at the sight, both scrumptious and intimidating. The wolfsblood inside her urged the new Princess to jump him where he stood, but she was rooted in place. The shyness of a maiden wed suddenly surrounding her.

Hair tied back in a simple bun, in spite of having done this before Rhaegar felt similar. "Um… how are you?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Taking several anxious steps towards her, approaching as warily as one would a growling dog.

Suddenly modest, Lyanna wrapped her arms protectively around her side. "Very well," she practically squeaked. What has gotten into you. A large shadow towered over her, reminding Lyanna very well of what had changed.

"Hey." Rhaegar reached out and cupped her cheek, feeling the newfound tension start to melt as she nuzzled his warm palm. "Are you alright, Lyanna?"

She nodded, warming for the first time - regardless of how hot the fire was. Strolling absentmindedly around him, Lyanna reacquainted herself with the chambers that would now be hers. It was utterly huge. Bigger than the sleeping chambers of her father at Winterfell which had been her previous frame of reference. It could swallow my old room whole! Ceiling high, windows large to let in the ocean breeze, it felt so very airy. Unlike the cavernous rooms in the North designed to trap heat. And so very grand, black and red of House Targaryen inlaid with gold leaf and frescoes. Depictions of various moments of House Targaryen on the walls. Aegon I burning Harrenhal. Aenys gifting Maegor with Blackfyre upon his coronation. Good Queen Alysanne landing Silverwing at Queenscrown in the North. Rhaenerya's triumphant return to King's Landing during the Dance of the Dragons. Daeron II proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms. All so gilded, nothing like it similar from Lyanna's childhood at Winterfell.

At long last, Lyanna answered his question. "I'm alright. Just admiring the frescoes." The detail was just so… intricate. "There's nothing like this in the North."

The Prince looked away, embarrassed. "Didn't have time to consult you about your preference," he murmured. "Sorry."

"No…" Rhaegar looked adorable, the way he brooded. "I don't honestly mind."

"My grandfather made them, it was his chambers," he shrugged. "Elia liked them."

Chuckling, Lyanna made her way to hug him from behind. "I love them, husband." She stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his clothed shoulder blade. "Do all your wives seek to redecorate?"

This coaxed a chuckle of his own. "Women like to make their own touch on things."

"So shall I… though I'll consult with my sister-wife." Not keen on banter anymore, she grabbed his hand, urging him to turn and face her. "Why are you brooding, my love?"

He looked down on her, a mighty Valyrian warrior struck out of his element. "I… I can't believe you're in my life... you're a goddess."

Lyanna's heart melted. My Dragon Prince… my Prince Daemon… my Aegon the Conqueror. All her dreams come true, and yet he was the one seemingly out of his league. It made her love him more. Leaning up once more, she kissed him sweetly. One he eagerly returned. "We'll just have to figure it out from here," she grinned, hands deftly tugging at his hair to let the silver locks free about his shoulders.

Disengaging, she walked slowly to the bed. Removing the crown of winter roses and setting it on an ornate oaken table before then pulling her hair out from the northern braids. Lyanna peeked over her shoulder, watching him staring intently. Biting her lip, this time naughtily, with a few expert moves the dress was falling from her body. A tug here and there causing it to tumble completely. Leaving her naked as her nameday. Easing herself onto the bed, Lyanna hiked up one knee. A curtain of hair falling forward to obscure the inviting look on her face, she smiled sultrily. "Come to bed, my Prince."

Mouth dry at glimpsing the toned, milky skin of his bride, Rhaegar padded slowly towards her. Stone cold against his bare feet and cock hard with desire for her, he nevertheless wanted to savor the moment. The sight of her like this, innocent eyes wide yet supremely naughty lips curled into a smirk, Rhaegar wanted to remember it for the rest of his life.

Soon he was beside the bed. "My sweet Rhaegar… you're wearing too many clothes." He moved to doff his tunic, but she stilled his hand. Standing, exposing the entire length of her bare form. "Let me." Fingers fisted the hem of the tunic, lifting it up and off his head, it was now Lyanna's turn to admire the beautiful body of her husband. Toned, muscular, well-proportioned… and a thick length all for her.

"Does the Princess like what she sees?" Her wanton glare surged his confidence.

For want of an answer, Lyanna simply kissed him greedily. Pulling him atop of her on the bed, finally getting the skin on skin contact she so desired. The kiss was short, Rhaegar beginning to lick and suck down her neck and chest - paying special attention to her breasts. Lavishing his love on her nipples, making her writhe with pleasure. Fingers tangling in his hair… the silver locks she so adored. Urging him downward when the ache between her legs grew too much to bear.

Familiar but yet so new, Rhaegar swiped his tongue through her wet core. Juices tasting sweeter than before… Is it from our marriage alone? Devouring her, he figured it was. A moan emerged from her, deep and throaty. Reveling in it, Rhaegar turned it into a gasp as slid his tongue inside of her throbbing cunt.

"Oh, my dragon…" Lyanna purred, feeling his tongue lick her insides thoroughly, pull out and trail up to her tender bundle of nerves, and then thrusting back inside. Deeper and deeper with such relish that she shattered for him. Body humming with pleasure. Desperately, she reached down for him. Begging that he meet her face to face. Rhaegar was more than happy to comply.

And so it was, the moment of truth. No formalities or proprietes, ancient distinctions of law remaining to form a wall forcing her and her beloved apart. In the eyes of gods and men, she and Rhaegar were now one soul

As Rhaegar positioned himself above her, he stilled - eyes searching out her own. "Lya…"

Writhing with lust, Lyanna nevertheless had a clear enough mind to know what was coming. "I'm ready, my dragon."

"It'll hurt." Worry was written in his expression. Knowing from experience that breaking her maidenhead would cause pain. Caring enough to never wish that pain upon her.

"I know…" She looped her arms round his neck, leaning up to gently kiss him. Rubbing his tongue with hers to reassure her husband. "Please don't make me wait, ñuha jorrāelagon."

Hearing the Valyrian phrase on her lips, begging in her sweet northern brogue, all hesitance left Rhaegar. Mindful of her comfort but with pure desire returning to his darkened violet eyes, the Crown Prince guided his head to her entrance. Gently spearing forward, swimming in the copious juices of her arousal as he began to stretch her. Hissing even from the pleasure on his tip.

But Lyanna wanted more - so much more. Squirming, she moaned. "Please, my Prince…" Only for her to bite back a cry of pain when the thick cock finally thrust forward halfway. Spearing through her maidenhead with ease. It stung, tears falling from her eyes.

Rhaegar's mouth was on hers in an instant. Tongue desperately but languidly dancing inside her cavern, hand kneading her breast and playing with her nipple. "I love you," he breathed, kissing down to her sensitive neck. "I love you, ñuha zokla." Letting her stretch for him, making her wetter.

Slowly at first, Lyanna's burning morphed into a burning need. Pain from his cock gradually delicious as it scraped against her inner walls. Reluctance faded to passion, desperation as she yanked him by the hair. Frantically kissing him, hunger returning with a vengeance. "In me," Lyanna growled, eyes a stormy tempest of grey. "All of you, in me now." Rhaegar obliged, Lyanna gasping into his mouth when his long, hard member eased into her to the hilt. A fullness she had never before felt but knew she now couldn't live without. Fuck… Rhaegar… yessssss…

Whatever restraint was left simply dissolved in an instant. Rhaegar lost it - devoid of a woman contracting and bucking around him, his almost instinctive urge to mate and breed consumed his body. Angling his hips, anchoring his arms underneath her shoulders, the Prince thrusted. Hard, slamming her rear into the bed. Cock rising till it almost left her and then right back in. Over and over again, breaking their kiss so he could suck in deep breaths, mouth hot against her ear.

Lyanna' mouth was open in a silent scream. Literally unable to make a sound, the sweet pleasure of his length trying its best to split her in two. "Fuck… Rhaegar…" Nothing could have prepared her for this. Not their fun prior to the wedding, not speeches from Ellaria or Elia - no lesson could top the sweet lovemaking from the man she adored with every fiber of her being. His cock rubbed against every sensitive spot she never knew she had, pelvis slamming against her exposed nub till she cried out. Desperate for more. "More… more… more… Gods! I can take it!"

Sinking his teeth into the join of her neck and shoulder - loving how she screamed his name - Rhaegar pounded his bride like a man possessed. Mind overwhelmed by her vice-like tightness as he kept on thrusting. Ever harder, ever faster. Muscles straining to the point of agony yet nothing could stop Rhaegar. Nothing stopping each of his frenzied, desperate thrusts.

"Ohhh… gods…" His tip was kissing her womb with each thrust. Powerful body smothering her lean frame and teeth likely marking her and she loved it. Craved it. Clenched her teeth to bite back a scream. Lyanna wrapped her legs around him, eager for him as deep as possible. Nails clawing at his back in a frantic effort to beg it of him. She tumbled over the edge a second time, only for his grunting, sweaty movements to bring her right back up the peak. Cunt gushing, legs tightening, nipples tingling from her breasts mashing against his chest. "I love you… love… you…"

"Lyanna… ñuha ābrar... ñuha zokla…" Never had it taken him so quickly to reach the edge, so he pounded into her three times, hard. Praying she would follow him into the abyss. "Fuuuuck!"

It certainly did the trick. Her vision exploding into a complete battlefield of explosions and color. "Yes, Rhaegar… yes… yes!"

Minutes later, aftershocks a pleasant tingle and cries of passion transformed into sweet whispers of love and devotion, the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms fell asleep atop of her husband. His cock still buried inside her so wonderfully. Contented smile on her face, dreaming of the moment in the next few hours when she would wake him up for another round…

And of the dark-haired, violet-eyed or silver-haired, grey-eyed babe that would hopefully quicken inside her that night.

---

Whatever final revelry from the wedding feast ceased as the door to the King's inner sanctum slammed shut. Lady Melisandre walking calmly in as if she hadn't entered the den of a hungry dragon. "You sent for me, your Grace."

From the cot in the far corner, King Aerys stood up. Finally ready to entertain a gap in his self-imposed solitude since the end of the actual wedding. "Aye, Lady Melisandre… or should it be Priestess?" He didn't care either way, but it was pro forma.

"Priestess is preferable, your Grace. Such is our title ordained by the Red Temple in Volantis." She had been surprised when the High Priest sent her to Westeros instead of someone more… politic, but what she had discovered only led her to praise her Lord for his foresight. "May I be of service to you?" Melisandre asked, hiding her gaze at the line of eight eggs in the center of the room.

"You have claimed to see the future," Aerys hissed, hoping that the Red Witch's blandishments would not be so meandering. "To see the will of your god."

Melisandre stood still, hands clasped together with an emotionless expression. "I cannot be certain as to anything, your Grace. The Lord of Light shows me what he wishes - it is up to me and whomever else he chooses to witness such glimpses to decipher them."

Scowling, Aerys grabbed Melisandre and manhandled her to the brazier. "Here, decipher his will. Now!"

Breathing deeply, Melisandre reached into a pouch of her dress to retrieve two red leather gloves, which she donned. Gracefully stepping towards the line of eggs and picking up the one black with red swirls. "The essence of Old Valyria," she then said in an almost daze, dropping the oval into the brazier. "May it allow your will to appear truer to your humble servants, oh Lord of Light."

Suddenly the flames rose higher, turning from the yellow-orange into a deep blood red. Making Aerys flinch, jerking back and nearly tripping over himself. Eyes widening in sheer entrancement, one only before seen when gazing upon the green flicker of lit wildfire. Is it now that I see my destiny?

A flash of light in her eyes, Melisandre tilted back. Body undulating with the crackling flames. Mouth dropped in a silent gasp. Aerys blinked. "What?" She stilled her form, merely reaching out to cup the fire at a safe distance. Letting it warm her palms. "What do you see?!" thundered the impatient King.

"He… this egg… It shall be the one."

"Spit it out!"

Another shock of power shot through her. Melisandre's head tilting back, a chant echoing through the room. "The one!" Her entire body trembled. "The one to defeat the curse. This egg shall be his."

Wicked grin forming on his face, Aerys wanted to reach out and hug the egg to him. Knowing it would be his. Knowing that it would be he, Aerys Targaryen Second of His Name, that brought dragons back to the world. Not my shit of a father and disgrace of a brother. Me! "What else, tell me what else!"

Eyes flying open, it was as if their color was a pulsing blood moon. "Two among this clutch, a dragon they shall not belong." Aerys' brows knit into confusion. "A wolf owns one… a false dragon the other." The flames retreated to their usual height, egg glowing as would a dying ember. Melisandre sighed. "That's all I can discern from the flames, your Grace, and even these are vague… as you can likely tell."

Frown telling nothing, Aerys hobbled over to his cot in the center of the private room. Back turned to his guest. "Get out," he barked. "Leave me." Melisandre could only curtsey, leaving the King of the Seven Kingdoms to digest the will of her Lord.

Notes:

Gotta love it, right? Ned and Cersei have their bittersweet first time while Rhaegar and Lyanna finally consummate their love. Plenty more coming up :D

More drama with Mel and Aerys, while Olenna gives a warning that Rickard should heed.

Next up, some really big drama and more smut! Be sure to comment. I might update sooner if y'all do :D

Chapter 25: Shattered Bliss

Notes:

Hello all. The fluff of the last chapters give ways to this one.

Hope everyone is fine during the Wuhan Coronavirus chaos. Be sure to follow CDC guidelines for the duration of the crisis. Stay safe and cautious, everybody, and rest assured. Us authors will provide proper content to last y'all during it!

Just heard that both Kristofer Hivju and Indira Varma tested positive for the virus. Let's say a prayer for their recovery. Now that China and South Korea are seemingly recovering (thank God for this reprieve for the Chinese and Korean People), let's also say a prayer for America and Europe to pass through this.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Muna happy?"

Head turning at the little Princess' sweet voice, Lyanna grinned. Leaning down to kiss who was in effect her daughter on the forehead. "Aye, little dragon. Muna is very happy."

Rhaenys was a ball of excitement that morning. Eager to return to Dragonstone, she had burst into Lyanna's room and never left her side - chattering on and on about all the wonderful things in Rhaegar's Keep. Only now, when she sat on the bed and watched her new mother pack did the inquisitive hatchling observe how Lyanna acted. "Cawse you mawwy kepa?"

Closing her eyes, the she-wolf could only sigh and smile dreamily. Everything felt different now - running her hands along her waist and hips, join of her legs throbbing with a pleasant soreness. Gods… if I knew it would be this good… Lyanna shook her head ever so gently. No, only Rhaegar could make me feel this way. So lovingly and deliciously sated… turned from a maiden into a woman fully grown and flowered. A welcome haze settled upon her as she put away the riding trousers and training breeches she insisted on packing herself. As eager as her daughter to journey to Rhaegar's own Keep…

"Muna… Muna!"

Laughing at her insistance, in one motion Lyanna scooped the child up. "Oh, sweetling." She pressed motherly kisses to Rhaenys' cheek and forehead. "You are a precious hatchling and muna loves you."

"Wuv you too, muna," mumbled the Princess.

A tiny tickle made Rhaenys giggle. "Alright, what shall we do now?" With Elia likely sitting over Egg, it was apparently her that would sit over Rhaenys and Lyanna was looking forward to it.

But even the wild she-wolf couldn't have been prepared for what the little dragon asked next. "Make me a bwabe brudder."

Had Lyanna been drinking anything, she would have sprayed it all over the walls of her and Rhaegar's chambers. "What…" Did I hear her right? "You want to make a babe brother with me for yourself?"

Rhaenys nodded eagerly. "Egg is fun! Want another lwike Nymwiah!" The butchering of Queen Nymeria's name in reference to the stories Elia read to her of the mighty female warrior and her brother generals only served to emphasize how innocent the request was.

Unable to contain herself, Lyanna began laughing uproariously. Trying her best not to drop Rhaenys as she doubled over with mirth. "Oh sweetling…" Still giggling at the request, she set her daughter down on the bed. "While I would love to give you a babe brother or sister…" Instinctively, her hand drifted down to her abdomen. Imagining little Jon or Visenya potentially growing there at this moment. "That's something only muna and kepa can do… alone."

"I can help!" Rhaenys chirped a little too enthusiastically. "I tells kepa to huwwy to make babe!"

Simply thinking of the image threatened to destroy Lyanna. Biting her lip to bite back the chuckles, she ruffled Rhaenys' hair. "You'll find out when you're older that…" A different image, one of dark and sultry skin mixing with her pale alabaster and Rhaegar's silver hair, all intertwined on the bed in various stages of undress… the she-wolf shuddered, shaking her head to compose herself. "...One doesn't want one's daughter to be present in… babe-making." Lyanna's final answer was far different from what she first wanted to say.

"So no wittle brudder?" Rhaenys looked devastated.

"Tell you what. Why don't you go into the closet and find me your favorite pair of riding trousers. Then I'll take you on a ride on Winter when we're on Dragonstone." Eyes brightening, the giggling Rhaenys dashed off to complete the task. Smirking to herself - not to mention a little wet from the image - Lyanna bit it back as she kept packing. Resolved to burn off the desire with Rhaegar the next time she saw him.

"Where are your servants?"

For the second time in the space of ten minutes did the she-wolf turn on a silver stag… the first was for her dragon-blooded, adorable daughter. This time, a raspy, bitter voice caused a far different reaction in Lyanna. "Your Grace," she murmured, dropping into a low curtsey as the King stood before her. Trying not to tremble. "You honor me with your presence."

While the formalities were a must in front of Aerys, he clearly wasn't in the mood. "Where are the damn servants? Or that wildling Mormont bitch, or the perverted Dornish slut?!" He grabbed a folded riding dress from the chest and threw it against the wall. "A Princess of House Targaryen, made to pick up after herself like some smallfolk tramp? Someone's head will be on a pike for this."

Unable to stomach if Dacey or Ellaria ended up executed over this, Lyanna braved the inferno of her goodfather. "Your Grace, it is nothing. I dismissed them." About to rip a pair of socks, Aerys dropped them. No longer angry, but staring at her quizzically. "I like packing for myself. It's relaxing."

Pursing his lips, to her relief the King shrugged. "Northerners. They're all mad." Aerys chuckled, looking at the image of Aegon burning Black Harren. "I was always a proper King and Prince. Squire dressed me each and every time before battle - if those under you don't know their place, they will try and destroy you. Never forget that, gooddaughter. You must show them their place, with the pit and gallows if necessary."

The exact opposite of what she was taught, but Lyanna nodded anyway. "I shall reflect on your advice and change my behavior accordingly."

"Good." Aerys didn't know what possessed him to come here. That Red Witch doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. As if some wolf like Lyanna could ever gain control over one of his dragon eggs…

"I finds one!" Lyanna watched with a barely concealed dread as Rhaenys skipped out of the closet, a pair of woollen trousers clutched tight to her chest. She skid to a halt at the unfamiliar person in front of her - Aerys rarely mixed with his own children, let alone his grandchildren. Rhaenys didn't know who he was, only that he was scary. "Muna?"

"What is that you hold, child?"

The King's voice was calm… a deathly calm. One that put Lyanna on edge, unknowing of what he would do. "You did well, Rhae. Hand it to me…"

A raised hand stopped her cold. "I want to know what the child has brought for you." He beckoned Rhaenys closer. "Give it to your King." Looking at Lyanna, who nodded reluctantly, the Princess gingerly complied. "Homespun wool?" It was a mutter, but Lyanna could hear the dripping contempt. "Northern rags? Why did you bring this?!"

Rhaenys trembled at the shout. Sure, Kepa, her Munas, and Grandmother Rhaella would often raise their voices when she was far away or naughty, but never this… vicious. "Um… I's find riding twawsers for muna."

Aerys curled his lips in disgust. "Half-breed Dornish. Can't string two words together." Wait… false dragon…

"The Princess means that I shall be riding around Dragonstone. Learning about my husband's keep, your Grace." A bead of sweat formed on Lyanna's forehead in spite of the winter's chill.

He snorted. "A Princess doesn't ride, and neither does a Queen. My bitch mother… my…" Aerys stopped, realizing he was just about to say Jenny's name. Just the mere mention of her by even his own voice stoked his fire. "What the fuck do you think you are doing?! This little brat is already at a knife's edge of being a smelly whore like her mother!" He gestured violently at Rhaenys, who was beginning to tremble in fear. "This," he lifted up the trousers. "Wildling rags! They smell of mud… it all smells like mud and piss!"

Lyanna finds it being thrown at her, mind spinning at how this whole situation spiraled into something… dangerous. Rhaegar… where are you?

This woman would never be a proper dragon's wife, not if Aerys let the wolf remain within her. My weak father let his wife walk all over him… never again! "My weak-willed son may condone this whorish behavior, but I will not!" The King would teach her the same lesson he taught Rhaella the night of the betrothal feast.

It wasn't just Aerys whose dragonblood pumped hotly at that moment. "Lweve muna alone!" It was a loud shout, completely genuine and spontaneous from the young Princess. Utterly terrified, but instinct telling her she had to defend her new mother.

Aerys' eyes were wide with fury. "This is not your concern, brat!" he bellowed, hand shooting out to shove her to the floor. Sending Rhaenys to the ground.

Horrified, Lyanna was up before she could stop herself. "She's just a child!" A protective mother wolf, her hands grabbed at Aerys' arm. Righteous, but not wise.

His violet eyes - so loving and kind in Rhaegar and her children, but crazed and malevolent in the King - were blazing. "You dare touch me? You don't touch me!" She would never forget his reaction, when disrespect turned into something else entirely. Aerys drew back his hand and smacked her across the cheek with such force as to cause her to stumble back. Falling upon the bed. "No wildling cunt deserves to be graced by the King!"

Trembling, eyes filling with tears, Lyanna had no idea what to do. At that moment, she felt he could kill her. "Your Grace… forgive me…" But her voice only infuriated him more.

He was a blur as he lunged at her, one moment glaring at her and the next atop Lyanna, grabbing her by the throat and smacking her over and over again with a snarl. "You little bitch, you and the Dornish whore's false dragon will never have what's mine!"

Hiding behind the bed, Rhaenys had curled into a ball and cried.

Screaming, trying to block his attacks, Lyanna pleaded for salvation. Rhaegar… help me…

Outside, standing by the door in protective fashion, the two Kingsguards heard everything inside. It took everything within Jaime not to draw his sword and run Aerys through - each cry of pain from their beloved Princess causing him to cringe. "Can't we stop this?" he whispered harshly to Gerold.

"No." One who didn't know the Old Bull would think him emotionless, but Jaime could spot the pain in his eyes. The agony that his vows strained against his conscience.

Another cry of pain, this time from the little one. Princess Rhaenys. "It is our vow to protect the royal family."

What Gerold told him would haunt Jaime for the rest of his life, "Not from him." But unlike many, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard wouldn't let it continue. "Find Rhaegar, now." Jaime didn't need to be told twice before he raced off.

---

The compulsion for Ned Stark was to wake at the crack of an early autumn dawn. Ready for their duties, whatever they may be. But where he was now, two slender arms wrapped around his neck and soft lips melding to his, Ned honestly couldn't care about duties. "Cersei…" he breathed into her mouth as he bucked into the tight sheath of her cunt.

Cersei moaned against his lips. "Don't talk." She wanted no words, nothing to interrupt how madly wonderful she was feeling. So deliciously full. His cock thick inside her, rubbing on her sensitive spots as the heavy wool of her dress was bunched up at her waist. Hurriedly hiked up in their desperation to feel each other once more. "Please…" She got her wish when he trailed his lips down her neck. Head falling back and spearing her fingers through his hair.

Mauling her like a drowning man desperate for air, Ned doubled his pace, lips crashing together to swallow her moans. Pushing deeper as Cersei's legs looped tighter around his waist - humping furiously to take him all in. Ned grunted, her clenching channel forcing his release.

Breathing rapidly, Cersei's head fell onto Ned's shoulder. Feeling his heavy body slump against her and press into the wall… and it felt amazing. Bittersweet. An entire night of lovemaking, more bliss than she had ever felt, only to end soon. Perhaps she should have sent him out… "I can't believe I let you ruin my dress."

Ned chuckled throatily. "My sister's clothes look good on you, lioness." She couldn't very well leave the Red Keep wearing the dress she wore last night. "Rodrick Cassel will ensure you arrive at your manse without being noticed."

"I would prefer my brother do it." Her lover easing out of her, Cersei at once felt a sense of emptiness. Fighting the urge to just pull him back to the bed.

"If you want to leave without being noticed, Jaime Lannister isn't the way to go about it." Seeing her sigh, Ned kissed her brow. "I'll be remaining in the capitol for another week." This woman was turning him mad, but he couldn't keep away. "Can we…"

"Yes."

Sighing, the second son of Rickard Stark felt the weight of the last moon on his shoulders. Letting the cool air of the ocean calm his mind. It was if he was punishing himself, falling desperately for a woman who would never be his. The daughter of a man so ambitious that even a Lord of high standing or a Prince not within the line of succession would be refused without delay. You're destroying yourself, Ned. Both his father and his goodbrother would need him for alliances… but he knew that after Cersei Lannister, none would compare.

Watching Cersei leave, Ned simply stood there for what seemed like an hour. Retreating to the well rumpled bed where they had engaged in their amorous encounters - his first taste of a woman… Ned would remember the night for the rest of his life. If only things were different… gods… But he would recognize reality. Move on he would have to do, much as he hated it.

Emerging from his chambers, Ned was just about to head to the kitchens for something to eat when Ser Jaime raced into the corridor, trailed by Ser Arthur and… "Brother!" Rhaegar's face was ashen, stricken in terror. Darting into his way, he grabbed the Prince by the shoulders. "What is going on?" The look on his face, it was as if a tidal wave was about to wipe out King's Landing.

Rhaegar blinked, frantic as he croaked out the answer. "It's Lyanna." Face going white, eyes wide in fear, Ned barely needed to glance at the others once before bolting for the royal apartments.

Ser Gerold was waiting for them. "Get inside, now." He couldn't stand up to the King, but the Prince could. Even before they entered they could hear the King's screeches. "Mine! Mine!" Aerys straddled Lyanna on the bed, hands tight around her throat. "The dragons are mine, whore!"

On him in a flash, the King thrashed about as Rhaegar grabbed him around the waist and hauled him off of Lyanna. "Father! Father!"

It was no use. Aerys had descended into a full fit, almost convulsing in his enraged delusions. "My eggs! My dragons! The wolf cunt and falseborn bitch won't steal them from me!"

Ned was by Lyanna's side in an instant. "Lya… Lya." He paled further at the dark bruises on her neck, rippling as she wheezed in needed air. "Gods." Pulling her into an embrace, Ned felt her sobs on his tunic.

"Fetch Pycelle," Rhaegar ordered, Gerold and Jaime having gotten ahold of the still ranting King. "Have him fed milk of the poppy and let his Grace recover." His father's snarls echoed through the hallway, increasingly faint. He won't remember any of this. This had happened before and Rhaegar knew what to do, though never had Aerys been violent during a fit.

Elia immediately appeared, face contorted in apprehension. "What in seven hells was that? I heard his Grace…" Peeking inside, she saw Lyanna in the state she was in. "Gods, Lya!" Ned just managed to get up when Elia embraced her sister-wife. Rhaegar not far behind. "I'm so sorry…"

"How…" Lyanna's voice was hoarse from tears and trauma. "How could this happen?"

"Shhh," Rhaegar soothed. "You're fine now."

Watching the loving moment, Ned heard a voice from behind the bed. Walking over, he saw a heartbreaking sight. "Princess Rhaenys?" The little girl, normally filled with life, was a trembling wreck. Tucked into a ball in the corner, shaking all over. "Come here…" She only shook harder. Ned dropped into a crouch. "It's alright, Princess. It's Eddard Stark, Lya's brother." They had only met a few times, and Ned didn't think she remembered him.

But Rhaenys, even in her agony, was smart. "Muna wolf?" She pointed at the direwolf emblazoned on his leathers.

Ned nodded. "Aye. I'm your muna's brother wolf." Seeing her mollified, the Princess burst into tears just as Ned picked her up - the quiet wolf merely holding her close.

---

The ship had left the docks of King's Landing only an hour before. Bearing the Seahorse sigils of House Velaryon, the loyal crewmen gladly complied when Rhaegar ordered them to set sail immediately - compared to runs from King's Landing to Qarth, ferry service to Dragonstone was easy. The haste had left much of their baggage still in the Red Keep to be brought over on a second voyage, but none of Rhaegar's household complained one bit. Rhaella and Rickard made sure they leave for Dragonstone at once.

For Rhaegar and Elia, it was clear before them why such action was needed. "Is she?"

Sighing from within her narrow bed, Lyanna gently pushed back the curtain of raven hair to see the serene form of the sleeping Rhaenys. "Aye, she's finally asleep." Her cheeks were puffy, tear stains marring them. It broke Lyanna's heart. "Rhaegar… I'm so sorry…" she choked out not for the first time.

Gingerly so as not to wake his daughter, Rhaegar leaned down to press his lips chastly on Lyanna's. Pouring his love and affection for his new bride. "Shhh, my love. It's not your fault… never your fault."

Standing at the foot of the cot, Elia bit her lip. Watching her family in such pain and anguish. Rhaenys had been inconsolable since Ned had first picked her up, bursting into tears every few minutes that led both her and Rhaegar to spend half an hour trying to quiet down. And Lyanna… Elia had seen many horrible things as the gooddaughter of Aerys II Targaryen, but the vibrant Lyanna Stark with hollow, emotionless eyes was likely the worst.

Aerys would always leave me in this state… But looking upon the bruises on Lyanna's neck, Elia finally considered that it could have been worse. Her abuse had been nothing but verbal and emotional, never resorting to the physical. Gods, it will only get worse…

"I'll be the death of both of you," Lyanna sobbed as Elia tuned in back to their conversation. "I'm nothing but a liability."

Elia was quickly by her side. "Sister, don't try to understand his madness." Alone with Rhaegar, they were always candid - it didn't change with Lyanna in the room. "You'll never grasp what causes him to do what he does."

But Lyanna wasn't calming down. Her voice was a half-whimper, half-rasp and it broke their hearts. "I hoped it wasn't too good to be true… I dreamed…" Rhaegar cut her off with another kiss, this one desperate and loving. Trying to purge her of such thoughts. Elia gently caressed her arm, wishing she could do more… imagining being in Rhaegar's stead… No, damn you Oberyn. Ever since he put those thoughts in her head, they popped up at the most inoppertune times.

"Muna…" The soft whisper broke them all out of their concentration, giving the three a heads up when Rhaenys began thrashing. "Where muna?!"

"I'm here, sweetling, I'm here," Elia murmured, moving to hug her.

But Rhaenys didn't calm down. "No. Where my muna!" It was only when she saw Lyanna's grey eyes that she ceased her thrashing, throwing her little arms around her. "No go, muna. I wuv you. No monster get you…"

She knew it was selfish in the moment - after seeing Lyanna being strangled by the King, and gods knew what vile words Aerys had screamed, Rhaenys needed to know Lyanna was alright - but it did hurt. My babe not wanting me… wanting Lya more... Eyes closing, she rose. "I have to put Egg to bed." Kissing Rhaenys and Rhaegar's cheeks while squeezing Lyanna's hand. Quickly making her exit.

As Rhaenys drifted back to sleep, Rhaegar kissed their foreheads. "Goodnight, my loves…"

"No." Lyanna pulled him back down, urging him to hold her. "I'm sorry, my love. Please don't leave me… I need…" Her tears returned, strong personality fading in her vulnerability. "I can't lose any of you… I can't…"

Rhaegar's arms enveloped the both of them. "You have us… you have us till the end."

---

Pale moonlight streaming through the open porthole, Elia paced back and forth in the cabin. Fists balling at her sides, lips curled in a barely suppressed rage - the more she thought of it, allowed the swirling cauldron of pain and anguish and jealousy to fester within her, the more her anger simply grew and grew to replace it. He's escalating. Rhaella hit, Lyanna assaulted, Rhaenys… It was an image that tore her insides out just to look at, and an image that Elia resolved never to see again. Never again… not on my Lyanna… The fact she referred to her possessively didn't register, so seething was her rage.

Not hearing the steps along the hall, Elia nearly jumped when the door opened. Her husband walking in, brooding frown planted on his lips. Of course he's brooding. He looked so handsome when brooding, but at that anger-fueled moment Elia could only see the passivity, the introverted withdrawal of an indecisive coward. "Well?" she asked, harsher than intended. "How are they?"

"Lyanna is finally asleep. She had to hold Rhaenys, lest our daughter wake screaming." Sensing Elia's rage, he hoped mentioning their daughter would calm her - Rhaegar himself added her mood to the chorus of reasons to hate himself. "She loves Lyanna so much already, as much as she loves us. It brings me joy."

"Joy?" Already on a knife's edge, his attempt to calm her simply set Elia off. "You actually feel joy right now?!." He said nothing, stoking her anger further. She loved Rhaegar, loved him desperately, but at that moment her long suppressed rage just spewed out like a shattered dam. "Your father attacks her and you did nothing!"

Rhaegar was silent. Head hanging in shame and regret. Every bit of their energy had been spent caring for Lyanna and Rhaenys, it only made sense to him that Elia scold him now. "There was nothing I could do," he said simply. "I told the Kingsguards to protect her, but my father's health is declining…"

"He's turning into a monster. The madness consumes him, and your cowardice just puts Lyanna and our children into the way!"

There wasn't anything he could say to that. "We're going to Dragonstone. We'll be safe there."

The mighty, dashing Dragon Prince - image of Aegon the Conqueror… not as Elia saw him in her fury. "Look at you, pathetic." Any other time, saying such would leave her in physical pain, how deep her love for him. The love we truly shared, taken away by that monster. But all was just too much. "I don't know what lies you told yourself to excuse leaving me to the vultures, of letting your Hand spread lies to foment chaos, but I won't let you do the same to Lyanna!"

"Leave you to the vultures?" Hearing that made Rhaegar stand, his ire peaked. Eyes narrowing. "What about Connington? What in Seven Hells do you mean by that?"

"Oh, now he rises," Elia spat sarcastically.

"What in the fuck did Connignton do that you blame me for?!" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, you mean when our daughter overheard him speaking of how Lyanna was going to take her from me?" Elia smirked at his gesture of shock. "Faced with the truth of how you left me alone and unloved while your father drove a girl of five and ten close to slitting her wrists?" She watched in satisfaction as hurt crossed his features, only for the dragonfire in him to combust it into rage.

He clenched his fists. "I never denied you anything, Elia. Comfort, love, affection…"

She laughed bitterly, grinning. Smile not reaching her blazing eyes. "You really believe that, don't you? You moronic bastard. Stupid bastard! Are you just going to do the same for Lyanna as you did with me, sit around and diddle your thumb up your ass when your father kills her?!"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to either of you, not anymore!" he exclaimed hotly. Mind already being driven to the breaking point. Confronting the lies he had told himself for over a decade.

"Oh? And how are you going to do that?" She sauntered up in his face. "By burying your head in the sand and not saying a damn thing like with me?!"

"OF COURSE NOT!" he thundered, rocking the ship. The blood of the dragon in his veins was now on fire.

"Are you going to send her away? Make her sleep alone without any comfort?" Elia knew Rhaegar blamed himself for how Aerys treated her, but she was too angry to care.

"No! I'll comfort her to the best of my abilities! Like I tried to do with you!"

"You barely tried! You left me alone!"

"You forced me away!"

"I was five and ten!" Elia gasped. "I didn't know any better, I was a scared girl who needed her husband to love her, and you were never there!" She would not cry…

Neither would he… "Because it was my fault!" He punched one of the beams, shattering it into splinters and bloodying his hand. Face red with rage at her… or himself. "Your pain was my fucking fault and I have to live with that for my wretched life!"

Mere seconds of boiling tension passed before Rhaegar's hand surged forward. Elia felt fear for a split second that he would strangle her, but instead an even greater surprise as he harshly yanked her by her wavy black locks and crashed their lips together. Tongue forcing its way into her mouth as she gasped.

Smack!

Rhaegar stumbled back, hand shooting to his cheek, now sporting a throbbing red mark from where Elia slapped him.

Her hand throbbed, having shot up at pure instinct… but at the look in Rhaegar's eyes… a fiery intensity. Elia had seen such in Aerys, but there was no madness or violence in Rhaegar. Only heat, fire, passion… lust, love, desire. Mouth opening to yell at him, nothing came out. Tongue going dry as she gazed upon him. His stare going straight to the now uncomfortable join of her legs…

It was difficult to determine who had moved first, but in an instant their lips had crashed together violently. Rhaegar shoving her against the hull of the boat, grabbing her wrists in one hand and brutishly pinning them on the beams. Elia wasted no time with his open mouth to invade harshly. Tongue seeking out his to suck it roughly. Wetness flooding her core at feeling his cock press against her. Not only was she powerless to resist, but Elia responded so eagerly to him.

Pinning her with his entire body, Rhaegar's hand blazed down the lithe curves of his wife's figure as he took command of the kiss. Fingers reaching the portion of her dress at her core, his eyes darkened from lust when Elia simply spread her legs apart. He hiked up her dress, Elia screaming into his mouth when his fingers speared inside her.

His hand collapsing to hold up her dress, Elia wasted no time. Her fingers attacked his tunic. Needing him bare to her. The Dornish Princess felt a desperate ache to feel his skin against hers, aching to be filled... it had been so long since they last coupled. Even then, their lovemaking was only barely pleasurable. An obligation and a release. Not this… animal passion.

Just as she managed to rip his tunic off, Rhaegar stilled his fingers. Noooo… Elia bucked her hips hard, trying to impale herself.

"My princess…" Normally formal or affectionate, Rhaegar's honorific for her was holding back a torrent of lust and hunger.

My sweet husband… He was the perfect gentleman, but Elia needed the dragon to be awoken. Burning off her anger and his in the furious flames. Staring at him, her eyes black with desire, she dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his back. Nails raking deep gouges. Drawing blood.

It snapped whatever self-control he had left. Roaring, Rhaegar sunk his teeth into her shoulder, so consumed in lust for his Dornish beauty. How could I deny myself this breathtaking woman? As with Lyanna - her beauty equal to yet different to Elia's in his mind - his dragonblood demanded that he claim her for all the world to see. Drinking in how she screamed for him, nails still raking into his back. Hands grabbing at the silk only to rip it clean off her.

A shudder coursed through Elia, in awe at how desperate her husband was for her. How he literally tore her dress to shreds. Yes, Rhaegar, yes… Grabbing his shoulders tightly as he left bites along the swarthy skin of her neck and breasts. Leaving bruises as he lifted her with only a grunt. Screaming when his cock without warning thrust to the hilt in her cunt like a battering ram.

Somehow they made it to the bed without falling over as the ship rode the waves. Falling atop the sheets in a tangle of writhing limbs, kissing like starving beasts. Elia biting his lip so hard that it split, Rhaegar pinned her down and simply slammed into her. Mine… mine… mine... Thrusts hard and violent, claiming her that night as he had Lyanna the night before.

She clawed at his back. She bit his shoulder. She wrapped her legs tight around his waist to force him deeper. Silently screaming as his cock kissed her womb, defiling her… and Elia loved it.

Fingertips bruised her hips, Rhaegar driving hard and fast towards his release.

Teeth sunk into the muscles of his shoulder, sucking hard to drown out the ecstacy rippling through her body.

For over four years they had borne Aerys' abuse in silence. Endured hateful things that they screamed at each other. Smiling yet it never truly reaching their eyes. Burying whatever feelings and affection within them for self-preservation, all the cold, empty nights… Now, Rhaegar roaring into Elia's mouth and Elia's walls clenching tightly, they simply unleashed it all. Vented their anger, frustration, and suppressed lust in one fiery climax.

Elia gasped out a breath when Rhaegar rolled off of her. A sheen of sweat drenched her skin, bruises and love bites marring the olive-toned flesh. In spite of their past couplings being quite good, Elia had never known such pleasure - such intimacy. Gods… this is what it should have been… Like Rhaegar and Lyanna's couplings, which she couldn't help but overhear the night before to her shame - and not a little arousal. Every time she heard the moans, pleas, and shrieks of total rapture… that was the real act of lovemaking, something Elia hadn't truly appreciated until now. Until she simply let loose upon her husband… My husband…

Before she could marshal her remaining strength to turn and face him, Rhaegar made the first move. Pulling her to him, a possessive hand wrapping around her waist. The two of them flush against each other. Elia felt a gentle kiss pressed on her forehead. "I'm sorry, Elia," Rhaegar said, voice low.

The Dornish Princess melted. Cuddling close to him. "I'm sorry as well."

"You don't need to be." Reaching down, Rhaegar tilted her head up so he could meet her glistening brown eyes. "I was so scared, Elia. Scared of what my father would do to my family that I said and did nothing…"

"Oh Rhaegar…" All anger and bitterness washed away, Elia cupped his cheek. Softly kissing his jaw. "His actions were not on you, his abuse not your fault. I was so young, but so were you." Eight and ten when they married, only a year older as Lyanna was now. "You were as much a victim of him as I was." Elia hadn't seen it when they were married - it was only years later that she noticed just how much Aerys put on his shoulder. The vitriol he faced.

His own eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I suppose I knew how much you were hurting, enough to think I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance… by punishing myself. It was my fault." He attempted to pull away, ashamed at himself and how he had hurt Elia.

But Elia refused to let him go. "No." Gently, Elia eased him into the crook of her neck. His pain and self-loathing was breaking her heart - she couldn't see him like this. He's become everything to me… even when I was blind to it. "You cannot blame yourself, Rhaegar. I was wrong too, please forgive me." He was quiet, too quiet and it continued to feel like a stab in the chest. "Rhaegar please… I love you." There, the truth was out.

Her world warmed again when he murmured into her shoulder. "I love you too, Elia." There they rocked together on the bed for what seemed like hours. Elia still felt the weight of their history on her shoulders, but sunlight shone on their relationship for the first time ever. "I also love Lyanna as well."

A flicker of jealousy filled her before it left. "I know, my love. I wouldn't want you not to." She pulled back, kissing her brow. "You're the blood of the dragon. If anyone can love two it is you." She cupped his cheek again. "She's getting the worst of Aerys' wrath. Promise me you'll protect her."

"I promise." Smiling wanly, Rhaegar leaned down to kiss her lips. The two of them losing themselves in their passion. "I missed you, wife." Sharing intimacy with Elia, it felt like his life was falling into place.

"I missed you, husband," Elia moaned into his mouth. Shifting to unleash a flurry of apologetic kisses upon the fading handprint on his cheek.

"I'm going to overthrow my father."

Elia continued to desperately kiss him for several seconds… only to pull away with wide eyes. "What did you say?"

"You heard me, my love." Falling exhausted to his back, wincing at the open gouges in his back, Rhaegar pulled her against his side. Relishing the feel of her nude body on his. This felt nearly right, close to the way it should have been - driving him towards the brutal truth. Towards his destiny. "It is time that I take the throne."

Notes:

Well... we all knew Aerys would snap. Looks like this is what it took to break Rhaegar from the lie he told himself.

At least one good thing came out of it. Elia and Rhaegar finally got it all out and are back in business.

Next up, some really big drama and more smut! Be sure to comment. I might update sooner if y'all do :D

Chapter 26: Dragonstone Nights

Notes:

Hello all. I know the last chapter was brutal, so this one should have more fluff, smut, and hints of future romance.

Stay safe everyone.

Enjoy and please comment :D

The inn smelled of unwashed bodies and warm piss. Patrons downing the alcohol, scarfing down the finger food with gusto. Conversation free-flowing. "Did ya see the She-Wolf weeks ago? Beautiful lass."

"Both're beautiful."

At a meek voice referring to the Faith's prohibition on polygamy, a round of jeers followd. "Ah shut it! Prince and Princesses are mi'best."

"If I had two lasses dat pretty, I'd tell da Septon to shove it."

"To Princess Elia and Princess Lyanna!"

"To Prince Rhaegar!" an entire cheer washed over the patrons as they hoisted their drinks high. Smile tinging his face, it fell when Eddard Stark realized that Lyanna was more beloved by the people than in her own family at this point.

Unlike his sister, without a complement of guards he was an anonymous face - while a fragile ego might be put off, he was thankful. It worked to his advantage now that the walls of the Red Keep were… unreliable to keep secrets. Reaching the back of the inn unnoticed, two plainclothes men nodded to him as he opened a nondescript door. Both stalwart household guards. Amazing what five gold dragons could do to seek both the back room of the inn and the right to station one's own men from the innkeeper.

Hopefully the King doesn't have eyes here. Lord Arryn had warned him about the Spider, but undoubtedly this would be less dangerous than the Keep itself.

"You're late," his father said, rising from his chair from where he sat next to Brandon. A third figure rested further away… Prince Oberyn?

Quickly hugging both of them, Ned's eyes focused on the Dornish Prince. The man leaning back in his chair, boots resting on the table, bored. What's your angle? "Had something I needed to check on… but I'm here now."

Rickard nodded. "Good."

"What is Prince Oberyn doing here?"

"Upset to see me, Eddard?" he said cheerily, smiling while he clutched at his heart. "That truly hurts."

Stone-faced, Rickard leaned back in his seat. "The Prince and I spoke and came to an understanding… that House Stark and House Martell share a common interest at this point."

Cackling - a choice between laughter and tears - Brandon smacked his palm on the table. "Oh, certainly, father. His Grace," he spat. "Assaulted and nearly strangled to death my sister." His face grew redder. "You saw the marks on her neck!" Eyes met Ned's. "You saw the King give them to her!"

Closing his eyes, Ned inhaled. "Aye, I did." Yes, he was in control of his emotions now, but a deep rage howled like a winter blizzard just underneath the surface.

Brandon, on the other hand, was close to steam rising from his skin. "That motherfucker isn't going to get away with hurting Lyanna!" He already knew what he would say to Aerys, marching to the Iron Throne and demanding Aerys 'Come out and die!' It would go into the songs of history.

"Bran, you cannot take on the Targaryen King alone. We have no power to do so." Oberyn simply sat quietly, eyes flickering around. A dangerous enemy to have.

"We'll call the banners, champion Rhaegar's claim…"

"We will do nothing." Rickard said simply.

The heir looked upon his father incredulously, while the second son could notice Rickard holding back his emotions. "You would do nothing, father?!"

"Aye, nothing." He clenched his fists several times.

"You are wise, Lord Stark," Oberyn spoke for the first time in the conversation. "For better or for worse, House Stark is forged to the Iron Throne as House Martell is." Much as my brother doesn't think so. "If Aerys falls, we all fall to some hybrid monstrosity that I have no idea what will be."

Ned could only nod. It pained him greatly to have to let it go, but he did what he had to. Lya would understand.

"I won't stand for this!" Brandon threw up his hands in the air. "The North won't stand for its daughter being abused and battered!" Ned moved to calm him down but Brandon shook him off. "I'll run my sword through the King with my own two hands…"

Only a gurgle left him as Rickard was out of his chair in a flash. Hand wrapped around his son and heir's throat, slamming Brandon into the wall. "You will do nothing!"

Choking, gasping for breath like a frog, Brandon desperately tried to escape his father's chokehold. Far younger and fitter, but transformed into a helpless child. "Our honor… her… honor… must… avenged…"

Rickard slammed a fist into his gut. "Were you always this fucking clueless?!" His face was red with anger. Eyes wide with terror and determination. "The King will fucking kill you if you challenge him! I will half-kill you with my own bare hands than see you die, do you fucking hear me?!"

Ned recognized it all if Brandon didn't. A wolf protecting his pups.

As hotheaded as he was, when Brandon had it knocked out of his system he was the calmest person there was. "Aye…" Rickard released him, sinking to the floor in a fit of coughs.

Shaking his head, Oberyn sighed. Doran thinks these people are a danger to Elia? He hadn't yet seen a single Stark that proved the old adage 'No Stark belongs south of the Neck,' wrong. Rickard was smart but unimaginative, Ned was guileless, and Brandon… Gods, I hope that's not what I come off as. "Our families both have very thin needles to thread."

Taking his seat again, Rickard pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're stuck with our position. Too many knives perched at our back, all but a few not by our making." Robert… Tywin… Martells... maybe the Tyrells… Gods help us if Tywin finds out what I did. Ned didn't blame Lyanna for what happened with Robert, but even as they patched it up, he worried about how Robert or his Stormlanders would take the slight. "Connington is our enemy, fucking buggerer," he cursed.

"They can't dare hurt the North," Ned said, remembering the histories.

Oberyn chuckled sarcastically. "Doesn't matter. They can blockade White Harbor and starve us out… or have all of you assassinated and give the North to Roose Bolton."

Pushing himself up, gingerly holding his bruised neck, Brandon looked dejectedly at his father. "So you're saying we have to stay here? While the King could kill Lyanna?"

"Lyanna is under Rhaegar's care, and I am certain he will protect her." The Master of Laws pulled out a note from inside his leathers. "He wishes Ned and I join him on Dragonstone at the end of the week."

"Just yourself and I, father?" Ned asked.

"I'm not sure that anyone else is coming…"

"I recieved such a letter as well, Lord Stark." Oberyn shrugged his shoulders. "And I can honestly say, I'm as clueless as the three of you."

"So it seems we're not alone there, but we can be sure he doesn't trust your brother to be level-headed." Glaring again at Brandon, the older Stark child shrank back in shame. "Meanwhile, we need to cement our alliance with the other Houses. Ned, you are to escort Catelyn Tully to Winterfell from Dragonstone."

While hoping against all hope that he could stay a bit longer, Ned knew this would happen. "With Benjen coming here, I know there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, but why should Bran stay?"

"Your brother is needed with me."

"Father, if Catelyn is to go North she needs me to accompany her. Ned isn't the one she has bonded with…"

"You are in need of further experience in the game of thrones, which you obviously lack," their father shot back. "Being a Lord isn't being strong or charismatic - you need wits and restraint. I can't be there to save you from yourself forever, son." He sighed, trying to calm himself. "And Ned, I'm counting on you to hold the North and prepare Lady Catelyn for her position. If you shall be named your goodbrother's Hand one day, you must be smart as well."

Torn between duty and love, Ned knew which he would have to choose. Not all of us are lucky to have both. "I am at your service, father." Only Oberyn among them knew what he meant, but thankfully the Dornishman kept his mouth shut.

Much later, Ned walked up the rickety stairs of the inn to the second floor - having stayed behind with what he told his family was hungry… but in truth not for food. Knocking on the door of the first guestchamber, a voice bid him entry.

"You're late," Cersei said, voice only slight cross. Truth was she was worried, and elated to see him. Both her brothers would have mocked her incessantly for sneaking out of their manse to meet a suitor in such… plebeian accommodations, but truth be told Cersei didn't care. For sex that good with a man that dazzled her so, she'd go anywhere.

Ned shucked out of his fur cloak. "You're the second person to tell me that." Unlacing his leathers, he sat on the bed next to his lover "I'll have to go back to Winterfell soon."

An intake of breath from Cersei. She was under no illusions that they would not last… but it still hurt. "How soon?"

"End of the week."

Unwilling to allow her feelings to consume her, Cersei grabbed Ned. Pulling him on top of her. "Just fuck me, Stark." Make me forget…

Minutes later, as his tongue lashed at her folds while she rode his mouth, Ned did just that.

---

The still bright orange-red cast brilliant swirls in the sky, Lyanna's squinted eyes turned from the sun towards the Lord's Chambers of Dragonstone. Running her hand along the smooth dragonglass ore that the ancient Valyrian builders forged the colonial outpost out of. They had only arrived two hours before, but already Lyanna felt at home here.

Inside, Dacey was hanging several of her dresses in the large walk-in closet. "This place needs a feminine touch, doesn't it?"

Lyanna waved her hands. "Yes, but only a little."

The lady in waiting furrowed her brows. "Isn't it a little… dark? Imposing?"

Sitting upon the massive bed, Lyanna offered a wan smile. "Aye, but that's how it's supposed to be." Her eyes glanced at the various natural swirls in the stone. "This place, it's one of a kind. The last truly Valyrian structure left in existance, one of my new House and of the blood that my children will carry in their veins." Lyanna patted her stomach wistfully.

Dacey shrugged. "I guess we Northerners aren't ones to complain. Bear Island… I doubt there's more colors than grey, green, and brown in our keep. Maybe a bit of blue?" The girls giggled at that.

The door opened at that moment and Elia breezed in. Telling her greetings to Dacey before moving to Lyanna's side. Hands going to her neck. "Are you feeling alright, sister?"

Tensing only slightly at the touch, once she processed it was Elia's soft hands Lyanna relaxed. "They're fine… just a little tender."

"Perhaps the Maester should look at them?"

"Elia, I'm fine." The concern in her sister-wife's voice heartened her, but Lyanna was a strong woman. Fading fingertip bruises were something she could handle… "I'll see him on the morrow." She bit her lip, hesitant. Truth be told, she just needed comfort.

Recognizing the same look that had plagued her for years, Elia reached forward to embrace her sister-wife. "It will be alright, Lyanna." The two women held each other gently, silently. "Everything will be taken care of."

"How…?" Lyanna murmured. "How will any of this be fine?" Her voice trembled, worry for the future vocalized. Elia had told her of the abuse she had suffered, but never had Aerys rages towards her grown violent… till yesterday…

Before Elia could answer, they heard Dacey say, "Your Grace." She curtseyed to Rhaegar, who had just arrived. The Lord of Dragonstone looked exhausted, but supremely content in light clothes and with a bundle in his arms. Ser Arthur was behind him, causing Dacey to fluster a bit.

He smiled at Dacey. "My Lady, you may turn in now, and Ser Arthur will escort you to your chambers." Blushing further, she could only nod. Door closing behind, Rhaegar drew closer to his brides, bundle in his arms now squirming. "Egg missed his munas." He noticed how worried both looked.

The worry was put aside when they caught sight of Aegon. Lyanna was at him first, taking the babe from Rhaegar's arms and cuddling him close. Kissing the little Prince's head before handing him to Elia. "I'll put him to bed, my love," she told Rhaegar, leaning over to kiss Lyanna's cheek a friendly goodnight. Moving to do the same to her husband, Rhaegar instead pulled her to a far deeper kiss, making her moan . The Prince found Lyanna smiling softly, biting her lip. The kiss lasted a little longer because of it.

Breaking it, Elia breathed a bit heavily, forehead resting against Rhaegar's. "I love you." He whispered.

"I love you, too," she replied. "Talk to her.. about it." There was no doubt what she meant. There was no need to explain that it was to be Elia who'd sleep in his chambers tonight… after what happened, it was necessary. Babe in her arms, Elia accepted it, much as she longed to share her husband's chambers, craved it. Lucky Lyanna… She waved the thought away as she left for Aegon's nursery, cooing softly at him.

As soon as they were alone Lyanna launched herself at her husband. Arms squeezing his side closely and lips connecting with his. Doing their best to suffocate him in passionate intensity. His arms gently held her waist, matching the kiss with the same passion. "Oh, Rhaegar, I love you," she gasped, kiss broken and instead hugging him close.

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you too, Lya." Squeezing her hips, he smiled down at her. "Let's get ready for bed."

The two of them began to undress silently, Rhaegar unlacing his boots while watching Lyanna drop her dress - the undershift hugging her curves so deliciously. She caught his lustful stare with a smirk. "Eyes up here, lecher."

"I'm the Prince. I can stare if I want to." Boots off, he stood to remove his tunic.

Ready to appreciate him as he did her, instead Lyanna noticed the scabbing gouges in his back, mouth opening in surprise. It hadn't been she that did that. Oh sister… you tricky bride… Laughing, she hugged Rhaegar from behind. Kissing the scabs. "Busy without me, my love?"

Now he hesitated. "Lya, I…"

"She's beautiful, and your wife - Elia deserves happiness. Why would I be upset?"

He took a deep breath, relieved. "You know I don't love you any less?" Rhaegar asked as he turned in her arms.

"Yes, I do." He was so beautiful, muscular and of an ethereal, divine coloring. Having to share him with a kind, loving, intelligent woman that was like a sister to her… Lyanna would take that arrangement gladly. "Love her, Rhaegar, she needs it."

Taking her lips with his, this time the kiss sweet and gentle, Rhaegar knew it was time to tell her. "Lyanna… I need to confess something." She looked at him with her grey eyes, unconditional love and trust in them. "I sent a raven from the ship to summon Ned and your father here, among others."

"Oh? I wasn't expecting to see him so soon but I can't say I'm not glad…"

"They will be here to discuss my plan to overthrow my father."

That was surprising. Eyes widening almost out of their sockets, Lyanna almost figured she didn't hear right. "Did… did you just say…?" Her head looked around, almost fearful the walls might spout ears.

Motioning to the bed, they sit down next to each other. Rhaegar taking each of her hands. "Lyanna, it's time. This perfidy has gone on too long."

"I won't let you be a kinslayer because of me."

Rhaegar shook his head. "With all luck, this will be bloodless." He reached out to stroke her cheek. "My love, the Kingdoms are on a knife's edge. Varys has told me more than he would ever tell my father… discontent has been brewing for years. Only my marriages and the desire of Mace Tyrell to marry into the royal family keeps things together… and even then... " He sighed. "Tywin is building up his forces, the Iron Islands are plotting again, Doran is fortifying his borders. And now with that oaf Robert…"

Lyanna turned away. "That one was my fault… I'm sorry, Rhaegar."

Two hands firmly clasped her cheeks, making her stare into his eyes. "No, my love. Do not blame yourself." Rhaegar averted his gaze. "The fault lays with me. I can't… continue living a lie."

"What lie?" She inched herself closer, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Tell me, my dragon."

"That I can be a dutiful son, but also do my duty as a Prince of the Realm…" Fighting the tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him, it took Lyanna's lips upon his jaw and neck to ground himself. "The time has come to end this nightmare, for all of us."

Regarding him in wonderment, Lyanna ran her fingers down his cheek, his chin, his chest. "You are the most amazing man, Rhaegar. My love, my Prince… my King." Not hesitating any longer, they closed the distance between them. Eager to lose themselves in each other, to bond as husband and wife.

Their lovemaking was sweet and slow that night. Rhaegar's mouth worshipping every inch of skin, Lyanna writhing in unsatiated lust. Fingers spearing in his silver hair when he pleasured her breasts - and then her core, tongue driving her to a magnificent eruption.

At her urging, Rhaegar let his beloved flip them over. Resting on his back and feeling words leave him when the gorgeous creature mounted him. Grey eyes reflecting in the final rays of dark-orange sunlight, her regarding him as one would a god… and she a goddess. "Lyanna," he gasped, feeling her sheath him inside her. Her face contorting in rapture. Gently she set a pace, one Lyanna picked up when he cupped her breasts. A rhythm kept until they exploded, him inside her and she around him. Rhaegar having pulled his beloved bride down to connect their lips as they rode their climaxes.

Feeling her husband settle behind her, a powerful arm wrapped underneath her body to tug her back flush against his muscular front. Lyanna reached to place her palm over his. Drawing it to splay over her lower belly. "I hope your seed has quickened inside me, my love." Little Jon or sweet Visenya, I pray I shall meet you soon.

Imagining Lyanna's abdomen swollen with their babe… Rhaegar's heart hitched. "So do I." Regardless of the gulf between himself and Elia, he had been crushed when Pycelle disclosed her health would preclude a successful pregnancy, yet now the gods had granted him a second chance. "And if not," he breathed hotly against her neck. "We have plenty of time to do so."

Lyanna grinned, grinding her rump into his crotch. Biting her lip as a groan left Rhaegar. Oh, the hold I have over this mighty dragon. "I hope this won't be the end of our wedding night," she purred.

"You're insatiable," was Rhaegar's answer.

"You love it," she shot back, grinding yet again.

"That I do." Dropping kisses on her bare, creamy shoulders, it was Lyanna that groaned now. "I gather you are tired?" Smirking against her skin, a hand slid to cup her bare breast.

Lyanna hissed, the Crown Prince's fingers playing with her sensitive nipple. "Did I ever say I wanted to sleep tonight?" Gone was the shy maiden. Now a sultry, demanding she-wolf in heat. Suddenly, she felt teeth sinking into her shoulder. "Biting, your Grace?"

"Aye… your fault." Rhaegar pulled Lyanna on her back. Letting his silver locks frame his face. "Irresistible and delicious you are, Lyanna Targaryen." Her eyes darkened with a sudden lust at his words. "You like that?" he grinned.

A rush of wetness filling her channel, Lyanna could only nod. "Yes." She bucked her hips, begging silently…

He rewarded her by slipping deep inside her. "Lyanna Targaryen..."

---

"You've been a bit glum, dear brother."

Leaning back against one of the stone columns that marked off the large promenade of Aemma's Walk, build high above the cliffs of Aegon's High Hill - protected by the lower walls, it was said that Viserys I had it constructed so that his wife Aemma Arryn could enjoy the high winds lost to her when she left the Eyrie - Jaime closed his eyes. Looking up at the orange-purple haze of sunset. "Why do I ever come to you, Tyrion?"

His little brother chuckled. "Because of my charming company, of course." Two warning eyes shot him a glare. "What? If I wasn't such a good distraction from the ails of the world, why else would my family visit me?"

"Could it be that I just want some quiet time?"

Another chuckle. "If that is what you wish, you picked the wrong person, Jaime. Uncle Kevan barely says a word to his own wife, but he's not here. Father… possible but he'd just scold you about taking the white…"

Jaime slapped his palm against the stone. "Would you please shut up?" His head pounded, making his grimace and clutch his temple.

Tyrion, never one to take advice, only peered at him. "It seems my suspicions are confirmed." He placed a gentle hand on his brother's knee. "Jaime…"

"Is this seat taken?" Nary a word was said before Cersei merely plopped down beside Tyrion, not even looking at him.

"Um… no, it's not taken," the Imp replied, though the answer was moot. "Would you like a glass of…"

He wasn't allowed to finish before Cersei grabbed the entire flagon of wine and poured herself a cup. Wasn't the first time she did that to Tyrion and wouldn't be the last. "What in gods' names are you doing here of all places?" she asked bluntly. "Jaime refused to go to the brothel, I bet."

Her twin glared at her - he was always the white knight for Tyrion growing up, holding a soft spot for his 'little brother.' Tyrion, meanwhile, only coyly sipped his wine. "Oh Cersei, I'm not a complete degenerate. A boy of five and ten out in the capitol alone? The pimps and madams would rob me blind." He reached out to pat both of them on the shoulder, Cersei surprisingly not wrenching it away. "Just the two Lannister boys enjoying a drink in the one place father would never go anymore. And now it's the three Lannister siblings doing such." Now it was his turn to eye Cersei over… her face was oddly flush. "But what brings you here?"

Cersei blinked. "Why do you ask, dwarf?"

Tyrion pursed his lips. She only calls me that when she's very mad… or hiding something… "Call it curiosity." From beside him, Jaime hauled himself into an upright sitting position, also curious.

"I was here to inform Lord Connington that we're departing on the morrow," she said, not at all convincingly.

"Hmmm, that would be fine except that father already told him this morning." Damn. "And, how would that cause your hair to be disheveled?" The normally immaculate Cersei Lannister's golden locks were hastily put together, many strands wild and out of place. Seven hells… damn him and his obsession with my hair. Cersei secretly loved how Ned would constantly run his fingers through her hair, but he was just asking for something like this. "I mean, Connington's tastes run in a different direction, so… may I presume Eddard Stark is one happy man right now?" Tyrion grinned.

"What?!" Jaime's jaw dropped. Bad mood forgotten. "Eddard Stark?" He no longer was interested in Cersei that way, but as a brother it shocked him. "You and that…"

The lioness flushed further. "Shut up, Tyrion… care to blab to Aerys next? Or father?" she hissed. "And I don't like your tone, Jaime."

Her twin raised his hands in surrender. "Didn't mean it like that, but, really? You and a second son? I mean, I told you to stop pining after Rhaegar but I didn't think you'd fancy someone father wouldn't at all accept."

Cersei was getting more annoyed. "Oh, and you're one to talk, brother." Her lips curled into a smirk. "Pining after Queen Rhaella like a lost puppy." Unlike her brothers, she kept her voice low so that only they could hear.

"Excuse me, what?!" Tyrion spat out his wine - hopefully not splattering some unlucky guard below.

"It's obvious to anyone that watches you close enough. You seem to have a fancy for taboo love, twin brother." It was her turn to enjoy herself by tormenting them. "Is it completely unrequited or are you cuckolding the King?"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

There was a slight silence, the three of them just staring at the ocean - as domestic a moment between the three siblings as they ever had. "Well," Tyrion mused. "Makes my transgressions at the Lannisport brothel look positively peachy." He downed the rest of his wine. "Sorry sister, I didn't mean to pry too hard."

What she said next surprised him greatly. "Tis fine, Tyrion." She was surprised too at the… somewhat kind words. Ned is rubbing off on me. They had only been lovers for a week. "I'm not exactly planning a wedding myself - the particulars of my situation are not unknown to me." You chose a lover that can never be yours, nor he mine. The sooner she accepted it, the sooner she could move on. One last roll in the hay that day, it would have to stay with her forever.

"Nothing happened between myself and…" he trailed off. Jaime sighed. "I didn't plan on it happening, gods. Who would wish this?"

"No one who wants to keep their head," Tyrion answered. "But she's a good woman, I really can't blame you. If she outlives her husband…"

Jaime shook his head. "This is more hopeless than Cersei and Ned Stark. It would never happen… and the chance his Grace kills her first is higher than anyone would want." There was no stopping the news of Lyanna's beating at the hands of the King. It had already infected the rumor mill, probably halfway to Oldtown by now. "I am a Kingsguard. I must fulfil my oath."

"Even if she throws herself at you?" Cersei asked. "You're a dashing knight, I am certain she's thought of it, never truly meeting her notwithstanding."

"I'm certain." Jaime tried not to be fatalistic… but it was something Tywin passed to each of his children.

Tyrion chuckled dryly. "To the Lannister siblings. Gorgeous and charming, yet hopeless with the opposite sex." That was something each of them could drink to. "I think I'm going to stay here."

Cersei eyed him. "Death wish, Tyrion?"

"Your concern overwhelms me, sister, but no. I think I may apply to work for Lord Rickard, learn a proper skill. And who knows?" He grinned at Cersei. "I could put in a good word for you." Jaime actually laughed at that.

It took everything in Cersei not to shove Tyrion off the side… though part of her hoped he actually did so.

---

Only a crescent sliver of the moon illuminating the dark chambers, Lyanna shot up in the bed. Ears hypersensitive, head cocking to the side. Something was wrong, something big that had stirred her from here serene sleep. "Rhaegar." Lyanna nudged him gently, causing his muscular form to shift. "Rhaegar, wake up."

"Nnnngh…" her husband groaned. "Go back to sleep." He turned over and pulled the pillow over his head. Dragons weren't nocturnal creatures.

Suddenly, Lyanna heard it again. Eyes widening at what it was. "Rhaegar!" she thumped him harder, causing the Prince to thrash in the bed. "Get up!"

Thinking this was one of the drills Barristan had put him through, Rhaegar was blindly reaching for his sword before reality settled back in. "Lyanna… what's going on?!" His heart was pounding.

"It's Rhaenys." She didn't know how she knew, but Lyanna did. She was already throwing on her shift and robe, racing out of the room. Yanking up his pants, Rhaegar was hot on her heels.

Lyanna turned out to be right. As they opened the door to the hallway, the blood-curdling screams coming from the open nursery drove them further - faces twisted in fear and concern. Lyanna entered first, seeing the two nursemaids trying to comfort Rhaenys… and failing miserably. "Gods, what is this?" Rhaegar exclaimed.

Seeing their bare-chested Prince, the maids both fell to their knees. Rhaenys, on the other hand, reached out frantically for Lyanna. "Muna! Muna!"

Ignoring the maids, Lyanna raced to her daughter. Picking her up and cuddling her close. "Shhh… it's alright sweetling. Muna's here." The girl looked up at her with tear-stained cheeks before burying her face in her shoulder - sobs wracking her body. It broke Lyanna's heart. "How long has this been going on?"

Both trembled under the harsh glare of the She-Wolf. "About ten minutes or so, Princess."

"What?!" Lyanna was livid.

Rhaegar didn't blame her. "And you didn't summon me or their mothers?"

There was hesitation. "We didn't wish to disturb you, your Grace, nor Princess Rhaenys' mother and Princess Lyanna."

"The future King and Queens shouldn't concern themselves with such things," the other added.

Whether Lyanna was more infuriated at that statement or by them not referring to her as Rhaenys' mother, she didn't know. "Get. Out," she ground out.

"Your Grace…"

"You heard her, out!" thundered Rhaegar. Faced with the dragon, they both scurried out. Rage fading, he found his bride and their daughter, Lyanna softly cooing and rubbing Rhaenys' back. Rhaegar embraced the both of them as she still sobbed. "Oh, my little dragon…"

"Kepa?" murmured Rhaenys between sobs.

He kissed the crown of her head. "Yes, little dragon, it's me."

"Don't go!" she wailed. "Bad men come back!" His eyes found Lyanna's, both confused.

At that moment Elia appeared in the door. Dressed only in a wrinkled shift. "I heard screaming… Rhaenys!"

The young Princess even more forcefully reached out for her birth mother. "Muna, muna!" Taking a step aside, Rhaegar allowed Elia to envelop their daughter with Lyanna, Elia kissing her head over and over while the northern beauty kept rubbing her back. "Bad dweam… Bad men hurt me."

Elia wore heartbreak on her face. "Who were these men?"

"They big and mean. Hurt Egg, then you, muna, then big knife…" She sobbed harder. "Monster made them."

"Monster?" asked Lyanna, close to tears herself. Rhaegar had taken a seat across from them, head in his hands.

She nodded strenuously. "Black shadow… like a dwagon, but fwire green…" Rhaenys dissolved into her cries.

"Aerys?" Lyanna asked her sister-wife in a whisper.

The Dornish Princess nodded. "Green fire. He's known for experimenting with wildfire… the others I don't know." Elia pressed her cheek to Rhaenys' raven curls. The presence of her natural mother finally calming her.

"It's my fault." Rhaegar stood, hugging the three of them tightly. "I'm so sorry, my loves."

While his words only hurt his wives further, it was Rhaenys who spoke first. "Kepa… don't go…" Rhaegar settled in, the four of them simply swaying gently and letting Rhaenys' cries lessen.

But when they tried to set her back into her crib, Rhaenys refused to let go of Lyanna. "Sweetling…" She couldn't let the poor girl be so hurt. "Would you like to sleep with muna and kepa tonight?" Rhaenys nodded vigorously.

The royals made their way out of the nursery. "Please take care of her, tonight, sister," Elia said, thinking Rhaenys would want to sleep with only Lyanna, like on the boat.

Only Rhaenys had other plans. "Muna!" she shrieked as her presence faded. "No go!" She wriggled so much that Lyanna was afraid she'd drop her. The mere thought of being without her natural mother was terrifying. Lyanna wasn't in danger. That she knew. "Pwese! Muna!"

"Little dragon, muna needs to sleep..." Rhaegar explained but was cut off.

"No go!" There was no placating her. "Stay wif' kepa and muna."

Both women blushed bright red, Rhaegar rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Well… we can't really refuse her, can we?" the Prince said.

Eyes shifting from Rhaenys, to each other, to Rhaegar, and back to each other, Lyanna shrugged as Elia deflated. "Alright, sweetling." She merely murmured and snuggled deeper into Lyanna.

To say it was awkward would be an understatement. The bed, once holding Aegon the Conqueror and his wives, was more than big enough for the four of them - but space wasn't the issue. After snuggling with her kepa, Rhaenys demanded to be placed between both Lyanna and Elia. Soon drifting off to sleep without even a whimper, her father joined soon after.

Lyanna and Elia faced each other. "I wonder if this is how Maegor's first three brides felt," Lyanna said softly.

"I don't think they slept in the same bed," Elia whispered. "The conquering trio did though…" she trailed off, both women knowing that sleeping wasn't the only thing those three did.

"How does a woman… do that?" Lyanna asked hesitantly. Her knowledge of matters sexual was… quite limited. Relegated to her books and observing Brandon with various smallfolk women.

This caused Elia's blush to redden, visible even in the low moonlight. "Ellaria says… they mostly use finger and tongue" Foreplay for Rhaegar - who was quite excellent at it - but the main event in the case of two women. "It works for some. My great aunt, she only had female lovers..." Elia bit her lip, trailing off.

An action mirrored by Lyanna. "I don't think I could do without a man, though."

"Me neither." As if bidden, Rhaegar turned over, a hand wrapping around Lyanna's waist. "He loves you."

Lyanna reached over to stroke Elia's cheek. A sisterly gesture - but one that caused a tingle in her hand… and core. "He loves you too." She gave a ghost of a smirk. "I, uh, heard you on the boat."

Elia's eyes widened. Oh gods… "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you're happy, sister." They were both silent for a moment. "We both love him, and I can't bear us to feud."

Elia shook her head. "It would kill the family." Perhaps we should all sleep here… "Alright, alternate nights. You once, then me the next day."

"A sensible compromise, though miss him I will." Lyanna yawned in spite of herself. "Goodnight, sister."

"Goodnight." Letting sleep take a hold of them, neither noticed that their hands clasped together before they drifted off.

Notes:

Well... there was some really awkward sexual tension, lol. A start of something big? ;)

Rhaenys in the last chapter wasn't pushing Elia away. She just wanted to know that Lyanna was alright... therefore what happened tonight.

Was fun writing the Lannister siblings having a... normal conversation for once. All of them. Ned is good for Cersei, it appears.

Next up, Rhaegar invites the conspirators to Dragonstone, and a plan forms. If I can get 40 comments by Saturday then I'll update then :D

Chapter 27: Treason

Notes:

The promised update. I love all the comments :)

Stay safe everyone.

Enjoy and please comment :D

By the thanks of the old gods, Prince Aegon's cries began to settle. The gentle swaying of Lyanna's arms acting perfectly to calm him down once his swaddling clothes were changed. "Oh sweet Prince," she murmured, rocking him back and forth. "You love your new muna, just like your father."

Aegon babbled as he snuggled against Lyanna's chest. Such a precious babe… You'll be an amazing big brother. "Perhaps I have one right now in muna's tummy." A Prince of the Realm, son of Crown Prince Rhaegar. Grandson of…

She stilled, the small bit of refuge from being with Egg destroyed. Attacked by my own goodfather. The bruises on her neck were fading, but the aftermath remained. Her own husband plotting to take the throne - plotting treason. Treason. She shook her head of the thoughts before one of Rhaegar being beheaded could destroy her. Lowering herself to the rocking chair, Lyanna just sat there. Egg in her arms, silent…

Only for a pair of arms to wrap around her shoulders. "My love."

Lyanna sighed, slight tension turning to relief and love. "My Prince."

Rhaegar leaned in to kiss her neck - he didn't miss how she first tensed up. "Where are Elia and Rhae?" Given the fact that the hallways were actually quiet, he knew his daughter would be elsewhere.

"Mmmm…" moaned Lyanna, always enjoying his lips on her skin. "They're walking by the beach."

Placing another flurry of kisses upon her neck and cheek, Rhaegar noticed the almost... melancholy underneath Lyanna's sighs and giggles. On the outside, she went by her duties as his loving wife, but he knew just how to read her. Solitary rides, countless time spent with the children, grasping and desperate when we make love… Not that he complained about the latter, but Rhaegar's heart broke at her putting on a facade to hide her pain.

My father… It all laid in the man who called Rhaegar his son - Lyanna on some level blamed herself for what happened to her… no, not it. She had initially, but talks with Elia and passionate kisses all across her body from Rhaegar himself seemed to kill that falsehood. No, what Lyanna's pain referred to had to be worry. Shame at being the cause of his plotting treason against his own family.

I have to get her mind off of it until they arrive from the capitol… let her ease her tension… A grin curled on his face, lights going off in his head. "My love. I think Egg needs his sleep."

Sensing the… resolve in his voice, Lyanna only nodded. "Alright, little pup. Time for your nap." Kissing the chubby cheeked infant, she laid Aegon gingerly in his crib. "Sleep well." Passing her husband to the doorway, her mood couldn't help but improve at Rhaegar's look of love.

Leaving a kiss on Aegon's tiny head, pinching a cheek as his son tried to smack his nose, Rhaegar quickly grabbed Lyanna by the wrist. "You're coming with me."

Her brows knit in confusion. "Where are you taking me?"

"You need to blow off some tension."

She peered at the back of his head, intrigued. It clearly wasn't sex. I'd have been pinned to the wall by now if it was. "And what would that be?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Rhaegar!" Lyanna shouted incredulously. "I want to know."

He gave her a wicked grin, and that moment she forgot about what was bothering her. "I can tell you that it's lucky you didn't change from your riding breeches."

Black hallway after black hallway passed by them. Lyanna tried not to get lost, memorizing each passageway by the various murals etched upon them. Tales of Valyrian history, battles of the great dragonlords focused on House Targaryen. Westerosi have tapestries on their walls sometimes… but nothing like this. Winterfell would have looked amazing with such decorations. Each served as a reference point to keep her way.

"You'll get used to it, your Grace," Barristan said behind her, smiling.

She returned the smile. "Do you happen to know where Rhaegar is taking me?"

"Don't try and pick the brain of my guards," Rhaegar said over his shoulder.

"He's my guard," Lyanna shot back.

A chuckle. "I'll exercise my discretion to remain silent, Princess." Lyanna rolled her eyes at Rhaegar's laugh. Cheeky bastard… but I love him.

Eventually, they emerged in a large central courtyard, almost like the training yard of the Red Keep… Lyanna suddenly caught a sparring sword that Rhaegar tossed at her. "You fight with a longsword, right, Lya?"

Her eyes flickered to the sword and then back to her husband. "Rhaegar, what is this?"

He smirked, assuming his stance. "Assume your stance, Ser Weirwood. Your Prince commands it."

Lip curling into a proper smirk, she twirled the blade in her wrist. I love you so damn much... Half crouching, feet rooted firmly on the ground. "Your move, my Prince."

"Come on, muna!" Rhaenys called from in front of her. "Wanna show kepa the stone I's found!" In her hand she held a lump of glittering dragonglass, found at the maw of a cave leading into the cliff overlooking the beach. She was excited.

"I'm coming, sweetling," Elia called out. Children were delicate, but also resilient. The nightmares that plagued her about what she witnessed with Aerys and Lyanna were starting to diminish, and now that she was back home, Rhaenys' active and energetic self was emerging once again. "She'll be the death of me," she told Oswell.

"Ser Barristan says she's much like her father was at that age."

Her heart caught a little, imagining a tiny Rhaegar with silver curls bouncing as he laughed and played. "I wouldn't doubt it… but I can see much of my brother in her, and that worries me." A regular maneater, Rhaenys will be. "Now, all we need is to find the Prince… you don't happen to know where he is, Ser?"

Oswell shrugged. "He could be anywhere. Would Lady Ellaria or Lady Dacey know?"

"They might, but I haven't seen them since I woke up… Ah, Ser Arthur," Elia called out, thankful for finding someone who would know where her husband and sister-wife were in the absence of both Ladies in Waiting. "Have you happened to see his Grace?"

The Sword of the Morning was not a very good liar, and he didn't try - merely smirking. "Follow me, Princess. Princess Rhaenys. I think you'll enjoy this." A wink to Rhae made her giggle, skipping ahead of the both of them.

A clashing of steel registered in Elia's ears. What could this be? She picked up her pace, matching Arthur's long strides. But Rhaenys was faster than both of them, and had already reached the railing overlooking the training yard. "Muna! Come see!" she jumped up and down excitedly. "It's Kepa and Muna!" It was as if her day was made.

Peeking around for a glimpse, lo and behold Elia witnessed her husband and sister-wife in the midst of a heated sparring session. Sweat soaking their skin and clothing even in the icy chill of Blackwater Bay. "This is what you were smiling of, Arthur?"

The soft-spoken Knight and her childhood friend only winked. "They've been going at it for an hour now. Princess Lyanna loses every set but she refuses to give up." Just as he said, Lyanna clearly was worse for wear, but every setback just brought her howling like a direwolf back into the fight. For Elia it was fascinating to watch...

Attempting to spin a slash, the light blow of steel to her side jolted Lyanna. Losing her footwork and felling her right on her ass. "Owww."

"Dead," Rhaegar announced, glancing down on her with a haughty smirk. "Need some help, Princess?" He was clearly enjoying himself at her expense.

Lyanna rubbed her bruised bottom - and not the pleasurable bruises of their lovemaking. "I need no help from you," she spat petulantly, groaning as she tried and failed to haul herself up. Reddening in the face but her resolve collapsing. "Rhaegar…" Her voice was soft, pleading.

His heart melted. Grabbing her hand and hoisting her up with ease. "You are skilled, my love. I'll give you that."

"And yet I lose to you," she murmured. Her training at Winterfell and actually taking down the squires had made her cocky - Rhaegar's ease at which he outmatched her humbled Lyanna.

"You fight the northern way. More flexible and quick than a southern knight, but still brutish. You can't win brutishly. Know your enemy's weaknesses and then exploit it specifically."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna nodded. She wasn't ever going to outmatch Rhaegar in strength, so the female Mormont style was the proper counter. Agility, speed, almost graceful in how they handled a sword. I'm trying that and I can't get it… Lyanna realizes that with more training she'd do better, but she wanted to rub that smirk off Rhaegar's face...

"Seems we have an audience," Rhaegar said with a tinge of amusement. She looked where he was and found Arthur, Oswell… and more importantly Elia and Rhaenys. The latter was jumping up and down with excitement while the former was leaning against a black Valyrian column, simply relaxed

"Go muna!" Rhaenys whooped, clapping her hands.

Lyanna blew her a kiss while Rhaegar frowned. "Traitor."

"Kepa, let muna win."

"Yeah kepa," laughed Elia. "Let her win."

"Don't you dare let me win, husband. Do you want to couple with me again?" Her eyes narrowed. He only held her hands up in surrender.

Rhaenys furrowed her brows. "What couple wif muna and kepa?"

Elia glared down at the two of them before turning to Rhaenys. "Sweetling, it means kiss."

She grimaced. "Ewww, now ooglie booglies."

Fighting back giggles, Lyanna moved to her stance again, ignoring the aching in her arm. "This time you lose, Rhaegar."

"Good luck with that," he replied, twirling his sword and lunging.

Lyanna dodged nimbly, swinging her sword at Rhaegar's hip - his blade rose up with a jerk of the wrist, parrying. She gritted her teeth and spun her sword into both hands and struck from above at his shoulder. He parried this assault with ease. Teasing smirk upon his lips feuling her ire. Growling like a wolf, she charged in.

"Wow," Rhaenys gasped. Her eyes were wide, Princess occasionally tugging on her other parent's dress to watch. But Elia needed not any urge to watch… she was entranced by the spar. Her husband's muscles flexing and heaving underneath his skin-tight tunic, hair pulled up in a bun that she just wanted to run her fingers through while he fucked her… but her eyes often drifted to Lyanna. The woman that had taken her husband's heart and yet also brought him and Elia herself closer together… how graceful she was in her attacks. Feelings returning in Elia that she felt every night Rhaenys made them all sleep in the same bed. Fierce, wild, beautiful, desireible. She couldn't tell which was more beautiful… and it stumped her.

Steel clanged against steel in a vicious song between the two lovers. Lyanna felt the fatigue begin to consume, chest heaving and muscles burning under her skin. The cold invigorated her, numbing the pain slightly, but she felt disheartened at Rhaegar's seeming nonchalance on his comely face. Time to end this.

Snarling, she lunged for his stomach. Parried easily, Rhaegar moved to slash at her when Lyanna darted close and brushed his crotch with the back of her hand. Hypersensitive to the touch of his love, Rhaegar stilled for just a moment. She took the opportunity to dart a kiss on his lips before a swipe of her sword knocked his legs out from under him, sending Rhaegar to the ground.

It was her turn to stare down with an arrogant smile. Blade leveled above her husband's heart. "Seems that I am the winner here, Rhaegar Targaryen."

Rhaegar snorted, shaking his head with a crooked smile. "You cheated, Lya."

"Oh?" Lyanna batted her eyes innocently, but didn't remove the sword from pointing at his chest. "And how would I have cheated?"

"You used my desire for you to distract me."

"Didn't you tell me to know your opponent's weaknesses? Aren't I your weakness?" His jaw dropped slightly, causing her to laugh. "See." Still triumphant, Lyanna dropped the sword and held out her hand to help Rhaegar up… only to yelp as he pulled her down on his chest. "What are you doing," she giggled.

He circled her waist. "You are one crafty little wolf, Lyanna Targaryen."

"This surprises you?" she grinned.

"No… just make sure you only work that trick on me."

"Perhaps…" suddenly he kissed her, and all further thought was off the table with a moan.

Once eager to watch, Rhaenys turned away. "Ewww, muna. Oogly booglies!"

Elia laughed - though no one noticed it only reached her eyes. "Come on sweetling, let's get you something to eat." She walked in a daze from the experience, enchanted by both of them. How simply beautiful they were, both apart and together. The thoughts came unbidden, unwanted, thinking of how natural her spouses were in their love. How she had never had such… even now. Would Rhaegar have ever loved me without her…

Would Rhaegar only give me the love she allows him to give… Shameful as the single moment's thought was, Elia at least knew for certain that her worries were baseless. Were they…?

---

A slight wind blew around the ship as the cold winter's night descended over Blackwater Bay. The hull of the Celtigar carrack kept most of it out, but even still Jon Connington could see his fogged breath. It made for a useful distraction from the loathing he felt for his current companion. "Therefore, my Lord, your services as trial judge will not be required," Rickard told him, a slight triumph in his normally dour, brooding voice.

I'll show you where you can shove your triumph… As befitting a proper Lord of his station, Connington merely quirked a bushy red eyebrow. "I see… and who shall you appoint to be judges in the cases before the King's Justice? I highly doubt even someone as indefatigable as yourself could handle the sheer volume."

There was a slight tensing of Rickard's muscles - inside, it was now Connington that felt triumph at getting under his rival's skin. "No, I am far too busy. We will have a sliding scale of professional magistrates. Pit and Gallows may work for a holdfast or small town, but not for someplace that could fit twelve White Harbors inside of it." No one could accuse Rickard of not being prepared.

But Connington could flesh out his angle. "So I take it you'd be the man appointing these judges?"

"With approval from his Grace, of course." The ever so smug smile on the northerner's face was evident. "Oh, I've decided to take on Tyrion Lannister as one of my aides."

This was shocking. "Dare I ask if this is wise, considering his Grace's feelings to that family?" It seemed too good to be true that Rickard could end up being embroiled in Aerys' delusions about Tywin…

"Tywin blames Tyrion for his wife's death, so I would assume the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Cunning bastard. Luckily, they were at his quarters. "I'll forward the names of some qualified lords to sit on tribunals." Not that Rickard would even look at them. "Upon the morrow, Lord Stark."

"Likewise, Lord Connington." It satisfied him so much to shut the door in Rickard Stark's face.

"Oh, if I could be rid of that meddlesome northerner," Connington drolled, yawning. He stretched his arms above his head as he settled down into the rather plain cot for the evening - needing his rest for the journey to Dragonstone. To answer the call of Prince Rhaegar.

Prince Rhaegar…

As Jon pulled the thick blanket over him, his thoughts drifted to the same place as they had the tendency to do. Where they naturally fell ever since he had first laid eyes on the Valyrian beauty of the Crown Prince. Connington couldn't deny the attraction he felt for his friend of years. Someone he would never have, yet one whose orbit he was unable to break away from. Maiden, Mother, why must you torture me so?

Tossing on his side while pulling the sheets over him, as he drifted to sleep, Connington felt his body become aroused as thoughts of the Prince continued to fill his mind. The only refuge for the forbidden, torturous thoughts...

As Connington walked between the columns of the throne room, he noticed the dearth of people. Sun high in the sky, holding court should have been in full swing with lines of petitioners to see the King, but there didn't seem to be anything taking place.

He stopped in his tracks just before the Iron Throne, suddenly spotting Rhaegar sitting pon it. He tapped his fingers impatiently - the ruby and Valyrian steel crown of Aegon the Conqueror on his head. Connington gulped. He looked magnificent.

"What do you want, Lord Hand?" Rhaegar asked sarcastically, finally deigning to look at the man who had appeared before him. "My time cannot be wasted on contrived offal."

"Your Grace…" Jon replied, kneeling in front of the Iron Throne. "My fealty and devotion are yours to weild and command against them."

The newly crowned King's eyebrow rose, pursing his lips. "That does please me, Jon." Him using Connington's given name, he sounded... different, almost sultry. It was electrifying. "With the betrayals of all those close to me, it is gratifying to know someone realizes who I am."

"I know who you are - the Last Dragon, reborn to reclaim the power of your ancestors."

Rhaegar stood up from the chair of swords and walked over to the kneeling man, putting a hand under his chin. "Look at me," Rhaegar said, his voice soft. Jon looked straight into the violet eyes of the King, the same eyes that had enchanted women and men alike. "You have been loyal to me when no one else would."

"You deserved it all and more, my King." What else could he say?

Jon was then suddenly caught off-guard by the feeling of Rhaegar's lips on his. Caught off guard by the ferocious dragon that occupied the throne. Moments passed before he finally responded, kissing him back and grabbing onto the smooth silver hair.

As he pulled back, there was still an intensity in Rhaegar's eyes. Ones Connington had only seen directed at Lyanna or Elia… but now at him. "I've been blind, for too long, my dear Jon."

The words, and the hidden meaning behind them, drove Connington mad with lust. "Your Grace…" His hands instinctively went to places where he had always dreamed of going. "Allow me to show you the depths of my devotion."

A dark smirk clouded Rhaegar's expression before suddenly, he threw Connington at the Iron Throne. Effectively bending him over atop it. "Perhaps I should take what I always should have desired instead?"

"My King, please," he gasped. "I want to know what it feels like." Hearing him come behind, Connington reached out to grasped Rhaegar's length, only to have his arms pinned above him with the King's wrists.

"Keep them there, don't you move," Rhaegar snarled into Jon's ear. "You want this?"

"Yes...please...my lord," Jon breathed heavily. "Please, I need you." At the sound of armor being dropped to the floor, he finally had everything he could ever desire...

A knock on the door startled him away, eyes opening… only to groan as sunlight streamed through the portholes. "Lord Connington?" a flat, musical voice asked.

Still in the shadow of his erotic dreams, Connington groaned. Why must he… shit… Imagining his silver-haired Prince, apparently his seed had spilled sometime in the night. "One moment!" he barked drowsily, rising. Throwing on a new pair of breeches before opening the door. There stood Lord Varys, hands clasped in front of him. "What do you want, Varys?"

"I've come to say we are about to reach Dragonstone's shores." Craning his head to the side, he spotted the soiled trousers on the floor. "Nocturnal release, Lord Hand?"

Connington's eyes narrowed. "Best shut it, eunuch."

"Dreaming about our Prince again?" There was silence. "Don't think I'm not aware of how you feel for him. You say his name in your sleep."

"Did you hear this with your own ears?" The rumor was widely known enough to make concealing it impossible.

"Ears I own," Varys replied calmly. "You play a very dangerous game, Lord Hand."

"Since when did you care about my welfare?"

Varys gestured to be let in, and reluctantly Connington let him. "I've seen you more than you've seen me in the past few weeks… not all times vicariously, mind you. Such intrigues me… especially your dealings with Lord Stark."

An eyebrow rose, face guarded. "And why should that be a surprise? I am the Hand, he is the Master of Laws."

Lies were useless on Varys… he seemed to know all. "Lord Hand, it is obvious that you are a bold man. Not playing the charade of wives and children that most others of your… inclination, are wont to do."

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Varys, now please get to the point." Hearing all of this, it was driving him mad.

"You hold out hope, Lord Hand. Do try and let it go and move on, lest the Realm bleed for it." The Master of Whisperers made his way to the door. "We have less than an hour, so I suggest you rush." Soon the door closed, leaving Connington alone with his thoughts.

---

With a gentle thud of the closing door, only Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan remained inside the gathering of some of the realm's finest minds and strategists standing around the Painted Table. "Alright," Rhaegar said, standing at the head of the table where Aegon the Conqueror had once stood. "Shall we begin?"

"It would be our honor to do so, our Grace," said Lyanna, taking the space to Rhaegar's right where Queen Visenya had presumably stood. To his left was Elia, her Dornish gown not one likely worn by Rhaenys but otherwise a perfect comparison.

Rhaegar glanced at both of his brides. "Let us be seated." He saw their eyes radiate encouragement, pride even… and just a hint of lust. A smirk played just on the edge of his lips. How many times did Aegon take his wives on this table? How many times will I? Gods, these women would be the death of him. "I presume you wish to know why I summoned all of you here."

"That was our main concern, yes." To the surprise of the royals, it was dour Ned that answered. While hugging his sister warmly, a sense of gloom seemed to radiate about him. Rhaegar suspected it was due to being forced to depart from his family in going back to Winterfell, but when speaking to Lyanna she sensed it was something more. "Does it have something to do with what transpired between his Grace and my sister?"

Catching Lyanna's wince and Elia's sigh, Rhaegar glanced at all the men gathered here. Rickard Stark sat between his son and his daughter, also covered in suppressed anger - Oberyn took a seat beside his sister as well, looking bored. Jon Arryn sat across from his fellow Lord Paramount, uncomfortable and sympathetic, while Varys was as guarded as always. Each was arranged around the table based on their authority… except one…

"While I abhor any assault upon a woman, the Princess is away from danger." Once seeing the besotted Princesses taking the seats close to Rhaegar, Jon Connington sullenly took the far end. Something Rhaegar noticed.

"I appreciate your concern over the injuries my daughter suffered," Rickard replied, dripping with sarcasm.

"Enough." It was the Dornish Princess, voice firm and decisive. "What concerns us is far deeper than even an assault upon the future Queen… or the current Queen by that matter." Jaime had told Arthur, and Arthur had told Rhaegar of the last incident leaving Rhaella with an arm wrapped in bandages. However - based on how those present shifted - the rumors and whispers around the capitol of Rhaella's condition over the years were widespread. Rhaegar's fist clenched together. He had come so close to killing his father over that.

Sensing a lull, Oberyn chimed in. "Alright, the King is scum for treating his family like training dummies." It was clear in his eyes that he hurt like everyone else, but practicality won out over emotion… Elia was frankly impressed. "Can we please get to the point?"

Lyanna continued with Elia's train of thought, but complying with her goodbrother's request. "The King's temperament and sanity have degraded to the point of being a danger to the realm." The guests looked at her as if she was condemning herself to death… which in a manner of speaking she was. Even Varys tucked his lips pensively. "Which is why the Crown Prince has decided to assert his birthright."

It was Jon Arryn that first broke out of his stunned silence. "Surely you don't mean…"

"Yes." No sense in letting it drag. Leaning forward, Rhaegar clasped his hands, resting them flat on the Painted Table. "I am seeking to remove my father from the Throne on the basis of mental competence, and I am calling on each of you for your assistance in this venture."

Mixes of fear and apprehension were on the expressions of all of the guests. All except Connington, who was stone-faced. And… "I'm in."

"Ned, be quiet," Rickard hissed, almost frantic.

"No." Having lost Cersei, likely forever, the pain and the worry for Lyanna simply drove him to a boldness that Robert would have heralded back in the Vale. With Brandon, he understood why he had to be silenced - the brash heir would likely go off unprepared and get them all hurt, but this… "He hurt Lya, father. Who knows when he might start indiscriminately killing?"

"He's already done that," croaked Lord Arryn, his aging face wrinkling. Three Blackfyre Rebellions had occured during his lifetime, and each had come close to shattering the realm. "Ilyn Payne nearly bled to death after Aerys ordered his tongue sliced off. The Darklyns and Hollards…" Traitors that they were, their screams still haunted him. "May the gods damn me, but I agree with Ned. We have no other choice."

Everything descended into chaos after that.

"This is madness!" Rickard cautioned. "We're going to plunge the realm into a war… a war I can't afford for my family to lose." Olenna's comments on Roose Bolton came to mind. If he fell and Brandon was still the impulsive hothead he was, the Boltons would stick the knife into their skin at the earliest possibility.

"Not necessarily, Lord Stark." Varys spoke for the first time. Rhaegar eyed him carefully - it was always an enigma where his loyalty lied. "The songs that have been sung, songs not given to your father, my Prince, indicate many suffer in silence under his rule. They wish for a change, and would only cheer if one occurs most likely."

"Most likely?" Oberyn murmured. "As cavalier as Eddard Stark may be, I don't like those odds. Dorne is no stranger in fighting wars of succession."

Lyanna shot him a poignant look. Elia had strongly vouched for her brother to show up, attesting to his loyalty to her and her family, which included Lyanna now. But the hotheaded Dornish warrior was nowhere to be found and it rankled her. He should be our strongest supporter. "All we need is one long enough to secure King's Landing and the King. A bloodless coup."

"It isn't as easy as you would think, Lya," Rickard warned her, turning to grasp his daughter's hand. "You don't know how the Blackfyre Rebellions ravaged Westeros. Wars, famines, epidemics. All because of a dispute over a throne."

Elia came to her sister-wife's defense. "Daemon was a usurper with no claim after Daeron's ascension. Rhaegar is the Crown Prince and Aerys is not fit to rule." It felt so… freeing to spit out his name for what he really was. "Dorne will rally by his side alongside the North, Riverlands, and Vale." As Lyanna would always tell her, the North Remembered - it was Rhaegar that married the she-wolf.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Lord Arryn warned. "The Kingdoms are too invested in Aerys' rule in some cases."

"The Vale will side with whoever you side behind, Jon," Ned said. "You have to have the willpower to do what needs to be done. You as well, father."

Arryn massaged his temples. "I have no doubt the Northern Lords would support having a Stark sitting beside the Iron Throne, Bolton aside but he's no fool to stab everyone else in the back. The problem is in the other six kingdoms. I've seen this personally in the Vale, though it was far less of an issue than the Riverlands or Westerlands." Gods, all the headaches of the past decade just spewed forth again.

"Much as I would rather pursue the simple pleasures," Oberyn remarked. "My observation of events from afar concurs with Lord Arryn's assessment. Aerys and Tywin were in a dance with each other. How Aerys could torture Tywin just enough to make him wish to resign as Hand and Tywin making sure he had the political clout to prevent that." It was why he initially fought with Doran about Elia's marriage to Rhaegar, considering how King's Landing was a cesspit. While I regret not supporting Rhaegar, I don't regret the rest. "Tywin promptly gave Loren Payne Tarbeck Hall, only for Aerys to hold that up for seven years. Aerys stripping away lands of Lords he didn't like only for Tywin to hand them back, further hurting the Lords and knights that Aerys awarded the land to. Many enemies but also many allies of your father who will not take kindly to it."

"Mace Tyrell first and foremost, if his attempt to marry into the Royal family is jeopardized," Rhaegar sighed.

"You may have to offer him Aegon's hand to his daughter," Rickard said, leading to withering glares from Elia and Lyanna. "I know you want to protect the boy, but this isn't a walk in the gardens."

Still angry at the suggestion, Elia glanced at her husband. "There is another factor to consider. Yes, the perils of Aerys' rule will sway many, but we can't count on Dorne to support you wholeheartedly."

This did surprise Rhaegar. If Elia was pessimistic about her homeland… "Brother, is this true?" He could guess why, but…

A nod from Oberyn confirmed it. "My brother…" There was a time to tell and a time not to tell. Unlike the Starks for instance, Oberyn didn't seek to be an open book, even if he disagreed with Doran upon it. "He doesn't trust you, Rhaegar, to uphold Dornish sovereignty. He takes Maron Martell's decision to not join Westeros without further assurances to be his ideal, and while there are some houses that would support you there are others that would remain neutral."

"Lord Tywin wouldn't support you either." Varys was as dispassionate as could be. "He has suffered the most of any Lord, but the man won't back a losing horse. The songs tell that he is withdrawing to the Rock to seek out his options."

"Perhaps a marriage alliance would calm him? Lure him to our cause?" While most found Ned's comment innocuous and strategic, Lyanna noticed the sudden light in his eyes. The hope. He really has it bad for Cersei Lannister… Then again, it would be perfect...

"This is pointless." Eyes shifted to Connington, having spoken for the first and only time. "Depose the King, crown yourself, and it'll be the end of it. The Lords won't bother contesting a claim if the contest is over before it begins."

"Over?" Rickard glared incredulously. "Listen to me you arrogant buggerer, you may think that the gods alive wouldn't jeopardize your infantile brain, but you're forgetting one thing."

There was murder in Connington's eyes. "And what would that be, my Lord?" he ground out.

"Viserys. As long as he is alive, then Aerys' loyalists have a cause to champion."

"Simple," Connington finished. "Kill the brat."

Rhaegar slammed his fist on the table. "There will be no kinslaying!"

"There may be no other way," Oberyn shrugged. "I don't like it, but from what I've heard, Aerys is poisoning the boy's mind." The Prince looked poignantly at Rhaegar. "He may very well be making him the heir and not you, brother."

"Oh gods… that's just fucking perfect," Rickard moaned. "A war of succession no matter what we do."

Connington groaned. "Of course the Stark tucks tail and runs."

Ned leveled his finger at Connington. "A tourney knight like you wouldn't last five minutes in the North."

"Such a pretty boy. Arthur Dayne slips up and now you think you can play at war. In the game of thrones you win or you die."

"And if it were up to you, Lord Hand, we'd lose starting out," Lyanna hissed.

And such the argument went on and on. Each person belting out various arguments and stratagems - personal insults flung around like Sothyros apes flinging their own feces. Rickard against Connington, Elia against Arryn, Ned against Varys, and the fierce Lyanna against everyone. Eventually, Rhaegar silenced them all. "Enough.!" There was nary another word. "Lord Varys." The bald eunuch looked up. He was the only one who's motivations weren't tattooed on his arm for all to see. Being such an enigma but also a survivor, if he supported something then it carried a certain weight about it. "You are the only one here without anything to truly lose except your life. While I can respect wishing to keep it, I sense that it doesn't motivate you. What does?"

His answer was simple and forthright. "You know where my loyalty stands. You know I will never betray the realm."

Rickard snorted. "And what is that, exactly? I know my realm in the north, and they care not over who sits on the Iron Throne, Stark blood or no."

"Millions of people, many of whom will die if the wrong person sits on that throne. We don't know their names but they deserve to live and laugh in peace just like you or I." He stared at Rhaegar. "Which is why I pledge my loyalty to you, Prince Rhaegar."

Varys' speech carried the day. Ned smacked his hand on the table. "You have my loyalty, brother."

Reaching over to kiss his sister on the cheek, Oberyn drew his dagger and balanced the tip against the table. "As you have mine, goodbrother. But do not ask of me what I cannot do." That drew a resigned nod from the Crown Prince.

"The Vale stands with you, my Prince." He had seen the madness of Aerys up close, heard everything of what had happened to Lyanna. There was no doubt in his mind that it would only get worse.

Blinking, Rickard looked at his daughter. "Lya, are you sure?"

"Yes father, I am."

Pursing his lips, the Warden of the North met Rhaegar's gaze. "The North stands with the Vale behind its Prince." There was one left, but Rhaegar had a feeling that whatever dirty laundry here shouldn't air in public. "We will resume this discussion on the morrow. My Lords, today begins the new dawn of our Seven Kingdoms." As the Lords filed out, he sought out his brides. Hugging them both close.

"Rhaegar." He turned to see Connington approaching, face a dark glower. "May we speak… alone?" His green eyes cast a look upon the two Queens that one might call contemptuous… with a hint of rage.

Elia squeezed his hand, while Lyanna boldly kissed him, glare matching Connington's. Rhaegar merely sighed. "Follow me."

"He worries me," Lyanna told her sister-wife as soon as they were alone in the chamber. "Connington."

"You sense it too?" Rhaegar's best friend aside from Arthur. Fellow squire on the Kingsguard, close for years. "He hated me when I first came to King's Landing. It lessened after a few months, but whenever I was close to Rhaegar, Connington's ire would flare. Almost like… jealousy."

Lyanna blinked. "You think he's a…" she trailed off. "For Rhaegar?"

"Aye, I do." Elia bit her lip. "I don't see him going to Aerys, but that doesn't mean I trust him." The two ladies simply hugged, the emotional torrent of the day finally weighing upon them - gods only knew how Rhaegar was handling it.

---

They reached Rhaegar's personal solar rather quickly. "Alright, Jon," Rhaegar stated icily - his Stark bride rubbing off on him. He took a seat behind his teak desk. "Start talking." A rising irritation filled him at being second guessed by someone so dear to his heart as Jon Connington

Connington crossed his arms. Expression not of a devoted friend, but of anger... Or something else entirely. "I am merely trying to give you all options as to the potential chaos of what you…"

"Seven fucking hells, Jon!" Rhaegar made a fist to smack against the expensive desk… but refrained. "Don't give me that same bullshit more akin to an drooling supplicant at Court. It's beneath you."

The redheaded Lord and Hand also burned inside. Seething with worry for Rhaegar and anger at those he knew were guiding him on this path. "I don't see," he finally said. "Why would you bother with consulting with me if your mind is already made up… or made for you."

Rhaegar blinked in incredulity. "I know you don't believe that." What had gotten into him? "Jon, we've been friends since I can remember. Gods, we squired together." He knew Connington disliked the Starks, but was he going to break from Rhaegar simply because Lyanna was his wife? "We vowed long before not to hold back our true thoughts."

The Hand's scowl grew harder, not at all concealed by the trimmed red beard. "Fine, my Prince. Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Eyes narrowing in response, Rhaegar leaned back in his chair. "Watch yourself, Jon."

"No, this I have to say." There was no stopping Connington - he wouldn't let his Prince become a Kinslayer. "You really wish to be a usurper? To plunge the realm into more chaos?"

"The realm is already in chaos, Jon. If this works out, then it will be bloodless."

Leaning down, arms splaying over the desk, Connington looked deep into Rhaegar's eyes. Not letting how gorgeous they were soften his resolve. "You know Aerys - he won't give up power easily. Neither he nor his sycophants. It will be bathed in blood."

A sigh. "It's bathed in blood already. He's escalating, Jon, falling deeper into the madness that gripped him since Duskendale." Rhaegar ran a hand down his face. "It brings me nothing but pain to do this, but I have to face the danger that my own father is to the Seven Kingdoms."

"A danger to your wife, rather." Rhaegar's eyes met his, surprised. "That's what this is about, isn't it? What he's done to Lyanna and Elia?"

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "Yes, as is my duty. You would know if you had gotten married as I suggested."

And the agony returned - a clenching heart of love unrequited. Connington fought to keep his composure, to refuse to simply give in to his urges and kiss his silver prince. It was something he had kept in check for years… but now it flared with a vengeance. The presence of Elia and Lyanna, both openly lusting for Rhaegar, it burned him in his soul… The Lord of Griffin's Roost felt the insatiable urge to protect his Prince. The man he truly loved, surrounded by so many snakes. And now they control him. The Starks, the Martells, Dayne… his own wives.

"My Prince, I fear your wives are leading you down the ruin of your line."

"You're a fool if you believe that. Just like you're a fool if you think you can speak ill of my brides."

Connington wracked his mind for what Rhaegar could mean. "Wait… you heard my conversation with Pycelle…" Varys, that cunt. "I was worried about what Dorne would think."

"No you weren't. I think you want it to happen, for my brides to betray me."

"And you're blind if you don't see it!' Time to go for broke. "The Dornish infiltrated Daeron II's court and ended up instigating the Blackfyre Rebellions, and now they and the Starks are doing it again!"

He groaned. "This again? You were against my marriage to Elia and now my marriage to Lyanna."

Why can't he fucking see?! "The Starks are idealistic fools. Even in the days of their ferocity, they have no business in the south. And the Martells… If you want to destroy your plan before it happens, you did so with bringing Oberyn."

"Elia trusts him, and I trust her."

"You can't listen to them and plunge the realm into war!"

"The realm will be plunged into war if we don't act!"

A furious shake of the head. "They are destroying you. Turning you against your own family to gain political power through the Princesses! Rhaegar, don't let yourself fall into the seductress' trap when there stand in front of you people that truly lo…"

Rhaegar cut him off before he truly crossed the line, face red with suppressed rage. "You will never refer to either Princess in such a tone, do you understand me?" Connington understood. As dangerous as Tywin or the King himself were to the Realm, Princesses Elia and Lyanna Targaryen were even worse - they held the ear of its one hope.

I failed.

"The plan will move forward." He resumed his seat. "Will I count on your loyalty?"

So close to his dream, yet so different. But Connington's answer was the same. "I am yours to command, my Prince." Slowly he knelt, accepting his place by Rhaegar's side no matter how little it was.

Better to protect him from them from within than fight him from without.

---

"Well, this has certainly been an interesting turn of events." Ned Stark leaned against the wall of the private promenade of the Lords of Dragonstone, the beautiful expanse of Blackwater Bay laid out before them. Waters sparkling by the red orb of the setting sun. "Are you alright, Lya?"

Staring out at the sea, Lyanna's face was hard. Masking her churning stomach and wild emotions. "We're supporting Rhaegar in his attempt to overthrow his father, the same person that nearly choked me to death in front of my daughter…"

"Elia's daughter, rather," Ned corrected, only to get a withering glare from his sister.

"My daughter." She was in no mood.

A sigh. "Alright, your daughter." He set his hand on the stone railing. "Gods, this relationship you've gotten yourself into confuses me," Ned said, chuckling.

Biting her lip, Lyanna remembered all three of them in the same bed, presumably to comfort Rhaenys… and yet she enjoyed it a little too much. "It confuses me too, sometimes." Wanting to focus on something other than her anger against Aerys, her worry for Rhaegar, and her confusion on Elia, Lyanna settled on her beloved daughter. "But I am certain of Rhaenys, brother. She's as mine as the children of my womb would be."

He placed his hand on her shoulder. "You've always had a good heart, Lya." Starks have always been… different than others. Same as Targaryens. It wasn't too weird for Lyanna to fall for the little Princess. "And Rhaenys is a lovely girl."

"She likes you," Lyanna replied with a smile. "Aside from us and the Queen, no one else has been able to calm her down so well… up to being her uncle?" There was a hopeful glint in her eyes.

To this, Ned laughed. "Would beat having to find out there's a bastard of Brandon's seed out there. I'd love that child too, but it would be awkward." In this, they both agreed. He frowned slightly. "So you're up to this?"

She needed no clarification. "Rhaegar deserves to be King, Aerys doesn't." Lyanna raised her brow. "Are you up to it?"

"I think so."

"Even dealing with Catelyn?"

Ned sighed. "Even with Catelyn… though I'm not happy about it." Another thing in which they both agreed.

"I'd hope to find the both of you here." Lyanna tensed up when Lord Varys strolled in, hands clasped behind his back. His fleshy cheeks were puffed up in a serene smile. One that just almost hid two eyes twinkling calculatingly. "This is a far less awkward encounter than mine with Lord Connington earlier in the day."

The Princess' eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Lord Varys?" She didn't trust this man as far as she could throw him - for different reasons as Connington. The Hand might be disloyal due to his longing for my husband. Elia wasn't the delicate wallflower most assumed her to be. Varys… his motivations and loyalties are as enigmatic as the stars.

Eyes meeting Lyanna's, Varys merely bowed his head in respect. "Given the magnitude of our conspiracy, wouldn't it be prudent for us conspirators to prepare together in the last chance before we must split apart?" Eloquent, drowning moods in the complex word salad. Far more dangerous than someone like Connington.

Ned looked at her for a moment before picking up the proper signals from her reaction - weeks in King's Landing had pretty much gave them a crash course in the machinations of the game of thrones. "Preparations are better made elsewhere than here."

"Quite the contrary, Lord Eddard. I find the sound of the waves upon the cliffs or the wind against the island helps muffle voices." Yet, Varys cocked an eyebrow on the both of them. "Or perhaps it isn't logistical, but mental preparations that must be made?" He bobbed his head slightly. "The removal of a King… even at his worst, Aegon the Unworthy was left on the throne until he rotted away."

"You'll need no mental preparation from me, my Lord." How best to handle this person, Lyanna asked herself? As a member of the royal family now, she'd have to step up and act as a proper wife to Rhaegar… and now, she figured that the best way to discern the Master of Whisperers - someone who made his living in the shadows - was to approach him delicately but directly. "Tell me, Lord Varys, why do you stand with us?"

Varys blinked… a momentary sign that her direct question rocked him. "Lya…" Ned cautioned.

But the eunuch recovered. "No, Lord Stark, it is fine." A soft chuckle. "The future Queen's question is one I can answer. The people of the Realm…"

Lyanna wouldn't let him get away with such a contrived answer - even if it was true, few even in her own circle did the she-wolf know to be so altruistic. Myself, Ned, Elia, Rhaella, and Rhaegar… Everyone else was out for their own interests over all others. "Spare me such droll blather. I want to know why I shouldn't kill you for being a potential threat." Ned's eyes widened. "You alone hold Aerys' ear over all of us - one whisper and we're all hanging from posts. Why should my husband trust you?"

"And you don't trust me, Princess?"

"Honestly, my Lord?" It was Ned. Lyanna's words may have been alien to him in their almost calm viciousness, but her suspicion of Varys had a point. "I wouldn't trust you as far as Lyanna could throw you off the cliffs of Dragonstone. Spies hold no honor."

Surprisingly, Varys merely chuckled. "Bravo, my Lord, your Grace. The Realm will be in good hands with both of you in senior roles." He looked out at the sea, silent until Lyanna attempted to restart the conversation, after which he spoke once more. "When I was young, I traveled the free cities in an acting troupe. One day, a sorcerer approached the master and made an offer he couldn't refuse. The master sold me to the sorcerer, and he gave me a potion that took away my movement and voice. I still felt pain, and such pain was terrible when he sliced off my stem and stones."

Fighting her nausea at the thought, Lyanna knew that simply because this man was a victim of such perfidy didn't mean he wasn't a threat. "And how does this relate to your support of us?"

Varys' eyes sparkled with… something. "He burned my parts in a brazier as part of a magical ritual - of which I still have no idea. I viewed the sorcerer praying in my pain, and in the blue flames a voice clearly answered. But only to me, speaking two words. Only one of those made sense to me at the time, and yet, I think I know now why the fates brought me here. To serve his Grace."

Lyanna crossed her arms. "I'm getting bored already. Please cut to the chase."

Smile curling into a disarming smirk, Varys leaned into Lyanna's ear. "Please tell your bastard bard of the North that I mean him no harm." Even after the Master of Whisperers made his exit, the Princess' eyes were wide as saucers. Not even Ned could pry out what had shocked her so.

The game of thrones had truly begun.

Notes:

And it begins ;)

Thanks to Nielsen1984 for help on the chapter, and to my amazing idea man danielsantiago.

The battle lines are pretty much forming right now. Lord knows where they will end up.

Next we have Ned returning to the North... with Catelyn.

Chapter 28: Acclamation

Notes:

Hey everyone.

May each of you have a blessed Easter Sunday in this time of tumult and danger. Stay safe everyone.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Open the gates!"

A fine mist frothing around his mouth and nostrils, Ned Stark felt absolutely invigorated. The cold enveloped him like icy knives stabbing through even his thick fur cloak and he absolutely loved it. Gods, nothing's better than a sunny winter's day in the North!

At the massive ironwood gates of Winterfell castle swung open, Ned could think of something far better. Sure it was plain, nothing like the inspired architecture of the southern castles - but Winterfell was home. Sturdy build to keep out the wind and connected to the hot springs of the Godswood. It felt so good to be back after so many years in the Vale.

"I ought to tell yeh', I miss them southern beds," commented Rodrik Cassel to Ned's right. Current commander of the household guard now that Martyn stayed with Lord Rickard. "Them mattresses were soft as a fine lass."

Ned chuckled. "Aye, they were. Perhaps I can write to my sister to ship us some." Cassel grinned.

Preceded by a troop of cavalry carrying fluttering Stark banners, the acting Lord of Winterfell led the train of men, wagons, and wheelhouses into the courtyard of the great castle. Hooves and wheels kicking up clods of snow while the ever curious inhabitants of Wintertown watched. All eager to see their future Lady's arrival. If only Cersei could be here… Ned shook away the thought. Best not torture yourself.

Luckily, Ned didn't have to dwell on what left him brooding on the entire boat ride to White Harbor. Standing at the van of the Stark household was a familiar face. Face lean, beard stubbly… his younger brother had grown like a weed since Ned was last here. From a boy to a man… soon to be a knight of the realm. Guiding his horse into the courtyard, Ned dismounted quickly. Sword jostling from his belt as he walked over to his brother. "Benjen. You've gotten hairy," he said flatly.

Benjen answered with a frown. "Hopefully it's not as ugly as you display it."

A moment passed before Ned snorted, lips curling into a smirk… then a full belly laugh that roped in the six-and-ten Stark brother. The two of them embraced, watched with joy by the household staff. "It's been too damn long, brother."

"We were starting to think you preferred the Eyrie to Winterfell. Maybe met a pretty girl." Pulling back, Benjen clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't tell me ya' left one there?"

His comment hit close to home. No, in the Westerlands… alas, to never be mine. Benjen seemed to take his frown as just his brooding self, so he went with it. "No, you do not have to worry. I did not leave a lady love in the Vale." One hundred percent the truth.

"Well then, glad for ya' to be back where the action's at. Nan whipped up your favorite kidney pie." Just the thought of it made Ned's mouth water.

But duty called, however. Surrounding the first wheelhouse were four men wearing cloaks bearing the trout of House Tully, one having dismounted his horse and opening the door. Quickly, Ned rushed over just in time to take the hand of Lady Catelyn Tully, Brandon's betrothed and his charge. "My Lady, welcome to Winterfell."

Wrapped in an intricately styled wool coat interwoven with wavy blue lines, Catelyn's sparkling blue eyes took in her new home. "I can see, Lord Stark. Very… plain." Her voice wasn't particularly loud, though undoubtedly some of the servants heard it. "The snow is very beautiful, though."

"Thank you, Lady Tully. It does add a rather pleasing aesthetic." Not wanting to delve further, he guided the beautiful trout to where Benjen and Maester Luwin stood. "My Lady, I'd like to introduce you to Maester Luwin and my dear younger brother Benjen."

Catelyn prefuncterly greeted Luwin, but she paid special attention to Benjen. "So you're the Kingsguard my Bran talked about?" she said with interest.

"I won't be getting my cloak just yet," Benjen replied with a false modesty. Ned could tell he was inwardly jumping with excitement. At Catelyn's outstretched hand, Benjen laughed. "No need for that, we're family." He pulled her hand until she was in his arms.

"Oh…" While returning the embrace, both Ned and Luwin could see the awkwardness. A woman clearly not used to the North's more… informal ways.

As they pulled apart, Benjen noticed her teeth chattering. "Cold, goodsister?"

Whatever her failings, Catelyn was noble enough to not complain. "Perhaps a little."

A stern-faced woman in septa's gowns was not. "Shouldn't spring have come already?" she whined, causing eye rolls among the household. Benjen glanced at Ned, eyebrow raised. A septa, here? Ned could only shrug.

"Actually," Luwin chimed in. "The Citadel sent the ravens a week ago. Spring was false this time, unfortunately."

The septa was not amused. "By the Seven, another day in this icehouse…"

"Calm down, Septa Mordane, it's alright." Catelyn quieted her down, much to Ned's gratitude. "Bran told me that the castle is built on a hot springs."

Ned relaxed. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Alright, everyone is dismissed," he called out, servants and guards starting to spread out but with many still nosy.

One trotted forward ponderously - a massive man with a thick waist. "Hodor," he grunted.

Catelyn yelped, eyes wide. "What in gods' names are you?" she exclaimed, slightly frightened.

"Oh, this is Hodor," Benjen giggled. "He's harmless, right mate?"

"Hodor," the gentle giant beamed. "Ho-dor… hodor." He pointed to the wheelhouse and wagons.

"Yes, Hodor, the baggage." As he trotted off, Ned turned to the still shaken Catelyn. "He does all the heavy lifting around here."

Pursing her lips, Catelyn nodded. "Alright, but keep that, that… thing away from me."

Ned blinked. "But my Lady, Hodor is harmless…"

"I won't have an addled brute so close that he could hurt me.." At that moment, the impression of the household staff - and Benjen - was set about their future Lady. Such ignorant words about a beloved member of their community… unforgivable.

Sighing, Ned admitted defeat. "Alright, my Lady." It was good for her that she had a dozen servants from Riverrun with her. "Luwin will show you to your chambers."

"You'll be sleeping in Lord Brandon's chamber till he arrives." Catelyn's face lit up at that.

With Lady Catelyn and her retinue stomping through the half-ankle deep snow - nothing to a northerner but obviously a hardship to them - Ned felt Benjen sidle up beside him. "Well that was… awkward."

Ned snorted. "White Harbor seemed to please her enough, so some weeks should find her a proper Lady of Winterfell." Who are you kidding? She's gonna be awful. The inner voice sounded a lot like Cersei…

"She brought a fucking septa, Ned. I wouldn't count on it." The two of them began walking towards the keep. "What did Bran see in her? His letters spoke as if she was Jonquil to his Florian… the most recent Jonquil, rather." Benjen chuckled at his own jape.

There was little to gain by piling insults upon his soon to be goodsister, so Ned refused to. "Whatever her flaws, the most important thing is that she's enamored with Bran. Desperately so, only behind how Lya and the Prince see each other."

A raised brow. "Oh? I wish I could have seen that. A man actually tying down our wild sister." Now that Benjen put it that way, it did come off as both absurd and miraculous.

"You'll see it soon enough. Day after tomorrow, you ride for White Harbor."

He grinned. "Next time you'll see me, I'll be wearing white. Jealous?"

The Northerners didn't accept the Andal concept of knighthood, but Ned would be a damned liar if they all didn't grow up in the shadow of Aemon the Dragonknight or Robb Reyne. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

Benjen shook his head, always the little tag along to Lyanna. "The Quiet Wolf is gonna be the alpha here for a while. Keeping the North put together and the Lady Trout out of trouble. You up to it?"

His question killed Ned's jovial mood. Exhaling the sigh of a man with the weight of an entire realm on his back - without the touch of the woman he so loved to comfort him - Ned turned to Benjen with suddenly haggard eyes. "It's more than that, brother." The younger Stark furrowed his brows in confusion. "Come to father's solar." He wrapped an arm around Benjen's shoulder. "We have much to discuss."

---

Scowling, Lyanna looked directly at the castilian. "This is unacceptable. Twice Lord Guncer has delayed his tax payments and now he asks for a third?"

The man scribbled on his large ledger. "My records say he has had three delays and this is his fourth… your Grace."

"Well that's even worse!" She walked down the corridors of the great keep, Lyanna having woken early to both escort Rhaenys to the kitchens and see to the household - handling much of the administrative work that the Lordship of Dragonstone supervised. If I am to be one of Rhaegar's Queens, I must learn. "Ser Barristan, how quickly can a boat reach Sweetport Sound?"

"About eighteen hours, Princess."

Lyanna nodded. "Good, see to it that two dozen household guards are sent to Lord Sunglass' keep with haste." She turned to the castilian. "Get a raven to him, and say that he can have the coin due Dragonstone is prepared to deliver by the time the boat arrives or his heirs shall ransom him from our dungeons."

The man bowed. "At once, Princess." He darted off.

"That includes you, dear knight," Lyanna gently told Barristan.

"But your Grace, the Prince has instructed me to be by your side all hours of the day."

"I'll be fine," she laughed at Rhaegar's protectiveness. "Send the raven, Ser Barristan. Don't make me command you." Her tone was light.

He bowed, smiling himself. "At your command, Princess."

As Barristan walked off, Dacey turned to her. "You're settling well into your role, Lya."

Lyanna sighed. "Aye…" She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling her head throb. "It's times like these I miss sleeping with Rhaegar beside me." The nights where she wasn't in their chambers, sleep came sparingly. I can't sleep without his warm body holding me close.

"I warned you about marrying a married Targaryen Prince," Dacey chided as they continued walking.

"No you didn't," the she-wolf shot back. "You were begging me for details of how he looked shirtless."

Dacey pursed her lips. "That doesn't sound like me." Lyanna merely rolled her eyes. Her lady in waiting decided to change the subject, ponytail bouncing up and down as she walked. "You were a bit hard on the castilian."

Grumbling left Lyanna's lips. "That fool doesn't know his ass from his elbow."

"Are the Sunglass tax monies really so important?"

"Given what we are planning, yes." Dacey merely nodding. With the efforts already at full strid, Lyanna's first request was for all taxes to be paid in full. Velaryon, Celtigar, Massey… they all paid promptly. Only Sunglass stood to bullshit them. "Many a mind can be turned once the smell of gold hits their nose."

"Very true, Lya." They turned a corner and reached the solar. Ser Arthur stood guard… and Lyanna noticed a very slight smirk cross Dacey's face. "Will you be needing anything else, your Grace?"

Lyanna's gaze flickered back to Ser Arthur, the a tiny bead of sweat falling down the cheek of the normally stoic knight. "Just see that the kitchens are ready for tomorrow. Lord Celtigar is due to arrive and we want to impress him."

Dacey read the subtext, and was dutifully impressed on how Lyanna was simply taking over. "Of course, your Grace." Curtseying, the she-bear fluidly brushed her ponytail across her shoulder. Winking at Ser Arthur before leaving.

Biting back a giggle, Lyanna approached the door. "Ser Arthur."

He bowed. "Princess." The word was a croak. You can't hide it Arthur. "His Grace and the Princess Elia are waiting for you."

"Thank you." She quirked an eyebrow. "A problem, Arthur?"

The Sword of the Morning shook his head. "No, your Grace, why?"

"No reason." Gods, can't you just give in already? "I hope you will be available for our sparring lesson after lunch." She and Rhaegar always ended up dropping everything to make love… not that Lyanna complained, but that wouldn't make her a better fighter.

Arthur nodded. "I am at your command."

Smiling, she opened the door and breezed into the solar. Eager to see her husband for the first time that day. To finally be in his arms… "My Prince…"

She found Rhaegar adjusting the buttons on his doublet while Elia smoothed out her dress, hair disheveled and face flush. "Ah, sister. You're early," she said a bit too cheerily - though genuinely happy to see her.

Lyanna only chuckled. "It's amazing how much faster the staff works if you give the lazy ones a kick in the rear." Truth be told, how randy the two of them were in recent weeks only delighted her. A truly united, happy family as the conqueror and his wives were. Embracing and kissing Elia's cheek, after a moment she raced to Rhaegar and threw a passionate kiss upon his lips.

Melting into the kiss, Rhaegar held her tightly just as she adored. "Good morning, my Queen."

Shivering all over at how he called her that, Lyanna kissed him again. "Morning, my King." Pulling back, there was a queer look in Elia's eyes… one she couldn't place. "Sister?" Elia visibly shook it off, smiling warmly and motioning for the both of them to sit. "So, what did we need to all discuss?"

"Connington sent a raven from the capitol." Rhaegar sighed deeply, returning to his brooding. He was the most affected by their plans, considering he was going against his own father. Wordlessly, Lyanna rose and snaked behind Rhaegar, massaging his tense shoulders. "Ohhhh, that feels wonderful, my wolf."

"You deserve a little comfort, my Prince," she cooed serenely, catching just a flicker of that look in Elia's eyes before it disappeared. "What did the raven say?"

Rhaegar grunted under her soft yet powerful hands. Combining with the vigorous lovemaking he had with Elia to finally ease his stress. "He worded it in unassuming language, but I got the gist. He's trying to assemble a grouping of Lords and Knights to assist in keeping order in the capitol when the… event takes place."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "Do we know who they are?"

"He says that it's best for security if we don't."

Both women eyed each other with suspicion at this. "Can we be sure to trust who he picks?"

The Prince frowned. "I don't see why not. He's my closest friend."

"We all know how he feels about you, my love," Lyanna stated, working at a particularly knotted part of muscle. "And he doesn't appreciate Elia nor I for it."

"So I'm not a lover of men as he is." It still upset Rhaegar that their friendship could be frayed by this, but Connington was not a man who would betray those he cared for. "He will be supremely loyal to me, I assure you." Neither woman was so sure, but they let it go. "Now, I think we need to formulate who would be willing to support us… ah, thank you, Lya." Kissing his head, Lyanna resumed her seat.

An hour later, they were still pouring over various names. "So Lord Celtigar at the feast?" Elia inquired.

Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, he hates my father for booting him off the small council but favors me after I took his heir Adrian as a squire."

"The Velaryons would be a worthy ally, but Lucerys is an Aerys loyalist," Lyanna proclaimed. "For the Vale… Ned told me about Lord Royce. He's honorable."

"I'll consult with Lord Jon forthwith, but it'll be his decision whether to approach." So far they gleaned most of the Seven Kingdoms. The three of them had whittled it down to Lord Blackwood, Lord Dayne, Lord Yronwood - Arthur's uncle - Lord Celtigar, Lord Whent, Jeor Mormont, and Howland. Enough to secure broad support. "Now that leaves the Westerlands."

Elia decided to broach the dragon in the room. "We need to discuss approaching Tywin."

The Prince frowned. "Out of the Question."

The Dornish Princess matched his frown. "And why ever not, my Prince?" Her voice was sweet, but bitingly so. Her inner viper was emerging more and more, and Lyanna found it… quite pleasing.

"Because I witnessed my father cut out the tongue of one of Tywin's men for a tiny jape. I can't be sure of his loyalties - the time to approach him is after the deed is done."

"Lya talked to him personally, perhaps she can shed some light on this." Both her spouses cast an eye to her, expectant.

Thinking for a moment, Lyanna looked at both. "He seemed… prying. I think he's unsure of what side to take."

"He'll potentially take a third direction, overthrow House Targaryen and install either himself or a puppet." Rhaegar's violet eyes blazed, angered at the thought. "We can't take that chance." Both women conceded he had a good point. "All that's left is the Stormlands."

"Connington only," Lyanna said immediately. "Maybe Selmy if Ser Barristan can finesse it." Of this, she was adamant. Robert may have fooled Bran and Ned into thinking he changed, but he hasn't. Lyanna wouldn't trust the Stormlands if Rhaegar had ten dragons and a million men at his back.

---

Boots clicking against the stone floor, Stannis Baratheon brushed away the water from his dark brown hair. He should have seen the damned rainstorm coming, but like a moron he accepted the lout Meryn Trant's challenge to a spar. And of course Trant had to insist on fighting dirty, forcing Stannis to teach him a lesson…

Of course the keep built by Durran Godsgrief would end up getting pelted by the damn rain. Luckily he managed to dart out before more than his hair became waterlogged - Trant wasn't so lucky, Stannis leaving him groaning on the ground. It was funny to the entire crowd, and Stannis would have smirked if he ever smirked. And all he could think about now was the letter delivered to him.

The letter that would need him to search out both his brothers.

Arriving at the Lord's chambers, he brusquely knocked on it. "Robert." Nothing. "Robert, I know you're in there. You sleep till apex anyways." At the slight giggling of a female followed by a male chuckle, Stannis groaned and pushed open the door anyways.

As he figured, there was Robert's bare ass, bobbing up and down while thrusting into the cunt of a moaning young woman… at least Stannis figured she was young based on her slim legs wrapped around his brother's torso. Gods… is this the third woman he's bedded? Wincing when Robert grunted his release, Stannis missed his parents' honor not for the first time. "Robert!"

The woman screamed at the interruption, while Robert snarled. Scrambling off to glare at his brother. "What is it, Stannis? Did ya' come 'ere to finally learn how to please a woman?"

Unfortunately for the eight and ten second son, the pretty young maiden had covered herself in the sheet while he could see all of Robert's cock. "Is that Delena Florent?"

Robert grinned. "You could have her now, though she's got a warm cunt. It'll melt yer cock of ice." That greatly amused the Lord of Storm's End, laughing uproariously.

Stannis sighed. "We received a letter from Casterly Rock." That shut him up. "Please put on some clothes while I wait outside."

Longer than he would have liked - and with more noise inside than he would have felt comfortable with - Stannis was greeted by Robert as he let a tunic slip over his bare torso. "Gods, brother, you have no sense of humor."

"I'll have a sense of humor when you have propriety." The two of them began walking to the solar. "I'll give you the maids and smallfolk girls, but a Lady of a noble house?"

"Oh please, you're about to marry that uptight bitch cousin of hers." Stannis said nothing. "Oh, you said no? Looks like I won't be seeing Delena for a while." He roared with laughter. "Buck up, ice cunt." Robert slapped him on the back. "You worry too fucking much."

Two household guards parted to let them in the solar, revealing a thin, finely-dressed boy rifling through Stannis' desk. "Renly!" Stannis barked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Immaculate to the point of effeminacy, anyone who bothered to know about Renly Baratheon knew why… Robert shouted it constantly to anyone who'd hear. "I heard we received a letter from Casterly Rock. Wanted to see what it was about… so I could help advise our Lord brother, of course."

It wasn't the first time Stannis caught Renly snooping. The boy had taken their parents' death hard - they all took it hard, Robert's whoring intensifying and whatever warmth in Stannis dying out, but Renly's change was the most glaring - and he had grown both bitterness and a low cunning as a result. "I have it here." Stannis pulled it out of his breast pocket, Renly glowering while Robert laughed. "Mind if I read?"

"Go ahead." Robert plopped in a plush chair, resting his feet on an expensive footstool. "Will probably be boring as fuck anyway."

Lord Baratheon,

I am heartened to hear that the Stormlands have seen their Lord Paramount return permanently for the first time since your father departed from the earth. A lack of leadership is never advisable.

"That shit," Renly hissed, interrupting his brother. "Insults both Robert and our mother and father in the same line…"

"Shut it!" Robert bellowed, cutting off Renly. "I'm trying to listen, so pipe down before I make you the girl you want to be!"

Clearing his throat, Stannis continued. Not wishing to stoke his bitter brother's ire.

Whispers have come to me in regards to a bitterness that has developed between yourself and several influential individuals in high positions within the small council. As one that has suffered the same, I can relate and propose a solution, namely the forging of a bond between our two Kingdoms.

I would be eager to hear your response.

Tywin Lannister

Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West

Setting the leaf of parchment down on the desk, Stannis met the blue eyes of both his brothers. "So… there's that."

Robert blinked, peering at Stannis with confusion. "Well, what the fuck does he want?"

The middle of the remaining Baratheons fought the urge to roll his eyes. He can't possibly be that dense. Probably too much wine. "I think he's proposing a potential alliance by marriage."

That took a moment to digest. "Oh… Ooooh." His eyes widened. "What, to the bitch lioness… I think I'd rather fuck a warm melon."

"I think you actually did that once," Renly grinned, only to find Robert's fist slamming into his shoulder. "Fuck…"

"Oh stop with that ya' fuckin' pansy. Take your pain like a man, meanin' not up the ass."

"Look," Stannis interjected, dour voice perfect to mellow Robert out. "This is a very serious request by him."

Insults notwithstanding, Renly refused to be counted out. "What is there to worry about? With Jaime Lannister having take the white and the Imp being a debased monster, Robert's spare heirs would have Casterly Rock to inherit. Imagine, all that gold controlled by our nephew." He licked his lips, imagining the things he could do with that. Finally paying the wretched Targs back.

It was up to Stannis to bring them both down to earth.

"I don't want to marry that fucking cunt," Robert shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. "Damn it, I want my fucking bride back from that dragonspawn rapist!" Stannis sighed - it wasn't the first time that he mentioned that. Guards better get ready, cause he's gonna burn out his rage on the sparring grounds.

Renly shrugged. "Why bother with one or the other? Sire an heir for the old lion on Cersei, then fight to get your wolf back after. Lots of things can happen to a woman after childbirth." the youth was lazy and narrowly ambitious, but no one could say he couldn't devise rather ruthless plots. Ones that made Stannis' skin crawl.

But Robert only laughed. "Finally, something out of your mind other than mincing crap! That's probably what I should do." He turned to Stannis. "Write the bastard back. Tell him I'm interested." Grabbing the flagon of wine from the dresser, he walked off - beginning to swig it.

Stannis glared at his little brother. "You're playing with fire, Renly."

The four and ten adolescent chuckled. "Grandmother was a Targaryen, brother," it disgusted him, but neither Maeker nor Aegon had sent their father or mother to their deaths. "Fire is our element." One bitter drunk and one whelp eager to show up the world… gods have mercy.

---

"I can't do this, Ellaria."

The Dornishwoman huffed, practically shoving Dacey down the hall. "Gods, and they say we are stubborn creatures."

Stubborn… Dacey wouldn't say she was that. Apprehensive, seven hells yes… She could take on Ironborn toe to toe but couldn't approach the man she fancied. Get a damn grip, Dacey! But it was Arthur Dayne they were talking about... "What if this doesn't work?"

"I speak from experience, no man has ever resisted this if done right." Cloistered maidens, happily married husbands, and even a dour Septa or two had all thought themselves incorruptible in Ellaria's life. Oh, were they wrong.

Dacey swallowed. "It… just seems too sudden for it to succeed. Ser Arthur has barely spoken a word to me in weeks. He's been avoiding me, I'm positive of that."

Pushing her through the dark corridors, Ellaria laughed. "That's a good thing. He's trying to avoid the temptation that you've given him. Now for the final push."

"But what if he's just keeping an irritation away?"

"If you are the right match for Arthur, and by Mother Rhoyne you are, then he'll be unable to resist you."

"I…"

Groaning, Ellaria grabbed Dacey's shoulders. "By the Seven, I had the best lover of my life leave for parts unknown!" It wasn't a lie - after all the men and women she had bedded, Oberyn shockingly made her feel things she never had before. But now he was gone. At her urging. Gods, that may have been a mistake… "If I can't be in bed with a mighty highborn warrior inside me, then you fucking will if I have anything to say about it!" Ellaria watched as Dacey's eyes glassed over. Likely imagining Arthur inside her. That's the spirit. "Ready?"

Dacey nodded after a moment. "Aye, I'm ready."

"You're lucky tonight, Dayne," Oswell Whent shot at his whitecloak brother, smacking a mailed hand on his shoulderplate. "Got to enjoy the day riding with the Prince and Princess, while I have the night shift."

"Speak for yourself," Arthur replied. "Have you seen Princess Lyanna riding? She turns every trot into a tourney race. I don't know how the damn Reach or Westerlands knights do it in this armored monstrosity, let alone the horse."

Oswell rolled his eyes. "Complaints, complaints. Not the best look, Arthur." That earned him a punch to the arm, laughing as he rubbed it. "Gods, it feels good for this place not to be such a crypt all the time."

"I figure you aren't speaking of the color?" Before, only the bubbly Princess Rhaenys could bring joy, with Rhaegar so brooding and Elia so quiet. Now, their Prince was smiling most of the day, both Princesses showered him with affection and he them, and the children were brighter than ever. "Who's chambers are you standing guard outside?"

"Luckily the Lady's chambers," Oswell replied with relief. "Gerold has the unenviable duty of taking position at the Lord's."

Arthur chuckled at that. "Her rides on Winter make Princess Lyanna quite frisky, don't they?" Then again, neither woman needed an excuse to attack their husband once alone. It was the first moons of Lyanna's marriage to Rhaegar… Thinking about it, this is likely the long-delayed first moons of Elia's marriage to Rhaegar as well. Arthur could only pray for his childhood friend and his Prince to continue with such passion and love. "Alright, brother. I'll see you on the morrow."

Unlike at the Red Keep - where all of them slept in a communal dormitory - on Dragonstone they all had their own tiny chamber. Arthur appreciated the modicum of comfort. Lonely, but mine. He had long resigned himself to adopting the chivalrous life.

Groaning at the aches and pains in his muscles and joints, Arthur removes his gauntlets and cloak. Hearing them clink as they dropped to the table he used for the purpose. Ah, much better…

"Greetings, Ser Arthur…"

Whirling around on his heels, what Arthur found took his breath away. "Lady Dacey?"

The she-bear was on his bed, illuminated by pale candlelight. Her athletic curves and trim figure of her glorious body covered only by a silk gown. Hair again adorned in a ponytail. "Who else would it be?" Her heart was beating out of her skin, but seeing his face heartened her. Arthur does desire me…

How did he not see her there? Gods, I've seen her every time the last few weeks. The Mormont girl's radiant smile, the way her muscles flexed as she trained as well as any male knight, her dresses smug against her supple breasts... all of it tormented him. Testing his vows. "Lady Dacey... what are you doing here?" Arthur had to look away, but found himself unable to.

His hesitancy lit a fire inside Dacey. "Stop playing the fool Ser Arthur," the she-bear declared, slowly rising from the bed. "You know why I'm here." She bit her lip, walking to him with a provocative sway of her hips.

"I… I think you should go back to your chambers." He was used to how Andal maidens innocently charmed their prospective husbands. While the sultry Dornish seductresses were adept in luring unsuspecting men to their beds, Arthur had grown up among them and was therefore immune. Ellaria and her gossamer gowns and lusty eyes did nothing to him… but Dacey Mormont in the same… "I could escort you if you like…"

Chuckling, even Dacey was shocked at how throaty and alluring her laugh was. "I don't think so." Face to face with the handsome Sword of the Morning - barely a quarter of a head shorter - she reached up and slowly eased his breastplate off. Not breaking the stare of her forest green eyes. "I want you, Ser Arthur." Her forceful words were belied with a gentle touch on his muscled chest, sweet and affectionate.

Gods… he could see her milky skin underneath the see-through gown. Wild northern beauty on full display doing for him that any southern or Dornish maiden wouldn't even begin. "You... flatter me my lady… but my vows..." Arthur was close to the breaking point and he knew it.

Bold, impatient and arousal demanding everything of her, Dacey silences whatever he wanted to say in a kiss. Forceful and passionate, warmth spreading through her as the dream of the last few moons finally came true.

Whatever protest Arthur might have had went out the window. The want for this goddess of the north just overcame his reservations, mind spinning as if drunk. Rhaegar had no chance against Princess Lyanna. Even the man derided as 'Ser Stuffy' by his comrades - and family - had no chance against the northern beauty. The day after may find him regretful, but at that moment Ser Arthur melted into the kiss.

It was far better than anything Dacey could have imagined. One kiss that blew away any of her past sexual experiences. Her lustful eyes kept locked with his purples while she guided his hand to the sides of her breasts - making sure he touched just where Ellaria proved made her wild. Sighing in pleasure. "You're too tightly wrapped, Ser Arthur," Dacey husked, cunt soaked. "Let me relax you."

Arthur's senses were clouded… one moment they were standing. The next found them walking to the bed, Dacey slowly stripping him of his tunic and trousers. Then he pushed her robe to the ground, leaving her so gloriously naked. Finally, they were on the mattress, him hovering above her, kissing languidly as he perched between her legs. "Are you sure, Lady Mormont?" There was no stopping this, white cloak or no. "I… I've never done this before…"

Hearing that, the boldness left. Leaving a gentle, sweet remnant. "My handsome knight," she cooed, cupping his cheek. "It's mine too, but I want it. I want you." Dacey reached down to his delicious member. Smearing it with her wetness. "I'm ready, Arthur. Please…" Without warning he bucked inside her, spurring the both of them to bliss.

From outside the door, Ellaria felt a grin curling on her lips at the mixed moans - both male and female. Oh, I am good. The pleasure houses of Lys should learn from her.

"Please… my knight…" came a desperate voice through the door. "Harder…"

Shaking her head with a giggle, Ellaria decided to give her friend some privacy. Exquisite.

---

"Father! Please don't…!"

Smack! A young maiden - no maiden - falling to the ground, handprint on her face. "You have no right to make requests of me, slut!" The indefatigable Tywin Lannister, calculating and quiet to the world, when he did deign to lose his temper he roared like the lion he was. "You will fucking drink it!"

Sobs tore through her willowy body, face caked in tears and snot. "No!" She moved to stand on shaky legs, trembling with fear and resolve. "I will not!"

A punch to the gut followed. Knocking the wind out of her, she collapsed again only to be kicked in the side, screaming in pain. "Do not fucking speak back to me!"

"Brother," begged her youngest uncle, the other two joining her aunt and their mates in watching… unable to truly look. "She's your daughter…"

"No, she's a worthless whore that tried to reenact the Targaryen breeding practices in this castle. I will not have it. I WILL NOT HAVE IT!" He waved to his sworn sword… a massive giant of a man with three dogs weaved on his tunic. "Hold her down."

She tried to resist, screaming, clawing, pounding her fists against the solid wall of muscle with all her might, but it proved useless. He was just too strong. "No! You will not take him away from me!" Her hands wanted to cup the slight swell of her abdomen… only the man's hand kept hers pinned above him. Other one grasping her chin.

Tywin remained unresponsive. "You, Genna. Do it."

Tears fell down her cheeks. "I won't do it, brother." Her weakling of a husband, gulping, stood strong by his wife.

"Fine! I'll do it myself!" Grabbing the small flagon containing the contraceptive brew, he kneeled, pinching her nose just as the mountain of a man kept her head still. "Relax daughter. This will soon be over." His smirk was the last thing she saw as the moon tea fell down her open throat, world exploding in a flash of light.

The flash found her in front of the Sept of Baelor. An immense crowd in front of her - in front of many. Girl bearing fire-red hair, a manicled prisoner, Kingsguards in strange armor… and one young man. Crown atop his head, but hair a golden blonde instead of the silver of a Targaryen King.

"But they have the soft hearts of women!" He proclaimed, drawing queer looks from the redheaded girl.

It was a haze, a blur by the heat of the scorching summer sun. She wanted to shed her thick winter's dress but unable to. Rooted in place while the roar of a crowd boomed around her.

"BRING ME HIS HEAD!"

Cries of mercy and pain rang out, steel gleaming as an executioner approached a condemned man. Ordered by the same golden-haired monster. "This is madness," she heard herself whispering, but no care. Only a bloodlust as the sword swung. Meeting the exposed of the man just as he looked at her… making her scream.

Ned Stark...

Shooting upright, covers flinging in every direction, Cersei Lannister could only hear the heavy breaths sucked into her lungs. The almost painful thump of her heart. Soaked with sweat, Iit was as if the rains of Castamere had drenched her. Head spinning as she made out the dark confines of her chambers in the Rock.

A dream… just a dream… One that felt as real as the half-moon outside. As real as her hands right in front of her.

The day that had been her nightmares for years. The moment Tywin Lannister made the problem of his incestuous children 'disappear.' Shoved into the dank halls of Casterly Rock never to grace the lips of any but a lion. So much did she hate her father for that. Blame him for ripping her beautiful child from her womb…

But the vicious little boy in her dreams… Cersei remembered the eyes, the same shade of green as hers. As Jaime's. The pure madness inside of them...

A hand drifted to cup her stomach - Cersei remembering when her palms had ghosted over a slight swell. Was that my child? What my child would have… She collapsed onto the bed, the images of Ned Stark's head falling from his body still ripping through her.

Feeling her stomach churn, Cersei scrambled out of bed. Grasping for the thankfully empty chamber pot. Acid stinging her throat as she puked her guts out, groaning between heaves. She'd been doing that more recently, but nowhere as violent as this.

Not that she didn't know why. Ned… Try as she did to forget, he never left her thoughts. Memories of them together haunting her every waking moment. It was futile, she'd never forget him. In the bottom of her heart, Cersei knew she had fallen in love with him as strenuously as she would deny it consciously.

Only now, the images of him bare as he gave her the greatest pleasure were replaced by his head falling to the ground, killed by the nameless face of her child while she watched. Condoning it, almost...

I'm not that monster… I'm not…

But those eyes were hers.

Notes:

So Dacey finally got her man :D

Turns out that Cersei has a different backstory here. Hope y'all think it works.

Catelyn... I think that's the way a more youthful and immature Catelyn would act. Remember, she didn't go to Winterfell before until she was a wife and mother already.

Next chapter: Aerys conducts a ceremony.

Chapter 29: Dragons Don't Burn

Notes:

Hey everyone.

Hope y'all are weathering this well. Stay safe everyone.

Updated the tags and the cover art (looking for an original artwork for this story).

As a point of clarification, I have aged Renly Baratheon to 14. This is important for later developments.

Also for clarification, yes, the endgame for Jon is for him to emulate his father and take two women for his brides. Feel free to discuss in the comments.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Hooves of her mount thundering to a gradual halt, Princess Lyanna Targaryen clutched her abdomen. Urging the churning stomach to calm down as the race ended. Distracting herself by an incredulous look at Rhaegar. "I can't believe you beat me."

Standing tall as he guided Moondancer into a strut, even the stallion looked to lord over Winter, who neighed irritatedly. Rhaegar laughed. "There's a first time for everything, wife."

Heart racing, Lyanna sucked in a frigid breath. It calmed the slight tempest in her stomach, rare but not uncommon after a strenuous ride. Not to mention it made her feel like home. Though snow rarely reached down here, the bayside chill was so welcome to her… and if she needed warmth, she could always snuggle against her hearth of a husband. "This was wonderful, Rhaegar. Thank you."

Leaning over on his saddle, Rhaegar meant to kiss her lips but the jostle smacked him onto her nose instead. Lyanna giggled, beaming at him anyway. "Getting away from it all with a beautiful woman… most men would envy that."

"Yet you are the only man to enjoy my company, my dragon." Winter and Moondancer settled into a calm walk. "Lord Arryn wrote from Gulltown. Benjen's on his way." She was delighted that her baby brother would soon be here.

"I look forward to meet him. Planning on knighting him once Arthur confirms he's up to the oath - which considering what you've said of him will be a formality."

"Oh certainly. Benjen was born for this, and far better than him taking the black like we all thought." By her side instead of freezing at the Wall? I'll take that in a heartbeat. "You know… speaking of Arthur, he's been enjoying himself recently."

"Been smiling more, Gods know why…" he was cut off at Lyanna's laugh. "What?"

She shook her head. "You are oblivious sometimes, my love. Arthur's taken Dacey as his lover."

"Arthur? Arthur Dayne?!" His jaw dropped.

"Yes, Arthur Dayne… and if you say anything I'll cut your balls off." Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "Dacey's finally happy and I'm not gonna stand her losing it."

Rhaegar held up his hands. "Who am I to stand in the way of love?" Her smile returned. "Ah, we're here."

An eyebrow rose. "Trees?"

"Yeah." Rhaegar dismounted from Moondancer. "You'll enjoy it, I promise."

Hitching Winter to the gate in the low stone wall, Lyanna walked into the copse with inquisitive eyes. "These look like Northern trees," Lyanna exclaimed, laughing as she twirled around. Enjoying the cool air blowing out from Blackwater Bay.

"Queen Alysanne inherited her grandmother's love of nature." Rhaegar watched, drinking in the sight of his free-spirited bride. "She fell in love with the Wolfswood of Winterfell and had several saplings brought here." Had Lyanna been married to Robert, that spirit would have been crushed but as a Targaryen Princess she thrived. The Prince wouldn't have it any other way, deeply in love with his wild northern beauty.

Invigorated by the piney scent that reminded her so much of home, Lyanna found it so welcome moment after a moon in King's Landing. Recovering in the depth of nature's embrace… a flash of crimson halted her. Curiosity turning to shock turning to wonder... "But… how?"

In the middle of the copse of trees was a Weirwood sapling. Small and only just beginning to branch out into the lush canopy of blood-red leaves. One of only a few left in Westeros. "Howland keeps several saplings in Greywater Watch," Rhaegar explained. "Was glad to give me one..."

"To create a Godswood on Dragonstone…" she clasped her hands on her mouth. "To create me a Godswood on Dragonstone."

"You needed a wedding gift, my love." Smiling sheepishly, he drew out a Valyrian steel catspaw dagger, one he had taken off Maelys the Monstrous after Barristan mortally wounded him. "It was considered the greatest honor of a First Man to mark a new Weirwood with the face of the gods." Rhaegar placed it in Lyanna's palm. "The honor is yours."

Trembling, Lyanna was guided as if by an innate knowledge to the hard surface of the wood. Dragon-forged steel carving through the wood, wonderment spreading in a massive smile. Energy of her father and mother's gods coursing through her. Time passing to reveal a crude yet haunting face in the wood. Forever to watch all that would grace the Godswood - from Lyanna to her children and grandchildren… all thanks to the man she called her husband.

Facing him once again, Rhaegar took a step back. When before her expression was one of amazement, now a wolfish hunger covered it. "Lya?"

In a split second Lyanna straddling him on the ground in a savage kiss. "You are mine, Rhaegar," she growled possessively, hands almost ripping off his riding breeches. "My husband… my perfect husband." Yanking them off, she slid down his body till her breath was on his cock. "I will never let this perfect husband go."

He gasped as she licked a stripe up his length. "Lucky man am I."

"No, I'm the lucky one." She kissed the tip. "Wife of a wonderful, powerful dragon." Without hesitation Lyanna took him in her mouth. Forcing Rhaegar's head back, warm mouth around his throbbing cock quenching the straining pressure but adding countless more.

Hearing a rustling as the she-wolf slurped his cock, Rhaegar's own eyes darkened at seeing one hand buried under her hiked up her skirts. Frigging herself frantically. Just as she let go, Rhaegar roared and pulled her to straddle him again. Lyanna's lust-filled eyes meeting his own. "I need to be inside you," he hissed.

Lyanna grabbed a hand, guiding it to palm her breast. Moaning as she impaled herself on the only cock she would ever have. "So do I."

---

"Summoned by the King." Tyrion tried to keep up with the Lord of Winterfell's long strides. "Gods, I'm coming up in the world."

Rickard snorted, unable to resist a smirk. "No, I was summoned by the King. You simply insisted on joining me."

"And would you begrudge me for it?'

"Not a smart thing, Tyrion." The lad had been an irritating if persistent applicant to his staff, but the boy was quite bright - at least one of Tywin's children had to inherit his skills, Tyrion able to do the work without difficulty. Wasn't a bad choice at all… even if Tyrion was as stubborn as he was now. "You should have stayed."

The Imp looked up at him. "Want me to miss whatever juicy thing the King is cooking up? Not on my watch, Lord Rickard."

"The King doesn't like Lannisters."

"My own father barely considers me a Lannister."

Lord Stark sighed. "Alright, I warned you though."

They were the last of the Small Council in the Throne Room, though surprisingly Queen Rhaella was there as well. She flanked the throne along with Connington, currently speaking with Lord Velaryon and Lord Tyrell. Rickard's choice to stand by was obvious. "Lord Stark, Lord Tyrion," Rhaella expressed warmly.

Tyrion bowed. "My Queen. I would kiss your hand, but…" He gestured to his legs, smirking.

Rhaella laughed. "You have Joanna's sense of humor." That… touched Tyrion in a way smiling broadly. "So, any knowledge of what this is about?"she asked Rickard.

He shrugged. "I wanted to ask you."

"This is about the eggs." All three of them looked at Lord Varys, hands behind his back. "His Grace has a collection of dragon eggs that I procured him. Wishes to do what his father failed to do."

The Queen paled. "Gods… is that why Rossart is here?" The skeletal royal pyromancer stood to the side, fingers fiddling. Memories of the Tragedy at Summerhall still haunted her mind.

Varys smiled softly "Don't worry my dear, this won't go as your father made it. I've seen to that."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Rickard replied, Varys' wan smile not falling.

"Make way for the King!" The herald smacked his staff atop the stone floor. Everyone in the Throne Room bowed as Aerys emerged from his chamber, once a storage space for the trappings of ceremony - now his own personal work chamber and living quarters. Hair scraggly, nails untrimmed, royal robes splotched with various stains he didn't bother to clean up… nothing like a King. And yet carried himself as one. Proud, powerful, in control of his destiny. Control, Dunk, it is I that have control… and power. Hopefully soon, the ultimate expression of Targaryen power would be in his hands.

Sitting atop the Iron Throne, Aerys finally looked at his gathered council. Missing his son, but he'd rather not have that moralizing brooder here. "You have my leave to rise," he drolled, absentmindedly waving his hand. Varys, Stark, Rhaella… Turns out there was someone between his wife and his Master of Coin. A half-man. "Who the fuck are you?'

At that moment, Tyrion realized that Rickard may have been right. "Tyrion…" He gulped. "Tyrion Lannister, your Grace."

"Tywin's brat?"

"Aye." He waited for the coming storm…

Only to be followed by a simple laugh. "Welcome Imp. You'll be looking up to your King today." Many laughed at the King's jape, though some rather halfheartedly.

Tyrion laughed too, knowing it was a must. "Good one, your Grace." Watching the King slap his knee, Tyrion felt himself his father's son - an effortless liar. Everyone who makes a joke about a dwarf's height thinks he's the only person who made a joke about a dwarf's height.

"Alright." Aerys' bark silenced the hall. "Send for the maeges."

Led in by Alliser Thorne, Lady Melisandre was in front, eyes a piercing red. The others were disarmed members of the Fiery Hand, personal bodyguards of the Faith of R'hllor, while two were dressed in crimson robes of sorcerers…

Beside Rickard, the Lord of Winterfell heard Varys take a sharp intake of breath. "Presenting," the herald began, "The Priestess Melisandre of Asshai, representative of the Temple of R'hllor in Volantis…" Glancing as the herald continued with Aerys' titles, he found the Master of Whisperers paling in terror. What's wrong, Lord Varys...

"Lady Melisandre. I was told that you can help me with my predicament," the King stated.

She smirked. "Of course, your Grace. As long as Lord Rossert complied with my instructions."

A cough suddenly echoed in the room, drawing Aerys' attention. Eyes blazing at a young priest, hair a scraggly red and balding. From how he was swaying slightly, Tyrion deduced he was drunk. "You! What's your name?!"

The young priest gazed glassily at the King. "I… uh… forgot, your Grace."

Melisandre quickly saved him. "His name is Thoros, your Grace. Leader of the Fiery Hand, strong with the Lord."

"Hmphh," Aerys huffed. "Let me give you a lesson in court procedure." He stalked right up to the man, smelling the wine on his breath as Thoros struggled to remain still. "First and only lesson, my word is the fucking law! I tell you to piss off, what do you do?"

Thoros hiccuped. "I… piss off?"

"You'll go far in my court. Now piss off." Walking to the Iron Throne, the King peeked over his shoulder to see Thoros still standing there. "Well?"

"Just deciding whether to piss off on… hic... the floor here or one of the columns…" Easing down his breeches a bit as he walked to the closest column, Thoros sighed in relief as he passed stream of urine. The reactions of the courtiers were mixed between scandal from Pycelle to barely disguised laughs from Tyrion, Rickard, and even Rhaella.

Nodding in approval at Thoros' direct action, Aerys' eyes fell on his small council. "Connington, why are they laughing?" Thoros was only doing what he himself had ordered. "WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!" Everyone shut up, the throne room silent except for the still flowing piss. "The eggs!" He ran out of patience, screaming at the Kingsguards. "Get the eggs!"

Ser Jonothor nodded, gesturing to the servants. "You heard his Grace. Move your arses!"

"Any man who drops them loses his head!" the King screamed at them.

The servants manhandled the massive braziers, three hefting each in order not to spill the coals… or the precious eggs. Eight dragon eggs. Tyrion stared with wonder, the spherical shapes radiating power even ossified. The hall began to reek of smoke as the servants placed the braziers between the dias and the maeges.

"Start," Aerys ordered Melisandre.

"Are they coated?" she asked Rossart in the corner.

"With a thin film of wildfire, Priestess," he croaked in his raspy voice.

Melisandre nodded. "Those. Get them ready for me." The two sorcerers stepped forward, one glancing up at Varys with a twinkling mirth before lighting the eggs.

All but Melisandre and the King flinched as the green flames exploded into life. Thin coating of wildfire filling the room with heat. While Aerys gazed with glee, the priestess only smiled softly. Lord of light… show us the power that resides in these tools of your will… ensure only those destined to wield these great creatures feel their might… Aerys whispered something to Connington, who thereafter whispered something to Prince Lewyn, who rushed out shortly after.

What seemed like hours passed before the wildfire died down. Wisps of smoke rising from the eggs, almost glowing with heat. "Your Grace," Melisandre began. "Dragons bond with a preordained dragonrider. The strongest bonds create unburnt blood and flesh. Find your egg and make your bond."

He stood, eyes glowing with anticipation. They were his, Aerys swore he could feel their power. Their fire. A drive deep within his very blood to hold them… There! The black and red in the center - it would be his. My dragon. He walked to the egg, hands out. Aerys the Sunrise Dragon, the Fyremancer. Aerys the Great...

It burned him.

Aerys leaped back, howling in pain. Hands seared when his fingers and palm brushed over them. Pycelle darted forward as on instinct. "Your Grace, may I…"

With a snarl Aerys hurled Pycelle to the floor. His rage erupted, grabbing a large candlestick and tossing it across the room as the council watched, trying to melt into the floor. "I AM THE DRAGON!" He was the reborn hero, the blood of the dragon that would break the Curse of Old Valyria. "I will bring the saviors to stop the Doom! Me!"

"Your Grace." The voice was of Prince Lewyn. "I have brought Prince Viserys at your orders." It was Rhaella's turn for the blood to drain from her face. Struggling to put aside her terror as the little boy with bouncing silver curls was led in.

Grumbling, anger petering out, Aerys looked at his youngest son. "What too you so long, you fucking walked here?!" Without letting the Kingsguard answer, he waved to Viserys. "Get over there, my son." He turned to Rhaella. "Say nothing or I'll strangle you." Behind, Jaime Lannister's hand tightened on his sword, but no one noticed.

Having been busy with his tutor all day, Viserys had gone along with a bright smile on his youthful face. To have his father - the mightiest King in the history of House Targaryen - to approve and love him was the greatest thing he could achieve. "Father… what…" His eyes widened. "Dragon Eggs?"

"Yes, Viserys. Touch one." The boy blinked, unsure. "A dragon cannot burn, touch one!"

Hesitantly, Viserys reached out his hand. Unsure of which of the beautiful eggs to touch… suddenly guiding his attention to a particular one, as if a gentle whisper called out to him. Slowly bringing it to the blood red scales, Viserys' purple eyes shone brightly. Fingers just approaching the scales…

"Ahhhhh! Kepa, it burns!" Only instead of the fussing love of a worried father, Viserys found himself slapped in the face.

"I knew you weren't a dragon! Get out!"

Tears formed in the Prince's eyes. "I am a dragon, kepa…"

Rhaella felt tears prick her, wishing to run to her son.

But Aerys wouldn't have it. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" You won't corrupt me, Jenny! No matter how many priests, pyromancers, maeges, and mystics he brought to the capitol he would unlock the secret of the dragons in the way his idiot father and useless brother couldn't. I am the dragon!

---

"Shhh, baby boy." Rhaella felt as if she was being stabbed, each sob from her young son being the knives doing the painful work. Gently, she stroked Viserys' trembling back, matted hair. "It'll all be alright."

The tiny prince only sobbed further. "No! No, muna, it won't." Never having seen his father behave in such an… inhuman way, the sobbing Prince had nearly tripped over himself twice in scrambling to his chambers. Crying on his bed, even when his mother wrapped her arms around his back. "Kepa hates me!"

She gave a quick look of anguish to Ser Jaime in the doorway before leaning down to kiss the crown of her son's head. "Oh, Viserys." Hands red from the heat of the eggs, a large red handprint marred his cheek. "Kepa doesn't hate you, sweet hatchling. He…" Viserys adored his father, and she struggled to find a way to phrase the truth properly to not hurt him even more. "Your father is very preoccupied with ruling. It's his burden, not yours…"

"Muna, I'm a dragon?" he choked out.

Rhaella gently brushed her fingers through his curls - wanting to both kiss his pain away and strangle Aerys "You will be a strong Prince…"

"No! Tell me I'm a dragon!" came the shrill cry, Viserys turning to blaze at her. Eyes once of pain, they now held a sudden anger. "I felt the power! Felt the egg move!" For a moment, Rhaella saw Aerys' eyes. It caused her to flinch.

Holding him ever closer, Rhaella kissed his brow and forehead. Aerys… he got to him… It wasn't a stretch to infer that as the cause of Viserys' pain. "You are a dragon, my son. Fire made flesh."

Hot tears soaked her dress. "Fire burns… but dragons don't burn… I burn, muna."

"That doesn't matter… you are still a dragon."

That seemed to calm him. A few errant sniffles but otherwise the crying petering out. When the Queen looked down, she saw the usually carefree boy's expression harden. "I will be a dragon! Make kepa proud!"

"Shh, my son. Rest."

"I will…" his voice started to trail off, exhaustion and stress overcoming him. "I will make him proud…"

"Sleep. Just sleep, little dragon."

"Kepa… proud… me…" In sleep, the childhood serenity returned. Pain evaporating as slumber claimed him.

Unable to hold her own tears back, Rhaella stood, legs quivering. Closing the door to viserys' bedchamber ever so gingerly… yet knees buckling right after. Falling into Jaime's waiting embrace - too worried to even bother with propriety. "Gods, Jaime… what am I going to do?"

While he hadn't been there during the breadth of the marriage between the King and Queen, Jaime had seen Rhaella largely put together and stoic in her dealings with Aerys… never did she break down in a despondent anguish until recently. "Perhaps a visit to Dragonstone, your Grace? Be with Rhaegar, your grandchildren, and your gooddaughters."

"He'll never let me leave, Jaime. Never… I can't let my baby suffer the same fate as my brother… I just can't."

As she trembled in Jaime's arms, all he could do was rub her back. Even with how she dismissed him the last time he truly held her close, Jaime ignored it. Knowing she needed comfort. Trying to hide how much he enjoyed feeling her slender body pressed against his.

Sighing deeply Rhaella extracted herself from the embrace. She walks towards the window, simply staring out into space. "I saw them all."

Her voice was flat… hollow. Nothing like the beautiful lilt that had entranced Jaime from day one. "Saw who, my Queen," he asked hesitantly. Hating that the woman that he loved was hurting and he couldn't truly bring her joy.

It just… felt so easy to talk to her guard. Unlike anyone but her son and gooddaughters, he always listened. "My children. All of them, even in death." Rhaella reached out, fingering the curtains. "Shaena, Daeron, Aegon, Jaehaerys… even those stillborn that never recieved a name… I remember them all. Loved them all."

Jaime nodded as she turned. Each day it seemed her gentle, joyful spirit was chipped away. Begun with her dead children and continued by her uncaring husband. He never deserved her.

Wrapping her arms around her chest protectively, the grimace on Rhaella's face made her look far older than she was. Far older than when she smiled. "Only two babes surviving out of ten, Jaime… and… oh gods." She gasped. "And Aerys wants to have more with me! "

The kingsguard walked briskly to her, holding her upper arms… trying to resist the urge to comfort her more intimately. "Please don't, my Queen."

But Rhaella couldn't help herself, sobbing once more. "My womb is hostile to life, Jaime. If I lose one more…" I don't think I could go on living. It was an unsaid thought, but Jaime understood nevertheless. Like a mace to his own chest. "And even if I bear a healthy child. Aerys will just take him or her away from me as he did with Viserys. I may never even get to see my babes…"

Her words tapered off as Jaime hugged her tightly. The gesture almost instantaneously calming the Targaryen Queen, simply giving in. Silver hair pressed against his shoulders and strong arms making her feel safe. "You can't torture yourself like this, your Grace. Strength of a dragon lies within, you just need to keep fighting."

Pulling back, peering at him, she nodded. "Thank you, Ser Jaime." A wan smile formed. "It's too bad, your embrace would have made any lady swoon."

Forcing a smile of his own, Jaime reached for the helm resting on a side table. "How about we get you some fresh air in the gardens. Let the Prince rest." At her nod he set a pace behind her, sighing inaudibly. She didn't deserve any of this… she deserves all the babes in the world.

A babe having strong Lannister blood would undoubtedly survive. Such thoughts, so tempting and wonderful in his mind, only brought sorrow to Jaime. He should follow his own advice to not torture himself… but like his twin, Jaime was truly weak.

---

Catching his wife shivering as another draft swept through the cavernous corridor, Rhaegar pulled her closer to him. "Would you like my cloak, my dear?"

Elia turned her head with a tender look. "Thank you, husband, but it's not necessary." Her hands rubbed along the fitted sleeves of her woolen dress. "Lyanna was kind enough to lend me one of her dresses.

The Crown Prince nodded. "It was. Looks warm." He eyed it over, appreciating the outfit in a far… different respect. While she had plenty of warm Crownlands dresses to do the job her thin Dornish gowns wouldn't, the baggy folds and awkward sleeves made them a pain. Nothing like the elegant simplicity of Lyanna's northern gowns… or how they fit the female form so snugly.

"Delightfully warm, though I think that is the point," she grinned. "I'm still irritated at the Citadel for the false spring." The sudden drop in temperatures after a slight warmth during the Tourney had been interpreted by the Most Devout as a horrible omen. Against his better judgement, Rhaegar couldn't help but worry…

Thankfully, he had his gorgeous wives to calm him. Especially Elia - the concerns he had addressed to his mother and Aemon were growing weaker by the day, his dragonblood boiling hotter each time he took his beloved Dornish Princess with the same power as he tamed his wolf. Their past slowly melting into affection, Elia returning to the flirty charm that so characterized the family. Unlike what Lyanna happily gushed in bed after they made love that morning, Rhaegar knew things had not completely repaired, but was determined to overcome for the last four years of mistakes - his mistakes.

"My Prince?" Huffing, Elia smacked his shoulder, shaking him from his daze. "Are my words boring you, husband?"

He blinked, shaking his head. "Forgive me love, just distracted by something." Hips and breasts just slightly fuller from carrying Rhaenys and Aegon, Lyanna's dresses were a bit tight on Elia. Everything covered but on display.

She smirked. "You're quite transparent." He must know I can see him staring. "Lustful Prince. Coveting your own wife so brazenly?" She was going to attack him that night in his chambers, so couldn't he wait?

"I doubt you can blame me." He grinned, not denying it.

"You're insatiable."

"You adore it." Elia bit her lip. He spoke the truth.

Descending the steps of the outer courtyard, their conversation changed from the flirty to the serious. Rhaegar eager to keep Elia's attention elsewhere. "Oberyn has arrived in Sunspear, but his efforts are… not bearing much fruit."

"I presume that Doran hasn't forgiven the insult of my marriage to Lyanna."

She winced. "He hasn't been… even remotely kind since I failed to send him whispers of the royal court anymore." She was honest about her half-hearted efforts to act as Doran's spy. Even attempting had kept she and Rhaegar distant. "Oberyn won't make direct overtures without Doran's tacit acceptance."

Rhaegar nodded. "Which leaves the Daynes and Yronwoods."

"And the Wyls. They hate the Reach, which is in Aerys' camp, and will want influence." It hurt to undermine her family, but House Martell wasn't her first allegiance anymore.

"I think Lady Olenna is smart enough to see that as foolish."

"Lady Olenna is not the one on the Small Council. Mace may be a fool, but he's close enough to the King to bind House Tyrell in a manner to make it impossible to retract."

Rhaegar nodded grimly. "Since the Hightowers follow the Faith and Robert Baratheon hates us… getting the Dornish Marches are our best shot."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "You don't think his apology to the Starks was sincere?"

"Not a chance in hells."

"I always did admire your keen mind."

Passing under the arch of the Dragon's Tail, Rhaegar extended the loop of his arm. Wlia accepted with a gentle smile. Allowing him to escort her through the gardens that branched out along the lush volcanic soil. "It's been a while since we've been here together, wife."

Eyes fluttering shut, Elia nodded as she inhaled the piney scent of Aegon's Gardens. "Aye, it has," she murmured, following him along the well-hewn stone paths committed to memory. The forest of tall dark trees, wild roses, and cranberries was her serene refuge on Dragonstone. "I often take Rhaenys here, but you… you've been far too busy to come with me."

He hung his head. "I know." It was known to both of them that he blamed himself, and Rhaegar didn't wish to relitigate it. "You must have found out I built a Godswood for Lyanna."

Sighing, Elia murmured in the affirmative. The Dornish Princess knew the political nature of their marriage… even as they were growing closer than ever before. "It was a beautiful gesture, Rhaegar. You are very romantic."

"I try to be… to both my brides."

The smile stretched sadly. "Lyanna is your great love, Rhaegar. I am the mother of your children and that will always make us close, and I long accepted that. You have no need to brood over it…"

Grabbing her shoulders, Rhaegar stilled her. Eyes filled with a passionate intensity. "Don't say that again, Elia. You are so much more to me than that. I know I haven't… this is the least I can do to show you how much I love you."

"Rhaegar…" Even through the passion and love of the last moonturn, this caused her heart to flutter. "Wait… what is the least you can do?"

Lips curling into a knowing grin, Rhaegar weaved their fingers together. "Just around the corner."

Noticing it for the first time as he guided her, Elia looked up at the new row of hedges planted at the edges of the gardens. Where the hottest part of the bubbling volcanic springs that made the gardens warm enough for planting year-round. Her eyebrows rose as they rounded the hedges, only for both to fly up as her jaw dropped. "What…"

It was unfinished. Dug out holes contrasting with stacked bricks of sandstone and limestone… but Elia wasn't stupid. Lines of palm trees and flowers, feeding off the warmth of the springs. Unfinished columns and pathways styled in the same fashion as her childhood home - dug trenches forming a distinctive geometry of the pools of…

"I know, it's harder to make than a simple northern Godswood, but I wanted you to see." Rhaegar walked to wrap his arms around her shoulders. "Our marriage brought you away from your home at only five-and-ten. You had to endure being in a strange place without familiarity, and I was too foolish to realize it."

"The Water Gardens…" she murmured, turning around. Dark eyes glistening with warmth.

He nodded. "Aye. You always felt so serene in Aegon's Gardens, so you deserved a slice of home. I'm sorry if it's too late…" Rhaegar was cut off - for the second time in twenty-four hours - as one of his wives quickly pressed her lips against his.

Warmth spread through Elia. A love indescribable for the man before her - he had planned this… planned the sweetest of gifts for the both of them. "No," she breathed as she kissed him desperately. "It's perfect… you're perfect." Whatever problems between them, Elia knew enough to enjoy this to its fullest. "I love you, so much." Gods, it felt so good to say.

Rhaegar chuckled as she pulled him to a stone bench, his cloak covering the both of them as Elia began working at the laces of his trousers. "I love you too."

Gasping, Elia angled her hips so that he could hike up her dress. Feeling his hands move from the hem to her breasts. Moaning deeply into his mouth as he squeezed them. "Rhaegar… I… I want… us…"

"I know, Elia, I know." Falling into the crook of her neck, his length slid into her already wet slit. Both of them groaning. "I won't let us fail… not when, ugh, we finally have each other." Sighing in pure joy and lust, Elia lost herself as he began rocking into her.

Notes:

Can we admit that Rhaegar knows what gifts to give his brides? :D

And here we have Viserys entering the frying pan. A victim of his father's growing insanity with the dragon eggs. Poor Rhaella, having to see this happen. But at least she has Jaime.

Next chapter, Tywin makes a betrothal, and the Bear Knight makes his first appearance. Thirty-five reviews and I'll post on Saturday.

Chapter 30: Expectancy

Notes:

Hey everybody. Hope your weekend is going well with all that's going on.

About the issues with the revelation from the last chapter: yes, Jon will emulate his father and Aegon the Conqueror by taking a second bride alongside Daenerys. Yes, it will be obvious who that lucky lady is rather soon. No, it won't be underdeveloped or appear out of nowhere. I intend to make it work and purge all the season 8 bullshit out of the characters so that they are more natural. Fandom wars don't interest me so no character will be bashed beyond their base personality showing itself. I'm gonna take all characters into some interesting avenues, so I'm asking y'all to have an open mind.

I don't intend to disappoint anyone reading. Be they Jonerys fans or otherwise.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Well. Seems like you have the stomach malady, my Lady."

Cersei rolled her eyes. "Oh? I had no idea," she huffed sarcastically.

Her insults were lost on Maester Gladyn - the stooped ancient figure's mind close to senility. Doddering around the spacious workroom, his unchanging loyalty to House Lannister ensured that Tywin wouldn't get rid of him even when Gladyn was past his prime. "Ah, here we go. A salt tonic that will ease the tempest in your belly." He handed a vial to her, snorting back a mouthful of phlegm. "Take this now, and once before every meal."

Cersei was simply too fatigued to lash out. "Thank you, maester," she finally murmured. Pushing herself off the chair. "I shall leave you to your work."

Walking through the airy courtyards and hallways of the great keep of Casterly Rock - nestled high up and carved into the massive mountain of stone overlooking Lannisport harbor - Cerei barely noticed the beautiful views of the sparkling ocean or the interior gardens. Each step she took through the courtyard felt like she was swimming in syrup. It had taken all of her strength to emerge from bed that morning… all Cersei chalked it up to missing Ned. How he held her, kissed her, deliciously thrusting inside her…

Gods, I miss him. Why must this happen to me?!

The sound of swords clashing was enough to roust her mind from its torpor. Apparently five men were assaulting one, but unlike Arthur Dayne's supreme skill Ser Gregor Clegane simply beat aside any foe with his massive bulk. Any man that ran at the mad dog was sent to the ground in one swing of his sword or his fist.

Shuddering at the thought of her father's personal butcher, Cersei turned a corner only to nearly run into someone. Unlike before when this happened - the first time she met her Ned, ironically enough - the visage before her made her flinch. "Lady Cersei," belted Sandor Clegane, his yellow teeth baring into a grin as he found his quarry. "Lord Tywin wants you in his solar."

Trying to ignore the man's half-scarred face - checkered and leathery skin quite disgusting to the eyes - Cersei scowled. "And what does my father wish from me, dog?"

If Sandor was irritated by the common taunt, he didn't show it. He must've heard worse in his day. "Does it look like the Lord of Casterly Rock shares his mind with me?' he deadpanned.

"Ugh, fine." Sandor, like his brother, was a sworn sword to her father. If he was sent to escort Cersei, Tywin was the one behind it. "I'll lead the way."

"Go ahead, my Lady." Before Cersei could brush past him, Sandor's eyes narrowed dangerously. There was Gregor, glaring daggers at Sandor. Their loathing of each other still burning as hotly as the forge that Gregor had shoved Sandor's face into when they were boys. Everyone in Casterly Rock knew that story. I hate Sandor, but… Cersei wouldn't wish that fate on anybody. "Come on." She tugged on his arm, urging him to let it go. "I'm not waiting all day, hound." Sending one last glare at his brother, Sandor complied.

It grew audible even at the beginning of the long corridor. A rage-fueled roar that shook the very stone that Casterly Rock was carved out of. "What in Seven Hells is happening?" Cersei muttered as she approached the door to her father's solar.

"I believe Lord Tywin is yellin' at some poor, dumb cunt," Sandor said flatly, face expressionless when Cersei glared at him.

Cersei could finally make out the specific voices. "Stop being a godsdamned fucking idiot for once in your cursed life!"

"Just because I don't have a stick up my ass about my 'legacy' doesn't mean my life is cursed, brother!" Uncle Gerion…

She could picture her father fuming, struggling not to strangle his youngest brother. "By the Seven… if I hadn't promised mother on her deathbed that I wouldn't kill you, I'd kill you."

Gerion scoffed. "Please, you'd actually shit gold before you spilled the family's blood."

"I'm not letting you become another Tommen II. Disappeared into the ruins of Old Valyria never to be seen again." Cersei's eyes widened. Was her uncle going to Valyria? He will be killed.

"You always looked out for us Ty, and Kev, Tyg, and I have repaid you in full. I'm sick of being always the least of my siblings! I want to do something to prove that I'm as much of a lion as you all are!"

"You can't be a lion if you're fucking dead!"

"Please brothers." Her uncle Kevan. "Let's calm ourselves…"

"Oh for fuck's sake." Unable to stand this, Sandor pushed Cersei aside and knocked on the door. "My Lord, your daughter is here as requested."

Scowling, Tywin took a seat. Taking a sip of chilled wine to calm his system. "Good, Sandor. Take watch outside and see no one disturbs us."

Sandor nodded, complying as soon as Cersei entered. The scene before her was anticlimactic, but it was clear that there had been an argument. Her father was stoic but flushed, gentle uncle Kevan subdued, while uncle Tygett whispering something to an equally flushed Gerion. "Father," she curtseyed. "Uncles."

"Welcome daughter," Tywin said, though his tone was all but welcome. "Have a seat."

Face blank as she was taught, inside Cersei was shaking. The last time something like this happened, it was to inform her that Aerys had denied her betrothal to Rhaegar. "You summoned me?"

He nodded. "As you know, the proper duty of a Lord's son is to marry and make heirs."

"Then you've been an abject failure in teaching your sons, Ty," Gerion quipped, scowling even as Tygett hit him on the shoulder.

"Nevertheless," Tywin continued. "The duty of a daughter is to produce alliances for the benefit of her house." Cersei's fingers gripped the intricately carved wood of the chair arm. "Your grandfather was a fool in how he handled your aunt's betrothal, and perhaps I miscalculated with you and Rhaegar. Therefore, I have given this some thought and settled on a proper match for your hand."

Cersei's heart was beating out of her chest. There was a faint glimmer of hope that Ned… "Who?"

Tywin leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. "We are surrounded on all sides, so an alliance with a Lord Paramount would be quite favorable. While I considered either Lord Jon or Ser Elbert Arryn of the Vale, my primary choice for your hand is Lord Robert Baratheon."

It was as if a knife had been plunged into her chest. Rumors of Robert's whoring were the talk of King's Landing, and after what her beloved told her about the Lord of Storm's End… In the cold hard truth of being betrothed, Cersei realized she couldn't find herself in any way content with anyone but Ned.

A tiny smirk found its way to Tywin's lips. Something to pawn off the Arryns, plus Gerion marrying the younger Tully brat… Aerys, you aren't going to get away with this. He loved it when he outsmarted his enemies. "Tygett and your Aunt Genna will accompany you to Storm's End…"

"No."

Tywin blinked. "What did you say?"

There was no doubt what was going to happen, but Cersei would not let herself be sold to a would be rapist without every chance to marry Ned. "No, I will not go."

"You do realize I am not asking, correct?" A vein bulged in Tywin's skull.

"I'm sure she's just nervous, brother," Kevan stammered. "Genna can…"

Turning to face Kevan, Cersei's green eyes were as firm as her father's. "I am not nervous, uncle. I will not marry Robert Baratheon."

Three pairs of eyes widened, while one narrowed. "You will if I order you to," Tywin seethed. "And I am."

"What's gotten into you, Cersei?" Tygett stammered.

Breathing deeply, Cersei's only hope was to appeal to her father's strategic mind. "I simply do not think that Robert is a wise choice."

While Tywin nearly rose in anger, Gerion was the first to answer. "And why do you think that, niece?"

Thank you, uncle. "Robert is hated by Princess Lyanna. Forming an alliance with him would only antagonize the Targaryens further."

"And who would you suggest for an alliance?"

Cersei gulped, murmuring a silent prayer. "House Stark."

"Brandon Stark is already betrothed to Catelyn Tully," Tygett scoffed. "Unless you wish to marry Lord Rickard?"

"No, Lord Eddard, his second son." Just a tiny bit of joy filled her voice - one Tywin picked up on. "He is close with Princess Lyanna and friends with Prince Rhaegar, and I believe he'll end up Hand of the King someday."

Nodding his head slightly, suddenly Tywin slammed his fist on the desk. "Enough!" He rose, green eyes dark with anger. "You will do as I say!"

Cersei rose as well, trembling but not backing down. "I will not!"

It happened in a flash. One moment Tywin was blindsided by the deliberate disobeyal, the next Cersei was sprawled on the ground - chair knocked over and a stinging pain on her cheek. Tywin standing over her. "How dare you talk back to me!" She tried to sit up when her father grabbed her by her hair. Cersei screeched in pain. "You will marry Robert Baratheon!"

"I'd rather die!" Tywin slugged her across the face. From the pain and the frantic movements, Cersei vomited, doubling over as the Lord of Casterly Rock kicked her in the back. "Father…"

"Don't you father me, you little slut!" He kicked her again, rage clouding his vision and none of his brothers willing to brave his wrath. The wrath that destroyed the Reynes and Tarbecks. "First you fuck your own brother! Having his baby and disgracing my house, but you will not fucking bring what I've done to ruin!"

"Do what… you want…" Cersei gasped, coughing. "But I will never marry that fucking oaf."

Ready to hit her again, Tywin stopped. Too angry to even consider it. "You'll marry him if I have to strap you down and force you at swordpoint!" Spitting on the pathetic sight before him, he stormed out. Followed quickly by Kevan and Tygett.

Curled into a ball, Cersei sobbed quietly. Body aching and heart broken in two - all hope quashed from her. She barely noticed her remaining uncle hug her. "Sandor," Gerion called for the sworn sword. "It's alright, sweetling. You'll be alright."

"No," Cersei choked out. "Nothing'll be alright again."

---

Arms wrapped around Dacey's chest, Arthur brought their lips together as his northern lover rode him like a stallion. "Mmmmhhmm!" She whimpered, clenching around his cock. "Make me cum, Arthur." His hips rocked, skin slapping together. Dacey's lips quivered, eyes shut tight. "Oh gods, like that!"

Cunt like a vice trying to force him out, Arthur thrust harder. "So tight." Tongue flicking on her nipples, just the mere gesture caused her to squeal. Quickly, Arthur pulled back, staring into her eyes.

"Just be gentle… don't stop." And stop he didn't, making the she-bear growl above him. Frantically bucking her hips on his cock. Screaming as her climax shattered her completely… his not long after.

Arthur let out a grunt as Dacey collapsed atop him, bodies flush against each other. "Gods. Are you sure you weren't trained in Dorne?"

Nuzzling the Sword of the Morning's neck, Dacey chuckled. I suppose I was trained by Dorne. "No. You're just a lucky lucky man to have a northerner in your bed." At her last word she yawned, eyes fluttering shut. "Gods, I'm so tired this morning."

"I suppose what we just did doesn't help matters," Arthur quipped. She shimmied off him, wincing when her breasts slid on his bare chest. They had been lovers for long enough - each other's only lover - for Arthur to memorize most details about Dacey. "Are you alright, my lady?"

She nodded sleepily. "Aye…" Dacey was sluggish. "It's… fine, Ser Arthur."

Sighing, Arthur nodded. Swinging out of bed to don his tunic, trousers, and armor. "As you wish, my Lady." One last look at her beautiful face framed by raven hair, kissed by the last tendrils of moonlight, brought him joy that would brighten his duties.

Whistling, Arthur walked into the Dragonstone great hall. Finding his brothers-in-arms, he was relieved at seeing a small roll, an apple, hard cheese, and a tankard of milk waiting for him. "Saves me a journey to the kitchens," he quipped, knife already smearing the cheese onto the roll. Arthur looked up at his brothers. "What?"

Gerold and Oswell looked at him as if he sprouted three heads, while Barristan wore a hint of a grin. Arthur was never this happy in the mornings - at least until this moon. Today was the most obvious though. "Um… Arthur." Gerold suddenly smirked. "Enjoyed your night?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "I do believe you have no authority to ask."

"Come now, you can't hold us out like that, Arthur." Oswell smacked him on the back. "Tell me. Are the northern beauties as wild in coupling as they are generally?"

Barristan kicked Oswell under the table before Arthur could. "Lady Dacey is a highborn and you'll show her respect." It was jovial, but with a hidden steel that forced Oswell to comply. "Sorry about them, Arthur. They're just jealous that they left their mistresses in the capitol." Kingsguards were supposed to be celebate. As was the norm, most didn't bother… Barristan was one that did.

Shrugging, Arthur reached out to pat Oswell's shoulder. "Tis alright. Just don't disrespect Dacey. She means a lot to me."

"Gods, you've fallen for this woman." Gerold looked at him with… respect? "Dare I say love?"

"My vows preclude love," Arthur responded automatically.

"You've always been a stickler," Oswell interjected. "But your vows were broken the moment you slept with her. Dare I say that it means something for you?"

Opening his mouth to respond with the same answer, Arthur found them dying on his tongue. What did he truly wish for with Dacey? "Well." Barristan folded his arms. "I'd like to know this as well, Arthur."

"I…" He'd been so consumed with the physical aspect of his affair with the beautiful Mormont maiden, it was only just know that he realized that Dacey had wormed her way into his heart as well. Intelligent, caring, dutiful, and one impressive fighter… fighting Ironborn and wildlings had given her a fierce combat skill. They had sparred some, and she lasted quite a long time before he disarmed her. The perfect lady for any knight. "I… I guess I've never thought that far ahead between us."

It was an interesting sight - Arthur Dayne fazed by something… or someone. "Don't you think that she may have?" asked Barristan. "If she wished to seduce a kingsguard, then she's either a risk-taker or a woman in love… and I don't think she is the former."

Love. Arthur blinked. Could it be love?

Could I even love? He bit into a chunk of the roll, hoping Rhaegar or Lyanna would be up to a spar - clear his head.

---

"We's hit by dis madman!"

"You little thief! I should slice your hand off!"

"Tooch my 'ife and I'll cave in yer head!"

Ned slammed his fist on the high table. "SILENCE! SILENCE YOU CUNTS!" The squabbling smallfolk and men-at-arms ceasing their inane yells for once. Both supplicants bowed their heads in submission. "That's better."

He found Lady Catelyn's eyes closed, mouth pursed together. Not used to how the northerners hold court. In the Vale, Lord Arryn made sure using his guards to process an orderly court. Andal customs different from that of the First Men, quite a change for the pious Tully.

In all fairness to her, this was a vital headache for the residing Stark of Winterfell. There must always be a Stark at Winterfell. While Catelyn wasn't yet a Stark, she would take part in this under Ned's supervision building a proper rapport with the smallfolk that she had failed at upon first impression. Though she spoke little and left most of it to Ned, she was doing rather well so far. "Now, tell me what the issue before me is."

The merchant stepped forward. "My Lord, these common scum." He pointed to a young Wintertown couple. "They sniffed my pies and refused to pay."

"It was only a sniff, mi'lord," said the woman, possessing a simple, earthy beauty.

"How can I sell my pies to the castle if they are tainted by their filthy noses?"

The husband took offense. "You 'ittle prick…!"

"Calm down." Ned turned to the laborer. "That coinpurse, hold it up." Blinking, the man took the little sack from his belt. "Jingle it a bit." The man complied. "There, your sniffed pies are paid for with the sound of coin. This matter is concluded." Boisterous laughter rang out while the merchant's face reddened to that of a ripe beet. But he didn't leave. "Didn't I say this was concluded?"

"You did, my Lord, my Lady. But I have another complaint to level. Against your Household Guard right there!" The merchant pointed at two guards.

Ned sighed deeply. "Dirk. Torrhen. What happened?"

The merchant was still pissed. "They got into a fight and busted up my tavern. Broke three chairs and a table before I heaved them out."

When their Lord's eyes fell on them, Torrhen shrugged. "We got drunk and had a disagreement mi'Lord."

"An explanation but not an excuse. You'll cut the wood to build him new furniture. Matter closed…"

Before he could finish, Catelyn stood up. "Consumed by drink? Tavern brawls?" She looked disgusted. "I expect better from Knights of the Realm."

Both men blinked, shocked. Knighthood and the Faith of the Seven had no place in the North. "Mi'Lady, we're not…"

"Unacceptable! Every member of the Household Guard is to adhere to the code of chivalry. I have seen enough disgraceful behavior."

Hearing murmurs from the onlookers, Ned tried to cut in. "Catelyn, perhaps…"

But she didn't care. "I am placing you in the cells for one week to think about your unchivalrous conduct. Take them away." With the Tully guards already complying with their lady's orders, there was nothing that Ned could do… except watch the glares of the crowds as Catelyn's adherence to southern norms only served to further divide the populace against her.

Bran can't come back soon enough...

"Lord Stark."

Court dismissed only moments before, Ned continued walking several paces before he realized that he was being called on. "Oh." He turned, finding a young warrior coiffed hair and a close-cropped beard approaching him. "Forgive me, I'm honestly not used to my father or brother's title," Ned grinned, taking the man's outstretched hand. "What do you need…"

The man smiled. "Jorah. Jorah Mormont."

Finally noticing the bear sigil emblazoned on his leathers. "Ah, Lord Mormont. I'm glad to meet your acquaintance."

Jorah shook his head. "No, the honor is mine to meet the warrior that vanquished the Sword of the Morning."

Ned snorted. "Arthur Dayne is very much alive - it was a mere sparring session." Yet, he couldn't help but enjoy the praise. "Is your father with you?"

"Sadly no. I would have joined my sister in King's Landing but I was stuck at Castle Black… my father is a stickler for the 'Northern duty.' One day he'll take the black, I suppose." Older brother to Dacey, the young bear was a veteran of Ironborn and wildling raids. That and his loyalty made him prime recruitment for the conspirators. "Howland Reed said you wished to speak?"

"Let's talk in my father's solar. Mine until my brother arrives."

"Ah, staying with Lord Stark in the capitol? My congratulations on such an illustrious honor for House Stark, even if Lady Lyanna will have to share the title of Queen."

"Dragons answer to neither gods nor men, and Rhaegar is the perfect man for my sister. They love each other." Ned smiled wistfully just as they reached his solar. Entering, he was not surprised to find Howland waiting for him… Ned was surprised to see who had joined him. "Lord Bolton."

Roose Bolton's narrow eyes and deathly calm exterior hid someone that still flayed men in secret - a man from the house of natural rivals to House Stark. "Lord Eddard. It seems that you have been doing quite well for yourself. Shame the future Lady is causing such grumbles."

There was no good answer to that, so Ned didn't bother. "What do you want, Lord Bolton? I am quite busy."

While the man only smiled, Howland cleared his throat. "He knows, Ned." He winced as the second son's eyes widened. "Don't ask me how."

Resisting the urge to grab his knife - both dishonorable and would cause a certain revolt - Ned reasoned that had Bolton sought to do anything someone would have died by now. "Speak, Lord Bolton. I presume you do have something to say?'

"You presume correctly." Smile still foreboding, he continued. "I have no interest in betraying anyone, and wish to pledge House Bolton to your quest."

"What quest?" Jorah asked in confusion, but was ignored.

Ned's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"Given what I found of His Grace, I very much doubt he'd be very forgiving of any Northerner if relations with House Stark… had a falling out. I would be in jeopardy, as would the trade agreements I forged with the merchants of the Free Cities."

"Excuse me, but what in seven hells is going on?" Jorah's behavior would have been comical if the subject wasn't so serious.

Sighing once more, Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. "It starts with an attempt by the King to take the life of my sister…"

"Did you see how uncouth these supposed Highborns are?" While many of Catelyn's retinue were struggling to adapt to the North, Septa Mordane was having the worst of it. "Lord Umber left a trail of chicken legs behind him and Lord Cerwyn gave you lustful stares."

"They aren't all uncouth. My goodbrother has honor, and Lord Bolton was rather noble is spite of the reputation his house."

"Well…" The Septa huffed. "While I can't speak for Lord Bolton, Lord Stark was fostered by Lord Arryn. The rest… it's no wonder that the Princess Lyanna and Lady Dacey are the way they are. Even the Dornish have some courtly manners."

Catelyn winced. "Do not speak ill of my goodsister - she is as venerated as the Maiden within these walls." As the Septa quieted down, the future Lady of Winterfell was thankful the hallways were deserted. "Now," she said at finding her chambers. "I'll see you before dinner for the evening prayers."

"Good." Mordane curtseyed. "Till later, my Lady."

Door closing, Catelyn sighed deeply as she fell back against it. Allowing her facade to crumble. Walking through the room, she prayed to the Mother that Brandon would arrive soon - give her an ally among the Northmen. Calm her discomfort with his pleasing touch…

Not wishing to feel her smallclothes dampen with a longing arousal, she took a seat at her desk. Deciding to write the only other person that could truly comfort her at this low point in her life.

My dearest brother Petyr,

I pray to each of the Seven that Edmure, Lysa, and yourself are well in the comfort of our home.

I cannot begin to explain the North to you, nor how I fondly wish I was in Riverrun. These people are awful. Uncouth, uncultured barbarians one step above wildlings. Ned and perhaps Lords Bolton and Mormont and the only ones that I can tolerate. My fondest wish is that Brandon arrives soon, and that his noble bearing helps me bring culture to this frozen wasteland.

There is no Sept here, so I am reduced to my rites in my own chambers. When I am the Lady of this castle with children of my own, they shall be raised as proper Lords and Ladies that would be welcome at our home.

Please write soon, and I hope that you could visit Winterfell sometime in the future. I could use the presence of a true friend.

Cat.

---

Smile stretching from ear to ear, Lyanna watched as the adorable violet-eyed babe crawled shakily to her. "Come here, Egg," she reached out her arms. "Come to muna."

Prince Aegon looked up with an open mouth at his birth mother. Elia nodded, smile just as wide. "It's fine, little dragon. Go on."

Without further hesitation, Egg crawled all the way to Lyanna. Giggling as he was scooped up in his muna's arms. "I'm so proud of you!" She hugged Aegon close to her. "I can't believe I missed his first crawl."

"It was amazing," Elia beamed. Ending up wrapping her arms around Lyanna as well. "You'll still have his other moments. Perhaps his first steps, or words?"

"Or our new children." Pressing a kiss to the crown of Aegon's head, Lyanna imagined a child growing within her. Raised by all three of them as it was supposed to be with the conquerors.

Closing her eyes, parsing her sister-wife's words, Elia repeated what had been said over and over again in her head. Lyanna loves Egg and Rhae. She'd never usurp them. It hurt her heart that these thoughts even came in her head, so she just hugged the two of them closer. Enjoying her baby's silent murmurs and the piney scent of Lyanna's hair. Unable to resist splaying her hands on her sister-wife's slender back…

Suddenly, Lyanna stood, face green. "Shit…" Scrambling to the window, she voided her stomach of all its contents. Groaning as tears came to her eyes, weakly pounding her fist upon the ledge in frustration. "Motherfucker!"

Luckily, Elia's hold kept Aegon secure. "Language, Lyanna. Not in front of my… our son." She caught herself.

Lyanna wasn't in the proper frame to pick on the faux pax. "Sorry, Elia… seven hells, this is the second time today!" Pulling back, she winced as Elia set Egg back in his crib. "My stomach has been a blowing blizzard for days, then this morning I couldn't break my fast without erupting." Her mouth tasted disgusting. "Gods… why me?"

"Stomach sickness?" Elia inquired, brow risen. "Could be something noxious you've eaten, or a nasty vapor." Or could be… "Do you wish to see Maester Marwyn?"

Sighing, Lyanna nodded. "I think I should." While Maester Luwin had been kind and sweet, she normally hated visiting them and enduring all the pokes and prods and disgusting brews. But the irritation in her abdomen was just getting to her. "Yes, let's go."

After kissing Aegon's sleeping cheek one last time, Lyanna walked slowly down the corridors towards the Maester's quarters. Elia's arm around her waist, helping her along. Her stomach continued to churn, but the touch of her sister-wife was calming. Almost as good as Rhaegar's touch. "Thank you," she said warmly.

Elia smiled softly. "No need to thank me, sister."

Blushing slightly, Lyanna leaned in a bit more to Elia. Enjoying it. Mind drifting to what Targaryens did with their sisters…

Speaking of Targaryens… "Muna! Muna!" Black curls bouncing, the bundle of giggles and joy slammed into the both of them. Cradling her cat in her arms. "I miss you. Pwease play with me and Bawlerion!"

Normally both women would adore playing with their little dragon princess, but Rhaenys' exuberance was threatening to restart Lyanna's stomach sickness all over again. "Oh, sweetling, we'd love to, but…"

"Oh, your Graces." Trotting up, Barristan bowed shallowly. "Forgive me, but the sweet child is a tough one to keep attention on."

Just like Oberyn. Elia couldn't count how many times he'd escape his maids buck naked and running around. Not that he's changed much since then. Seeing Lyanna fighting another void, Elia ruffled her daughter's hair. "We'd love to, but muna isn't up to it."

The two violet eyes stared, glistening in absolute cuteness. "But Ser Bawistan bowing…" She lightly stroked the cat's fur, Balerion purring.

Shrugging, the Knight chuckled. "I don't want to risk hurting her. She plays rough." That did sound like Rhaenys…

"But I thought aunt Dacey and aunt Ellaria were playing with you?" That was their duty for the day, care for the Princess.

"They in aunt Dacey's chambers. Aunt Dacey gween… like muna." She pointed at Lyanna's green gills.

Both Princesses looked worried at each other. "Barristan, please take her…"

"No, I stay with muna!" she shrieked.

"Very well, but keep her behind us." If there was some kind of vapor going around… first Lyanna and now Dacey…

As Rhaenys had told them, both royals found Dacey quiet and looking completely haggard. Eyes sunken slightly, but also filled with unshed tears. Her own stomach sickness forgotten, Lyanna went to her friend. "What happened?"

Dacey sniffled, head hung down. "I woke up too tired to get out of bed, and I lost my stomach when I finally did…"

From where she was sitting, rubbing her back, Ellaria interjected. "What my friend is saying is that she's fallen ill because she's with child."

"Ellaria!" Dacey hissed, eyes blazing. The Princesses were stunned, Rhaenys confused in her childlike innocence, and Barristan looking like he wished to be anywhere else - he knew exactly who the father was. "I told you to keep it to yourself!"

"Well you know I don't do well with oaths," she replied, standing firm. "Besides, they deserve to know. What? Think you can hide this from them till the future Sword of the Morning pops his head out of your womb and shouts 'Where's my fucking blade?'"

"Ellaria!" This time it came from three throats.

Recovering from the shock, Elia looked at the northerner. "How long did you know?"

She closes her eyes. "Just today, when I went to the Maester. I'm a moonturn along. My moon blood was supposed to come last week, but I figured it was nothing…" She buries her face in her hands, sobbing lightly.

Lyanna hugged her. "Is it… Arthur's." Barristan winced behind them.

Saved nodded. "Gods… how do I tell him? We never thought…"

"That's what happens when you don't drink moontea," Ellaria blurted out, only to get a glare from Lyanna. "What?"

Ignoring her, Dacey continued to cry. "His vows… a bastard… what if he doesn't want a child… what if he rejects me?" The thought was killing her. "I think I love him…"

"He'll be shocked, my Lady," Barristan stated. "But he'll not reject the child, I promise." That seemed to calm Dacey down enough for Lyanna to comfort her.

But Elia's mind was whirring, "Lya, when was your last moonblood?"

"Three… three weeks before the wedding. It was the first time Aerys…" Wait, had dealing with her goodfather made her forget…? "What does that have to do with anything?"

Glancing at Ellaria, her Lady in Waiting knew what to do. Darting forward, she grabbed Lyanna's breasts. "Hey!" She pushed away not before Ellaria gave a painful squeeze.

"Mother Rhoyne, I admire his Grace's taste," she quipped. "Aye, Elia. They feel swollen."

While Dacey was wide-eyed in understanding, Lyanna just glared. "Yes, because you squeezed it."

"No, sister." Elia sat next to Lyanna. "I had my suspicions, but I'm sure now." A smile spread across her face. "You're with child. Our husband's child."

Gasping, Lyanna looked around the chambers. Finding faces filled with joy for her - even Dacey put aside her problems to hug her this time. "Congratulations, your Grace." Barristan beamed.

"But I… early… just married…" Holding her abdomen, another gasp tumbled out. There was something there - be it instinct or magic… Lyanna felt a life growing there. A dragonwolf… mine and Rhaegar's.

"Yay, muna!" Rhaenys was hugging her instantly. "I wanna brudder. Pwease, pwease a brudder. Pwetty pwease!"

Jon… Jon or Visenya. You'll be here in eight moons. Looking from Rhaenys to Ellaria to Dacey to Barristan and finally to Elia, just as it sunk in a brilliant smile formed. Lost in tears of joy. My babe.

Notes:

So many pregnancies! :D

Cersei's not gonna give in so easy. She is in love and isn't gonna let her father marry her to that oaf without a fight.

Arthur and Dacey really went from zero to ninety didn't they?

So Ned has Howland, Jorah, and Roose Bolton on his war council. One of those doesn't fit with the others.

Dragonwolf's a comin!

Next chapter, Cersei really pisses off her father and Melisandre has a vision.

Chapter 31: Futures

Notes:

Hey all. Hope things are going well and everyone is staying safe.

Some troll attacked the story snd said i don't know how GOT works, namely on the issue of the court scene in the North, Ellaria being Elia's Lady in Waiting, and the diologue:

Nee is not s Lord, he thinks of his father as the Lord. Thats the key here, not the titles. Second, Catelyn has guards in the North because she is not a Stark yet. She is still a Tully. Third, as we all know Ned is the personality to try and avoid conflict.

About Ellaria, yes, she's a bastard. This is less of an issue in Dorne, especially considered in canon. Elia chose her because they are friends. She may be a bit over the top sometimes but it's close to her canon personality and her being there is not out of the ordinary.

As for the words... mea culpa. I'm doing this in my free time and while I try to be period accurate I never did borrow the Delorean so i could go to 14th Century Europe to study the language. If this is your complaint, it's a weak ass one.

Tags for the story have been adjusted to confirm various character changes planned for the future (far future in some cases).

Enjoy and please comment :D

"So the Greyjoys?"

Jon Connington nodded. "Raiding the west coast of the North… Deepwood Motte, Bear Island, Stony Shore, it'll weaken the northerners while giving them the excuse to move troops to Moat Cailin." Fucking hells, working with the Starks. "No reply to any of our feelers to Bolton."

"That's unfortunate." Master-at-Arms Ser Willam Darry - cousin to Lord Darry of the Riverlands and brother to Ser Jonothor of the Kingsguard - shrugged his shoulders. "North is united. Riverlands not so much, but most will follow Hoster Tully into the Seven Hells… maybe not Mooton and Bracken."

"Not the best hope, but it'll do." Pulling out a stack of dispatches, he handed two to Darry. "Transcribed communications intercepted from between here and Highgarden and here and Winterfell."

Darry pursed his lips, nodding. "I'd like to see what Rickard Stark says. Tyrell is a dullard that simply wants his daughter to be Queen or close to it."

That was the obvious truth - luckily for Connington's ends male succession kept the more capable Mina or Janna Tyrell away. I'll pawn Aegon off to his daughter once these things are settled. Rhaegar won't be in a position to say no, what with his brides out of the picture.

Under no circumstances was Connington planning to betray Rhaegar - at least that was what he told himself. I love him… probably the only one who truly does aside from his mother. But Rhaella was weak and he was strong, hence Connington placing it on himself to secure Rhaegar's best interests. A strong and united realm with his silver prince as the undisputed monarch. No powerful enemies, Queens uncontrolling, and a proper lover in his bed. One that only cared for the King.

Naturally, in both his plans and his late-night fantasies, Connington envisioned himself in that role. But to achieve that, he would need true allies not tainted by wolves or vipers. Velaryon, Staunton, Chelsted, Symun 'Silveraxe' Fell, the brothers Darry… Getting Jaime Lannister would have been best, but his head was figuratively up Queen Rhaella's cunt. Useless to approach him.

His thoughts went back to the dispatches. "Olenna wants Mace to put aside his hatred of the Dornish and betroth Margaery to Aegon, and that Mace's observations that the King would rather have Viserys on the throne is wishful thinking."

"Finally a smart thought from the fool. And the Starks?"

Connington chuckled. "Rickard wants Ned to work harder in convincing Catelyn Tully to adapt to the North. Apparently she's treating Winterfell as she would a keep in the Honeywine Valley."

Darry stifled a laugh. "This could be easier than I thought."

An hour later, the Hand was pressing his seal on various royal documents when there was a knock at the door. It revealed Varys. "Good morning, Lord Hand. I bear news from our Warden of the West."

He stiffened. "What do your little birds sing now?"

"The songs they sing are of Tywin offering the prize of a maiden daughter to a rather reluctant Robert Baratheon, the latter still pining after our dear Princess."

Groaning, Connington resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. "Gods, this is a disaster." The old lion could march on the capitol on his own accord with the Baratheon forces. They'd be none the wiser till whatever thug Tywin had in his employ lopped their heads off.

"I wouldn't worry just yet, Lord Hand." Even when offered a seat, Varys refused. "The little robins also chirp of a battle of wills within Casterly Rock. That Lady Cersei wishes not Lord Robert, but rather Lord Eddard."

This bit of news caused Connington's eyes to open as wide as an owl. Cersei looked down on Tyrells, let alone the boorish Northerners. "And how does this affect anything?" Tywin could simply smack the girl around and force the marriage. It's what he would have done.

"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps it buys you time to make your own arrangement." Heading to the door, the Master of Whisperers gave Connington one last look. "I wouldn't doubt Robert taking the Princess if you… found it in the Realm's best interest for House Stark to resume its isolation."

Alone once more, Connington fell back in his chair. Staring at the ceiling and feeling as if he had gone five sparring sets with Arthur Dayne. Tywin allying with Robert… Cersei loving Ned… All pointing to a situation in flux - and ripe for exploitation if he was quick about it.

His head throbbed as he thought. The fact remained that the Baratheons were not reliable… at least Robert wasn't. Stannis was competent if a cold fish, while Renly was too young. They weren't likely allies of either side… unless…

Connington sat up, eyes twinkling. A drunken, mercurial brute that hates Rhaegar for stealing his betrothed? Uncontrollable. Reckless… a perfect person to use for actions that he himself would be best to stay an arm's length from, yet also being in need of a scapegoat after the fact. Perfect. He dipped his quill in ink and began scribbling. Hopefully Stannis would see it first and treat the matter with discretion. Who am I kidding? The odds that Robert would go near there bordered on nil… unless some whore demanded he fuck her in the Rookery.

Mind flashing with an explicit image of him and Rhaegar in such a position, he forced himself to keep writing. In due time, Jon. In due time.

---

Chewing her lip ever so slightly, Lyanna allowed her excitement to temper the slight fatigue she was feeling. A babe. Mine and Rhaegar's. It was a dream… the most wondrous dream.

Sitting on the other side of the Dragonglass Throne, Lyanna watched her sister-wife. Elia was just as delighted at a new babe arriving in the family, airy smile in place for days as the reality seeped in - one that translated into the bedroom when she and their husband coupled…

Well, the airy smile that would have happened had she not been apprehensive of today's events. "Calm down, Elia." Lyanna had to bite her tongue to keep from giggling at the neurotic Dornish Princess.

"I'm calm," she countered, only to notice her leg bouncing. Lyanna giggling at it. "Alright," Elia confessed, smiling softly. "I may be a little nervous."

"Why would you be?"

A sigh. "Well, I am meeting your final to our children."

Lyanna quirked an eyebrow. "And why would that make you nervous?" As Elia but her lip, she understood. "Oh I see." She laughed. "You're worries my brother won't like you."

"Isn't it a valid worry. Doran already hates you."

"He's never met me."

"Doesn't matter. You're a political threat and that's enough for him. What if Benjen's the same way?" Given how she was raised, it was her deepest insecurity. The personal and intimate being merely shadows and masks for the game of thrones.

Lyanna snorted. "Benjen is the last person who'd be like that. He has Ned's honor and Bran's zest for life." Elia nodded, but her leg still bounced.

Shaking her head with a smirk, Lyanna's attention was drawn aside as Rhaegar entered - dashing in a dark-red doublet and black trousers - with young Garlan Tyrell hurrying after. "My brides." As he kissed Elia deeply, Lyanna watched him with hungry eyes. Wishing she could strip him bare and devour him… was this the result of the babe, or just love? Likely both. "Lya." However, she'd simply have to settle with his passionate kiss, lingering with biting his lip sensually. "Later, my love," smirked Rhaegar.

Her eyes sparkled, seeing him sit upon the throne. "Is he here?"

Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, he's here. Arthur says his blade skills pass muster." Beaming in pride for her little brother, Lyanna leaned back. "Send them in," boomed the Crown Prince.

While Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan took position in front of the royals and Garlan behind, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell escorted a young man. Eyes meeting, undoubtedly matching smiles found Benjen and Lyanna's faces, being so long. So much changing, Lyanna leaving as a sullen maiden and Benjen a directionless youth, now Lyanna a Princess and Benjen a Kingsguard-to-be. "You stand before Rhaegar of House Targaryen, rightful Crown Prince of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men," announced Ser Barristan.

Clearing his throat, Gerold stepped forward. "This is Be…"

Never one for convention, now that things were far more informal Lyanna swept it aside. "Brother!"

Benjen nearly toppled over when the Princess slammed into him, squeezing him in a tight embrace. "It's good to see you, Lya," he beamed, hugging her back.

While the royal court would have whispered scandal, Rhaegar and Elia only laughed at the situation, as did the Kingsguards. "Well wife, there's no doubt as to who he is."

"Agreed, husband," Elia replied. "Benjen," she said, her goodbrother looking away from the happy reunion. "We are glad to have you at Dragonstone." No man who greeted his sister so warmly could be inherently cold and sullen

He smiled sheepishly. "Tis fine, your Grace. It is I who should be thanking you for the honor of a lifetime."

"You deserve it, stupid," Lyanna laughed, kissing him on the cheek before resuming her seat.

Rhaegar looked at Benjen. "Now, shall we get the formalities over with?" At Gerold's nod - he was Lord Commander after all - Rhaegar stood. Garlan presented him with Blackfyre, which he drew seamlessly. Benjen's eyes widening at the sight of such a famous blade before falling to his knee. "Benjen Stark," he raised Blackfyre into the air. "Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves? To protect all women and children? To obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king? To fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

The northern princess watched with a smile. It warmed her heart that Rhaegar used the more informal oath rather than the one professing piety to the Seven. My perfect husband. A quick glance to Elia found the other woman smiling as well. Both knowing what was the truth. Now she would always have a connection to her northern family, Benjen by her side. Lyanna knew that while others might be wretches and forget their oaths, Benjen wouldn't. Her sweet, kind if mischievous brother, a proper knight.

"I so swear, my Prince," Benjen finally said.

Gently, Rhaegar tapped the young man's shoulder. "In the name of Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name, I proclaim you Ser Benjen of House Stark, sworn brother of the Kingsguard."

"Ser Benjen!" shouted the four Kingsguards.

"Ser Benjen!" whooped Lyanna, racing down to hug him again.

---

As she expected, Sandor entered her chambers without so much as a knock at the door. Only this time, there was no tray of bread, water, and porridge, the proper meal for a disobedient child. "Where's my supper, hound?" she scowled.

"I don't got your fuckin' supper," he growled back. Apparently, Cersei's nickname for him stuck and it did not improve his disposition towards her. "You've got a visitor."

Cersei furrowed her brows. Her father had essentially locked her in complete isolation and starvation rations - at least they were starvation rations given the stomach malady that continued to roil her - until she 'came to her senses' and agreed to go to Storm's End with a smile on her face. As if… I will never marry that oaf. Only Ned. That attitude quickly drew away her father like the pox, willing to wait her out.

As such, Cersei was quite surprised that someone would visit. "Who?"

Before Sandor could answer, he seemed to grimace. Coincidently just as a shrill voice warbled out. "Why are you still standing there, scar-faced dog!"

That voice was one any highborn in the Westerlands would recognize. "Aunt Genna?"

The voluptuous figure of Lady Genna Lannister stormed inside. Poofy golden curls bobbing up and down and buxom chest nearly bursting from her skin-tight red gown. "Did you not hear me?" As she spoke, the larger-than-life sister of Lord Tywin advanced upon the still seated Cersei and pulled her into a tight hug.

Sandor couldn't be told twice to leave. "I shall be outside if you need me… my Lady." The last sounded close to an epithet.

With the door shut, Genna's face shifted to one of concern. "My dear Cer Cer." Her arms tightened, pushing Cersei harder into her bosom. "Ger sent for me and Emmon, and I'm sorry for taking so long to get here. Lady Crakehall just had to yak yak yak about gods only know what."

"Aunt Genna…" Cersei croaked… "You're crushing me…" A gurgling cough. "Can't breathe…" As if the older Lannister finally heard her, the grip was released and Cersei collapsed onto the bed. Stomach churning as she scrambled for the chamber pot, releasing its meager contents. "Fuck… what is wrong with me?!"

A gentle hand caressed her back. Pulling her hair out of the way. "Oh, Cer Cer." What a sight the 'Light of the West' might have been. Skin pale, eyes bloodshot. Much of her cheeks and torso bruised from her father's assaults. Cersei looked as shitty as she felt. "What has you so ill?"

"Other than father using me as a training dummy?" Cersei snapped, only for her stomach to spasm. "Seven hells, just the stomach malady."

"We all have that…" Genna trailed off, regarding Cersei with a queer expression. "Tell me, was what your uncle told me true? That you begged your father to marry the second son of the Warden of the North? Eckard Stark or something?"

Cersei groaned. She really didn't want to talk about it, but Aunt Genna was like a second mother to her - the one who raised her, Jaime, and Tyrion after Joanna Lannister died. If anyone was owed an explanation or was safe to speak with, it was her. "Eddard Stark."

Genna nodded. "Did you couple with him?" At Cersei's blush, she patted her shoulder, urging the girl to sit next to her. "Don't be embarrassed my dear. It's not like I don't know what fucking is."

The young lioness blushed. "Aunt Genna…"

"No, tell me the truth."

She sighed. "Yes… I did." A warmth spread through Cersei, remembering just how wonderful it was. "Many times."

Clicking her tongue, Genna chuckled. "Never have seen a Stark, but I've seen Blackwoods. Blood of the First Men… dark and mysterious." Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Genna pulled Cersei against her. "Did you stop to consider you may be with child?"

Gasping, Cersei stared wide eyed at her aunt… and then her stomach… and back to her aunt. "What? But I… no… um…" Biting her lip, she felt her belly. No swell of a babe, but ever so taut…

She had her answer.

---

Barely moments after the servant set the tray of drinks upon the table did the armored men grab the mugs. Froth dripping onto the tabletop as they held them high. "To Ser Benjen of House Stark, newest brother of the Kingsguard!" announced Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the august institution. "May his deeds be glorious, life long, and his page in the white book extensive!"

The mugs clinked together. "HERE HERE!" Without delay, all five brothers threw their heads back. Hearty Northern ale disappearing down their gulping gullets as fast as each of them could swallow.

Benjen's crashed down before the others, only a ring of foam on the rim and in his mustache left of his helping. Looking at their ruddy faces and unfinished mugs, he chuckled. "Southerners…" Benjen shook his head. "So used to your fruity piss, can't handle a proper drink."

"Proper drink?" Oswell choked out incredulously. "That tasted like dishwashing swill."

"Like you know what that tastes like," Barristan drolled, taking another swig. "I've had ale before in the field, but nothing as strong as this."

Smirking, Benjen slapped his new brother in white on the back, nearly making Barristan spit out his helping. "That's cause none of you ever had a proper Northern ale. Only the mountain clans make something stronger, but I'm not sure any of you are strong enough."

Oswell scoffed. "I'll take that challenge." The knight banged his palm on the table.

"Will you shush. You're not a child," Barristan chided. "We all remember what happened when you drank that Tyroshi rum."

"I told you never to speak of that," Oswell hissed, eyes darkening.

It was Gerold's turn to laugh, nudging Benjen's side. "He took a giant swig of it only to puke. If It hadn't been for Ser Jaime then her Grace the Queen would have slipped right into all of it." A chorus of laughs were had at Ser Oswell's expense. "You're gonna get along just fine, Benjen. Duncan the Tall reborn, only far shorter."

The young pup nodded. Duncan the Tall? Gods, it would take a lifetime to fill in the White Book enough to match the men at this table. "Good luck to me, I presume." Flagging down another mug, this time he merely sipped the brew. "Need I worry about the three others?"

"Jaime's fine," Oswell shrugged. "If a bit straightlaced and broody. Lewyn is the same, only without the brooding. Jonothor…"

"Jonothor has a stick up his ass," Arthur belched, frown on his face.

Blinking, Benjen couldn't place this with what he had heard of the great Arthur Dayne. "He always like this?"

Glancing at Arthur, Oswell only smirked. "No, not always. I believe he has a lover's spat."

"Kingsguards cannot take lovers. It's forbidden."

It took a moment before Gerold and Oswell both burst out in laughter. "Ah, to be young and idealistic," the Lord Commander chortled. "Arthur here has been sharing the bed of her Grace's lady in waiting."

A snort. "Ellaria Sand? Bran warned me about her in his letters."

"Not her, your sister's lady."

Benjen nearly spat out his drink. "Dacey Mormont is your lover?"

"She was at least." A despondent Arthur was… rather depressing to watch. "I have no idea what happened? We made love that morning, and then nothing but avoided contact or whispered excuses."

"Probably she has unwelcome news from home… or she's ill," Barristan mused. "Either way, if she truly cares for you, this will last but a fleeting time."

"I'd hope so. Dacey Mormont, mate." Benjen shook his head with a smirk. "She's gorgeous."

"You should see his sister," grinned Oswell. "Prettiest of anyone not of Targaryen blood or married to a Targaryen… not that you'd have a shot with her or anything. Very very picky… argh…"

Arthur glared at Oswell after punching his exposed shoulder. "Don't talk about my sister."

"There's the Arthur we sometimes love," Gerold boasted, hoisting his mug up again. "To the White Cloaks."

This was something all could get behind. "The White Cloaks!"

---

"You're smiling, Elia." It was less of a question and more an observation - her smiles had been so rare that Rhaegar grew to cherish each one.

The Dornish Princess shrugged. "I can officially say that I am fond of each and every member of House Stark"

What if they are not fond of you…? Elia shook away an odd voice in her head.

Rhaegar arched an eyebrow. "Need I be jealous?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Firstly, the man who is going to sleep in a bed with his other wife doesn't have leave to be jealous." Elia smirked at Rhaegar's blush. "And besides, I am not Ellaria and Benjen is not Oberyn."

"I would hope not. One Oberyn is enough for the world."

"You are speaking of my brother, Rhaegar… but I agree with you." Elia never remembered being so content, simply bantering with her husband. Hopefully it would only get better. "Benjen reminds me more of a younger Ser Arthur."

His brows furrowed. "Ser Arthur isn't old… hells, he's only one nameday older than I."

"Exactly," she grinned. "Practically aged and infirm." Elia bumped him with her hip and giggled… only to be pinned on the wall of her door. Rhaegar growling as he kissed her. Amusement melting into desire as she kissed him back - moaning when his hands groped her pert breasts under her dress. Lidded eyes staring back at him, she sighed. "I would never stray." Grabbing his hand, she placed it over her chest. "My heart is yours."

Rhaegar smiled, kissing her sweetly. "Mine is yours and Lya's."

Wishing to pull him in and ravish him, Elia knew of their arrangement. "Good night, husband. I will see you in the morning." Another kiss, then he stepped away. Elia resisting every urge to follow him… even if she would see Lyanna as well.

Perhaps that was an incentive, not a detriment...

Lights all out in the chambers, the Prince expected his bride to be waiting for him. Completely nude, perhaps… He grinned. His direwolf was insatiable. Climbing on the bed, he reached for the far side...

Only to find the bed empty. Sheets cold. "Lya?"

Suddenly the room filled with a gentle light. "Right here."

Seven fucking hells… There was Lyanna, dressed in his house colors. Hair pulled up in a simple bun with ringlets falling across her creamy neck and shoulders, the black leather cuirass fit her tight body perfectly - no tunic, the hard leather pushing up the tops of her buxom breasts. Topping it off was a red skirt with black frills… A sort of fetishized version of Visenya Targaryen. Fuck me…

Lyanna's embarrassment at dressing like this all evaporated at Rhaegar's look. Part stunned silence, part utter lust that darkened his eyes. Her confidence surged. "Does my warrior prince enjoy his bride tonight?"

He could only nod dumbly. "What… what is this, Lya?"

Butterflies in her stomach, Lyanna fought the blush that threatened to creep up on her cheeks. Resolved to inform him of the wonderful miracle they created after arriving at the capitol, so it could be announced formally to the Small Council, the princess still felt they should celebrate. "I would think it obvious, my Prince."

Mouth dry, Rhaegar's hungry gaze worked her top to bottom. "You look stunning."

Lyanna was enjoying this… simply a dozen nighttime fantasies rolled into one. Bare feet cold upon the grey stone floor, hands on her hips as she towered over her husband. "Now, are you going to try and tame your powerful Queen, my King?"

Irises darkening in hunger, Rhaegar grabbed Lyanna by her trim waist and pulled her onto the bed. Growling like a dragon as he mounted her… only for the she-wolf to catch him off guard. Wrapping her legs around his hips and flipping him over. Hands splayed on his bare chest. "Oh, so my Queen is going to tame her dragon."

"Mmmm, my dragon." A roll of her hips confessed a lack of smallclothes. "My dragon… mine…" Only with Elia would she share Rhaegar - his intelligence, his strength, his beautiful face… Lyanna caressed his hair, the shimmering silver locks. Her hands drifted along the chiseled chest and stomach, reaching his loose trousers which she frantically yanked down. That thick, powerful cock… all mine.

Just as her wet folds enveloped him with a tight perfection, he reached up. Yanking her bare mounds from their leather prison. Large and perky, the perfect size for his hands as they kneaded them. Thumbing her nipples.

The jolt of his touch made Lyanna yelp… moaning at the delicious stretch of her walls around his cock. Gods, this was the only cock she had but instinctively knew there was no better. None that would compare to the pleasure Rhaegar's gave her. "Yes, love… grope me. Ravish your Queen." A burning pressure building inside her, Lyanna couldn't wait. Quivering lips unable to hold back her screams of pleasure once riding him. Bucking atop him as if she were on Winter.

This woman… she did things to him. Entranced the Crown Prince of Westeros to the point where Rhaegar almost forgot his own name. Growing harder inside her, hips joining hers to hit up just as she pushed down. Shut eyes fluttering open to watch hers. The wolfish grey staring down with complete lust.

Lya's heart was beating out of her chest throat hoarse from her screams. "Get it off…" It came as a trembling whimper, Rhaegar slamming hard into her cunt. Her hands gestured to the cuirass, struggling with the laces. "Off…" Rhaegar leaned forward, attacking her nipples as he helped her. Cuirass peeling off, the Prince using the distraction to flip her around.

Rhaegar slammed into her hard, turning his bride to jelly. "You're my wolf, Lya."

Her mouth gaped in a silent scream. "Yours…"

"No other man touches you!" he growled.

"No other! I'm Yours!"

In the adjacent chambers, separated by walls not as thick as once thought, the moans and grunts and harried screams of pleasure - hushed as they were - drowned out the tiny mewls from Princess Elia Targaryen. Snuggled under the thick covers, her nightgown was yanked up to her waist. Eyes closed as her fingers stabbed through her cunt, pleasuring herself to the sounds of lovemaking in the royal chambers.

"So close, Lya… so close…"

"Yes, Rhaegar… fuck… yes, yes…"

The words dissolved into formless babble, the Northern beauty clearly shattering as the Prince erupted into her. Joined by Elia, her climax ripping through her just as Lyanna's did. Lya… Rhaegar… fuck...

---

Tywin Lannister erupting in rage was not unknown to Cersei. Scream, shout, toss things about the room… even assault her on occasion… but she had never once seen him so enraged as to be completely speechless. The mighty Lord of Casterly Rock, seated upon the chair of the keep's audience room with a vein throbbing on the side of his head and a dark, sunken glare in his green eyes.

Throat dry, Cersei gulped. "Father… I…"

"Explain this to me one last time, daughter." Tywin's voice was low. Dangerous. "Are you telling me that you are with child?"

Turning her head under the withering glare of her intimidating father, both the gazes of her Aunt Genna and Uncle Gerion were supportive - Uncle Emmon Frey looked like he was about to piss himself. "Yes, father. I am with child. The Maester has estimated about a moon and a half."

"You'd better tell me that the child is Robert Baratheon's."

It was Genna that answered. "I think you know the answer, brother." It was clear - the likelihood Cersei would sleep with that oaf was nil.

Tywin openly gnashed his teeth. "Then who was it?"

Looking back at her aunt, the shapely woman gently nudged her lower back. "It's alright, child. Go ahead."

Head held high, the Light of the West was not ashamed of what she would say. "The father of my child is Eddard Stark." I will never regret coupling with him. "He is the only man I laid with." Her father had noticed Jaime's pining after Queen Rhaella, certainty in the offing that even had Cersei desired it there wouldn't have been a resumption of their youthful indiscretion.

Suddenly Tywin erupted from his seat. Face red and finding his voice once more. "And not once did you think that spreading your legs for some horny shit was a good idea?! Have you learned nothing from fucking your brother?!"

Cersei stood firm. Fighting her tears. "I regret many things, father. I do not regret taking Ned into my bed." He stared at her incredulously. "I love him."

His fists clenched, advancing upon Cersei. "You little whore…"

Slap.

Only this time it was Tywin that brought his hand upon an imprint on his cheek. The room quiet with a stunned silence. "Don't speak to your daughter that way, brother," Genna seethed. "She made her mistakes, but the only one of us being an atrocious slug at this point is you!"

Rubbing his cheek, Tywin met his sister's gaze. The two had always held a soft spot for each other. If one person could give him a thumping, verbal or otherwise, it was Genna.

Eyes darting from Genna, to Cersei, to Gerion, and then to the openly trembling Emmon Frey, Tywin made his decision. "Everyone out except Genna."

Grabbing Cersei by the shoulder, Gerion guided his niece out with a smirk on his face. But Emmon hesitated. "Um… I should stay… with my wife…"

"Did you not hear my brother?" Genna hissed at him.

"But my love."

"Out!" Her scream found him scurrying away. Scoffing, Gemma turned to see Tywin holding back a grin in spite of himself. "What?"

"After father forced you to marry that worm, the only salve to that wound was seeing you turn him into your bitch."

"Hmph, he's the father of your four nephews." She grinned back. "I am a lion, after all."

The moment was short. Tywin sighed deeply. "That girl is the stupidest Lannister." All his plans with Robert ruined. If anyone finds out I killed Eddard Stark's child… He could kiss his position goodbye.

Genna's scowl returned, a match for her brother's in every way. "That girl is the smartest Lannister, idiot." Her hands were on her hips, challenging him to disagree. When he didn't, she continued. "With her child, you have the North in your pocket."

Tywin didn't respond, simply leaning with his hand on the back of the lord's throne. Back to Genna.

"Do you think that Ned Stark wouldn't marry Cersei the moment he hears she's with child? He's going to be to Rhaegar what you were to Aerys in the beginning, guaranteed." Nothing. "Fine, be an ass!"

Hearing Genna slam the door shut, Tywin exhaled. Forehead against the back of the chair with his eyes closed. I am sailing through uncharted waters. Cersei pregnant, Genna standing firm against him, Gerion determined to sail to Valyria… for the first time in his life, Tywin Lannister knew not anything he could do.

---

Silently cursing, the lone woman sprinkled droplets of blessed oil upon the flame-shrouded eggs - stoking the flames till they enveloped the unburnt objects in their entirety. Please, Lord… show me your will.

Guarding the eggs at the King's order was the flummoxed Alliser Thorne, standing off in the corner. Half-disgusted, half-fearful. Blood magic, may the Seven take her.

Melisandre ignored him. She smiled as she felt the welcome heat of the crackling red flames. No wildfire for her. The substance was evil, unnatural. Valyrian chants tumbled from her lips, seductively dancing around the braziers as she beckoned R'hillor to deliver a vision.

"Lord, my Lord!" Melisandre threw her torso back, bending flexibly. "Bestow upon me the secrets of the dragons!" The voice shouted to the rafters in a melodic harmony. "Show me their champion!"

Suddenly the flames halted in place. Thorne almost fell back, tripping over his own armor. But for the Red Witch, she saw it. A picture formed in the fire surrounding the first egg. Black and red, the largest of the clutch.

"Show me, oh Lord of Light. Tell me your secrets…" Slowly she leaned in, eyes sparkling red-orange as they gazed into the fire.

What she saw did surprise her.

A battle. A massive clash of armies, banners waving wildly as steel slammed against metal and flesh. One wave charged forward, mingling with the other in a bloody melee.

Fields upon fields of corpses, a dull light glowing in the background. Overlooking a world on the verge of death.

Shadows dancing about the Iron Throne, one dark and two a glowing red and gold - each twisting in a frightening dance to overcome the other.

A frozen clearing, filled with trees. An immense spiritual energy emanating from the center, where a single figure stood. Hair as black as night, and yet eyes a glowing violet. Standing, smiling, watching as two maidens stepped on either side of him. One ice kissed by fire, one fire touched by moonlight. Standing together as their faces morphed into dragon heads. Roaring.

Suddenly, the flames exploded. Heat welling from the bottom and shooting out. Forcing Melisandre back, stumbling and falling to the floor - as if the Lord did not wish for her to see the remaining image… Only a word. A single whispered word…

'Rhaegar… Rhaegar…'

"Rhaegar…"

"My Lady." Thorne was still a knight, and the woman was under his protection. He gently pulled her up. "Are you alright."

Clearing her throat, Melisandre nodded. "Aye, Ser Alliser. I shall just need a ship." It was time she truly meet the Crown Prince.

Notes:

Melisandre's vision... plenty of foreshadowing for so many things. Discussion is open with reviews and comments, but keep it civil and with an open mind. I don't intend to disappoint anyone reading this story.

And so Benjen is now Ser Benjen Stark, Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. Pretty good for him, no?

Elia is thirsty, but who wouldn't be in her position? I had fun thinking up Lyanna's outfit :D

We've now met every member of the Lannister clan. As well as gotten confirmation that Cersei is indeed pregnant with Ned's child. Didn't see that one coming when you started the story XD

Next time, Melisandre arrives in Dragonstone eager to be part of Rhaegar's retinue.

Chapter 32: Among Salt and Smoke

Notes:

Hey all. Today is the anniversary of "The Bells." Aka, the utter bullshit that confirmed the destruction of Game of Thrones. A complete ant total piece of shit that wiped out everything involving character development and plot arcs. Fuck Dumb and Dumber and fuck season 8.

House Targaryen and the true House Stark, this chapter's for you!

Thanks to Nielsen1984 for her assistance with the chapter.

On the issue of Melisandre's vision in the last chapter, seems the comments have settled on the following guesses for Jon's second bride with Dany: Sansa, Ygritte, a daughter of Ned and Cersei, or one of Jon's younger full sisters. I can confirm that she will be one of those. Feel free to discuss civilly in the comments section.

Enjoy and please comment :D

There was time to wipe the sheen of sweat from her forehead… only just. Lyanna barely missed Benjen's lunge.

"Fuck," mumbled the newest kingsguard. In spite of the Targaryen sigil that swelled his chest with pride, Benjen was still trying to compensate for its added weight - negating the agile moves he learned wearing the boiled leather and chainmail of the North. His muscles were woefully inadequate to endure the steel plate.

Diving back on her heels, Lyanna worried about no such matters clad in mere riding breeches. Twirling her blade in her wrists, the blunt steel crashed against Benjen's. Batting it aside and allowing her to jerk upwards… tip right below his chin. "Yield," she huffed, chest rising up and down.

Dropping his own blade, Benjen ripped off his helm. "Gods, I can't see a fucking thing in this piece of shit."

"Don't… blame the helm, Ben." Grabbing a flagon of water, it felt heavenly on her parched throat. Please, little dragon, don't tire me out. "That makes… one hundred fifty-three spars where I disarmed you."

"I'll get to your level one day, Lya."

"Not sure, Ser Benjen," said Barristan, watching in the corner with his arms crossed. "The Princess is getting to a skillset that many knights haven't reached. Had she came to me with silver locks, I'd have sworn Visenya had been reborn."

Momentarily cupping her still flat stomach, thinking of her Visenya, Lyanna gave the kingsguard a smile. "Flattery will get you many places, Ser Barristan." Sweat dripping down her forehead and muscles aching, she picked up her blade and walked to the center of the courtyard. "Now, your turn."

The knight's smile faded. "But, your Grace… You seem close to collapse."

Lyanna glared. With Benjen still in training and Ser Arthur practically turning into her husband with his brooding, Barristan remained in his position. "Do not refuse the demand of your future Queen. Assume your position." With a sigh, Barristan complied - grabbing a sparring sword, he waited patiently for Lyanna to make her first move.

Swords clashing in a flurry of metallic clangs that filled the courtyard, Lyanna struggled to maintain her fighting edge. Parry, counter, two quick parries… she knew that her miracle would have her out of commission once her stomach swelled. Best polish her skills with a blade while she still could.

Ser Barristan was the perfect teacher, patience and skill drawn from decades of actual combat experience. Feinting to the left with a slash, Barristan attempted to punch at her arm… only for the Princess to weave out of the way. 'Very good, your Grace.'' Lyanna had definitely improved from the beginning, and she was no slouch then. Contests between her and the Kingsguards were growing in length, but she had yet to win. It drove her mad, but never disrespectful. Barristan admired that.

Lyanna darted forward, slashing at Barristan's side. The Bold half-twisted, sword angling downward to catch the attack, breaking off after. The Princess charged impatiently. Swinging hard at her foe.

Barristan saw the thrust coming. An upward sash followed and Lyanna ducked to the left, leaving her side open. But while the knight aggressively attacked in their past spars, he hesitated this time, providing an opening for Lyanna to thrust past Barristan's blade and into his chest. An instant kill.

Breaking apart, Lyanna was quickly handed a flagon of water by Benjen. "You," she gasped as soon as half the flagon disappeared down her throat. "You let me win, Ser Barristan."

"I don't know what you mean, your Grace."

"Bullshit. You hesitated to exploit my impatience."

He hung his head, guilty. "I couldn't be rough with you… not with your… condition."

Benjen's brows furrowed. "What condition? Lya…" His eyes knitted in worry. Lyanna sighed. Knowing she would have to tell him...

Blackfyre strapped to his belt, Rhaegar hoped to run into Ser Barristan at the training yard - practice with a real weapon for once. Spring in his step and itching to further show off his youthful prowess. "You know, I always thought it would be Bran that made me an uncle first." Rhaegar halted in place.

"Gods, don't remind me." Lya's northern lilt was music to his ears. "I think father would still think me too young for this. I'm still his she-pup in his eyes."

"You can't be sure you're the first, sister. Bran might have a bastard out there…"

"O hope not." Rhaegar could almost hear his wife's eye roll at that. "Little Jon or Visenya is trueborn through and through."

It was as if his world stopped. Little Jon or Visenya? Is Lya…?

"I understand Visenya, but Jon?" Benjen asked as Rhaegar tried to stay upright, knees beginning to buckle.

The next voice was Barristan's. "I think the Princess has her reasons, young Stark."

Beaming with delight, Lyanna threw her arms around her brother. "I'm so happy, Ben," she giggled. "Everything I could ever want has come true!" She couldn't wait to tell Rhaegar - her beautiful, strong dragon prince.

Little did she know that said dragon prince was walking back towards his chambers, smile slowly spreading over his face.

---

"Dacey." The she-bear had the speed of a fleeing jackrabbit, but Arthur's stamina was not one to scoff at. "Dacey! Gods, wait."

Damn! How had she so miscalculated? Over a week spent avoiding Arthur, one week of Ellaria's chiding interference… until Dacey agreed to take up a task for Lyanna that would bring her by the Kingsguard quarters. Arthur wasn't supposed to be there. But he was, and there would have to be a confrontation.

Turning a corner, Arthur nearly broke out into a run. Heart aching as he tried to catch up to his lover. "Dacey!" Fortunately for him, the turn she made found them both in a dead end. "What has gotten into you? Please," he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Can we speak, my Lady?"

Sighing deeply, Dacey knew that her selfish hope to postpone this until she could wrap her way around what was coming… Lyanna's babe would be celebrated in the realm, a new Prince for the Seven Kingdoms to adore. Her babe… a bastard born of a Kingsguard. She didn't even know whether Arthur truly cared for her.

Each second passing interminable, finally the she-Bear turned around. His face falling when she didn't even look up at him. "My Lady, why are you avoiding me?" Arthur asked, dreading the answer. "Have I displeased you in some manner?"

Daring to look up, Dacey's resolve nearly failed at seeing the hurt on his handsome face. "No, Ser Arthur," she murmured. "You've not done anything…" A tear fell from her eye. "You've been perfect."

"Then what is the matter?" He cupped her cheek. "Please tell me. I've been worried for days."

"That wasn't my intention." Whirlwind that their affair was, Dacey realized here that slowly she had fallen hard for this man. Forbidden fruit, bound by oaths to never wed. "I've longed to simply fall into your embrace… but something has happened and I am unable to come to terms with it."

Thumb stroking her cheek, the Sword of the Morning longed to take away her anguish. "Let me take your fear away, my Lady."

If only you could… "I'm with child," she blurted out, bluntly. "Yours."

It took a moment before Arthur processed the words. Confusion, then surprise, then disbelief, and finally a numb shock that washed over him. "It's mine," he breathed. There was no question in his voice.

Biting her lip, Dacey nodded. "I believe your seed quickened me on our first night." Had they been a young married couple deeply in love, such would have been quite romantic. That was her first inclination, buried underneath all the apprehension. "This was not anticipated by either of us."

"Yes." Eyes wide, Arthur collapsed against the wall. Mind whirring. Forbidden to wed, to father children… Much as he would later come to regret, those were his first thoughts. I've broken my oath… He had seen Ned Stark grapple with an obsession honor, but as one who rejected the banal perversion of the Kingsguard oath Arthur found himself as no better.

"Forbidden?" Snapping out of his reverie, Arthur saw Dacey glaring at him. Eyes furious. "Forbidden?! Well Ser Arthur, much as you value your oaths, you broke them. It happened!"

Gods, did I think out loud? Arthur wanted to punch himself. "My Lady, you misunderstand…"

Her apprehension was gone, replaced by a hard glare. "No, I understand perfectly well. While you are content with breaking your oath for your pleasure, your child in my womb brings you nothing but dishonor." She shook her head, almost at the point of a desperate laugh. "I'm glad to have discovered your true feelings before it was too late."

Arthur's head spun, watching as Dacey moved to leave. "I won't leave my child unrecognized!" Already, he felt a surge of protectiveness for her, for the babe… "Please, Dacey." He reached out to grab her shoulder…

Only to pitch back as she slapped him. "Don't touch me nor come near me again. When all is done, I shall retire back to Bear Island with my babe. You won't have to live through your dishonor then."

Watching her storm away, Arthur sat upon the hard ground. Head in his hands. The mighty Sword of the Morning reduced to tears.

---

There was no chance heir to Winterfell could approach this calmly. "This is unacceptable!"

Rickard winced as his son hurled the dispatches on Jon Connington's desk. The four of them - young Tyrion Lannister among - were crowded into the Tower of the Hand. "I resent your attitude, Lord Brandon," Connington stated evenly.

"And I resent the fucking gall of the Ironborn!" Brandon shouted back. "Reavers assaulting the Stony Shore! Helman Tallhart estimating a hundred dead and dozens of salt wives taken!"

"Enough, Bran. We see your point," Rickard interjected. He fully agreed with the lad's anger, but there was a time for fury and a time for tact.

Forming a tent with his hands, Connington leaned back. "I would think that the North would be used to Ironborn raids." The fact they hadn't built some sort of naval force at Deepwood Motte or Flint's Finger was simply embarrassing. These northerners don't deserve to have one of theirs as Queen.

Before Rickard could respond, Brandon cut in. "I demand that the Crown call its banners and its fleets!"

"Denied!" Connington shouted back. "If you would like, you can go to the North and fight them yourself."

"I just might…" Bran was silenced when his father held up a hand.

"The Ironborn are like a malignancy," Tyrion mused, idly playing with a lock of curly hair on his head. "If we don't lance them now and merely drain it, then they'll pop up twice as horribly next time."

Nodding, Rickard motioned to the door. "Tyrion, you and Bran send a raven to Winterfell. Tell Ned to have the Glovers, Flints, and Mormonts fortify their keeps while we sort this out." Tyrion shrugged and hauled himself off his chair. Brandon wanted to say something, but sensed that his father was in no mood. It was soon just Rickard and Connington. "This complicates matters."

A chuckle. "I don't see how."

"Every bannerman defending against the Ironborn is one that can't support the Prince."

Snorting, Connington leaned forward. "Well… if the Ironborn are actively assaulting your shores, it certainly gives the Warden of the North cause to call his banners early."

It took a moment to sink in. "That does apply, Lord Hand." Inwardly, Rickard was cursing for not seeing it. "I'll see that our banners are called." He stood, making his way out.

"Not yet." Connington's voice halted him. "Wait till the Ironborn attack something more valuable than crab fishing villages. It'll look less suspicious."

Almost nodding and leaving, something came to Rickard's mind. "And why would you assume that the Ironborn would provide the cause that you ask us to wait for?"

There was a tense silence. "As Lord Tyrion said," Connington stated, crossing his arms. "A malignancy. Those cunts just can't help themselves."

"Ah…" Rickard nodded, disbelieving glint in his eye. "I see. Better hope that no one finds any different motivation, though I'm sure no evidence exists there. Unlike your… sick perversion, far easier to hide such." A smirk crossed Rickard's lips at the glimpse of Connington's enraged sneer before he shut the door.

Such ended up being only a temporary high, and Rickard was found wandering the hallways of the Red Keep. Gods, the place felt like a dungeon to him - once the Mad King's hands found their way around Lyanna's throat did he realize the stakes of everything. The rules at play in the game of thrones. Even within Rhaegar's plot did the battlelines draw themselves.

Connington had something to do with the Ironborn, Rickard was sure of it. He didn't yet completely trust Tyrion, and Brandon was in no shape to give him assistance. Rhaella might, but it wasn't Rickard's right to broach the subject. With Jon Arryn still in the Vale, there was only one person Rickard could talk to.

Knocking on the man's door, he still felt it was a mistake even as it opened. "Ah, Lord Rickard. Come on in."

Watching Lord Varys scurry over to a massive chest in the middle of the room, Rickard shut the door and leaned upon it. "I ask that we speak… in confidence."

The eunuch looked upon him. "Ah, confidence. But of course." He mimed sewing his mouth shut. "Lips sealed. Now what's on your mind?"

Many called the Starks simpletons in the art of politics, but Rickard was no fool. He knew that Varys wasn't one to be trifled with. "I came to talk about Connington."

"Well obviously," Varys shrugged. "It was either him or his Grace, and I doubt you'd trust me to voice your opinion of the latter."

"The Ironborn have attacked the North…"

"And you wonder if Connington arranged that because of our little plot. Now I do say that's rather smart of him."

Rickard tightened his lips. "And gets hundreds of my innocent countrymen killed."

A cross look, Varys opening one of the latches. "I doubt he cares about that."

"I want proof of his intentions, and you do have the spies."

"That I do, but no proof, only whispers." He flicked open another latch. "It's simple, Lord Stark. Connington just doesn't like you." Varys' ruddy eyes met Rickard's. "You're the father of the woman that took the heart of the man he loves."

The Lord of Winterfell narrowed. "Lord Varys, nothing in this damn city is that simple. My ancestor Cregan was wise in only staying here one damn day, and now I'm stuck trying to discern the intentions of the slimiest cunts I've ever met. I need answers."

Rising from the last latch, remained closed for now, Varys smiled softly as he approached a bowl of washing water by a small looking glass. "Answers come through influence. Providing something - no matter how banal - in exchange for something else." He sprinkled water atop his hands. "Influence… that is how I rose from the slums of Myr to the small council chambers."

Pulling back, Varys glanced at Rickard, the jovialness gone. Still soft in appearance, the Lord of Winterfell could see a hardness in the man. "You see, Lord Stark. You can get your answers. Cultivate enough influence and it'll come to you. Most will… be of matters that seemingly don't concern you but that you should ingratiate yourself in - build more influence. Others will serve your ends… while the smallest amount will be…" He flipped open the last latch. "Simply satisfying."

As the lid opened, Rickard approached. The smell of shit and piss hit him just as he peered over the ledge to see a man. Beaten to a pulp with his mouth sewn shut. "The sorcerer from the ceremony?" He had fought in enough battles to not be fazed by the stench.

"Yes… that sorcerer. The man that cut off my stick and stones, here he is." The sorcerer tried to scream as Varys closed the chest again, turning to Rickard. "Connington's plots will be exposed and you will have your victory over him, only if you and your family have the stones to defeat him at his own game." Varys patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

Now I know why Starks don't fare well in the south.

---

In a way, Prince Oberyn Martell was glad to be back home in Sunspear. A pleasant warmth even during the dead of winter - especially since his preferred outfit was none at all - while nothing could compare to the beauty of the sparkling ocean waves against the sandy beaches. But sometimes… even the poison of court was leaps and bounds better than what he had to endure here. "Brother, please, listen to reason…"

"I know you value your… interpersonal skills, Oberyn," Prince Doran replied, seated in his chair and unwilling to rise. "But your desires have clouded your judgement."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't think I do not know about Lord Uller's bastard? I don't know how it happened, but her claws dug in deep to the point where she was your only lover."

"She has nothing to do with this!" Oberyn was angry, especially at the mention of Ellaria. Even among his friends here… she was a sore subject. "If our sister is fine with Princess Lyanna and I found nothing untoward about her, then why are you dragging your heels?"

His brother… there was something different about him that wasn't shared by their father, Oberyn, or even Elia - if Oberyn's hunch was right about her and Princess Lyanna. From family lore, the rather… libertine attitude of the Martells came from Nymeria, a woman more in tune with the ways of the flesh than even Aegon the Unworthy. Maron Martell, her husband, was actually a rather dour man, and Doran continued in that old tradition.

"You are naive in this instance." Doran tapped his finger on his lips. "If the Starks are too stupid to push then someone against us will in order to curry favor with them."

"Lyanna loves our niece and nephew."

Doran scoffed. "The moment that happens is the moment snow falls in the Water Gardens. Lyanna will seek to usurp Aegon's claim once she has one of her brats." He waved off a response. "Now leave me, I'm very busy trying to counter this mess."

Well, my brother has no chance to join our effort. If anything Doran would just see it as a Stark plot to eliminate what Martell influence remained in court. The best to hope for was a neutrality… and that was at best. Headache consuming him, Oberyn journeyed to the one place that could calm him down.

"Are you ready, my Prince?" came the masculine voice of one of his partners for the evening. Already, the two had stripped off their clothes. Naked as their namedays, the girl's jet black skin delightfully exotic even for the world-traveller that Oberyn was, while the muscular lad bore the familiar handsomeness of Oberyn's native soil. A delightful contrast, familiar and exotic - and both gorgeous. Mouthwateringly delectable…

Only for neither to measure up in his eyes. Both completely beautiful, but ones woefully lacking for some reason. The Prince felt his skilled organ only rise to half-mast..

The girl, her massive breasts bouncing invitingly, crawled upon the bed. "A problem?" Her voice was teasing, yet seductive.

"Umm…" Oberyn flushed red. "This… uh… this has never happened before."

Giggling, the girl leaned up. Breasts mashing against the mattress and trim legs lifting up. "Oh pish. That happens to be Daemon's specialty in fixing."

Rippling musculature almost the polar opposite of the girl, Daemon sauntered closer to Oberyn. Slowly sinking to his knees. "I am going to enjoy this." Oberyn gasped as the man began to bob up and down, slurping the length with his fingers expertly massaged his balls.

Watching the entire scene with riveted eyes, the ebony whore shimmied until her back was against the pillows. Intensifying Oberyn's pleasure as she played with her pink cunt. "My prince, I think your problem is clearing up."

Hands weaving through the man's thick locks, the second son found his cock swelling to full attention. "Yessss…" Oberyn groaned.

Two fingers pushed inside of her. "Mmmmm… Would you rather enjoy the warmth and wetness of my cunt or the fullness of his thick cock?" Her eyes darkened at the sight of the two nude men standing in front of her. "Or we can make things easier by having you enjoy both."

Oberyn suddenly pushed the man aside, earning a whimper. "Please, let me have you first," he begged. "I think you need the relief."

"Good things come to those who wait," Oberyn replied, grinning at his cock also having risen. "Help me with her," he growled, the man's eyes widening with understanding. Wordlessly, Oberyn grabbed the ebony whore by the legs and flipped her around. She yelped when he flipped her onto her stomach, yanking her on her knees so that the man could slide under her. "I'm going to fuck your ass," he growled. "The whore can have your cunt."

"Oh gods... Please me, my Prince." She hissed, sliding onto the man's length. "I need your cock in my ass!"

Oberyn slicked himself up with oil and roughly pushed into her ass, causing her to scream in pleasure. "Take it, whore." Beginning to rock into her, an image flashed behind his closed eyelids. Of a similar scene in the Red Keep. Of the most beautiful woman in the world - sultry and tan. The tightest holes and the most alluring lips…

The Prince could only find his pleasure with her face in his mind and her name on his lips. "Ellaria…"

---

A babe… my babe… A smile formed on Rhaegar's face, one that hadn't left him since overhearing Lyanna in the training yard. My wife is having my babe… He'd been through this twice before but the third time wasn't any less special. In fact, all three of them finally happy in the relationship made it all the better.

"Jon." The name sounded so strange on his lips… Lyanna picked that name… picked it because she loves me dearly. It was the most precious treasure as a result. "Jon Targaryen." He would grow to love it, Rhaegar knew. "Visenya Targaryen. Princess Visenya. Rhaenys, Aegon, Visenya." Egg always related to the middle. Rhaegar chuckled at the thought. My darling little Visenya. He could just imagine her with silver hair and Lya's grey eyes, a striking Valyrian beauty with the northern stubbornness.

Their child would be a girl, he just knew it. "Gods… thank you." Rhaegar's happiness was complete, regardless of the chaos in the world. He simply wanted to grab Lyanna and twirl her around in complete and utter joy.

"Your Grace." Ser Oswell was staring at him. "There's a visitor from the capitol. She says her name is Melisandre… a priestess from…"

"The Red Temple in Volantis, yes." The woman from my wedding? There was nothing untoward about her, considering how red priests usually acted, but what she had said… It was against his better judgement, but Rhaegar shrugged. "Let her in."

Almost immediately the red woman snaked past the still cautious Kingsguard - Oswell frowning when Rhaegar motioned for him to leave, yet obeying regardless. Still dressed in all red, aside from the same glittering choker round her neck the outfit had looser fabric, hair allowed to flow down in wild tongues of flame. Free and dangerous as the fire she worshipped. "Your Grace," she curtseyed. "I thank you for receiving me."

Rhaegar's eyebrow rose. "It is an… honor to receive the delegation of the Red Temple." There was little much that he could have done. While the Red Priests were known for rituals of blood sacrifice, they hadn't done anything in Westeros proper. He had no reason to bar entry, especially considering her importance to his father.

"This keep… a remnant of Old Valyria, condemned to ruin but one that emerged from near death to roar to establish the greatest dynasty in history." She ran her hands along the dark walls. "Yes, something so shrouded in darkness is really the greatest life."

The Prince had no clue where she was going with this. Riddles and mystery… the cloak in which prophecy clouded itself in. "I wouldn't say life…" Rhaegar said, deciding to probe her. "House Targaryen is on its last legs."

"That's the cycle, my Prince." Brazenly, yet soft and seductive in her movements, Melisandre wedged between Rhaegar and his desk - sitting upon it. "Death is in a struggle with life, only a generation from declaring victory over that which is good and vibrant." She smiled. "But life always counters, for with life comes light."

Melisandre seeming to loosen her dress… exposing the milky globes to his sight. "What are you doing?"

Her smile grew wider, reaching down to take his hand in hers. "The greatest light comes from fire. Dragons are fire made flesh." Before he could do anything, Melisandre pressed his palm to her chest. "The Lord of Light whispered your name to me. You, born among the salt and smoke of Summerhall… together I think we can do great things."

The feel of her soft skin, her warm flesh... such would cause most men to submit. But Rhaegar was a dragon - and his wives were far more beautiful than she was. "I think you should go, Lady Melisandre," he said darkly.

Just as he pulled away, the door opened. "Rhaegar, dear…" Smiling at the thought of surprising her husband alone, Elia saw that he wasn't indeed alone. "Oh… Priestess?" Seems she had a good memory of the wedding night herself. "I thought you were in King's Landing."

Sparing one final smoldering look at the Crown Prince, Melisandre turned. "Circumstances change, Princess. It appears what I was looking for cannot be found on the mainland."

Narrowing her eyes, Elia brushed past Melisandre until she was beside her husband. "And what is it that you seek, Lady Melisandre?" she asked, melding into Rhaegar's side. Resting a head on his shoulder sweetly… innocent eyes masking a possessiveness of what was hers. "My husband's counsel?"

"I seek answers, Princess. Answers to the great questions. Some involve his Grace, the Prince. Others…" A shrug as she looked back at the both of them. "Involve those that I still have no clues towards. Only that they lay here, in your household."

Elia's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well you are welcome to stay here if you like… only know your place." Keep your rivals close.

"A lesson all of those in my position have to learn." Curtseying to both, she made her exit. "Until next time, my Prince. My Princess. Do try to know more than what one thinks."

At the shut of the door, Elia pulled Rhaegar's lips to hers in a savage kiss. Claiming him, marking her territory for all to see. "What was that?" she breathed, only to kiss him again.

Not minding this in the slightest, Rhaegar plundered his slender wife's mouth - pulling her tight body flush against him. "I don't rightly know myself."

Breaking the kiss, she started leaving little bites along his neck and pulse. "Did she make advances?"

Rhaegar couldn't lie. "Yes, but you needn't worry."

"I'll burn her alive if she tries anything," Elia hissed.

"You and Lyanna both… but I'm yours."

Shoving him to his desk, Elia regarded him with hungry eyes. "Oh, that is true." She advanced on him, straddling his hips while hiking her dress. "But I believe his Grace needs a fresh reminder of that." Her hands went directly for the ties of his breeches.

The feeling of a wet warmth made Rhaegar tilt his head. "You planned this."

"Whatever do you mean?" Elia's voice dripped with a deep Dornish accent. Sultry and sexy.

"No smallclothes." He suddenly moaned when Elia gripped his cock in her hands. While not fierce like Lyanna, his Dornish Princess was the perfect seductress.

Elia mewled, slowly sliding onto his cock. Eyes fluttering shut at his thickness stretching her walls. "I don't need a reason to claim my husband." Moving up and down, savoring the delicious feeling, she reached behind her neck. Untying her dress. "Do your duty, my Prince," Elia husked, grabbing his silver locks and pulling him to her now bare breasts. "Devour your Dornish lover…" She moaned when his tongue flicked at one nipple. Drawing it into his mouth as she continued to bounce on his length. "Oh yes…"

"You feel so good, Elia," Rhaegar growled, tongue moving its way up to her neck and sucking on a soft spot there. He hungered for her soft moans, only to gasp as she bit down on his shoulder - riding his cock with abandon. The feeling of her teeth on his skin spurred him to thrust faster. Harder

She dug her nails into his skin, feeling the pleasure run through her body. "My Prince," she gasped. "Fuck me harder. Fuck me like a whore..." The words out of her mouth shocked her, but it made him almost roar so Elia loved it. Gods, she loved it all.

Rhaegar didn't need to be told twice as he rammed up into her cunt, watching her scream. Making her shatter around him. He grunted, spilling rope after rope of seed up into her womb. Wishing he could quicken her as he did Lyanna.

Resting atop him, trembling in his tight embrace, minutes passed before Elia even tried to push off him. Legs shaking. "I've discovered the secret to female happiness," she breathed, shuddering as she felt his seed run down her legs - making her feel like a well-fucked whore. Elia happened to revel in it.

Fixing his trousers, Rhaegar smirked. "And what is that?"

"Marry a Valyrian. Find a way to make him lust for her body." Her smirk matched his. "Perhaps I should dress as Rhaenys Targareyn tonight," Elia said sultrily, smile lusty.

His eyes widened. "You heard that?"

Now she blushed. "Yeah…" Another thought pushed in her mind, all three of them playacting the conquering trio. It made her start to get wet again. "Anything I can help you with, husband?" Elia asked, wanting to save her stamina for the night.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, was just planning to review the efforts to persuade the Dornish Lords."

Elia clicked her tongue. "Not exactly something to improve our moods, but I can see why I can help there." He took his seat at his desk, her standing beside him - leaning against him with arms on his shoulders. The intimacy felt amazing even as they discussed the worst sort of politics. "First thing you'll need to do is write off the Salt Dornish at the coasts."

"Unless we convince Doran to back us," he figured.

"We'll have to try, but unfortunately he is a lost cause." Elia knew her family. Only in her most optimistic of moods did she expect Doran to not be hostile to Rhaegar now that Lyanna was in the picture. "I would use some effort for the Ullers and Quorgyles."

"Ellaria's home and Oberyn's friends. Sand Dornish."

She nodded. "They hate the rest of Westeros, but they love Ellaria and Oberyn. If you name them as persons either siding with you or in danger from persons in the Capitol - whomever they may be - you could get them." He did not respond, merely pulling her down for a kiss. Elia chuckled. "I prefer that to a thank you." She ended up sitting in his lap making herself comfortable in her new seat. "This fine?"

Rhaegar nodded. "Never leave." That earned another kiss.

Turning back to the papers, Elia furrowed her brows. "Now the Torrentine houses, they could be easier to sway when the time comes. House Martell has always lacked as strong a connection to them since the Dayne and Yronwood Kings were defeated by Nymeria."

"And you think you can sway them, love?"

"Yes. Ashara Dayne is my closest friend and the Yronwoods would do anything to fuck over my brother." She picked up the map showing Dorne, chuckling. "Imagine, the hatred between our Marcher Lords and the Reach and Stormlands would probably make them jump at the chance…" Elia trailed off, deep in thought.

Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "Think of something, love?" He followed her eyes to the Reach. "Unfortunately I fear Gerold and Garlan will be our only supporters there… unless I sell off Aegon to Mace Tyrell's daughter…"

She shook her head. "No, House Peake."

"House Peake? The rebel house that killed my great-grandfather?"

"They haven't had a peep for the longest time, but I bet they'll want their other two castles back." All knew about that, the three ancestral castles of House Peake, all but Starpike taken away after they supported Daemon Blackfyre. "Castles they'll do anything to get back… even follow someone other than their liege Lord's King…"

Rhaegar looked at her in wonder. "Elia, you are smarter than any archmaester and craftier than Tywin." He beamed and pulled her into a steaming kiss. "Fortune favored me greatly when you were made my bride."

Elia's sultry smile returned, melting at the praise. "I aim to please my Prince." Without warning, he lifted her up, carrying her out of the room. "Rhaegar…"

"Time for me to reward you," he husked, silencing her protests. Oh, she was looking forward to this reward.

Notes:

Elia's jealousy... I don't think Rhaegar minds. Plus we got to see an example of her political skills.

Poor Arthur and Dacey... unfortunately, his oath is something to consider here.

Doran, yep, he's he Dornish Tywin. But we got to see Oberyn pine after Ellaria in his own way XD

Next time, Return to King's Landing. If I can get 40 comments, I will update on Saturday.

Little question for y'all. What actors or actresses do you think would play the original/younger versions of the characters here? The fantasy draft pick choices that I pick will get a shoutout next update :D

Chapter 33: O'er the Hills and Far Away

Notes:

Hey everyone. Hope y'all are staying safe.

Announcement: next Tuesday is the anniversary of the final episode of GoT. Yep, fuck it, but I want to let all y'all know that I will be publishing a short story called "The Mystery Knight" set in the world of "An Empire of Ice and Fire" to commemorate the black day with some quality content with our favorite characters. Keep your eyes peeled for it!

Enjoy and please comment :D

While most in their household were irritated at having to leave the quiet serenity of Dragonstone for the Red Keep - and the smell of Flea Bottom emerging from the city itself - one violet-eyed little dragon was the most vocal about it. "Muna, why we no stay at Dwagonstone?"

Lyanna reached down to ruffle her midnight curls. "Oh Rhae, kepa and munas are the Prince and Princesses of the Seven Kingdoms. We must work out of the capitol." While her and the babe would rather stay in Dragonstone, she was looking forward to the updates on her project with Elia.

"Why no work on Dwagonstone. Ravens there." No one could say Rhaenys wasn't a bright child. "King Landing smell like phew!" As if by design, the tabby cat clutched in her arms hacked. "See, even Balawion hates smell. Blech."

While both her mothers laughed, they were drowned out by Rhaenys' squeal when an imposing armored figure lifted her on his shoulders while the cat screeched and fell out of her arms. "Come now, daughter," Rhaegar boomed, beaming at her giggles and the adoration of his wives. "Are you not a dragon of House Targaryen?"

She tangled her tiny fingers in his silver hair. "I am a dwagon, kepa!"

"Are dragons all as adorable as you?" Elia snickered, rocking a rather active Aegon.

Watching her cat scamper around, Rhaenys wriggled. "Put me down."

"I don't know, wife," Rhaegar grinned. "Such adorableness is dangerous, so perhaps I should chain her in the dragonpit?"

"Kepa!"

"Rhaegar," both Princesses scolded, biting back laughs.

"I could get the chains now, your Grace," chuckled Benjen, earning a withering glare from the tiny Princess… which only made her look more adorable.

"Ser Arthur, what do you think?"

Silent, some distance behind them, the Sword of the Morning looked at his Prince with worn, sunken eyes. "I think the Princess should be alright," he said flatly.

With a sigh at the sullen Arthur, Rhaegar put his daughter down. Who ran over to scoop up her cat.

As such, she ran into someone. "Grandmother!"

The light returned to Rhaella's life as the rest of her beloved family was back with her. "Come here, little dragon." Warmly embracing the child, she still opened her arms for her son. "Rhaegar."

The Prince smiled. "Muna." They embraced tightly. "Thank the gods you're here with me again."

"I'll always be here for my sweetling," she cooed, kissing his cheek. Even when he took his throne, to Rhaella he'd always be the little boy with the silver curls that ran around the Red Keep pretending to be Caraxes. "You said in your raven that you wished to speak with me?"

He nodded. "Later, muna. I have something to take care of." Not that he wished to speak with Melisandre, nor that Connington hadn't been at the docks to welcome them. "Please help my brides get settled."

"Of course, son." She could tell he was hiding something, but let it go with another kiss on the cheek. "Be careful."

"How is my goodbrother?" Lyanna asked as they all sat in the Queen's solar. What ravens Rhaella had sent to Dragonstone were… not encouraging.

"Viserys… he's improved. Still determined to please his father, so he's committing more to his studies and early training. I worry he's setting himself up for another big fall, but he loves Rhaenys so she being around may improve his mood." Rhaella really wanted to speak about something happy. "So," the Queen smiled, hands on her knees. "How was Dragonstone?"

Rhaenys piped up. "Muna give me big brudder!"

Rhaella raised an eyebrow, seeing Lyanna whiten slightly. "And why is that Rhae?"

"Little brudder in muna belly" She walked over and kissed her stomach. "Hi wittle brudder."

Lyanna ruffled her dark curls. It was impossible to hide. "Now sweetling, it could be a little sister."

The Queen's eyes widened. "Really?"

This wasn't how she wanted to disclose it, but Lyanna bit her lip - nodding. Elia held back a laugh at her daughter and sister-wife.

The widest smile spread on Rhaella's face. "Oh Lyanna!" She leaned in and embraced her gooddaughter tightly. "I'm so happy for you!"

Lyanna beamed as well. "Thank you Rhaella, I'm very happy as well."

Even as she spoke, Lyanna could sense there was something… off about her goodmother. While the Queen handled an impossible duty with poise and stoicism, there was a sadness about her indescribable. It only seemed worse now. "Rhaenys sweetling. Why don't you go play with Belarion in the gardens. Benjen, go watch her."

Her brother bowed, which a smirk made it less respectful and more teasing. "Come on, Princess." The girl happily followed her newest uncle.

"Rhaella?" Lyanna said once her daughter was gone, reaching out to touch her knee. "Is everything alright… with you?"

She hesitated. "Yes. Why?"

A shared look with Elia, who nodded imperceptibly. "Goodmother, there's no need to lie to us. Please."

Her wall simply vanished, beautiful Valyrian features marred with stress and melancholy. "If his Grace had his way, yours wouldn't be the only new babe in the Red Keep."

Dread began to fill the stomachs of the Princesses. "His grace wants another child?"

"At least one daughter... for Viserys."

Both Lyanna and Elia embraced their goodmother "Oh Rhaella, I'd love to see a little you running around, but what Aerys must have been doing to you…" It was obvious to them that she didn't necessarily consent to this. "I'm so sorry." Each knew what the King was capable of.

"Nothing has happened so far... he's been locked in his rooms obsessing over the dragon eggs."

"Thanks the old gods and new" Elia breathed.

Tears welled behind the Queen's lids. "I don't think I could survive another failed pregnancy..."

Their hearts broke in two. Rhaegar already told both about all the miscarriages, stillbirths, and dead infants Rhaella experienced - how each one only broke his mother further and fueled Aerys' increasing paranoia. "All will be fine, goodmother." Elia knew the fear from when she carried Aegon.

"I think any one of yours will make it," Lyanna murmured. "Perhaps my babe and yours were destined to be companions."

"My guess is that when Rhaegar finds out," Elia laughs. "He's going to try and betroth both girls to Egg."

"Targaryens and Starks, the continuation of the Pact of Ice and Fire." The thought made the Queen smile. Allowing her perfect gooddaughters in for another embrace.

---

Angry, dark clouds marred the sky above the muddy roads of the Kingswood… and Jon Connington loved it. Removing his hood so that the rain could pelt his face and hair, smile bright.

"Ah, I love being home!" Gods, he hadn't seen Griffin's Roost in years, beautiful on the hillsides overlooking the sea, surrounded by fields of wildflowers. When all is done, I shall return. Perhaps bring Rhaegar with me. Connington longed to show Rhaegar his home… especially his bed…

He spotted the low light just beyond the bend in the road. The inn was a large one, several buildings including sleeping quarters, a barn for horses, and a tavern currently bright with activity. "O'er 'ere, ser!" called a large stablehand as Connington pulled his steed in. "Ow 'ong ya want?"

"One night," he said. "Be quick about it." He dropped a gold dragon in the man's hand.

"Right away, mi'Lord!"

He was soon immersed in a cloud of smoke and heat from the toasty hearths. Dozens of unwashed bodies packed close together, downing roast meat, stews, and sour wine. Connington wrinkled his nose but pushed through.

"Mi'Lord." He found the form of one of his loyal bannermen. "The two of 'em are in the back. Private table."

Connington's eyebrow rose. "Two?" At the man's nod, he shrugged and made his way towards the private table, confused.

This inn clearly received a lot of more clandestine business. Turning a corner into the private area, Connington was delayed by a rough-looking guard, the barest patch of a stag sigil covered by a cloak. "That's him, Cole." The Hand stiffened. Stannis…

Face tight as leather, there was no warmth in Stannis Baratheon - blue eyes a bitterly cold ice as they regarded Connington. "Ser Stannis, I was expecting your older brother." Yet, a second man… no, a boy sat at Stannis' left. Lean and lithe, lustrous curls fell to his shoulders. Almost a younger and more… gentle version of Robert. His face reddened slightly at Connington, looking away. Interesting...

"He's indisposed," Stannis grunted. Cock deep in some whore, I suspect. "I brought my brother Renly." Ah, Renly. He had grown since Connington was last in Storm's End. There was something about him… something the Hand couldn't quite place. "Let's begin."

"Yes, let's begin." He took his seat, taking the cup of wine. A sweet Arbor gold. "An opportunity has come to the attention of the Crown… one where House Baratheon can prove its loyalty."

Stannis' scowl only deepened, but it was Renly that cut in. "We proved our loyalty when our parents died!" A sharp glare from Connington caused him to sink back in his seat, embarrassed. What in seven hells?

His brother cuffed him on the back of the head. "Enough, Renly." Stannis shrugged. "My brother is an idiot.." Renly glowered, eyes flickering to the Lord Hand. Smoldering eyes… "But he bears true. Why should we have to prove our loyalty?"

Why couldn't Robert have been here? The idiot would have already been drunk and completely suggestable. Yet there was promise in Renly… What makes you tick, little Lord…? "Shadowy forces will threaten the Crown. Many heads will soon roll, ones whose positions can be filled by loyal houses. Namely yours." Connington leaned forward, red hair and beard matted to his skin, laying on the charm. A test. "The opportunity for those of House Baratheon to know the halls of power… quite intimately." The last word came out with a smack of the lips.

Dour Stannis couldn't spot flirting if a whore sat naked upon his cock, but the youngest Baratheon practically blushed crimson. Shifting in his seat as if readjusting his pants. Ah… he's one of us, then… Oh, this just got a lot easier. Little Renly didn't have the same pull as Robert would, but Connington's control over him could be even stronger.

"What would you have us do, Connington?" Stannis crossed his arms. "I am not my brother, and I will not let this House go off half-cocked." Eyes locked with Renly's, Connington suppressed a grin when he saw the boy lick his lips.

The next hour found several flagons of wine shared, most by the Baratheons as Connington paced himself, casually discussing various matters that were not of consequence. It became apparent early on that he had them at supporting whatever side he was on, and that they could convince Robert to side with wildlings if he asked them to. No, by now the objective was getting Stannis to stumble out, leaving Connington alone with the young stag - increasingly brazen in the looks of desire he shot his way.

"Fuck all of this, I'm going to sleep," Stannis said after a while. "Don't disturb me, runt, or I'll knock your teeth out." He stormed off, leaving Connington alone with Renly.

The four-and-ten nameday old managed to realize through his drunkenness that he was alone with the most attractive man he had ever seen. "Looks like it's just us… Little Stag." Renly didn't know what to think or say… the voice so… elegant.

Jon Connington was more disgusted by every passing minute. No one could compare to his beloved Silver Prince, and the boorish behavior of the strength-obsessed Baratheons led him to despise the family. Still, duty pushed him forward - not to mention he hadn't laid with a man in a long while, and Renly was a gorgeous thing objectively speaking.

"... glad you allowed me to stand in on something so important…" Renly stammered, not knowing that Connington didn't hear anything of it.

Once again, he decided to cut to the chase. "Tell me, have you ever been with a man?"

His eyes widened into saucers. "What… what are you talking about?" Renly replied, trying to remain calm.

Jon Connington had seduced many men, and this was one of his easier ones. "You don't have to hide it, Lord Renly." He leaned forward, taking the young man's hand in his. "You try to deny it, but I could tell from the moment I saw you that you had such a predilection."

His heart beat out of his chest. "No, I don't," Renly stammered frantically. "I swear!" How had his secret gotten out? He had been so careful. How does the Hand know?!

Before Renly could run off, Connington stilled him with a gentle hand on his upper thigh. Watching the young man stiffen, then relax. Savoring the touch. "It's perfectly natural. It is a predilection I share." He allowed himself a grin when Renly stared at him, jaw dropped. "So I'll ask you again, have you ever been with a man?"

Renly hung his head. "Never." He hadn't once trusted any man enough to act on his desires.

"Perhaps we can rectify that situation?"

Renly was still frozen as Connington stepped in front of him, standing only inches apart. "But my brother…" Is this really happening?

"Just let go, Little Stag." Connington's lips were a mere inch away from Renly's. Just one moment from breaking him. "Give me the honor of being your first.."

Gods, this was happening… this fire-kissed god was offering him his bed. "I… want to know what it feels like."

Connington cupped his soon-to-be lover's cheeks and kissed him. Renly melted, never wanting it to stop...

Inconspicuously, hoods over their heads and several paces apart, Connington led the younger man out of the still boisterous tavern and to the inn building across the way. Unlocking and shutting the door to his rented room behind him. It was a medium-sized chamber, spartan but clean - Connington didn't waste time. He picked up the quiet Renly and shoved him down on the bed. Enjoying how desperately eager the young man was - it wasn't Rhaegar, but there was no way he wouldn't take advantage.

"Please… don't make me wait…"

And Connington didn't. As aroused as he was, this would be done quick and dirty. He was in a ravenous mood. "This might hurt a bit."

"I've been waiting for this for so long now, my Lord!" What Renly felt next, he couldn't describe. It caused him pain, but at the same time pleasure - somewhat close to a burn… a good one, that is.

"Ah…" Connington grunted. "So good, Little Stag." In reality, the older man was thinking about Rhaegar, his Silver Prince. Elia and Lyanna, the whores didn't deserve him. Rhaegar was made for me and no one else.

For the rest of the assignment, Connington took his frustrations and hate for the Queens on the young man. Taking what he wanted over and over… and Renly loved it. Feeling every dream of his life come true. "Please, Jon," he moaned. "More. More… I love you!" How could it be anything but love?

"Would you do anything for me, Renly?"

"Yessss…" he moaned.

"I could have you brought to the Red Keep as my sworn sword…"

"Please…"

"If you do what I want. Do whatever I ask."

"I will! Gods, I will!"

Perfect.

---

Dearest Cat,

Do not fret about the boorishness of the Northerners. It is not their fault that they were denied the blessings of the Seven. It is your responsibility to show them the way of the Seven-Pointed Star. Faith will show you the way in these dark times.

Ned seems like his head is on straight, given he was raised by Jon Arryn in the noble tradition of the Vale. But be careful, Cat. It is always the quiet ones to watch out for.

Stay safe and pious, Cat.

Petyr

Clutching the letter to her chest, Catelyn sighed. Remembering her happy times at home in Riverrun, the dances and feasts. Walking the banks of the Trident with Petyr, Lysa, and Edmure while wearing pretty summer dresses hand stitched by her - dreaming of the handsome Lord that would sweep her off her feet. Such had truly happened with Brandon...

Shivering, she wrapped her cloak tighter around her slender frame. Curse this dreadful place. There was no life in Winterfell - just drab and ugly. Oh, how she longed for Bran to arrive and bring life back here with his glittering smile and magnetic personality.

A knock on the door startled her. "Come in."

It was Dirk, one of her guards from Riverrun. "My Lady, Lord Stark wishes to speak with you in his solar."

She sighed. Ned was no Brandon, but at least he was polite and courteous. One had to be when raised by the great Jon Arryn of the Vale. The windowless corridors were a massive contrast to the airy, lighted halls of Riverrun. Catelyn was happy that Ned used her own guards to escort her about the keep. The Stark guards always eyed her in the wrong way. Thank the Gods I haven't seen that hulking, simple oaf since the first day.

"Lord Glover thinks his lookouts saw scouting ships close by Deepwood Motte," Catelyn heard from inside the solar. "But he can't be sure."

"How many ships do you have, Jorah?"

"Two dozen, my Lord. Not much but stout sailing galleys as good as anything those salt fuckers have."

"Good. Better keep watch off Flint's Finger. They'll probably attack there…"

Impatient, Catelyn opened the door herself to find Ned, Jorah Mormont, and Howland Reed crowded around a map. "Lord Stark, you summoned me?" she asked, curtseying.

If Ned was annoyed at her interruption, he hid it. "Ah, Catelyn. My Lords, if you will?"

Each nodding, Jorah and Howland made their exit. Catelyn's nose wrinkled as the slight Crannogman passed her. Gods, have these swamp people ever heard of perfume? But alone with her goodbrother, she approached and sat in the chair he offered for her. "What would you like of me, Ned?"

Ned wanted to like Catelyn Tully. Bran had affections for her - not hard to see why, with her fair face and fire-kissed hair - and she adored him… but Rhaegar's personal concerns about her suitability as Lady of Winterfell just couldn't leave him. "Yes, I just had some concerns to share with you."

"What concerns?" she asked.

"I see that you have been increasingly making your mark within the keep."

A look of joy came on her face. "I believe my efforts are brightening this rather drab place, Ned."

He nodded, smiling tightly. "Um… the directives to expand the baths and bathe more regularly are ones I approve of," he said, starting with the good things.

"Less filth, less vapors, I believe," Catelyn replied. Men and women in Riverrun weren't always clean, but never as filthy as here.

Ned didn't know how to broach the rest, so he decided to be gentle but blunt. "Five guardsmen were flogged at your orders earlier this week."

She smiled proudly. "They were engaged in a dice game."

"I doubt that playing dice deserves a flogging."

"Gambling is a sin against the gods. It must be punished or else perfidy will spread."

Oh hells… "Two well-liked maids from the household staff were demoted and placed on milking duty… I talked to the senior maid, and she told me you directed Septa Mordane to see it done."

A frown formed on Catelyn's face. "Those maids were baseborn."

"They were kind and industrious workers - completely loyal."

"Loyal?" Catelyn scoffed. "Bastards are wanton and treacherous by nature." She waved her hand. "Best let them handle the cows and pigs where they belong."

Clenching his teeth, Ned had enough. The little things he could take, but this was just unconscionable. "You will personally see that they are restored to their former positions."

"Why? I am looking out for our House…"

"No, Catelyn. You are acting against my House."

"All this for two bastards, born in sin?"

"It is not their fault they were born, Catelyn."

Another scoff. "You were raised by Jon Arryn and in the Light of the Seven. I would think you know better."

He slammed his fist on the table, making her jump. "We are not in the south! We do not worship the Seven and it's time you learned that!" He leaned back and crossed his arms. "I didn't want to do this, but you forced my hand. No directive you make is binding unless confirmed by me."

"Brandon won't stand for this!" She balled her fists. "He's a cultured man, not like the rest of you!"

You're in for a shock. But it wasn't his place to say. "Bring it up with him when he gets here. Until then, get out of my sight."

Who does Ned Stark think he is?! Her anger was still hot as she stormed back to her chamber. One of theirs marries the Crown Prince and they think themselves gods beyond reproach.

"Brandon," she murmured to herself, alone in the drafty hallways bare of anything beautiful. "Why can't you be here? You'd understand." While of the North, he was the perfect southern noble during their courtship. A ray of light and warmth in this dark, freezing land…

In her rush to return to her quarters, Catelyn didn't look where she was going and almost tripped over someone. "Gods…" she hissed. "Watch where… Lord Bolton."

Tall and gangly, the Lord of the Dreadfort bore a tiny smile and mild-mannered expression. "Lady Stark," he bowed. "Forgive me, I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings."

Catelyn couldn't help but smile in return, grateful for such courtly manners. "No… the fault is mine, Lord Bolton. And I am not Lady Stark yet."

"Nonsense," he repeated. "You are the betrothed of my Liege Lord's heir. As far as I am concerned you are Lady Stark and deserving of the utmost respect."

She blushed, further flattered. "Well, thank you, Lord Bolton." The man was kind and respectful in a plain leather jerkin and pink fur cloak, a far cry of the sadistic monsters that her goodfamily dubbed them as.

Voice small and soft, he saw the innately irritated Catelyn Tully further disarmed. "May I say something, Lady Stark?"

"You may."

"I appreciate all you are bringing to this place." The Leech Lord's tone had nary a hitch as he lied, smiling inwardly as the Trout lapped it all up. "We have been isolated for far too long…"

Catelyn brightened. "I know… the North had no reason to isolate itself from the rest of Westeros after Aegon's Conquest. Even Aegon accepted the teachings of the Seven-Pointed Star, yet the North failed to accept the blessings of the Father and Mother."

"A little culture and we could see the North rise to new heights," Roose said. "I shall seek to foster my future heir in the south just as Lord Stark did with his… perhaps at Riverrun?"

"I'm sure my father would be honored. I certainly am."

Roose smiled. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask, my Lady. House Bolton put aside its enmity with House Stark centuries ago."

She curtseyed. "I shall remember it. Good day, Lord Bolton."

Watching as Catelyn disappeared around the corner, Roose walked back to his chambers. Chuckling the entire way. "Oh ancestors, you tried so many times to destroy the Starks." A rare grin touched his face. "Now, that glorified septa will do it for us."

---

Dearest brother,

My eyes seemed to deceive me for a moment, reading what you told me. The Sword of the Morning himself having fathered a child with a northern lady? I'll have to meet this Dacey Mormont myself and see just who broke the incorruptible Ser Arthur Dayne.

Dressed down to his tunic and trousers, Arthur sighed in reading Ashara's letter. Ash… she's always been blunt. Part of him was glad to read it though - Oswell and Gerold were… prone to make levity of his situation, and he was not comfortable asking for Rhaegar's advice. He hated to have the disapproval of his father cast down upon him, so Ashara was the logical choice. There was no one he trusted more in the world than his little sister.

Sitting upon his bed, Arthur began reading the rest of the letter.

I'm sorry if I sound too scathing. In all honesty this could be the woman who truly has your heart, and if that is the case then there would be no one happier than me. Seeing you with a highborn beauty who loves you deeply is what I would hope you to have. Unless you have grown soft and decadent in the capitol, that's what I believe has happened.

But fathering a bastard under your oaths? Falling into bed with anyone outside of marriage given your white cloak… oh Arthur, I know how this must destroy you inside. Even if you love her this is a serious matter. You are no ordinary knight, but the Sword of the Morning. Noble throughout the Seven Kingdoms. To have this on your shoulders can only be the worst of situations.

She did have a knack for digesting the situation to the base problem. Head pounding, Arthur felt the urge to end it all. To cleanse himself of his dishonor in a noble death… but that babe was his. Dacey was his love… Rhaegar needed him. That would be the worst dishonor.

Your friend the Crown Prince would legitimize that babe in a heartbeat, but you need to look inside yourself. Do you have the stones to recognize a bastard child? To keep that white cloak even with that knowledge? Any man can hold themselves to honor, but only the greatest can be honorable even in the greatest of dishonors. To act with chivalry and inner strength when a lesser man would resort to sin and debasement.

I cannot tell you your path. Only you can chase it.

Love,

Ash

Arthur fell back onto the bed - cold and small without Dacey beside him… yet that was what he deserved as a Kingsguard. Trading title and family for honor and immortality. As with the flawed of the past, Arthur had joined them.

My oath or my babe? My oath or my love?

Sleep would not come easy to him that night.

---

Lyanna Targaryen immediately stood when her husband walked in, dressed down in a simple tunic and breeches. Without delay she rushed to him, kissing him sweetly. "Hello, husband."

"Mmm, my warrior Queen." Rhaegar rested his forehead on hers, already relaxing with her close by. "I'm so glad to be with you, my love." The only thing that would be better was if Elia was here with them… every time he was with one, he felt a yearning for the other on top of it all. Was it the Valyrian dragonrider in him? The will of the gods? Regardless, Rhaegar felt no ounce of guilt for loving them both.

"Mmmm," Lyanna smirked. "Is little Rhaegar happy to see me?"

The Prince blushed. "Of course I am." His hands dropped to grope her buxom breasts.

She lolled her head to the side… No, not yet. "Wait husband… there's something I have to tell you." Lyanna bit her lip. "It's just… I'm… you and I…" Her hands drifted absentmindedly to her belly.

Seeing her stumble about with her words was quite adorable and funny. "Are you trying to refer to our little dragonwolf?" he asked with a tiny grin.

Lyanna was taken aback for a moment… only to place her hands on her hips. "Did you know all this time?"

"I overheard you speaking to Benjen and Barristan in the training yard."

"Seven bloody hells" Lyanna cursed, stomping her feet. I wanted it to be a surprise!

Chuckling, Rhaegar walked towards his bride until she was in his arms. Cursing streak silenced as she looked up at him. Tension gone, merely reflecting love. "I don't think this is a time to be upset, my love."

She broke out into a wide grin. "We're having a babe," she murmured.

"Our babe." Without a care in the world, Rhaegar picked Lyanna up, twirling her around as he had done with Elia all those years ago when she told him about little Rhae in her womb - a move that surprised her at the time, but looking back it was the moment he realized he loved her. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!" Now, Rhaegar enjoyed the moment yet again.

Lyanna laughed merrily, held so lovingly. This was her dream… only the dreams couldn't compare to reality. None of the Kings and Princes in her childhood tales able to match the beauty and heart of her own Dragon Prince. "Rhaegar…" she murmured as he put her down, nuzzling his nose with hers.

He placed his hands on her slim, toned hips. One slowly sliding along the sheer nightgown to rest above her still flat stomach – the one that would soon swell with their child. "How long?"

"The maester says a moon and a half..." Lyanna looped her arms around his neck. "Our wedding night, my handsome dragon."

"I love you so much, Lya." The Prince's voice cracked with emotion. "I love you," he repeated.

"I love you too." Lyanna cupped his cheek. "Kiss me."

Complying eagerly, his lips met hers. Tongues lovingly stroking together in a sensual dance - she moaned in his mouth, Rhaegar pulling her flush against him. Needed to be close, to not let him and one bit of this perfect woman to be apart.

Love and warmth turned quickly into a frantic, heated lust. Need a building pressure inside Lyanna. Her hands moved to tug at his laces just as his pulled the nightgown off her body. Both bare, Lyanna's fingers tangling into the silver locks that were part of her wet dreams. "Fuck me," she hissed against his lips, feeling Rhaegar's hard cock against her hip. "I need you, Rhaegar."

Now bare chested, Rhaegar growled - taking control. Backing Lyanna up until her knees hit the bed. "So beautiful, muna," he husked as they fell upon the sheets, moving to kiss and suck at her muscular neck. Such a vision, toned and powerful. Rhaegar lusting over the ropey column as he had Elia's soft, slender skin earlier that day. Gods… thinking of his other bride only furthered his lust… with a growl, he took a bulbous breast in his hand and suckled the nipple.

Oh fuck… A flood of wetness coated the muscled leg that Lyanna was grinding against. "Yes… kepa. Fuck muna." The thought of carrying their babe was not only joyous, but arousing as well. "I'm so wet for you."

Eyes darkening, Rhaegar fell to his knees and started the Lord's Kiss. Licking along the creamy skin of her thighs, a pale milk.. "You taste wonderful."

She writhed on the bed, one hand scratching down his scalp while the other fisted the sheets. His tongue swiping through Lyanna's folds with a frenzied intensity that drove her to the edges of madness. "Don't… stop… please…"

"Dōrī, ñuha zokla." He smirked at her, mouth drenched in her juices. "Ao sagon ñuhon."

Lyanna screamed, his tongue pushed deep into her cunt and fingers caressing her nub. Fuck… fuck… fuck… "Ooooooh!" She shattered powerfully, Rhaegar lapping it all up. "My dragon…" she murmured.

He chuckled. "Done?"

"Fuck no." Without wasting a single moment she urged him up, mewling happily as her lips met his once more. Lyanna wrapped her legs around his hips as Rhaegar pinned her arms up above her. Groaning when he sucked her breasts.

Rhaegar laved Lyanna's nipples till she whimpered, weakly trying to push his head into the fleshy mounds. "You're mine, Lyanna."

The Princess shuddered as Rhaegar licked up to her neck. "All yours, my Prince."

Without warning, the Prince flipped her onto her stomach. Pulling up until she was on her knees - a hand pressing Lyanna's head onto one of the pillows and sticking her ass in the air. Folds slick with juices. "I need to be inside you," he said.

Gods, there was no limit on how this man turned her on. "I need you inside me." Moaning when his cock began to poke at her entrance. "Now, my dragon. Now, kepa. Fuck me. Fuck me!"

He thrust hard, her cunt hot and tight around him. "Seven Hells, Lya…"

"Oh Gods!" Her walls melded around his cock, Lyanna biting her lip. "Faster!"

Sweat slicked bodies crashed together, hips smacking as Rhaegar held nothing back. "Kessa, gūrogon ziry Lya!" Valyrian words tumbled out, a moan leaving his wild northern bride. "Gūrogon ñuha orvorta!"

Lyanna adored it when he spoke Valyrian. "Please fuck me harder!" she wailed, a hand kneading a dangling breast.

"Beg," he demanded.

"Fuck please!" She tried to rock back into him, desperate. "I need your cock deeper! I need it! I FUCKING NEED IT!" She screamed when he grabbed at her dark brown locks, pulling it back as he began fucking her madly. Yes… that's it… use me, Rhaegar… Lyanna surrendered to the only man she would ever love.

"Nuhon!" he hissed in Valyrian. "Ñuha zokla!" Thrust. "Ñuha zokla!" Thrust. "ÑUHA ZOKLA!"

"Yours!" she screamed. "I'm your fucking wolf!"

Just as he let go of her hair, Lyanna buried her face in the pillow as she literally shattered around him. Feeling his seed shoot deep inside her.

"Lya!"

Later, Rhaegar pressed a kiss on his bride's bare shoulder. Watching in reverence as she hummed in her sleep. "I love you, my wolf," he murmured, deftly sneaking out of bed and donning a thick robe. Finding the hidden tunnel in his chambers and sneaking through to his favorite place to…

"I knew you'd be here."

Rhaegar stopped, finding the midnight locks and twinkling brown eyes of his Dornish Princess. "Elia…"

Smiling softly, she patted the chair beside him, embracing him tightly. Lips searching out his. "Gods, I missed you."

"I always miss you, my love." Four years without her… How had he endured it? "I'm going to be a kepa again."

"You are, husband." A new little dragon, a sibling for their children. Elia was truly happy. "I honestly hope its a boy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and why is that?"

She bit her lip. "Been thinking about it. I'd love a mix of you and Lya, but handsome like his father. One that can join Egg in being just like the man I love."

Brooding slightly, Rhaegar looked down. "There are far better men than they can take after." But he found his chin brought to look in the honey-brown eyes of his wife.

"There are none better." A gentle kiss followed. "Strong, noble, smart, powerful, and a man that brings joy to the lives of both of his Princesses. What more could I want in sons?"

"They'd both have to wed two," Rhaegar laughed. "Though I suppose the precedent is set. Rhaenys perhaps, or one of the Starks Brandon or Ned will ultimately have."

Or Rhaella's future child, if she has one. Any son of theirs would be lucky to marry a Stark or mini-Rhaella, though better a child of Ned's than Brandon's. Ned is smarter. "So, you're going to compose a song, aren't you?"

"I've actually already got one." He picked up his harp and smiled at her. "Would you…?"

He didn't need to continue. "Yes." Wordlessly, she snuggled into his side - pressing her lithe body into his as Rhaegar strummed the chords.

"Duncan met with Jenny fair

"In these hallowed halls that day;

"But the Prince right now is fu' of care

"Since these Princesses staw his heart away."

"Altho' she seemed too gu'd be true

"She proven has, a price'ss find

"Which drives the Prince aften rue

"That he'd loos'd a maiden kind."

Elia leaned up to look at Rhaegar, seeing his bright violet eyes watching her as he sang the words. Priceless find… Maiden kind. Lip quivering, she moved to kiss his jaw, filled with love for this man.

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"The let no'un drive my love astray."

"I love you," Elia murmured. Hugging him as he sang. "I always loved you, Rhaegar." She had almost lost him to the ravages of indifference, but wouldn't make that mistake ever again. I'll never let you go.

Lyanna was right. His voice could make the birds stop and listen.

"Since she is fause whom I adore

"I'll never trust a woman more;

"Frae a' their charms I'll fade away

"So fer' them my pipes I'll sweetly play,"

Alone in his chambers, the King paced about. Mind on his eggs, their stubbornness to hatch. "I am the dragon," he mumbled. It had to be some vile spirit - some malignant vapor that stopped them from hatching for him.

"Duncan met with Jenny fair

"In these hallowed halls that day;

"But the Prince right now is fu' of care

"Since these Princesses staw his heart away."

Aeys stopped in his tracks. Melody faint in his ears, but two words loud and blaring. Jenny… Duncan…

"Dunk?!" he shouted, turning around. Eyes wide. "Jenny, you whore? Where are you?!" He kept looking, kept searching… finding not a trace yet the song wouldn't stop.

"She will destroy you…" A voice! The voice at Duskendale, the one that followed him whenever the Darklyn bitch would torture him. It was back, guiding him through the chaos. "Jenny… she is reborn…"

Why? Why must Jenny torture him so? Why did he need the voice to calm him? "Leave me alone you bitch!"

"She carries the False Dragon. You must destroy her."

He fell to his knees, clutching his head as if in pain. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"The let no'un drive my love astray."

As the young lovers lost themselves in their passion - clothes slowly stripped and the Princess pinned against the wall, moaning as the Prince fucked her hard - a King raged in his chambers. Silent screams lost to the haunted halls of the Red Keep… sight of the blood of Targaryens young and old.

Blood that would soon be joined by that newly spilled.

Notes:

That was sweet at the end... and a bit ominous...

The song is Over the hills and far away. Thanks to Patriot-112 for telling me about it.

Arthur heeding good advice, while Catelyn is spurning good advice.

And Connington now has an ally in House Baratheon... that can't end well (remember, I've aged Renly up to be 4 years younger than Stannis). Thanks to Nielsen1984 for helping me with the scene.

Picked tentative actors and actresses for some characters:

Rhaegar- Henry Cavill

Elia- Aiysha Hart for current Elia and Leonor Varela for older Elia.

Lyanna- Millie Brady for current Lyanna and Eva Green for older Lyanna.

Ned- Same as show

Cersei- Emma Watson for young Cersei (only the great Lena Headey can play the older Cersei)

Rickard- Viggo Mortenson

Aerys- Peter Capaldi

Jon Arryn- Michael Caine

Jon Connington- Tony Curran

Ashara Dayne- Adelaide Kane

It helps with visualization. All other characters are still open, so any ideas?

Next chapter, some massive drama.

Question for everyone: given that the point of divergence here has basically changed the fates of many characters (Cersei being the most obvious in both fate and personality), what characters would you most like to see have their fates changed. (the core personalities will stay the same, but all else is fair game).

Chapter 34: The King's Madness

Notes:

Update, reposting due to changes. Sorry.

A/N: Hey everyone. Hope y'all are staying safe.

Good news guys! My short story The Mystery Knight has been published! Be sure to check it out :)

Aerys is his own warning in this chapter.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"He hasn't left his quarters all day?"

"No, not even to break his fast." Jaime Lannister looked at his mentor with worry. Unlike him on his shift off, Arthur Dayne refused to even rise. "Both Oswell and Stark are also concerned."

Barristan Selmy ignored the reference of Ser Benjen as 'Stark.' Unlike Jonothor and Lewyn, Jaime actually was trying to get to know him - besides, a morose Sword of the Morning was more pressing. "Go about your business, Jaime." He patted the golden knight on the back. "I'll handle this." There was little doubt as to why Arthur was in this mess - his lover's quarrel with Lady Dacey was already legend within the Red Keep. Many rumors wafted around. Barristan believed none of them.

Opening the door to their dormitory, Barristan found Arthur laying flat on the bed with his arms folded above his head, staring at the ceiling. "Dear gods, what happened to you?"

"Leave me alone, Barristan," Arthur drolled, waving him away.

"Don't you speak to me that way." Barristan wasn't about to let Arthur be a little bitch to him. "I was slaying Blackfyres while you were still in your swaddling clothes! You will treat me with respect!" Arthur glowered but said nothing. "So that's how it is? The Sword of the Morning laying here like a pathetic child? Get up."

He groaned. "What's the point?" But Arthur gave no resistance when Barristan hauled him till he was sitting up.

The older knight sat next to his brother in white. "I've seen men pine over lost women, but this is too much to be simple heartbreak." Silence - Arthur not even looking at him. "You're not going to get anyone…"

"Dacey is with child."

If Barristan would choose a rumor to believe, that wouldn't have been one. "With child? Yours?"

"We were both each other's first lover. There's no one else."

The older man clasped his forehead. "Gods, Arthur. What have you done?"

Arthur chuckled dryly. "I swore an oath to keep chaste… to never wed or father children. Guess I broke it."

"Aye, you did. Never would have expected you to do it, though."

A shrug. "Guess I was never as honorable as people thought I was."

"No, I suppose not." Barristan regarded the man - this wasn't simple guilt… or the guilt was of a different sort. "Unless you love her." He sensed a tension in Arthur. "You do, don't you? Her and the babe."

His gaze shifted wistfully to Barristan. "Yes. I've grown to truly love her."

Barristan's chamber was next to Arthur's, so he had an earful or theirs. He didn't doubt his declaration. "You are in quite the conundrum, then. Kingsguards have broken the oath before." Everyone thought it was Harwin Strong that fathered the Velaryon children of Rhaenyra Targaryen, but it was known in the Kingsguard that Ser Criston Cole was the true father. That was the most flagrant, far other… less consequential acts having done. "But it seems to me that you will have to acknowledge the bastards, which complicates everything."

Arthur looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Complicated everything? That's a fine way to put breaking my oath. Where I'm not supposed to marry and father children?" Arthur buried his face in his hands. "I'm so broken now, Barristan, all my life I aspired for this cloak, when I earned it I was determined to uphold my oaths... but then the she-bear came and my world was turned upside down. I love her, I really do, but all I kept doing is shaming her and my cloak." For someone as chivalrous as Arthur, such was a major issue to deal with. Close to destroying him.

There was a silence. "As far as I'm concerned, that oath was meant to prevent a Kingsguard from developing bonds that would affect their loyalty to the King." He looked at Arthur poignantly. Voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you feel conflict about what we are about to assist Rhaegar in doing?"

Arthur looked up at him. "No."

"Why?" They were betraying their King. Far worse oathbreaking than simply fathering a child with a maiden one loved.

"Because he is not our King. The moment his mind destroyed itself… the moment he almost became a kinslayer, he lost the right of the gods to hold our loyalty." A very First Man way of thinking, steeped in the ancient codes, but one that fit their times quite well. "Rhaegar is my sovereign."

"Very well, then. Is your oath to Rhaegar still strong?"

"As strong as when I first said it," he answered.

"Is Dacey sworn to Rhaegar and Lyanna?"

"I think she'd kill anyone that hurt them." That put a small smile on both their faces. "Love… it's a beautiful thing, Arthur. For those kind and just, it is the bane of duty as greed or sloth is for those weak of heart."

He hung his head. "It's led me to betray my oath, aye."

"Don't speak rashly. I've never loved truly, and neither have most of our brothers, but I can see that for you it is genuine. You have a choice before you, and you will have to live with the consequences of each." He didn't respond. "Would you have resisted Dacey's advances if you knew this would be where you ended up?"

The wait for an answer was interminable. "No," he breathed.

"Seems you've made your choice." Even in the situation, Arthur did the honorable thing. Barristan… he never held such love but knew it to be true. The woman who fancied him and he her hadn't been love so his honor led him to set her aside - but Arthur's was true, and the proper course for the chivalrous was not to deny, but embrace. "Then why aren't you, well… locked in a lover's embrace at the moment."

"Let's just say… I didn't react the best when I heard."

"Oh Arthur, what is wrong with you?" He groaned.

"It's not that simple," Arthur protested. "Dacey is a highborn lady from a noble house. She deserves someone that can give her a keep she deserves and proper wealth and influence to protect her. Who isn't conflicted." He sounded completely broken.

"All of that… it's fleeting. You can't take wealth or influence into the afterlife, but love lasts forever." Something Rhaegar told him once, when they were chatting in the streets of King's Landing that stuck with him. He felt glad to pass it on to Arthur, especially apt for the situation. "As for the rest, she'll understand your conflict."

The Sword of the Morning glanced at him, eyes sunken. "How do you know?"

Barristan clasped his shoulder. "Because everytime that girl passes us, her eyes are locked on you with that same look the Princesses give Rhaegar. Adoration." Arthur blinked. "She does it when you're not looking." At his contemplative silence, Barristan chuckled. "You have nothing to worry about. Go to her. Go to her... or I'll drive my sword up your ass and take you to her," he said seriously.

For the first time since Dacey left, Arthur cracked a genuine smile. "I will."

---

The King of the Seven Kingdoms glared hard at the glittering green flames from the hearth. Logs, fetters, and the black-red dragon egg lined with a very thin film of wildfire, needing the strength it seemed to give him. Never enough… never enough… By Balerion, show me your secrets!

"Your Grace," came the voice from behind him, raspy. "How would you like us to serve you?"

Aerys turned to the gaunt, hunched forms of his new guests. "I was told by my advisers that your kind can perform miracles."

Sailing all the way from the great and mysterious port city of Qarth, the three warlocks were some of the strangest people he had ever seen. Slender as skeletons, wrinkled faces stretched tightly over their skulls and eyes both bugged out and sunken… if that was possible. Their lips were shaded a rather strange shade of purple-blue. "What we some can call miracles, we call enlightenment of the mind."

"Fuck the riddles. Tell me the damn truth."

Each of them possessed some sort of physical disfigurement. A man with extensively pierced lips - rings and studs of jade and iron mutilating his flesh - spoke up. "We cannot provide you the glory you seek, only open your mind to the potential your blood gives you. All the answers you seek lay within."

Almost screaming at them again, the King demurred. Pondering what he said. "You allege that my blood holds all I seek?" It would mean he was a dragon after all.

"Aye, your Grace," stated another, this one missing his nose. "Your blood is that of the Conqueror. The marring of Old Valyria's children has locked your truth."

Aerys clenched his fists. "Fucking father, fucking grandfather!" Three generations of Targaryens that married Dornish and Wildling scum, destroying the pureblood Valyrian strength of their seed. "What must I do?'

The lead warlock had marred his face with various tattoos. "You are the blood of the dragon, so all we need is a drop of your blood."

"Yes, yes, get on with it." The noseless warlock produced a knife of the sharpest bronze - chanting incantations under his breath as he approached the King. Taking Aerys' hand and pricking it. "Agh," the King exclaimed, watching as a tiny trickle of blood fell from it and into a bowl the pierced warlock held underneath. There was a muted blue liquid within. The blood hissed and sputtered as it landed. "Is that good?"

"Quite good, your Grace. The dragon reacts with the godly brew." Dilute… weak… pathetic. Blood of someone pretending to be his great ancestors, but the lead warlock wouldn't tell Aerys that. Wordlessly, he and his comrades gathered their collections of dried herbs, minerals, and poultices to toss into the bowl. Hearing the bubbles and cracks as the liquid changed color and mixed… suddenly growing cold in its final form. "Here, drink this."

Aerys narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck is this?" He took a sniff, blanching. "Smells like shit."

"Shade of the Evening, your Grace. It shall open your mind to the truths held in your blood."

"Be warned," said the pierced warlock. "If you dive deep into your blood truths, you will be lost forever."

"Fuck you, I'm the damn dragon." Grabbing the bowl, some of the brew spilling over the sides, he downed it in a few gulps. Purple liquid trickling down his chin and neck. "Fuck!" he gasped. Waiting for the reaction...

"Kostagon se drēje pryjagon se pirtir," chanted the warlocks. "Kostagon se drēje pryjagon se pirtir. Se drēje. Se drēje…"

Suddenly Aerys found his world spinning - shaking beneath him.

"Se drēje. Se drēje…" He opened his mouth in a silent scream before the floor fell away.

With a jolt he slammed into the ground. Hands scrambling to feel his injuries… only nothing. Aerys was fine.

"Hello, my son."

Blinking, he found his father seated across from him. Aegon V, still dressed in his royal robes, immaculate silver hair pinned back. Just as Aerys remembered him. His eyes narrowed. "What the fuck do you want?" A quick look around found him in his childhood solar.

His father reacted not to the hiss. "I am looking at my beloved son." His smile was filled with love and warmth, something Aerys hadn't felt in decades. "I haven't enjoyed such since that fateful day at Summerhall."

Aerys scoffed. "It was your own foolishness that caused that. Thinking a three part Dornish pretender could be a dragon."

"Then what does that make you, little brother." Stiffening, Aerys found Duncan looking at him jovially. "You have my blood, yet you are a dragon while I am not?"

Aerys only snorted. "And what are you doing here?"

"Waiting," Dunk responded. "Waiting for my brother and friend to return. For mother's beloved to return." Such was the shocking truth to any currently alive. Young Aerys has been his mother's favorite.

"Don't speak of our mother!" he snarled, only to be enveloped by two slender arms. "Don't touch your King…" he trailed off when meeting two grey eyes. "No… You're not real…"

Betha Blackwood looked exactly like Rhaella, minus her coloring and cheekbones. Soft, kind, supremely caring. "My beloved," she cooed. "I'm here."

"No, you can't. You left!" The death of his mother when he was young, a decade and a half before Summerhall… Aerys hadn't known joy since. "Why do you care?!"

"I never meant to leave, my love."

"Of course you did!" he shrieked, tears in his eyes. "First Man whore!"

She ignored it. "I love you, my son."

It was too much. Too much. "Muna…" suddenly desperate to see her smile, Aerys looked up only to see... "Demon!" His mother had morphed into Serala Darklyn, kindly smile replaced with that lustful malevolence that had so tortured him for years. Her hands grew closer, ready to consume him in the same abuse he had endured at her instigation.

Surrounding him was a black mist, tendrils wrapping around Aerys. "They threaten you. Fire and Blood, my King." Her cackles filled his ears. "Burn them all, your Grace… BURN THEM ALL!"

In an instant he was surrounded by green fire. The happy family incinerated in the towering flames, Aerys gasping as he tried in vain to find his way out of the inferno.

"Muna?! Muna!" he kept screaming over and over. "Where are you!"

But instead of his mother's sweet voice only a roar burst out of the haze. A massive black dragon, draped in flames as red as the setting sun emerged from the cracking ground. It dwarfed even Balerion the Dread. Following it from the gaping earth were two other dragons, one a glaring silver and the other a stormy blue, wings extending as they roared to the heavens.

But Aerys could only stare at the largest beast. His dragon… the dragon of the greatest Targaryen… He could feel it, it would bring his mother back, his House back to greatness…

But the flames only increased, spreading across the entire landscape as the houses of King's Landing emerged. Flames covering them, breathed onto his kingdom as another dragon swept down. Almost hollow, translucent with a heart of black fire within. Black fire… blackfire… Blackfyre! Aerys glared at the rider destroying the capitol of his realm, unable to see the face but knowing this was the false dragon.

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,

"Jenny would dance with her ghosts."

Clawing through the rubble of his kingdom, Aerys found the Red Keep itself. A lone figure where his throne was supposed to be, dancing with the ghosts of his family. Jenny. "JENNY!"

"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,

"And the ones who had loved her the most…"

Aerys shot to his feet, almost doubling over as he gasped for air. It was like he was choking and drowning at the same time. But there was no water, no food in his throat… just the same room with the three warlocks staring at him. "Se drēje," said the lead. "The true shall witness greatness."

---

"I'd advise against this, your Grace."

"What use is being in the training yard if I can't train?"

"At least let us accompany you."

"That won't be necessary, it's just a stroll in the gardens."

"I don't like this, sister. I can train later…"

Lyanna scowled, crossing her arms. "Benjen, no. Do not stop your training on my account." Rhaegar and Elia may have barred her from strenuous swordplay because of the hatchling pup growing in her belly, but she wouldn't let Benjen's kingsguard training suffer. "I'm going for a walk in the gardens."

"Lya…" behind her brother, Oswell was more formal yet no less conflicted.

The Princess was in no mood. "No, you are going to train here. By my decree." Grinning at her sullen brother, Lya blew him a kiss as she left. Just managing to hear Oswell's chuckle. Least he has a sense of humor about it.

Walking through the still vibrant gardens of the Red Keep, Lyanna could allow herself to be carefree. No one was allowed here that did not have the permission of the royal family. The perfect day to simply relax. The gardeners had planted flowers and shrubs perfectly suited to winter, and the lush vegetation was blooming colorfully around her.

"Gods," she mumbled to herself. "I'm not an invalid." While Rhaegar officially finding out had led to a night of the most frenzied lovemaking they'd ever shared, the morning brought not only a delicious soreness between her legs but a concerned husband and sister-wife insisting that she take it easy. It took me an hour before they allowed me even to ride!

"They're just looking out for you, sister," Bran had told her the moment she unloaded her frustrations on him - she knew her father would only agree. He naturally had taken it well, speaking to little Visenya and promising to teach her "All the things that your mother is too strict to teach," which led to Lya smacking him.

Her family were a bunch of paranoids but she loved them. Especially Rhaegar… my Dragon Prince… and Elia, who had grown to be her best friend. Closer than most married couples, Bran would joke, though it made her blush with… untoward thoughts.

Shaking her head, Lyanna gasped as her eyes settled on something. A bush of winter roses, planted in the middle of the garden. "Oh husband, I know this was your doing," she said with tears in her eyes. Seven Hells, Visenya. What are you doing to my emotions?

The roses were beautiful. Pale blue, the color of frost. She bent down and took a sniff. Smelling of a chilly ice and peppermint - the scent of her childhood, when she would often spend wintertime dancing through the glass gardens of Winterfell. Spontaneously, Lyanna picked off one of the flowers and tucked it behind her ear. Feeling just as beautiful as she did when Rhaegar crowned her at the tourney. Seven Hells, it feels like a lifetime ago.

Turning, a flash of silver hair caught her eye. But it wasn't Rhaegar, but rather the youthful Prince Viserys. She smiled as he played in the gardens. "My Prince!" Lyanna called out, walking to him.

Viserys stilled, looking up at Lyanna with wide violet eyes. "Good morning, Lyanna," he said, bowing. As a second son, he was ranked underneath the future Queen.

"None of that with me." The Starks never used such formalities with each other. "Enjoying your time in the gardens?" The boy was her child's uncle and she would be remiss if she didn't have a good relationship with him.

"I suppose so." Gaze angled towards his feet, shuffling them awkwardly, Viserys felt conflicting feelings for his goodsister. His father found her and the entire North distasteful and the Prince wanted to make his father proud of him…

But Lyanna - and Elia for that matter - was the sweetest person he knew aside from his mother. Always with a kind word or an intriguing story, Rhaenys absolutely adored her and the little girl was Viserys' only friend. How could father and Rhaegar think of her so differently? Both his father and his brother were his heroes.

And so, what conversations they had were… complicated. Not cold but… not inviting. Often, he just tried to stay away from her. Today though, he saw something of interest. "What's that?"

Seeing he was pointing to the flower tucked behind her ear, Lyanna chuckled. "Ah, that. Dear goodbrother, that is a winter rose."

"You wore it at the wedding… and at Harrenhal. Why?"

"Well, at Harrenhal your brother used it to crown me Queen of Love and Beauty…"

"But you seem to like them. Why?"

Smiling, Lyanna gestured for the boy to follow her. Curious, Viserys did until he saw the bush. The roses were pretty… "They are the only flowers that bloom in winter. That's why we consider no flower as precious as they."

Reaching out to touch the petals, Viserys giggled at the sweet scent. "You had them in the North, Lyanna?"

"Aye, of course. They are the most beautiful of the flowers grown in the glass gardens of Winterfell."

"May I have one?" he asked sheepishly, almost embarrassed for such a guilty pleasure.

Thinking for a moment, Lyanna took the flower from her ear and tucked it behind Viserys'. Leaning down and pecking him sweetly on the cheek. "There, now we have the second dragon since Alysanne to hold the beauty of the North."

Breaking through his walls, she was rewarded with a brilliant smile. "Thank you!" Viserys hugged her hip and then dashed off. Practically skipping.

Laughing merrily, Lyanna patted her belly. "You have the best family, little dragon."

---

Much as it would displease his wives - Elia undoubtedly telling his fierce she-wolf about what she very nearly walked in on - Rhaegar knew they trusted him. Had there been any doubts between any of them, he wouldn't be here. "So I am who you've been searching for?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"One of those I seek, yes," answered the Lady Melisandre, gaze smoldering in intensity.

Rhaegar was used to the lustful stares of women who wanted him yet couldn't have him. This woman's was… different. "How do you be sure?" he asked, skepticism dripping from his tone. "Why the fuck should I truly believe a word you say? There really isn't any reason for me to believe you, nor any of your kind."

The Red Woman only offered a laugh, unmoved by his words. "We all doubt what we can't understand… as I am sure the armies of Westeros disbelieved the dragons until Aegon the Conqueror set Belarion upon them." They were in the throne room, a single brazier baring a single egg set just in front of the steps leading to the Iron Throne. "What if I could show you?"

"What? A vision in the flames? That would sure clarify things," Rhaegar sarcastically replied.

Her wide smirk was quite unnerving. Melisandre knew the effect she could have on people, and took advantage. "Come here, Prince Rhaegar." Without waiting for his reply, she placed her arm around his waist and guided him to the brazier. "These flames are not the false ones fueled by his abomination… but rather those blessed by the servants of the Lord of Light. Visions can only be seen in the purest of flames."

"I don't see anything."

Melisandre's hand slithered along his shoulders, voice almost seductive. "Look into the flames, my Prince. Let the Lord show you the way."

Eyes glazing over, orange flames glinting against the shiny scales, Rhaegar unavoidably found his gaze fall deep into the fires...

A battlefield, location unknown from tens of thousands of fields across Westeros. Tens of thousands of men locked in pitched combat. Frenzied, brutal, blood of countless men and boys spilled in the prime of their life.

"Go on, my Prince," Melisandre continued, voice echoing… as if she was speaking to him underwater. "Search the flames. Find what the Lord of Light is trying to tell you."

Rhaegar's waded through the clashing swords and shields. A drab northerner, greatsword in hand as he engaged a trio of men-at-arms. A figure in golden armor, lance depressed as he charged through masses of men. A sudden charge of knights, plate and mail weighing down their bodies and horses charging headlong into the fray - an imposing bear of a man with a helmet of antlers at the van, snarl audible as he barrelled headlong at…

Suddenly the battlefield pulsed. Shields of one side and one side only erupting in light. Blinding him slightly, forcing Rhaegar to look away as a shrill shriek warbled loudly over the hellscape…

"Kepa." In an instant Rhaegar found himself catapulted to a new scene. The flames changed, serene almost. As if immersed in a cloudless day. "What if I fall off?"

"Don't fall off then, my son." He heard his own teasing voice. Older, deeper with experience and yet carefree with a contented happiness that was largely alien to him. "It's in your blood. Sovegon!"

"Sovegon!"

The air passed him by, like a sudden wind… almost as if he was flying… Rhaegar felt powerful. Rhaegar felt free…

"I'm doing it, kepa!"

Warmth filled him. "That's it, my son. You are a dragon!"

"Higher, boy, higher!" In the edge of his vision, Rhaegar saw a massive wing of green. Partially blocking a smaller form in the distance. A dragon. Black and red, atop which was a young man with dark hair…

Lyanna's hair…

"I can't wait for them to see!" the boy shouted. "To share this with them, like you and munas."

"My son…" he murmured. But the flames slowly rose. Heat slowly built up until unbearable.

Until a voice emerged, one unknown to him. "Fight, Rhaegar Targaryen," it shouted. "Fight for this. Fight. Fight! FIGHT!"

Followed by a female scream, one like a knife to the heart…

Back in reality, Rhaegar pitched back, drenched in sweat. Scream echoing in his head. "My Prince," Melisandre said, kneeling beside him. "What did you see? What did the Lord show you?"

It all suddenly clicked. The fires of the Red God meeting their match as his blood turned cold. "Lya!" Without even bothering to look at Melisandre, Rhaegar raced out of the throne room.

---

The word of mouth spread quickly in the Red Keep. Whispers found servants and guards fleeing for elsewhere. For those unlucky enough to be unable to dash away, they simply bowed or curtseyed as low as possible and said nary a word. Frantically praying under their breath.

For the King was in a mood. It was as plain as anyone could tell. Kingsguards dismissed. Sunken look in his eye, he was just looking for a fault to explode over. Anything from a tongue lashing to being drawn and quartered was a possibility, and everyone from the lowliest maid to the members of the small council knew that he would just need to get to his chambers and burn it off.

Aerys' mind was a cauldron, barely able to see where he was going as he marched towards his chambers. The aftereffects of the Shade of the Evening both gave him a headache and made his eyelids droop, while the weight of the vision made him jumpy in contrast. Willpower fighting between seeking out rest in the cot he called a bed or the desire to deduce the secrets of the vision - it had taken all the urgings of the Warlocks and Ser Jonothor to not drown in the vile purple brew until all was exposed in his consciousness.

And his mother… why was she there? Why couldn't he see her? Muna… why did you leave me? He was a barrel of wildfire ready to ignite… and all that was needed was the tiniest spark…

"And she never, wan...ted to leave…" Aerys halted. "High in the halls of the Kings who are Gone…" His eyes widened. "Jenny would dance with her ghosts…" The King heard enough, marching down the corridor to find his son Viserys. Skipping happily and singing softly… until he caught sight of his father. "Your Grace, he bowed."

The barrel had found its spark. "What are you doing?!" He shouted. "Where did you hear that song?!"

Suddenly set upon by his father's bombardment of questions, Viserys froze. "Umm…"

Aerys' eyes drifted to the flower and he went white. "What the fuck is that?" He had seen it before, in the crowns presented at tourneys, but only one person ever wore a single blue rose…

"Lya gave it to me…" Viserys was clueless of the storm he was bringing down upon himself. "The flower is very pretty, kepa."

He was cut off with a sudden backhand to the cheek. The King's rings cut open his cheek. "You are a Prince! Not a Dornish sword-swallower!" Aerys screamed. "We'll just see about this fucking flower business."

Viserys sobbed, tears mixing with blood. "Please, kepa…"

"SHUT IT!"

Sighing in joy, Lyanna rubbed her clothed stomach. My dragonwolf… "I love you so much, Visenya." She thought of a beautiful girl with silver hair and grey eyes. Oh, how the world looked brighter after a stroll in the gardens. Stress of her royal duties washing from Lyanna as she walked towards the library. Her library. Eager to scour the thousands of texts to find out the history of the construction of King's Landing and how the aqueducts could…

Turning a corner, Lyanna barely caught a flash of the red royal robes before Aerys' fist crashed into her face. Breaking her nose and sending blood splattering. "YOU WHORE!" she heard him scream. Yanking her up by her hair and slapping her hard as she cried out.

Vision blurry, the northern Princess caught a glimpse of Viserys, trembling with eyes rimmed with tears. "Kepa… you're hurting her!"

"Be a man, you little shit!" Aerys pulled the chestnut locks higher, making Lya scream. He liked the sound. "Why did you do it! Why are you corrupting my son, you wildling slut!"

"Your Grace," she wailed. Tasting blood in her mouth. "I didn't…" He punched her again, making her see double.

"I know it's you, Jenny!" His vision tinged red, mind swirling. Be it the effects of the Shade of the Evening or the fury of how warped his thinking was, all he could see was his gooddaughter being taken. Her soul enveloped by the dark magic of his brother's late wife. Someone that court rendered him unable to properly deal with and the whirlwind being reaped now. Over and over he slapped her, tossing her to the ground and kicking her in the shoulder. "You will not corrupt my family!"

Panic flooded Lyanna, hands quickly covering her stomach as the pain stabbed through her face and upper torso. Almost blacking out as another kick slammed into her breasts. "Please, your Grace," she begged, trying to meet his eyes. Finding nothing but a crazed madness - nothing like the loving violet in Rhaegar's. "I carry…" Blood spat from her mouth. "Your son's child…"

In mid-kick, Aerys stopped. Digesting the words from the demon before him. False dragon… false dragon… The fires that consumed King's Landing, the dragon controlled by Jenny…

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,

"Jenny would dance with her ghosts."

"No! No, it can't be!" His head pulsed in agony, as if thousands pounded away within his skull. Aerys clutched his head, staggering.

"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,

"And the ones who had loved her the most…"

Rage blasting through his headache, Aerys' eyes almost glowed a blazing purple at Lyanna. No… not Lyanna Targaryen, his Stark gooddaughter - no, Jenny had taken this woman. Used her as a vessel for the false dragon that would destroy the world. That would bring the doom.

"You know what you must do…"

"Goodfather," she begged, voice soft and halting. Barely able to rise from the pain of her injuries. It was as if her body was on fire, being struck all over with a training blade. "Please… mercy…"

"Mercy is for the weak!" Shoving the crying, shaking Viserys aside - ignorant of the rapidly expanding puddle of piss from the poor child's soaked trousers - and grabbed a candlestick mounted into the wall. Snapping the metal staff out of sheer anger. "You will not destroy my realm, Jenny!" He raised the candlestick, a feeling of smugness filling him as Jenny's grey eyes went wide with complete terror. IT'S MINE! MINE!"

If the pain from before had been unbearable, this was excruciating. The metal crashing against her face, her shoulders, her arms and legs. The crunch of bone filling her swollen ears. Lyanna heard a hoarse scream… realized as her own. Howling a blood-curdling echo into the hallway as the King continued to beat her. Screaming incoherently.

"Do it… cleanse her…"

"DIE JENNY! DIE JENNY! THE FALSE DRAGON WILL DIE!" As her hand moved to protect Visenya, Aerys kicked the hand away. Boots stomping on the digits - breaking them. "I AM THE TRUE DRAGON. CONDEMN THE FALSE ONE TO THE SEVEN HELLS!"

No… stop… please… Lyanna barely managed to hear a sudden cry from someone… Rhaegar, Bran, she did not know… just as the candlestick crashed down into her abdomen…

Notes:

A/N: Well... I doubt there's much for me to say. Be sure to leave s comment with your thoughts.

If I can get 40 comments, I'll update Wednesday.

Chapter 35: Shattered

Notes:

Hi everyone. Sorry bout the cliffhanger last time. Kinda shocked everyone here.

This chapter won't be easier, but there's indications of hope.

What happened to Lyanna is partially based on Ivan the Terrible and his daughter in law.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Legs pumping - scared servants staring at him - Rhaegar heard the screams echo through the hallway. Filling him with dread, a sheen of sweat soaked his forehead. Almost tripping, he came alongside his goodbrother. "You heard it?"

Brandon was equally panicked. "It's coming from over there!"

"I AM THE TRUE DRAGON!" Rhaegar saw nothing but the corridor where the booming voice of his father came from. "CONDEMN THE FALSE ONE TO THE SEVEN HELLS!"

Racing around the corner, he saw the King raise a candlestick, Viserys cowering by the wall while laying battered was… "NO!"

It was too late, Aerys striking Lyanna's abdomen - more blows falling on her head before Brandon could throw himself at the King. "Your Grace, stop!"

But Aerys, eyes blazing with madness, threw off the heir to Winterfell. Brandon stumbled back and crashed into the wall. "You will not destroy me, false dragon!" He turned back to Lyanna.

"Father!" Frantically grabbing his arm, Rhaegar yanked him back. "Stop this!" Snarling, Aerys swung back, catching Rhaegar in the stomach.

"What the…" In the corner of his eyes were Arthur and Barristan, their own eyes wide at the scene before them.

"Stay off me!" screeched the King - this time Rhaegar dodged the swing, leaping back nimbly. "No one stops the dragon! No one stops me…!" Suddenly, Aerys stilled. Stunned as Brandon bashed him with the hilt of his knife. He spun around, blacking out.

Brandon simply stood there, watched over by Rhaegar and the Kingsguards with shock. He was lucky it was only after backed away did the servants begin to mill into the corridor. The others would keep his secret.

Watching his father collapse from Brandon's blow, the Prince felt a sudden anger surge through him. Hand moving to grab Blackfyre… "Your grace!" Barristan's shout pierced the fog of rage just as a detachment of household guards arrived. "Get the Princess!" His words may have saved Rhaegar's life right then. "Attend to the King!" he ordered at Thorne, the latter confused if anything. "Fetch Grand Maester Pycelle, now!"

Heart beating in his chest, Rhaegar fell to his knees beside his fallen wife. "Lya… gods…" Her dress was ripped, mouth bloodied while it seemed her entire right arm and face were swollen. "You'll be fine… WHERE'S FUCKING PYCELLE?!" he snarled. More people began to surround him and he almost drew Blackfyre a second time. "NO ONE TOUCHES HER!"

"My Prince." He calmed, seeing it was Arthur. "We need to get her out of here."

A weak, gentle hand brushed against his arm. "Rhae… Rhaeg…" It was Lyanna. Voice faint and eyes barely seeing through the approaching blackness.

His eyes snapped open. Finding her greys so muted, fading… as if she was close to the end. "Lya. My love," he cupped her cheek. "You'll be alright."

"Tired… it hurts…" Suddenly a trickle of blood began to drip out of her torn dress.

Spotting the blood, Rhaegar felt gutted. "No!" Without warning he hefted her in his arms. Cradling her head with as much care as he could. "Out of my way!"

"Rhaegar…" she gasped weakly.

"No, you'll be fine! Hold on!"

"Take care… the babe… if… if…" Sleep began to take hold.

It was close to destroying Rhaegar, yet he kept running. "Hold on!"

---

Both Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan placed their hands on their sheathed swords when the door to the royal wing opened. But at the silver-haired form of Queen Rhaella - followed closely by Ser Jaime - they relaxed. "Rhaegar?"

Her son rose, opening his arms to accept her mother's hug. "Muna… how is Viserys?"

"Your brother is fine. Bruised a bit… but fine." Rhaella had just spent an hour calming him down, the boy utterly hysterical. It shattered her heart… but this was worse.

"And the King?" asked Brandon with a sarcastic sneer. "How does our illustrious monarch fair?" Normally ready to chastise him, Rickard refused, just as enraged.

Sensing Rhaella's discomfort, Jaime answered. "Bruise on the skull. Acolytes gave him Milk of the Poppy."

"I wish he was dead," mumbled Ellaria. Dacey nodded beside her, arms wrapped protectively around herself.

Swallowing hard, the Queen's gaze shifted from Rhaegar to her gooddaughter. Elia looked pale, eyes red. "Any word on Lyanna?"

"None. It's been hours." Elia's voice quivered. "They've been working on her so long…"

All conversation stilled as the door to the chambers opened - Pycelle shuffling out. Even at only around five-and-forty name days, he looked ancient… and disgusting. "Your Grace," he bowed to Rhaegar.

Elia sat up first. "Grand Maester, is she…?"

"Princess Lyanna will be fine," he replied, voice low and mumbling. "I suspect a full recovery in at most, half a moon… for most of it, that is."

"What does that mean?" Brandon was angry. "What are you not telling us?"

Pycelle narrowed his eyes, affronted. "Lord Brandon, that is an insulting…"

He was cut off as Rhaegar interjected. "Please, Grand Maester. My wife was hurt, bear with our fears. Just… tell us."

Resentful gaze cast once more in Brandon's direction, the Grand Maester nevertheless complied. "She has a broken arm and several bruised ribs. They will take a moon to heal." Such was a small relief, Brandon muttering a thanks to the Old Gods while Elia looked hopeful. "Her remaining injuries are mostly bruises and small cuts, none of which require sewing." Not that Pycelle was capable of it. Gout already crippled his fingers.

"And the babe?" Rhaegar asked hopefully… only for his face to fall when the Grand Maester averted his gaze. "What?"

Elia was in no mood. "Spit it out!"

While still affronted, there was little one could do to her. "Her abdomen was the most severely struck," Pycelle began, choosing his words carefully. "The damage is not so severe as to sunder her womb. The babe…" Even here, he stuttered. Not wishing to see the pain on their faces. "The babe in her womb has been lost."

It took everything in him for Rhaegar not to keel over. "Our child is dead?"

"If you could call it that at barely two moons…" He trailed off when Elia looked close to strangling him. "Yes, your Grace. Princess Lyanna's babe did not survive the… incident. I'm sorry, there is nothing even the most experienced archmaester could do." Noticing there was no response, he continued. "I have given her milk of the poppy to sleep, and I advise you to use it over the next week to control her pain. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to see to his Grace." Pycelle scurried off, no one sad to see him go.

And it hung in the room like a noxious cloud. A few simple words crushing the happiness that had settled upon Houses Targaryen and Stark.

Lyanna's babe was dead.

Killed by her goodfather, King Aerys.

Brandon punched a wall. Lord Rickard was the opposite - as numb as when his wife had died. Rhaella was equally as quiet, yet sobbing softly. The two ladies in waiting threw their arms around each other, trembling while the gathered Kingsguards stood without a word, faces grim. Princess Elia broke down, falling into her husband's embrace. "We were supposed to protect her," she cried softly. "How will we tell Rhae?" She loved that babe with all her heart... We all did…

Yet it was Rhaegar that stood the most affected. Arms wrapped tightly around his wife, giving whatever comfort he could… finding none for himself All the blood had drained from his face, the vibrant life in his violet eyes gone. There would be no comfort for the longest time.

Minutes later, the Prince guided Elia by the shoulders - practically holding her up - into the chambers. His chambers. Their chambers… Benjen gave a sad glance to his goodbrother, watching over the room through every bit of heartbreak. Lyanna rested quietly, sheets and furs pulled up to just below her chin. All was serene, supposedly, as if she was sleeping. But Rhaegar knew better.

The bruises all over her bare, pale shoulders and her left cheek swelled in a purple blotch, this wasn't his Lyanna. She wasn't on her side, clutching a pillow tightly silently seeking him. Lips curled into a smile in her sleep. How she shifted softly, dreams happy. Each little tell he had fallen madly in love with was absent. Her sleep lifeless, just like her womb.

Easing Elia into the chair on one side of Lya, his wife immediately took up an arm. "Lyanna… I'm so sorry… I should've…" It wasn't her fault, but Elia couldn't help but feel the guilt wash over her.

As for Rhaegar, the arm on the side he sat beside was splinted. Dangerous to hold or even disturb, so he simply stared at her sleeping form. Wanting to cry, yet unable to. "Lya… I love you," he whispered. "All will be fine."

He would fight till his last breath to prove it true.

"I'm doing it, kepa!"

"That's it, my son. You are a dragon!"

In the time of his greatest pain, that one image from Melisandre's vision gave Rhaegar peace.

---

Whereas the Crown Prince had been perched on the side of the bed the last time Dacey was in the royal chambers, he was gone. Holding the unconscious Lyanna's hand was Princess Elia. Quiet but red eyes and tearstains down her cheeks betraying her emotions.

"Dacey." Pouring warm water into a compress, Ellaria had lost her vivacious nature. Pale and silent. "Elia and Rhaegar are taking shifts by her side." Not even one snarky comment forthcoming. "What did you bring."

"Fresh bandages and watered wine for her." She gestured to the Dornish Princess.

Ellaria sighed. "Good luck. She won't speak. Won't move."

Looking at Elia, at how she watched every hitch in Lyanna's breathing, Dacey came to a very Ellaria-like conclusion. "She cares for Lyanna."

"Well of course."

"No… I think she…" The she-bear dropped to a whisper. "Loves Lyanna."

A moment's confused glance turned understanding. "Oh." Ellaria snorted softly. "All this shit has fogged up my thinking." Her eyes shifted to them, Elia now softly stroking Lyanna's hand with her thumb. "She probably is, but is in denial. The one woman in Dorne who is squeamish about pleasure."

Dacey's lips curled upward. "Glad the friend I know is still in there." Setting the linen and flagon on the table, she cupped her stomach. Feeling the slightest of swells. "Elia must be feeling just as destroyed as the Prince."

The Dornish bastard shook her head. "No, she feels far more pain." At Dacey's questioning look, she demurred. "Forgive me, but it's not my place to say.

Nodding, the she-bear patted Ellaria's arm. "I'll be resting in my chambers. The babe…"

"Go, I understand."

Her chamber felt empty. Not literally, but in truth… without Arthur in her bed as it was in her darker yet equally spacious chambers in Dragonstone, all the life was gone from it.

Silently, Dacey propped open a flagon of spiced fruit cider and drank a bit, settling her stomach. If Arthur doesn't want to stain his honor with a bastard, then… She knew her House would welcome her and her child but it wasn't the same. I love him. I want him.

But reality had to be faced either way.

A knock at the door nearly made her drop the flagon. "Fuck," Dacey breathed softly. Irritated, she walked to the door and opened it. "Who..." she was cut short when she saw Ser Arthur Dayne standing there.

He was out of his armor, merely clad in a faded purple tunic and trousers. The mighty Dawn was absent from his side. "May I come in?"

Dacey chewed her lip, conflicted. She desperately wanted to let him in. To embrace him tightly, kissing him deeply as she stripped him bare all while whispering sweet nothings into his ear. But her northern pride prevented her doing so. "You may come in."

Arthur's breath caught in his mouth. Dacey in her woolen nightgown, hair spilling over her shoulders. She is radiant. And yet as he walked in, Arthur took in her sunken eyes, hollow expression. Because of me…

But Barristan's words, put aside for hours due to Lyanna, slammed hard into his mind. He took action. As soon as she closed the door Arthur pulled her into his arms. Kissing her hard upon the mouth.

And that melted her. Opening her lips to draw his tongue in, Dacey had been craving this for so long. A taste of it put the best ale of the North to absolute shame. Simply enjoying it.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips.

In her kiss-drunk state, Dacey almost didn't hear it. She pulled back, staring at him. Eyes sparkling. "I love you too." Almost like a dream, her fingers began working on his outfit.

Cupping the back of her head, Arthur pulled their mouths back together, blindly pushing them towards her bed. His own hand pulled at her gown as hers ripped off his tunic.

It took only a moment for them to remove their clothes before Dacey fused their lips together. "Arthur," Dacey moaned. When his lips began sucking her long, creamy neck it was as if her mind turned to mush. "Please..."

Sucking her earlobe between his teeth, Arthur grinned at her whimpers of delight. He shoved her nude form onto the bed, letting his trousers drop to join her. But he caught sight of her tiny bump. Eyes glistening, Arthur climbed atop her - cupping Dacey's face. "You mean everything to me."

Gazing deep into his stunning violet eyes, Dacey wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Need you."

Arthur couldn't help himself. He wanted to just talk to her at first, but seeing Dacey so beautiful and delicious… Taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. "Irresistible, absolutely irresistible." Arthur didn't want her to merely moan. He wanted her to scream.

She read his mind, reaching down to wrap her powerful yet slender fingers around him. "I need you inside me." Dacey wrapped her legs around him. "Now, Arthur."

Gazing at her reverently, Arthur hissed with pleasure as he pushed into her. He leaned down to suck on her pulse, burying himself to the hilt in her luscious warmth. "Missed this," he grunted.

Dacey moaned louder. "Same." She had almost forgotten how wonderful this was. "Oh gods…" A scream left her lips as he hit a spot dreep inside her.

"I love you so much, Dacey," he whispered, rocking their hips together. Possessive. Passionate

"I love you too, fuck, Arthur..." Dacey bucked and writhed beneath him, losing herself in the pure pleasure his touch gave her. Her nails dug into his back, eyes gazing at the handsome, swarthy face of the Torrentine knight. "I'm close, gods I'm..." A rush of wetness flooded out of her, clamping down on his cock.

Her climax triggered his own release. Arthur grunting and spilling his seed inside his she-bear.

Arthur flipped them onto their sides while Dacey gently caressed his back. "That was amazing," he declared, face buried into her hair.

She chuckled throatily. "It was." Dacey bit her lip, suddenly nervous. "What was this, Arthur?"

"I believe it's called reconnection, my little bear cub." He pressed feather light kisses to her temple.

Dacey sighed, snuggling into his chest. "I love you Arthur, but unless you came to terms with our child..."

He quickly cut her off. "I already love him, with all my heart."

"And yet you cared more about your oath…" She didn't want to bring it up but owing it to herself and her babe to do so. "I can't have my child resented by you, Arthur."

"That will never happen." His tone was firm. "This child is mine. I love him and will stand before the realm and recognize him."

She gasped. "But… your oath…"

He smiled sheepishly. "We may have to keep calm until Rhaegar rules, but the true honor is doing right by you and my child. My loyalty to Rhaegar will never die, and I know in my heart that it will never conflict with my love for you." Wordlessly, she nodded. She would never betray Lyanna. Not if all of House Mormont did. "I am a Kingsguard to the death, and I am the man in love with Dacey Mormont to the death."

Her heart soared. "Promise?"

"Over my life, honor, sword and most importantly... my love for you."

Eyes tearing up once more, she kissed him desperately. "I love you… my knight… my handsome, perfect Sword of the Morning…" He may not have been a prince, but Dacey knew exactly how Lyanna felt. How Elia felt. Even as the kiss petered out, she continued to hold him. Letting his heartbeat soothe her.

"Dacey, I want to take you to Starfall."

She looked up. "Really? Why?"

"I want my family to meet the woman I love. The mother of my child."

Dacey's eyes widened at that. "Arthur... but how do you think they will react?"

"My sister will love you." Ashara was vibrant and powerful on her own. They'd definitely get along.

"With what you have told me about her I have no doubt, but the others... I was the one that made their Sword of the Morning forsake his vows."

He kissed her brow. "They'll love you as much as I do."

"I hope so Arthur. I want us to raise this little you as best as we can, together." She agreed with him, thinking it was a boy. A little Arthur, perhaps with her hair and his eyes.

"Nothing will happen to either of you, I swear it."

A wide smile. "If it's a girl I want to name her Lyanna, after my sister in all but blood. If it's a boy..." The smile grew. "Arthur."

He was stunned. "Why... why that name?"

"For one of the most honorable, kindest, and handsomest men to ever walk the Realm."

He hugged her close. "I can't believe the gods gave me such a gift."

"Me neither." At least one couple found their happiness that night.

---

Hand of the King Jon Connington hadn't had time to even strip off his boots before he dashed for the royal quarters. "My Prince, I just heard…" It was then that he noticed a third person in the solar. Someone he'd rather not deal with. "Lord Brandon."

"Lord Hand," Brandon replied, eyes narrowing. "My goodbrother and I were simply sharing a glass of wine while my goodsister, brother, and father sit at Lyanna's bedside." Peering at the Hand, it was almost as if Connington held the ghost of a grin at the news of his sister's…

"Easy, Bran. We're all allies today." Rhaegar patted a seat next to him. "Sit. Have a drink with us… please." He just wanted someone to take his mind off of everything. "You've been gone a while."

Connington nodded, taking in Rhaegar. His eyes were sunken, face pale. A man without hope. "Meeting with a Lord of the Stormlands."

"Which one?" asked Brandon.

He was waved off by Rhaegar. "Doesn't matter… not now." They all downed their drinks, a sweet Arbor gold. "Gods, isn't this the perfect manifestation of my House. Great and powerful, reduced to this."

"Are you sure there's nothing we can do?"

Looking up at Brandon, Connington knew of the plans. But he also knew Rhaegar couldn't afford to deviate from it, which was why he looked so despondent. "Nothing, unless you want to dangle from a pole," he said bitingly. At least my plans are going well. This was perfect… even more perfect if Lyanna didn't survive. May it be true.

The Stark gripped his goblet with a scowl. "So this is the Red fucking Keep - reminds me of a cheap whore. Something lusted over by many, only to end up with the cockrot."

"That's… oddly apt, brother," Rhaegar replied.

"Is this how it's like? Ruling?"

A shrug. "Not usually. Sometimes better, mostly worse. This would be a quiet day during Maegor or Aegon IV's reign," the Prince muttered sullenly. "I can imagine the North would be quieter."

But Brandon shook his head. "No… no it's not. This, I see now clearer than a cloudless day." Morose, he stood. "Forgive me, I need to take a piss." Brandon patted Rhaegar on the shoulder. "I'll be back soon."

Soon it was just them… like old times. "Some husband and father I am, Connington," Rhaegar said. "Lost my child and nearly my wife."

Lyanna was pregnant? Good thing the King did this. Another child in the line of succession was not something Connington wished to deal with.

The time began to pass, drink after drink passing by their lips as they seemed to forget about Brandon returning. Rhaegar laughed humorously at something. "I try to do the right thing. That should count for something."

Vision blurry, Connington nodded at his Prince's comment. Lips planted in a dopey smile. "True… Rhaegar. Hic. So very truuue." Only about two thirds of the sparkling liquid had slid down his throat - the rest trickling down his chin and beard. Even the most poised and noble Lords found themselves wastrels when deep in their cups.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Rhaegar rested his head on his hand. "Gods, Jon. How did my life fall into the Seven Hells?" Without friends or lovers by his side, the Crown Prince became a brooding, weepy drunk. Not a flattering look, but he was within his own solar.

"Life… it is an enigma wrapped in a mys… mys… mystery." Connington on the other hand was in euphoria. What better a day could this have been? "That which is horrid… only… makes the good… all the better." Such was what kept him going.

A grim chuckle left Rhaegar. "The horrid makes the good all the better?" He shook his head. "I should be earning a realm covered in gold and jewels with a thousand dragons in the sky for all I and my wives endured." He tilted his head, drinking. The dragonblood allowed him to handle his liquor better than most. "Sometimes I look fondly back to our youth."

Even tipsy, Connington's eyes widened at 'our.' "Oh?"

"Aye, you and I hunting in the woods. Roasting our kills, sparring together, wrestling… I always used to beat you," he laughed.

His mouth went dry. Those memories… Rhaegar's body pressed up against his even in a sport of strength or a hunt… they filled his fantasies. "Didn't I say I'd always beat you someday?" Hopefully in bed.

"Will never happen," Rhaegar teased, the low light of the hearth causing his silver locks to sparkle.

His breeches suddenly grew tight, cock straining against them. Connington's indulging with Renly had barely satiated him. Alcohol lowering his inhibitions, he felt it harder and harder not to gaze brazenly and lustfully at his desired lover.

Rhaegar looked wistfully ahead. "I wouldn't give up those memories for anything." He looked at his friend and Hand, tension thankfully lessening between them. "Practically some of the only joy my childhood brought…"

In his drink-addled mind, Connington's self-control snapped. He lunged forward with hand and head. Fingers tangling in the silver strands he dreamed about, lips connecting with Rhaegar's. His mouth tasting sweet to the tongue. Gone was the fact his friend was hurting, gone was the fact he had lost a child. All Connington could think of was that Rhaegar was better than he could imagine…

While the Prince was too stunned to respond in the moment, the returning heir to Winterfell was. Before Rhaegar could gently push his friend away, Brandon grabbed Connington by his collar and threw him to the ground. "Fuckin' pillow biter!" Northern drawl thick, Brandon was on the Hand, fist pistoning into his jaw. "He fuckin' lost his child! My nephew!" Another punch, this time to the chest as Connington was too punch-drunk to react. "Married to my sister!" Punching him over and over. "You!" Punch. "Do not!" Punch. "Touch him!" Punch. "Buggerer!"

Shaking off his buzz, Rhaegar hauled his brother off his friend. "Bran, stop!"

Brandon writhed against his hold. "That sword swallower isn't touching you!"

"Please, there's been enough pain today." That seemed to get to Brandon, relaxing in Rhaegar's grip.

Kneeling beside Connington, the Prince grabbed his hand. Hauling him up. "You were always a bit of a fool," Rhaegar chuckled.

Face bloodied, Connington cracked out a tiny smile. "My Prince... " My Silver Prince. "I'm…"

All was broken when Oswell entered the solar. "Your Grace, Lord Stark. She's starting to wake."

Without another thought, Rhaegar scrambled out. Needing to see his wife… leaving Connington there. Fists clenching. Fucking Starks…!

---

No one left the King unattended - even as he rested almost serenely in bed. As if the gentlest soul alive rather than a rapidly worsening madman. The three slight, petite maids that couldn't hurt a fly if they charged at it with a sword all saw Rhaella and curtseyed low. "Your Grace."

"Leave us. I'll take care of my husband." Not willing to argue with her - nor wanting to - the maids compiled. Soon, it was just her and the sleeping Aerys. Her brother, her husband… her tormentor. The man that killed my grandchild.

Rhaella hovered over him, trying to remember the happy boy that used to teach her about all the dragons. The smiling man that danced with her at their wedding feast. Trying to remember whatever good memories she could to prevent her from smothering him right there. Ending it and risking her life…

"How could you?" she asked, no one listening. "How could you kill your own blood? Become a kinslayer after all we endured. All the deaths, stillbirths?" Her fists clenched. "How could the brother I knew have become so evil?"

Abruptly, Aerys stirred. Groaning as his eyes fluttered open. "Wha… fuck," he murmured, reaching up sluggishly to clutch at his skull. "Hurts…"

She put on her mask. "Your Grace. You're awake."

"My head…" His glassy eyes suddenly turned bright. "Brandon Stark!"

"You're blaming the man that tried to stop your fall?"

"He… hit.. what?" Aerys found the rage dim to confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Her expression didn't falter a bit. "You tripped over your robes. Young Brandon tried to break your fall but you hit your head on the ground." When had she become such an effective liar?

His mind confused and clouded, Aerys was sure his wife didn't lie to him. "Alright…" a smile tinged his face. "I saved us all. Ended the last dragon."

Rhaella almost smothered him right there.

---

Blinking, Lyanna found herself in a familiar place. A dream, it had to be a dream - there was no earthly reason she could have returned to her former chambers in Winterfell so abruptly. Cheerier, decorated with several tapestries and well-carved furniture but still the room she had grown up in. Unless… no, the gods would not be so cruel as to have her entire marriage to Rhaegar be a dream.

"Well, Lya, did you think this day would come?"

Hearing the familiar brogue, she turned and found who could only be her brother. "Ned," she breathed. He was much older, a man experienced. His face was handsome but worn, yet the grey eyes never lost their happy luster. "I never did think it would end up like this." Lyanna was confused. It was as if she had no control over her voice.

Ned laughed. "That's what Cersei told me this morning, but I think that's just fine. Right Jon?"

She did not have to wait long for an answer. "I'm just happy that I know both sets of goodparents." Eyes drawn to a figure seated at a vanity table, obviously in discomfort from having to be prepped and prodded. The sight filled her with warmth, as if the dream version of her knew and loved this figure very much. "Having to marry my Aunt with Lord Tywin there… I'm glad it's you giving her away, uncle."

"Happy to do it. You'll treat her with respect… both of them."

Walking over to the table, rounding the seated figure, Lyanna gasped inwardly. Her hair, her coloring, but everything else was Rhaegar. Down to those beautiful violet eyes. "Oh, Jon, my beloved son." She reached forward and pinched his cheeks. "You're to be wed today!"

"Muna…" he complained. "I'm not a child."

"You'll always be my child," she heard herself say, assaulting him with a flurry of kisses. Is this to be mine? This beautiful boy is my child with Rhaegar? It filled Lyanna with an indescribable joy. "They are both are lucky ladies." The dream her knew exactly who they were, even if the real her didn't.

Her son brooded like Rhaegar did. "I worry sometimes they aren't."

"Oh, you're just like your father. Don't worry about that." He smiled at her, and it was as if everything was right in the world...

A low light. It was the first thing Lyanna recognized, dim and comforting as it danced along her closed lids. Likely a flickering fire. The feel of the soft furs followed… her furs, from her bed. Hers and Rhaegar's. They felt warm, inviting… like home.

Yet it wasn't home without the warmth of him next to her.

"She's awake." The voice sounded far away, but Lyanna knew it anywhere. Benjen…

A gentle hand grabbed her own, another familiar presence. Elia. One that calmed her in only the way Rhaegar could. Brushing a thumb along her palm. "Easy does it, Lya. No need to strain yourself." The Dornish lilt hit her ears like the softest of songs. Lyanna could listen to it every time she awoke.

Trying to open her eyes, it was hard. Lids groggy as if she had been given something. I should sit up… "Argh…" A sharp pain in her stomach sent her crashing down, even if she had only moved a few inches. What the fuck…

"Please, little pup." Father. "Don't strain yourself, just rest." He had the same tone as he did when she suffered from winter fever as a child.

The door opened. "He's here, Lya," she heard Benjen say, still unable to open her eyes.

Another hand brushed at her forehead. Rhaegar… my love. "Rhae… Rhaeg…" she tried to say, voice a hoarse croak.

"I'm here, my love. I'm here." Her world was complete.

"Please try to open your eyes, Lya," urged Elia, voice just as loving and sweet as her husband's. At the moment, Lyanna loved it.

Straining, she finally managed to open them. Gazing up from her prone position to see both Rhaegar and Elia looking at her. While affection radiated off them, Lyanna also sensed… worry. Fear. Pain… "Wha… what happened?"

From the corner, she could hear a sigh. Bran. "You don't remember?"

"She's just waking up from milk of the poppy. I think she'll be a bit off her bearings," Elia shot back.

"Milk… of the poppy?" She knit her brows in confusion.

Her father gently reached out to stroke her hair. "You were attacked, little pup. He hurt you bad."

"Hurt…?" Suddenly it came to her. Walking happily from the garden. Aerys' rage. Punching her, kicking her. Raising a candlestick to come down hard on… Lyanna's heart began beating out of her chest. "Rhaegar… the babe, please. Elia… father, tell me…"

What tenderness left the gazes of her husband and sister-wife, replaced with pain. Only pain. "She's gone, Lya."

"No." Lyanna wanted to scream, but was unable to.

"Visenya is gone. I'm so sorry, my love."

All her joy, all her happiness… gone. At that moment, Lyanna Targaryen's soul seemed to snuff out.

Notes:

Well... safe to say that Jon wasn't the babe Lyanna was previously pregnant with.

Based on the vision of Lyanna, it's clear that Jon's brides will be Dany and one of Ned's daughters. Still debating which one, so feel free to civilly discuss. Any point raised will be answered by me :D

Connington... booze doesn't go well with him.

Until next time! The more reviews the sooner I update :D

Chapter 36: Healing

Notes:

Hi everyone. God, things are insane over here with all the riots and looting. Please pray that it ends soon, and stay safe.

Anywho, sorry about the sad ending last time. I hope this chapter will be better.

Happy birthday WhiteDragonWolf!

Enjoy and please comment :D

Peeking inside Aegon's chambers, Rhaegar smiled at him fast asleep. The Prince gently kissed his silver hair. "Sleep well, my son." He was a perfect mix of himself and Elia, and Rhaegar's heart caught.

Quietly making his way down the corridor to check on Rhaenys, Rhaegar's mind could only go to the darkest places. Two beautiful dragonvipers as Oberyn had told him on Dragonstone, but as for the dragonwolf that he had loved so... It was tearing him apart inside, knowing that his entire family suffered in silence.

Rhaenys… he feared was the most silent. "Little Dragon?" he asked, finding her staring at the window. Idly petting Balerion, cat resting on the windowsill.

She turned around. "Kepa." The Princess stood and walked to him, hugging him. "I missed you today."

"I miss you every day, little dragon," he replied. Rhaegar noticed just how… different she was. The childish exuberance was gone - it was as if she was on the milk of the poppy, even when happy. I've seen the same in Arthur when he returned from the Kingswood Brotherhood campaign. Everything just seemed… pale, dour. "Uncle Ned sent a raven from Winterfell."

Ever since the day after the wedding, Rhaenys absolutely adored her Uncle Ned. "Really? What did he say? Did I get a direwolf?"

Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "A direwolf?"

"I asked him for one. He and muna say I's a Stark now, so I want a fluffy little one to cuddle with like Balerion." The cat purred in the corner, unaware of what was going on.

He laughed, hugging her again. "I think even if there are direwolves south of the Wall, ravens can't carry them." His daughter looked disappointed. "Don't worry, when things settle I'll take everyone to Winterfell for a royal progress. Haven't had one there since Jaehaerys and Alysanne."

Her face fell slightly, mouth opening as if wanting to say something… yet not. Only rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and picking up Balerion - holding him to her chest.

Exhaling deeply as he walked down the corridors toward his chambers… not that he slept there anymore. Letting Lyanna have the bed so she could recover while he and Elia took her chambers. Ned's letter didn't just include love for Rhaenys, but in his own shorthand indicated that he was preemptively calling his own banners… ready to fight for Lyanna if need be. I'm glad Ned's there… his caution is what we need.

Expecting to see Lyanna in bed, when he opened the door the Prince found the bed empty. "Lya? My love?" he called out. Rhaegar moved towards their private bathchamber - his wife was in the bathtub. Knees brought up to her chest and sobbing. Wordlessly Rhaegar peeled his clothes off before stepping into the tub. He was heartened when she leaned forward for him. "Lya, please talk to me," Rhaegar cooed, wrapping his arms around his inconsolable love.

His comforting words, filled with love and heartache, only made Lyanna cry more. "It's my fault, Rhaegar," she croaked. "I had to keep little Visenya safe, but I failed our babe… and you."

"No!" he insisted, holding her tighter. "This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong." It was all his fault… damn him to the Seven Hells.

Lyanna shook her head. "It is my fault. I should've stayed... instead of being so stubborn…" She choked back a sob. "I killed our babe, Rhaegar. Visenya's dead because of me…" Lyanna couldn't speak, tears returning.

Rhaegar reached a hand out to touch her upper arm. "Lya…"

Lyanna shook his arm off. "Just leave," she whispered, voice harsh. She couldn't deal with this. I'll never be that woman in my dream. Her smiling son, gazing at her on his wedding day, would never be hers. I don't deserve such happiness...

Running a hand through his wavy hair, Rhaegar complied with a tight expression. Quickly drying himself and donning his doublet and trousers - reminiscing when his bare state would have drawn a far different reaction from Lya, not letting him out of the tub for an hour or more - he walked out to find Elia there. Also on the verge of tears, but begging for his touch. He was not one to deny her. "She won't talk?"

He pulled back with a tired frown on his face - even when pressed skin to skin with his Dornish love, he barely slept. "She blames herself, but won't talk about it further."

"I understand." Elia then gave him a worried glance. "Ser Arthur is here. Your father wants you in the Throne Room."

---

The colonnaded walkway of the Hall of Kings was open to the air, leading from Maegor's Holdfast and separating the gardens from the main courtyard. It bore such a name from the statues of Targaryen Kings past, each watching Rhaegar as if in judgement. Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Daeron the Young Dragon, Aegon the Unlikely, all staring down upon him in disgust at weakness.

"What are you doing?!"

"You couldn't protect your family!"

"How can I have seeded such a cowardly line?"

"Your father is destroying what we built!"

Each voice seemingly slamming into his ears, yet Rhaegar continued walking. Rage welling inside him. Two wives demeaned, a mother assaulted, one wife brutalized twice… a child dead. All perpetrated by his own father, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. All ones Rhaegar invariably allowed to happen. Why?

I couldn't fight my father.

The lies he told himself, that he could be a dutiful Crown Prince while still caring for his realm and his family… it was all filth. Was this the agony Daeron II endured? Honestly, Rhaegar found his estimation of the so-called "Good King" dying, realizing that he had endured his father neglecting the kingdoms for years and did nothing about it. I must not let history repeat itself.

But seeing his goodfamily waiting outside the Great Hall, Rhaegar knew that he still couldn't lay a hand on his father much that he wanted to. He would need patience, and knowing that while Lya was hurt and his child was dead only stoked his tempest to an unbearable heat.

Still, he forced a facade. "Goodfather, Bran. Benjen. You were summoned too?"

"To rub our faces in it, no doubt…" Brandon held up his hands. "Yes, father. I know. Control myself."

Rickard scowled, but not at his son or goodson. "Better get these hells over with." Bearing it in stoic silence, Rhaegar wondered if Rickard would be the first one to break. One cannot bottle it in for so long.

"You can do this, my Prince," Arthur whispered in his ear. "You carry Blackfyre. You are your family's champion, not him." Rhaegar allowed such words to carry him forward.

The five of them walked along the length of the throne room. Spotting the two whitecloaks flanking the Iron Throne - Lewyn Martell and Jonothor Darry, the two brothers of the order that weren't his loyalists. His friends.

Already, a quick peek over his shoulder found Arthur glaring daggers at them. Even the kingsguards are choosing sides.

Atop the Iron Throne sat Aerys, glaring down smugly at his son and the Starks. Standing next to him was Queen Rhaella, trying desperately to hide her trembling nerves. Looking apologetically at Rhaegar… as was Ser Jaime. At least he had two allies.

Reaching the base of the dais, Rhaegar, Brandon, and Rickard all swallowed their pride and bent the knee, kingsguards too. Grudgingly and with great anger, but doing so nevertheless. "Your Grace," each said with bile in their mouths.

Aerys was enjoying this greatly. "Ah, my son. Welcome." He waved his hand. "Rise, your King commands it."

With a groan belying his age, Rickard rose from his knee. "For what do we owe this honor?" Rhaegar was impressed - his goodfather had learned to lay it on thick.

Glancing at his wife, who managed to give him the smallest of smiles, the King turned back to the three before him. "I called you here to offer my condolences for the injuries inflicted on Lyanna."

Brandon bit the inside of his cheek. He deliberately left his sword in his chambers for this very reason. "Thank you, your Grace," he forced himself to say.

"House Stark is grateful for your concern," Rickard replied, a much better liar. But this testing his resolve greatly.

Leaning forward, the King regarded his son. "You haven't said anything, Prince Rhaegar."

"Your condolences are most appreciated father." You're only sorry you didn't killed her. Rhaegar wanted to scream at his father, but instead bit it back. He could sense his mother's relief. That was worth it. "She… she has woken up and is currently able to walk without pain."

Not having known, Rhaella's eyes lit up. "That is good news, my son. Isn't it, your Grace?"

Leaning back, Aerys pursed his lips. "Aye, that is good news." He chuckled dryly. "Jenny's bewitchment was strong, but I made sure it left her."

He made it leave her? The madness had taken so fully over his father and it had taken so long for him to see it. How was I so blind? "I am grateful that you cared so much for my bride as to… battle the demons of our past."

"The doddering idiot," he finally continued, referring to the Grand Maester. "Told me that Lyanna was expecting a babe." He said it dispassionately, without even a shred of emotion… and yet this seemed different than his normal insults of Egg and Rhae… "I'll expect praise for killing the false dragon polluting her womb."

Inside Rhaegar a fury burned hotter than dragonfire - hotter than anything the stunned Starks could even comprehend. They had lost a granddaugther and niece respectively, but in Rhaegar he assaulted his very being. The dragon threatened to wake.

Aerys, in all of his 'wisdom,' decided to add fuel to the simmering fire. "And don't worry son, I'll make sure to find a pure, proper dragon bride for your true heir should you decide both Princesses hopeless."

Before Rhaegar could explode, a surprising intervention came at the hands of Brandon Stark. "Your Grace, I beseech you. House Stark is your loyal servant."

Momentarily distracted by his son acting smartly, Rickard shook it off and joined in. "The facts of Lyanna's… possession by evil spirits aside, she is a healthy woman for which the Grand Maester has said is capable of bearing more heirs for your line."

Nodding with a pensive look, the King turned to Rhaella. "What do you think, wife? Should I reward their begging?" It did please him.

She thought before she spoke. "Your Grace, I believe the Princesses serve you well. Breaking the marriages to Rhaegar's brides only send more kingdoms into Tywin's camp..."

Suddenly, Aerys struck Rhaella with such force as to send her to the ground. "Don't mention his fucking name in my presence!" he screeched as Jaime dashed to help the Queen up. "Get her with the rest of them, Lion," he hissed. An order Jaime was only happy to comply with.

Rhaegar took a step forward... only to still. Hating himself for not helping his mother until she arrived close to him. A family to protect… but not from him. A truth that had resulted in nearly destroying everything he loved. "I think mother only means that we don't want to drive the Doom upon us until we're ready to destroy the lion."

Several seconds of tension ran long, but in the end the King sighed. "You have my leave to go."

Guiding his mother out, the Starks quickly bid him farewell. Each could see the Crown Prince was close to the edge, and a silent plea from Rhaella found Rickard and Brandon leaving mother and son to dash for the Royal Quarters.

As soon as they disappeared past the doors of her chambers, both Arthur and Jaime standing guard, Rhaella opened her arms. "Oh, my son..."

"Muna…" suppressed for so long, his pain suddenly left him. Rhaegar fell into his mother's embrace, softly crying. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. Never your fault, my son…" Her heart broke for what all of them were going through. "Gods, Lya..."

"My child's mother… our babe." It tore him inside, finally able to let it out. "Lya's first, he took it from us. My own Father..." Such was the most hurtful of all.

"I know your pain, my sweetling." One child versus over half a dozen...

Rhaegar knew. He pulled away and regarded his mother with red-rimmed eyes. Sweetly kissing her brow. "And I'm very sorry you do, muna."

In such pain and he still made sure to care for his family. I raised the perfect son. "Where is Lya?"

"In our chambers. Muna, I've never seen her so broken, so devoid of life..." She was his she-wolf, so passionate and fierce. All gone.

Rhaella's heart broke. "Is Elia helping her?'

"As much as she tries, Lya just doesn't respond."

"And you? How are you feeling?"

His eyes darkened. "If it weren't for the taboo of kinslaying, I would have put blackfyre through his back already. Realm be damned."

"Rhaegar, don't talk like that…" she admonished. "You can't mask your grief with anger."

"He has taken so much from us already, but this... this is the last straw." He pulled away, shaking. "Aerys took away... my child..." The dam holding it back broke again, and the Prince didn't resist his mother's comfort.

"Oh my son..." Rhaella cried softly as well, never imagining that the pain she went through would be experienced by her son and gooddaughters.

"I was going to be a father again... I loved Visenya already..."

"I loved her too, son." She could only hug him close.

---

Eventually Lyanna emerged from her bath, swathed in a thin silk robe. One that left very little to the imagination. It was one of hers, and while the waiting Elia knew it had been made for Rhaegar's appreciative stare she couldn't help but marvel at Lyanna's beauty. More than marvel, rather. "Lya…"

Lyanna jumped, heart beating. In her daze she hadn't noticed Elia was there. "Sister… You should have called to me."

"I felt you needed your solitude." Regarding her, the sight of her sister-wife broke Elia's heart. Lyanna was dreadfully pale, sunken eyes red with constant tears. "How are you, Lya?" But Elia held up a hand. "Don't give me the 'I'm fine' horseshit." The Dornish Princess knew her sister-wife well enough to know what she would say.

Lyanna starting to rummage for a proper dress. "How are the children? Is Egg awake from his nap?"

Elia shook her head. "Don't change the subject, Lya," she said. "Rhaegar's worried about you, your father and brothers are worried about you - Seven Hells, I'm worried about you." She fought to keep from crying as well. "You can't just try to wish this away." Lyanna said nothing, and Elia felt her irritation creep up. "It'll destroy you, trust me I know.," she said in a firm tone.

Lyanna swiveled around. "Don't, Elia," she snapped. "Don't stand here and say that you understand, because you don't!" Her fierceness returned, directed at the one person who insisted on pushing her. "I lost a babe! A babe that I loved with everything I had!"

"I know it happened to you, Lya, and it brings me physical pain to think about," Elia explained. "But it's not your fault. You're only killing yourself and everything you love by blaming yourself."

"But it is my fault!" she screamed. "I felt bored and caged, so I left Benjen and Oswell to breeze through the gardens where he…" Tears were now flowing from Lyanna's eyes and she didn't bother to wipe them away. "Aerys killed my child, and all because I couldn't fucking stay with my Kingsguards!" She sniffled as she took a breath. "And I'm sick of the platitudes… no one can understand the pain I'm going through right now."

"Do you think Rhaegar doesn't?!" Elia yelled back. "By the Seven it was his child too!" That hushed her sister-wife. "Our husband is suffering just as much as you and you are too selfish and wallowing in self-pity to see it!" Elia shouted, shaking her head as she wiped the tears from her face. "Visenya was his babe… and my babe. I loved her, Lya. I know now why you could love Rhae and Egg because I felt it with this babe. My heart broke when you lost her..." the Dornish Princess paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "As I did when I lost my second child."

Lyanna looked at her sister-wife in shock. "Elia…"

Elia held up a hand. "It was my second, after Rhaenys. Rhaegar doesn't know… I never told him. It all happened while he helped Arthur fight the Kingswood brotherhood and he was already in so much pain from everything that I didn't wish to burden him." Elia fell silent, the repressed emotions of that hellish time starting to bubble back up. "One day I felt rather happy, so I wore something that showed off my house sigil and colors that Oberyn had given me. Walking in the holdfast, I ran into Aerys. He was so enraged at the 'Dornish Smell' off me that he shoved me aside. I slipped and fell down some stairs… losing the babe." A tiny tear fell from her.

Watching her, Lyanna felt her own heart clench. Pained for her sister-wife. Worried for Rhaegar. A sudden, gradual shame...

Looking at the window, Elia sighed. "I refused to talk to anyone but Ellaria for moons, especially Rhaegar… it was only when Ellaria confronted me that I realized that I had made everything worse - hells, I hadn't visited Rhaenys once during my melancholy. I almost lost… everything..."

Biting her lip as Elia looked back at her, Lyanna gazed at the ground. "I'm sorry." The shame was overwhelming her. So consumed was she in her self-loathing, she didn't realize how it hurt those she loved. "Gods… I'm a monster…"

When Lyanna didn't say anything else, Elia strode to her and pulled her into a hug. "The only monster in this is the King." The northern beauty melted into her embrace. "Lya, I know talking about it only makes it even more real, but the only way out is to lean on family. Remember we're all suffering too. We need each other. As you say, the lone wolf dies..."

"But the pack survives…" The she-wolf was shaking right now, hating herself for being so blind. "How did you get over hating yourself?"

"It was hard, but we have it better now." Elia kissed her cheek. "If we are loved by so many, then we can't be worth hating."

So simple, and yet so profound - if Rhaegar and Elia and Rhaella and her brothers and her father loved her so, then who was she to hate herself? "I'm so sorry, Elia. I wish I'd known…" She sobbed softly. "I wish..."

"Shhh…" Her own cries came. "I know."

It was this scene Rhaegar found. His wives embracing, sobbing in each other's shoulders. Oh gods...

Lyanna looked at him and their eyes met. "Rhaegar," she whispered, trying to communicate all the guilt she felt.

Rhaegar rushed to their sides, enveloping both of them tightly. Making no distinction in love with either. "My loves…" He kissed Lyanna's forehead.

She buried her head in his chest as Elia rested on his shoulder. "We lost our child…" Lyanna murmured. He only held them tighter. For the first time since they lost their babe, the three cried together.

---

...and to think that the harsh words of my goodbrother were awful enough, many of the Northern Lords have returned to Winterfell due to the chaotic aftermath of the Ironborn raids. If a Stark sworn sword is bad enough, the Umbers are basically wildlings. Yet, if I impose the discipline of chivalry Ned would have my head. It's infuriating.

There was nothing more that Petyr Baelish wanted than to hold Catelyn Tully in his arms, but Gods… sometimes she simply irritated him. She has such moments, but at least is better than Lysa. The younger Tully was far more shrill. At least Catelyn had promise to mature.

Outside, the freezing rain pelted Riverrun castle. No matter how he stoked the hearth, Petyr felt the drafts chilling him. So a goblet of wine and a blanket wrapped thick around him would have to do.

I wish to believe that my goodsister the Princess would support my desires, but her wild nature leaves me to doubt this. Especially given her actions at the Tourney of Harrenhal...

Boredom suddenly gave way to interest. Baelish sitting straighter in his chair, feeling what came next wouldn't be the usual inane drivel.

In the capitol I came across the juiciest piece of gossip. It seems that the Knight of the Laughing Tree was really Lyanna…

Baelish's eyes widened in shock - mind spinning at the revelation. Lyanna Stark is the Knight of the Laughing Tree?! The one that the King had very publicly declared dead, executed by his son the Crown Prince at the final feast of the Tourney?

Returning to the letter with the keenest interest, Baelish found where he had left off…

My goodbrother Eddard undoubtedly knows, and while I can't be sure I suspect both the Crown Prince and my beloved Brandon do as well. Given his Grace's interest in this to the extreme, I implore you to not repeat this, though I know that I can trust you, Petyr. To disclose this would be of great detriment to my intended's House and to the Crown Prince.

Already, his mind was spinning. Petyr Baelish didn't give two sagging tits about the Crown Prince, but the opportunity to pay the Starks back for stealing his Cat and humiliating him was just too good to pass up… The more he thought, the more he reasoned, the minor heir to the minor keep of a minor lord kept coming back to something his father said. "Allow chaos to serve as your ladder, for it has served our family well."

The first Baelish used the chaos of the First Blackfyre Rebellion to win his keep as a sellsword for House Corbray, winning it on Redgrass Field.

Petyr's father used the chaos of the War of the Ninepenny Kings to befriend Hoster Tully and get Petyr himself a fostership in Riverrun, where he met his beloved Cat.

Chaos served them well, and now - the newest in the line of craven mercenaries - the smiling visage of Petyr Baelish had the one bit of information that could create its own storm of chaos. Ratcheting up his family's mantra.

Now… what to do with it…?

One Moon Later

It was a quiet day in the Red Keep. Lyanna Targaryen adored the quiet days that so rarely smiled upon the capitol of Aegon the Conqueror's empire. For the little girl eager to jump on Winter and race through the Wolfswood, actually enjoying the quiet rather than seeking out adventure would have seemed impossible. For the Princess of House Targaryen she had seen the dark side of this hellish city. Any day the quiet decided to take over was a day blessed by the gods.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows installed by Aerys I. The quiet King enjoyed plenty of natural light to read by, and Lyanna had no complaints. It was serene being seated upon a plush chair reading about the history of her husband's family. A perfect blend of the old Lyanna and the new Lyanna - her love of reading intact.

A gift from Rhaegar… all of it. Her eyes fluttered shut, smiling lovingly. Gods… I'm so lucky. Aside from perhaps her father and brothers - or her adorable son Egg - there was no better man.

"Alright, Lyanna." Dropping a rather large book on the table, Dacey Mormont collapsed into a chair, huffing out a breath. "Took me half an hour to find History of the Rhoynish Wars, and the leather-bound monstrosity was all the way at the top of a shelf on the second floor."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna cocked her head to the side. "What makes me think that you didn't get it down by yourself." Before Dacey could respond, a dust-covered Arthur Dayne arrived behind her, trying his best to hold in a sneeze. And failing miserably. The Princess chuckled. "The mighty Sword of the Morning reduced to little more than a librarian."

Dacey smiled softly. "Amazing what batting your eyelashes can do." She giggled when Arthur wrapped his arms around her neck.

"I think you use your wiles to get more out of me than I have propriety to do," he said, kissing her neck nonetheless.

"Mmmm… you adore me," the she-bear replied.

"Aye, that I do." Lyanna smiled at the love between her Lady in Waiting and kinggsguard. The last moon found them more in love each passing day. As Arthur's hands moved to cup her belly, it wasn't hard to know why. "Any chance the future Sword of the Morning can let his father know he's alright?"

Dacey giggled again. "I'm only two moons along, Arthur." She lightly swatted his arm at his irritated groan. In the comfort of the inner palace, away from prying eyes, they could be free to love each other openly. "Forgive us, Lyanna, but the little one here is calling on me to retire for the afternoon…"

Lyanna was caught in a tiny trance, staring at the slight swell of her friend's figure with a burning jealousy. No maliciousness, just… longing. While the wounds of her lost babe had largely healed and she had allowed Rhaegar back into their bed and her family back into her heart… they would never truly go away. Always would she mourn the babe she would never get to hold. So will Rhaegar and Elia… "Go ahead," she told Dacey, smiling. "Little one comes first. Benjen can help me find my books."

"Like hells I will," the aforementioned Kingsguard shot back, only for Arthur to smack him on the back. Giving him a look belying his bad situation as he escorted Dacey out. He rolled his eyes when Lyanna stuck her tongue out at him - aye, that's the Lyanna I grew up with. Spotting someone enter a few moments later, he grinned. "I'll see if I can put your unused texts back." He picked up the tome, walking several paces before he bowed. "Your Grace."

Hearing him, Lyanna wanted to turn with a sudden terror before a gentle kiss was pressed on the crown of her head. Fragrance of lavender and Dornish apple relaxing her. "Elia…"

Princess Elia Martell rounded the chair to sit in the chair alongside Lyanna's, turning to face her with a smile on her face. "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

"Meeting with Lord Tyrell finished early, so what better way to spend a quiet day?" Lyanna hefted the book. "Reading about your ancestors."

Clicking her tongue at the title, Elia grinned. "Learning of how the mighty Rhoynish defeated the vile Dragonlords outnumbered considerably?"

Lyanna smirked back. "No, at the point where Nymeria had to flee for her life like a coward." Even with her obvious teasing, her sister-wife scowled all the same. "Considering our new House, I would think you'd root for the dragonlords now."

"Please, you admire my Dornish heritage, thank you." If they hadn't been close before, the agony and apprehension following the… incident had drawn both women all the closer. The fact that such fear was for not and Aerys hadn't really left his brooding and fire contemplation for weeks didn't undo such closeness - even if sometimes Elia felt they weren't as close as she would like...

"You look like you have something to talk about." Lyanna's lovely northern accent pulled Elia out of her contemplation. "Elia… listening?"

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry." She fought a blush, hoping Lyanna didn't notice her eyes wandering places they… shouldn't. "Just thinking of something strange I saw this morning after we all parted." Rhaegar was currently with Melisandre, the Red Woman stubbornly remaining as a 'spiritual adviser' to the Prince even as Aerys dismissed the other mages and mystics. Neither Princess liked it, but they trusted him. "Rhaenys wanted Viserys to play with her today."

"He said no, didn't he?" While it bothered Rhaella the most, Lyanna noticed it. While House Targaryen seemed to grow closer after the loss of their babe, Prince Viserys was the opposite. Withdrawn, sullen. Spending most of his time by himself.

Elia nodded her head. "Even pushed her away - not violently or anything, but Rhaenys was saddened for a while." A sigh. "Do you think he's trying to be more like his father?"

"Gods, I hope not." Poor Rhaella… The woman deserved much better than the King. A certain Lannister comes to mind. One would have to be blind not to notice.

"Speaking of the King, he has given his assent for the Royal Progress to Dorne."

"Really?" They had talked about it, but Lyanna only knew of talk. "Rhaegar approached him?"

"Aye. To ensure good relations with the Dornish after your marriage to the Crown Prince, officially at least. In reality…" Elia left it unsaid.

Lyanna bit her lip. "Your elder brother… I don't feel safe going there, knowing how he feels about me."

"You'll be under my protection, Lya." Leaning forward, Elia placed her hand on the northern beauty's leg. Her long, shapely, creamy leg… "Doran won't touch you with Rhaegar and I there." She gave her a small smile. "Hopefully he'll love you as Oberyn does."

"Aye, hopefully." After a short pause, Lyanna rose. "I have no idea where Benjen went off to, so I'll get my next book myself. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Gazing after Lyanna, Elia had that feeling again. The feelings and desires that had slowly cropped up over the time she knew the she-wolf… only to spike in intensity after their reconciliation following the incident. Eyes raking over the simple woollen dress, hugging Lyanna's curves in all the right places. Slender waist, shapely hips, an ass to die for…

Gods, what is wrong with me? Here she was, married to the Valyrian god of a Crown Prince that she adored and desired, giving another woman gazes of pure lust. If this is what Rhaegar saw at the Tourney, I don't blame him for falling for her… Oberyn would be laughing himself silly at this.

"I need to talk to Ellaria," she mused out loud. If anyone could help with this, it was her. Especially before they journeyed to Dorne.

Her homeland tended to… encourage the most debased of behavior.

---

There was no Weirwood tree…

If anything could manifest in physical form how suffocating and damaging King's Landing had been for Lyanna, this was it. I came here hoping for wonder and love… She found that, but after all that had transpired with the plots, the attacks… the death, love and wonder had transferred itself to Dragonstone. Here were the Seven Hells, and she didn't even have a heart tree to pray to - to feel close to her gods and her home.

The old oak will have to do.

Nestled off to the sides of the gardens - out of sight and out of mind - the godswood of the Red Keep was nevertheless beautiful. Well-maintained by the royal gardeners, it bloomed lushly even during wintertime. Greens and vibrant pastels of color predominated, and it served to soothe the future Queen as she walked to the large oak tree in the center.

Kneeling down before it as taught, Lyanna removed a tiny cage from the folds of her dress. Inside was a rodent caught by one of the ratters - nothing that anyone would miss. Quickly she grabbed it out of the cage and pierced the flesh with a dagger she carried from the armory. The animal's cries died in a split second, all life leeching out of it. Wordlessly, Lyanna placed it before the tree, a small token of her devotion to the gods. No Andal that followed the Seven would truly understand, not even Rhaegar or Elia in her fears… thus, Lyanna was alone.

In a hushed whisper, she began to pray. "All-knowing lords, hear my prayer. Grant me serenity to accept the evils of this world. To accept the loss of my…" Lyanna choked up, fighting back a sob in a dire struggle. It was hard, even now long after Visenya was taken from her. No matter how happy she was in Rhaegar's arms or being with Elia, she would always mourn for the daughter she so loved. Perhaps she was here to make sense of it all… "And let my heart not be troubled. Let my womb prove fertile again and swell with my husband's children. Let my sister-wife and I forge a bond unbreakable by petty concerns, and give peace to my goodmother in her life." Prayer recited, she slowly rested her head on the bark. Hoping for some guidance… hoping that the oak would do. That the gods could hear her praye…

Suddenly, it was as if Lyanna was frozen in place. Consumed by an intense chill that immobilised her in ice. And in an instant her consciousness seemed to leave her body. Rocketing through the air away from the still statue of the powerful, innocent princess dropped in the middle of hells.

Her vision travelled, crossing mountains and rivers and seas… And then Lyanna stopped. Slamming into the middle of a massive blizzard. Snow up to her knees as the cold only grew. Shivering, Lyanna saw a light in the distance - it called to her, and she began running to it.

"Lya!"

It came from behind. A voice… faint but vaguely female. "Hello?!"

"Lya…" It was frantic, fearful. Reminding her of Benjen's voice during his first freezing winter when he submerged into an icy lake. "Help me!"

'Run, Lyanna. Run.' Another voice, this one far more soothing. 'Leave her… she is evil.'

"Lya!" A shadow was struggling to reach her in the distance - away from the light.

"Muna?" Lyanna glanced down to see a small boy with violet eyes and dark curls, no more than five namedays but clearly the one from her dreams. "Muna, I hurt…" Blood coated his furs, face pale.

'Run… save him… leave her…' Lyanna complied with the voice. Racing towards the light. Tugging on her son to follow. 'Run… Run!'

"Help me! Please, Lya, my love…"

But the boy wouldn't run. He barely even moved. "Muna… she's calling… get muna."

"We have to go," Lya begged as she saw him growing weaker. Needing to find the fire and warmth…

Her son tore himself from her grasp. "Muna!" he cried, running through the snow towards the shadow - against the voice's advice.

The name slipped from her mouth… "Jon! Jon, come back!" Lyanna raced after him, heart beating as he reached the shrouded figure. Praying that he wouldn't die…

But in the arms of the figure, both of them sobbing softly, it was as if all his injuries had healed…

As if all three of them were bathed in warmth…

"Lyanna… sister!"

Waking abruptly, Lyanna looked up to see Brandon looking down at her. "How… how long was I out…"

"It's almost dinnertime."

She saw the sun having gone down just then. "Shit… I've been here hours. Rhaegar and Elia must be worried…"

He laughed. "They were, but I had a feeling you were here." Brandon helped her up. "I won't say a word, but tell me… did it help?"

Sighing, Lya looked back at the tree. "Perhaps," was her answer.

---

"Thank you for being able to arrive at our keep so promptly. Lord Hand."

Jon Connington forced a smile. "You're welcome, Lord Hoster." He thanked the gods for small favors that his bruises Brandon Stark gave him had healed before House Tully requested the services of someone from the Red Keep. "With his Grace the Crown Prince remaining in King's Landing, I could afford to leave and address your concerns personally." Not that I wish to meet Brandon's goodfamily. The things he had to do to please Lords Paramount.

"What got the King to put you on shit duty?" Ser Brynden Tully asked with a scowl. The one called 'Blackfish' was not known for his warmth. "Tried to kiss someone not wantin' to be kissed?"

Glaring for a moment, Connington managed not to look angry or defensive. "His Grace wishes Lords Paramount to have their concerns addressed by men he trusts." At least Hoster buys it. The rumors spread like wildfire, and the Blackfish believed them rather than the official explanation.

"It's a shame that her Grace, Princess Lyanna was injured. Such a beautiful girl," Hoster mused sympathetically.

"We appreciate your concern, Lord Hoster." If only she died.

As he walked after Lord Hoster and Ser Brynden, the Hand noticed the younger Tully daughter appear from a room further ahead. Eyes cast downward as she approached them. Odd. Still, she seemed to be paying attention, for once only a few paces ahead of her father and uncle she curtsied. "Father. Uncle Brynden."

Hoster regarded his youngest warmly - truly, in spite of all her quirks little Lysa was his favorite. "Dear Lysa, you are in front of the Hand of the King. Remember your manners."

She didn't make his gaze, but curtseyed far deeper. "Lord Hand, forgive me but I did not recognize you."

Was Connington the only person that picked up on her obvious lie? Is her family that stupid or is she a better liar than one would assume? Tales of Lysa Tully's shrillness and temper spread far. "It is not a problem, Lady Lysa. Your manners are as impeccable as your form."

Beaming, Lord Tully motioned towards his solar. "This way, Lord Connington." As they walked past the girl of four and ten, Connington felt a hand momentarily grasp his own… before darting away. He furrowed his brow and made to turn and look at Lysa before feeling the crinkle of parchment in his fist. In a split second, his face became a mask.

The conversation passed by as dryly as humanly possible - as always, the politics of the Riverlands was as dry and mundane as their position was vital. Half of what Hoster discussed concerned the latest feuding between the Brackens and Blackwoods over the Teats. Are they Barba's Teats or Missy's Teats now? I don't remember.

It wasn't till two hours later that he was in the safety of his chambers that he could let his guard down. Satiate his curiosity over what the Tully girl could have wanted. Likely something stupid. While he couldn't count how many young maidens threw themselves at him - Connington being a handsome, powerful young Lord - this was a new trick.

Paper soaked with sweat, the writing was smudged but eventually Connington had a handle on it… His eyes widened and his breathing hitched.

Lord Connington, the treasonous Knight of the Laughing Tree is Princess Lyanna Stark. Be cautious.

Notes:

So we have all of them healing together :)

Littlefinger you asshole!

Be sure to check out my short story "The Mystery Knight!"

Until next time! The more reviews the sooner I update :D

Chapter 37: Cabin Fever

Notes:

Hi everyone. Hope everyone is safe.

Some personal stuff is coming up for me and I'm gonna be very busy. While I plan on continuing updates (writing relaxes me), I will likely not be as active on the website for a while. Not disappearing by a longshot though.

I have decided who Jon's second bride should be. Before I reveal it, I'm opening one final bit of the discussion sections for y'all to make their comments about it. Get your input :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Elia flinched at the clashing steel. Worrying for her far slighter sister-wife as compared to the stronger, more muscular form of her husband… But her worry was misplaced. Lyanna deflected the attack, leaping nimbly to the right. She twirled her blade and attacked, putting the Targaryen Prince on the defensive. "Excellent form, Princess," she heard Rhaegar say. Elia smirked. He only calls us 'Princess' to tease.

It worked on Lyanna, the she-wolf snarling. "You won't beat me so easily this time," she hissed, furious side slashes interrupting her retort every few words. While fluid and flexible, Rhaegar was a master swordsman. Parrying each with ease - Elia knew he was better with Blackfyre than a training sword.

"Magnificent, aren't they?"

Elia's fascination with the mid-morning spar was disturbed by the rather… intense presence of the Lady Melisandre. "They are," she said, eyes narrowing. The Red Witch's small smile was not something Elia liked. "What are you doing here?"

Turning her head away from the sparring session - Rhaegar suddenly put his bulk into an aggressive lunge, pushing Lyanna back - Melisandre's red eyes now bored into Elia. "I am simply enjoying this dance of warriors. Is that not allowed?"

To most, her blood-red gaze would be intimidating. Elia was simply put off. "Is that what you're really doing, Lady Melisandre?" While unofficially the 'spiritual adviser' to the Prince, some of her behavior put her closer to 'official royal mistress.'

"The only lusts you should concern yourself with, Princess Elia, h are your own." Melisandre noticed the Lady in Waiting emerge onto the balcony. "It was lovely to be in your company this morning, Princess."

So shocked that the Red Priestess could see through her so easily that Elia didn't notice Ellaria's arrival until she was only a few paces from her. "Your Grace," she curtseyed. "You sent for me."

Elia frowned. "Cut it out."

"You're upset at me being a proper Lady?"

"I'm irritated that you're trying to tease me."

Laughing, Ellaria bumped Elia's hips with her own. "So, what did the fire bitch want?" She motioned to Melisandre, who was just leaving the balcony. "Trying to slut up Rhaegar again?"

The Dornish Princess rolled her eyes. "As if that whore stands a chance." Elia's gaze fell back on Rhaegar. Her gorgeous Valyrian warrior - his muscles straining tight against his tunic. Sweaty from constant strong assaults. Although Elia's favorite use of those muscles were to tense beneath her touch as he thrust into her…

"Maybe she's thirsting for Lyanna instead?"

Such a comment brought Elia to the other contestant. Not as refined or experienced as Rhaegar, Lyanna nevertheless possessed an innate skill with a blade - in the two moons she had been training, she improved considerably. She danced around Rhaegar, quickly darting in a slash before forced to parry. Such moves deflected by letting the brute attacks slide off her angled blade.

"I mean, who wouldn't thirst for her?" Ellaria continued in spite of Elia only half listening. Entranced with Lyanna's movements. The little strands of chestnut hair escaping her messy bun. How her buxom breasts bounced. Her pretty mouth pursing tightly. Her tunic and breeches clinging from sweat to her gorgeous figure… "She definitely has that air of someone who both swallows swords and licks rugs…"

Imagining Melisandre… pleasuring Lyanna, Elia felt a surge of… something in her. "Fucking shut it!" she hissed, honey-brown eyes narrowed in anger.

Taken aback for a moment, Ellaria raised an eyebrow. "What got you in such a mood… unless… Well fuck me blind, prim and proper Elia Martell is thirsty for the she-wolf."

"Shut it," Elia repeated, though this time she reddened.

Ellaria bit her lip, swaying her hips in triumph. "I told myself I may have been wrong after nothing happened for a damn moon, but I should've stuck to my instincts. You definitely want some northern cunt."

Elia blushed crimson… though her core grew damp at the filthy words associated with Lyanna… "I do not!" Why am I lying? "I probably don't… I might…" As Lyanna swiped at Rhaegar, looking all the more striking, Elia buried her face in her hands. "I can't be sure."

Much as she liked to tease, Ellaria was a friend first. "Alright, what's going on? Spill."

Sighing, the Dornish Princess looked at her Lady in Waiting. "Well, I've been… having stirrings."

"Stirrings… Sure, I'll refer to it as such."

"I'm serious." Another sigh, this one deeper. Touching on her conflict. "Stirrings of Lyanna… impure images."

Ellaria pursed her lips. "I know you're not a damn Septa, so I think you are confused because you haven't had feelings for women before. Oh, Elia." Ellaria smiled softly. "I wouldn't worry. Not all of us grew up watching young maidens bathe with their hands up their skirts…"

"Please, Ellaria. Can you not do that." She began to imagine Lyanna doing that and it was distracting her.

"Fine… I'll be dour if you want." She looked back at the sparring royals. "I assume you still desire Rhaegar, correct?"

Elia nodded. "Absolutely."

"That simplifies things. And Rhaegar is another fine piece of flesh I'd like to wrap my lips…"

"Enough." Another glare.

"You're too easy," Ellaria laughed. "And don't worry. I think I have a way for you to determine if your feelings are real or not. All I need is your approval to set up part of our progress back home to Dorne. Namely the ship we use."

"Wait, why would you…" She was cut off as a blade clattered to the ground. A close to collapsing Rhaegar was holding a blade to Lyanna's throat.

"Yield," Rhaegar gasped out, body soaked in a sheen of sweat.

Lyanna was just as exhausted, though there was an added irritation. "I yield." Still glaring, she picked up her blade. "You cheated."

Rhaegar laughed in spite of his heavy breathing. "And how did I do that?"

"I don't know how you did, but you did." That earned another round of laughs.

Clapping, Elia looked down on both of them - the man she loved and the woman she… she could safely say she loved Lyanna too. The degree of which is what I don't know. "Don't be upset, Lya. You're getting better. This is the longest you've lasted against our husband."

She groaned. Downing a flagon of wine to quench her thirst. "When I defeat him legitimately, that's when I'll be happy…" She was silenced when Rhaegar pulled her in his arms, kissing her. It wasn't long till she kissed him back.

Shuddering at the sultry image, Elia turned back to her friend. "So tell me about this ship idea…"

---

"Gods, Rhaegar…" Lyanna hissed as she rolled her shoulder. Digesting the soreness from the several bruises upon it, stripped down to just her underclothes. "You just had to show off as a big tough dragon."

And yet it wasn't her husband she spoke to, but her reflection in the looking glass. Eying all the bruises and scratches from her strenuous spar. One in which she unleashed all her fury upon her husband… Not that she was angry with him… not really anyway. Gods, Lyanna loved him, but all she truly wished was to feel him above her. His lips worshipping her lips and skin, filling her so deliciously that it would take precious seconds for her walls to even accommodate…

Thankfully, another twinge from a dark, purple bruise - this one from a spar with Ser Oswell that she managed to win - succeeded to stop the arousal before it grew too uncomfortable. This was truly getting out of hand… Pycelle said one more week before I could proceed into his bed. He may as well have said one year. Huffing like a spoiled child, it didn't strike her as fair that he and Elia were sating themselves on each other while she merely had her fingers. Perhaps that's why I've been sparring more and more. An outlet for her frustrations.

The sound of the door being thrown open outside the bathchamber nearly made her jump. Scrambling for a non-existent blade at her hips… and only finding skin. "Seven hells," she mumbled, slowly tip-toeing to the entrance to the bedchamber. What she found made her eyes widen, but not in fear or anger.

Lips fused together in a desperate kiss, her handsome man pushed her beautiful sister-wife towards the bed. Hands roving down her dress, hiking it up as he did his best to devour her. "Fuck…" Rhaegar murmured, feeling Elia's hands going straight for his crotch. "What's gotten into you?"

Growling like a shadowcat, Elia turned them around and pushed Rhaegar onto the bed with a surprising strength. "Want you now," she snarled, immediately yanking off her dress in one fluid move - leaving her naked as her nameday. Rhaegar's eyes darkened - as did Lyanna's from her hiding place in the bathchamber. Before she could even comprehend the bronzed beauty in front of her, Rhaegar was naked too and the lovers tumbled together on the bed. Giggles and moans leaving both of them.

The wetness she had been wishing to avoid was now soaking her undergarments… making them worthless now without a good washing. When Elia - pinned on her back in the soft sheets - screamed as Rhaegar entered her in a powerful mating rut, Lyanna's fingers slipped inside to her nub. Rubbing to ease the ache.

Gasping, Elia bit down on Rhaegar's powerful shoulder. Almost breaking the skin as she grounded herself against his animalistic thrusts. Waking the dragon, he would always say, and by Mother Rhoyne she loved it all. Needed him splitting her hips open and assaulting the entrance to her womb - lamenting that his seed couldn't quicken again inside her. Elia's nails dug into is back, drawing blood.

Yet why with this virile man pounding into her with his dragon cock did Elia envision Lyanna with her - the statuesque Northern goddess straddling her face, wet cunt open for Elia's tongue to lash at it? Oh… I'm hopeless… I love them both. She could only have one though, and after their spar Elia simply cornered Rhaegar in the halls and dragged him to their chambers at the smirks of Benjen and Barristan. "More!"

"Take it, Dornish whore," he grunted.

When he was in this mood, each woman both swooned and moaned. "Yes! I'm your Dornish whore!" The way she mewled, the filthy things whispered into Rhaegar's ear, she was closer to that than any highborn should have been. Elia couldn't give two fucks.

Lyanna found herself unable to stop, to resist. Northern modesty in sexual situations were pushed aside in her torrid marital life with Rhaegar… now they simply evaporated at the scene before her. Rhaegar's muscular back and ass as he fucked Elia. Her beautiful face thrown back, open in a silent scream from the frantic assault on her cunt. Their shared climaxes joined a split-second later by Lyanna, her juices running down her bare legs. Oh Elia… Lyanna blinked, wondering why it was her that came into her mental sigh. Looking back, only being transfixed by both their beautiful bodies.

The two of them passed out exhausted, Lyanna managed to creep by them and slip out. Her head falling against the wall once she was out. Oh fuck… At this point, her mind was done trying to realize which one of them aroused her more. One week can't come soon enough.

---

Castle Darry was rather… drab for the Riverlands. Not that Jon Connington really cared. There was more to life than opulence, but at this point he could have accepted opulence as a distraction. The stewards in Dornish castles could have a gorgeous pleasure servant in your chambers at the drop of a hat - of both sexes. He truly didn't mind the Dornish. It was the Martells that he hated.

Pacing about, he continued to digest what Lysa Tully had given him. Why did she give it to him. Who put her up to it… because she isn't smart enough to plot something on her own…

The more he thought about it, if Lysa Tully of all people had done the deed, then there wasn't much plotting behind it. "Who the fuck would use her?" he said to an empty room. No, the question was instead what to do with the information given to him. Because there was no earthly way that he wouldn't use this fact.

As soon as Aerys found out, the Starks were as good as gone. Executed behind the more likely avenue… While Connington would enjoy Rickard and his brood killed at order of the King, he'd be better seen by Rhaegar at his love spared. Perhaps exile, or he could pawn Lyanna off to Robert Baratheon and earn that oaf's loyalty. So many possibilities…

But I can't go after the Starks immediately. Regardless of the veracity of Lyanna Stark being the Knight of the Laughing Tree, he couldn't bring it to Aerys until Rhaegar was gone. Until the Starks had no one defending them in the capitol. That meant heads would have to roll, secretly. Ones that Connington could not trust in any circumstances.

At that moment the door to his room opened abruptly - not even a knock. Connington was about to scream at his bannermen not to disturb him when instead he saw Willam Darry emerge. One of the few men Connington trusted at this point, the older knight having been the one that trained him and Rhaegar in the Red Keep in the carefree days of their youth. "You found it?"

Darry smirked, motioning to one of his men to bring the a large bundle covered in a tarp forward. Placing it on the oaken table in the middle of the chamber. "Good idea to come here, no one would find it odd that I'm in my family's castle… or that I went out for a ride on this fine day. Wasn't too hard to find this." He pulled back the tarp, revealing a shield. Emblazoned with a laughing weirwood.

Connington had been there that day. He recognized it. "Where was this found?"

"In an abandoned cottage. With this." Smirking, Darry fished it out of his pocket. A slip of cloth… torn from a dress or something. Handing it to Connington.

Stitched into it was a small direwolf head… the symbol of House Stark of Winterfell. Connington couldn't help but smile. "I love it when I win."

"How do you wish to proceed, Lord Hand.?"

"We mustn't rush this. Some might have to… depart us before our opportunity comes." He fiddled with the cloth, picturing Rickard's face when he was stripped of his title as Warden of the North. "Then it's only the Martells we have to worry about." One bitch down, one to go.

---

The winds were powerful that day. Strong against the shoreline while failing to churn the waves of the northern Sunset Sea into the churning cauldron often seen on the frigid waters on the other side of the continent. Perfect for the sail, for the oceangoer for the reavers and raiders that felt more at home in the salt-spray gales than any pile of dirt the greenlanders called home.

For those that lived on the seas, there was no fear of them. For that was where their god and protector dwelled… of this the commander of the flotilla of ships understood the most of all. "My Lord, trails of smoke just beyond that point." Eyes narrowed in the direction his captain was pointing. "Shall we prepare for battle?"

Fully armored with plate stolen from a Westerman knight that now slept with the Drowned God, Victarion Greyjoy - second son of Lord Quellon Greyjoy and Commodore of the Iron Fleet - nodded grimly. His face pressed in a bitter scowl, his trademark for most instances after losing the melee at Harrenhal to that golden cunt Jaime Lannister, he smacked his armored palm on the railing of the ship. "Full ahead. We reave, burn, and leave."

"My Lord?"

"You fuckin' heard me." Victarion wanted something far more powerful to sate his bloodlust - nothing but the Iron Price for him, not like his torpid older brother or… rather frightening ameteur necromancer of a younger brother - but orders were still orders. Greenlanders better pay big for this. "In and out, before the castle guard can respond." In all fairness, it was the Ironborn's best tactic following Black Harren getting his ass handed to him by Aegon Targaryen.

The captain shrugged and gestured to his signaller. Pressing a horn to his lips, it wasn't long before it boomed across the waters off Flint's Finger. Calling the rest of the ships into battle formation. Nestled on a small outcrop jutting into Blazewater Bay, Flinttown rested on the tip of the… finger while the keep itself guarded the landward side. Perfect to withstand the land sieges of House Stark back during the time of the petty Kings, but not enough to stop a determined ironborn attack.

And that was what Victarion planned to do. Allowing himself a tiny grin, he raised his massive battle axe, clutched tightly in his lobster-plated gauntlet. The entire ship of reavers and sailors quieting down at the sight of him. "Men! Are you ready for the Iron Way!"

"YAAAAHOOO!" they chanted, smacking their short swords and axes against their shields. Beards and hair wet with sea spray as the great carrack Iron Victory pitched in the waves off the northern coastline.

"Ready to make these northern cunts pay the Iron Price?!"

"YAAAAHOOO!"

He laughed, a baying more suited to the hyenas of Rhoyne rather than a proper kraken, but he didn't care. "What is dead may never die!"

"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!" As the men cheered, Iron Victory angled directly for the unsuspecting northerners, each of the other carracks, caravels, and longships following. This will be just too easy.

---

Letting the scroll fall from his hands, Eddard Stark felt sick. "How bad was the damage?"

"Half of Flinttown destroyed, my Lord," winced Jorah Mormont, equally as grim and angry. "Bout fifty dead before the castle guard drove the Ironborn away. Double that injured by either blade or flame." Another wince. "A score taken as salt wives."

"Salt wives," Ned wanted to bang his head on the table. "Fucking salt wives." Effectively kidnapped and raped breeding animals, bringing new blood to the Iron Islands since few were willing to actually go to those shit-stained rocks.

Roose Bolton crossed his arms, the only other person of Ned's war council that knew of the coming plans - Howland having been sent to oversee the restoration of Moat Cailin as a keep that could hold their bannermen for a long wait. "We need to call the full banners now. Not just yours, Lord Stark."

"Such a move would be spotted easily."

"Not if we make a public announcement that we are marching to our shores," Jorah countered. "Our lands are massive. Movements of our forces to Moat Cailin can be easily concealed."

Looking at Roose - much as he didn't trust the man, Ned had to admit that the milky-eyed stare concealed a sharp mind for battle - Ned waited for his answer. "The King's eyes and ears are Lord Varys. He fights for the Prince, no?" came the droll, emotionless reply.

That was a decisive point. "Alright, my Lords. Give the orders and call the banners. I'll send note to my father to inform the King of this - no one likes the Ironborn so he might just congratulate us for taking care of that festering sore." There was a knock at the door. "Enter."

Lady Catelyn made her way into the solar. Curtseying. "My Lords." Her tone was guarded, cold. "You sent for me, Lord Stark?"

Ned sighed. "Aye. My Lords, a moment with my future goodsister." Jorah and Roose Bolton both bowed and left, though Ned didn't notice the small smile the latter gave Catelyn. "Aye, I did send for you."

"How may I be of service?" Ever since the confrontation a moon before, the two had lost whatever warmth or friendliness had been between them. Catelyn had stopped trying to enforce the rules of the Seven, but the tension still remained between her cohort of Riverlanders and the Northern guards and servants - even stooping to several fights between the guardsmen that Ned cracked down on hard, which earned more disapproval from Catelyn. Gods help you, Bran. Not once did he imagine Cersei here with him, actually standing united as they planned the boldest move by House Stark since the Dance.

Matters of duty came before personal feelings. "Yes, as you may know the Ironborn have attacked Flint's Finger."

"I am aware, my Lord."

"Good. I believe it would be wise of you to write your father, Lord Hoster, to call the banners of the western Riverlands houses, just in case the Ironborn attack there." And to be ready to support Rhaegar. He wouldn't tell Catelyn that, though.

A thought made him wish to write Lord Tywin as well, but he was sure the Lion was smart enough to pay attention. That and he was craven in that regard.

Lips flat, Catelyn merely curtseyed. "I will have that done before nightfall, my Lord." And she merely left, nary another word.

Not willing to let her give him more grief, Ned opened the last letter on his desk. Eyes widening as he noticed Rickard Stark's personal seal. "Idiot," he chastised himself for not seeing it earlier.

The ravenscroll was classically his father, namely short, curt, and without the splashes of humor that Lyanna or Bran would place within - much like Ned himself. He didn't even bother asking how Ned was or divulged his constitution, which was an assurance that he both trusted Ned and was alright. What didn't need to be said wasn't said.

My son,

The Ironborn have attacked us as Lord Flint has sent me notification. However, the tendrils of the kraken are merely puppet strings at this point. I know not who the puppetmaster is, though I have theories.

You must be vigilant. The Ironborn will act in the interest of this puppetmaster, and I believe that they will do damage to the North. Therefore, construct a northern fleet on the Sunset Sea out of reach of their tentacles.

Lord Rickard Stark.

Master of Laws.

Rickard's trust in Ned would be validated, he assured himself. "Jory," he said to his squire, a gangly boy of about ten and two namedays. "Bring back Lord Mormont and Lord Bolton to my solar. I have something to discuss with them." Lyanna being the Princess painted a target on their backs. Even as the coup prepared itself, House Stark would have to look long term if it were to survive.

---

"Brandon Stark… I'd recognize that face anywhere."

Hearing his name called, the heir to Winterfell looked to his left to see a dashing knight with a mane of golden hair cascading down his shoulders. "Now, I can't place that face, but I can guess you are a Lannister."

Laughing, the knight pounded Brandon's back. "That's not hard to figure out, but I like the way you put it. I can tell you're a fun lad." He stuck out his hand for Bran to shake. "Gerion Lannister. The youngest and most handsome of the Lannister brothers. When they talk about how striking my nephew is… he got it from me."

Brandon chuckled. "I can see that." Inwardly, he groaned a bit. Here he was to get a drink far from the Red Keep and away from those who recognized him - drown his sorrows - and he just had to run into a lion of Casterly Rock. Just my luck. At least this one wasn't a tightass.

Tapping the counter, he waved over the barmaid. "I'll have what he's having, and then bring another round. This man looks like he needs to drink himself dead." A grin formed, eying the attractive barmaid. "I, on the other hand, will be very much alive at the end of the night." The girl, rather slender and cute, giggled at the attention before dashing off. "Gods, it's good to be unattached, no?"

"I…" He barely spoke before the barmaid returned, clinking the wooden mugs on the countertop.

Gerion grabbed his and gestured for Bran to do the same. "To the world!" He tipped back, guzzling half the ale. "Ah…" the youngest of Tytos Lannister's brood belched. "Northern ale is better."

A smile stretched on Brandon's face. "I know, fuck. The capitol can't find a good ale." He was liking this man better and better. "So, Gerion, what rung do you have in the Lannister ranks?"

"Nothing close to being a Kingsguard like your youngest brother, that belongs to Jaime… I'm just the black sheep. A dashing adventurer in a family of tightasses." His emerald eyes twinkled. "You know, I'm the one that started the rumor of my brother shitting gold."

"No."

"Aye. A nugget plopped in his chamber pot for the servants to find, and the next day it reaches the ear of the King. Gods, my best prank." The two of them shared a guffaw. "I'm telling you cause I can tell you appreciate a good jape, Brandon."

One round became two that became four. "Now… I envy you, Gerion." Brandon swayed tipsily on his stool. "You, Oberyn Martell. You travel the world with nothing but grit and pluck - me, I have to take over Winterfell for my father."

"Me, I could never do what my brother does. Too much gloom and backstabbing for me - only backstabbing I can see myself doing is on a battlefield against Lysene pirates." Gerion smacked his chest. "That's why I'm going to Valyria, to find Brightroar."

Brandon looked at him with glassy shock. "You'll die in the smoking sea."

He shrugged. "Probably, but what's a life for an adventurer if you don't try for the big prize? My brother wouldn't understand, which is why he told me that if I wanted to go on this quest, I wouldn't be doing it on House Lannister's stag. Hence me being here."

"My brother wouldn't understand that kind of thing at all…" Brandon looked at the counter. "He'd make a better Lord than me, that's for sure."

There was a silence. "Oh, Bran." Gerion patted his shoulder. Any man that can tame my niece deserves to be Lord Paramount. "You've only known me for a bit, but let me give you some advice. You can want something and do it. You can not want something and still do it. But if you have to force yourself to want something, then it's not for you."

Brandon nodded. "That's apt… really… apt…" He slumped on the counter, passed out.

Waving over the Stark guards, Gerion covered his bar tab as the two of them hauled their unconscious heir out of the tavern. Finding the barmaid batting her eyelashes at him from the back door, Gerion grinned and followed. It would probably be his last roll in the hay till he reached Volantis - best enjoy it.

---

"Come on, Lya, it's nothing to be scared about."

"You've been on boats before. Stop with the dramatics."

Glaring for a moment at her husband and sister-wife, Lyanna huffed. "Yes, but those were both small voyages to Dragonstone and back." She reluctantly climbed aboard the gangplank that would bring her aboard the large carrack proudly bearing the Targaryen Three-Headed Dragon - the only thing that gave her any comfort. "I didn't get a sea malady those times and you know it."

Rhaegar bit his lip to hold back his chuckles. His bride was in a mood and even the mighty dragon knew not to piss off a moody she-wolf. "The waters of Blackwater Bay are quite choppy, my love. It stands to reason you don't have a tendency to sea malady."

"Yes," she countered. "But the first time I was on Milk of the Poppy most of the way and the second time I was…" Lyanna blushed, mindful of her and Elia's retinue hustling the children ahead of her. "Wrapped up in activities."

Elia giggled. "Ah yes, Rhaegar's vaunted activities. He can easily make you forget you're even on a boat." She shook her head as her husband stood ever so taller, puffing out his chest in a very masculine pride. "And make you sleep like a babe afterwards." Even put off by his smugness, Elia leaned up to kiss his cheek once they stepped aboard the ship.

Lyanna could only agree, giggling herself. "Oh yes, my handsome husband." She kissed his cheek too, but moved to his ear. "And strong, caring lover." The she-wolf playfully nibbled his earlobe.

"Enough, there are children present," he scolded, nevertheless adoring the attention. If Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell are happily married to me, then I've done something fucking right.

Already their household guards and servants had loaded the baggage aboard ship, along with the currently restive Winter and Moondancer. Sailors clearly having a rough time trying to get them in the hold. Especially Winter, who was as stubborn as an irritated donkey for some reason. "Come on, ya' mangy bugger!" shouted one of the sailors. Moondancer neighed, knocking him away with a nudge of the snout.

"Looks like someone is gonna have to help them with that," Lyanna laughed, walking over to the horses.

Both Rhaegar and Elia watched her with interest as she soothed the agitated horses. "Gods, she's one of a kind," the Prince said, love in his voice.

"Yes," Elia murmured, biting her lip at how graceful and commanding Lyanna was. "There is no other like her." A fire in her loins, the Dornish Princess hoped Ellaria's plan would work.

The Captain was a jovial fellow with olive eyes and a dark complexion. Eager for the honor of bearing the Crown Prince's family, normally instead running trade and diplomatic errands to Braavos or Pentos. "Just a little further, your Graces." They squeezed past roustabouts moving provisions in large sacks. "Don't mind them."

Elia didn't, her stomach a churning cauldron as they stepped closer to their quarters. "I think I know why Winter is so difficult."

Thankfully, Lyanna's voice managed to distract her. "Oh, why is that?"

"She's carrying a foal."

Rhaegar clicked his tongue. "Three guesses who managed that." His sentiment was correct. Only one horse was allowed near Winter in the stables… and he made sure no other stallion approached him. "Moondancer was pretty protective of her."

"Aye, protecting the little one." Lyanna sighed, clearly melancholic about their lost babe. "A horse holds its foal for twelve moons, so I was thinking of giving it to Rhaenys, so she can learn to ride."

"An amazing idea, Lya," Elia beamed, only to lean into Rhaegar's ear. "Perhaps this is a sign."

"Of what?"

She kissed his ear gently. "To try again… with Lyanna." Her husband didn't reply, expression brooding again. This'll be harder than I thought.

Wooden deck groaning underneath them as the ship bobbed gently in the harbor's waters, the Captain suddenly made a stop. "Here we are, your Graces. Your cabin."

Lyanna furrowed her brows. "One cabin?"

"Aye" He opened the door, showing off their accommodations for the journey to Dorne. "Roomiest one aboard ship, though can't compare to the Red Keep, your Graces." He was correct - it was generally cramped for land purposes, the size of Lyanna's childhood chambers rather than the massive chambers she had grown used to as a Princess. A bearskin rug and colorful curtains gave it a more lived-in feel, but in the middle…

"There's only one bed…" she murmured. Rhaegar looked confused behind her, while Elia stayed silent. Recognizing Ellaria's not so subtle plans.

The captain looked equally confused. "Aye, one bed. As your household ordered. The chambers could only hold more if I put in bunks, but the Prince and Princesses deserve better." He smiled. "Besides, I follow R'hillor, not the Faith. I don't hold any judgements." Wiggling his eyebrows with an obvious grin, he wandered off, leaving the three royals to deal with the aftermath.

Hours later, sun having descended underneath the horizon, Elia sat at the rather small vanity. Brushing her ink-black hair till it fell in lustrous waves down her neck and shoulders. Every now and again, she glanced back at her sister-wife resting on the bed. Lyanna was normally quite loud even cooped up in a bedchamber, but now she simply sat quietly. We haven't shared a bedchamber together since Rhaenys stopped having nightmares… The fact she was… disquieted about it either was a really good or really bad sign.

Through all of this, the woolen nightdress she had donned covered up her curves, but left sleeves bare and a tantalizing display of cleavage that almost made Elia's mouth water. Mayhaps Ellaria was right after all…

Her thoughts and Lyanna's silence were interrupted when Rhaegar reentered the room. Dressed down in tunic and sleeping trousers. "The children are sleeping… though Rhaenys could be up again." He smiled. "She wants to see dolphins on the prow of the ship."

That brought a smile to Elia's face, and a small one to Lyanna's. "Rhaenys is excited overall to see the land of her Muna… at least one of them for now. The North comes next," she added for Lya's benefit.

The northern beauty appreciated it. "I'm sure she'll adore both." Lyanna bit her lip. "So… the sleeping arrangements…"

Rhaegar rubber the back of his neck while Elia blushed. Right to it, then. "This shouldn't be too awkward." She tried to put on a cheery smile. "We've all shared a bed before."

"Yes," Rhaegar noted, "But that was with little Rhaenys, and I was hoping…" As he looked in between his brides, Elia wanted to giggle at how obvious he was being. "But it's fine. You can share the bed. I can… sleep on the floor."

Elia stood, heart beating. "That won't be necessary." Approaching him sultrily, she was nervous until she saw a bulge in his trousers. "You've been a wonderful husband to us - you deserve a reward." She delighted in his hiss when she cupped his cock over his trousers.

Jaw dropping slightly, Lyanna watched with wide eyes as Elia enveloped their husband in a hungry kiss. Dornish blood notwithstanding, Elia was never this brazen when she was in the room. She tried to say something, that she wasn't comfortable with this… but nothing came out.

It turned out to be Rhaegar who first spoke. "My love… what are you doing?" He wasn't accusatory, nor did he push her away. Rhaegar's voice was halting, filled with desire. The dragon begging to be awoken.

Pulling back, Elia's hesitance suddenly left. Was this how Oberyn felt? Ellaria? No inhibition, just a pure lust? "You think too much, my Prince." An urge to dominate filled her. While she normally liked to be dominated, Elia rather liked this feeling from time to time. Even if this wouldn't work, there would be plenty of pleasure involved for all three of them.

"Elia…"

"No, let's make the best of this." She pushed him onto the bed, climbing right after him. Straddling his hips and placing her hands on the hem of his tunic. "We're here, so we shouldn't deny ourselves… unless Lyanna has a problem?"

The seductress before her was now giving her completely innocent eyes. Brain mush as she tried to piece what was going on. Oh, Lyanna knew in the abstract - Ellaria's antics and the implication of the Aegon the Conqueror style marriage certainly said that this was possible… but for it to happen before her eyes...

Elia grew elated when Lyanna merely nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Don't stop on my account," Lyanna all but croaked, rubbing her legs together.

At her approval, things progressed quickly, especially for someone only watching an act she had only participated in before. The addictive sight of her husband stretched bare on the bed was quite pleasing… But Lyanna's mouth went dry at Elia's slim waist bare to her gaze. From the golden skin to the pert breasts capped with brown nipples - sultry smile framed by her black locks… she was a beautiful.

Elia was so wet from her imagination of this moment that Rhaegar's wonderful touch already had her humming. "Mmmm, husband." He seemed in a trance, taken by her beauty and by the situation. I know you fantasized about this too, Rhaegar. Moaning, she brought his hands from her waist to her breasts, gasping at the touch.

"You're perfect," he managed to husk, finding her cunt lined up for him. "Fuck…" his head fell on the pillow as he thrust into her.

Lyanna's glassing over and watching her husband be ridden by her sister-wife. This was easily the filthiest thing she had ever done, dark grey eyes waking over his tensing muscles, his thrusting cock… her breasts bouncing from the frantic fucking, Elia's mouth gaping open at the pleasure Lyanna knew Rhaegar must have been giving her. How the fuck is this so sexy… It took everything in her not to slide her fingers down and pleasure herself.

For the husband and wife locked in a tight lover's embrace, they knew they wouldn't last long - awkwardness transformed into a mind-blowing lust. Rhaegar angled his hips and rocketed upwards, meeting Elia's frantic impaling on his cock in a way that made her scream - the heavy breathing… hells, the presence of Lyanna watching them riveted only heightening their lust.

Lips quivering as she neared her finish, Elia doubled her movements. Legs aching to take him deeper and deeper. The tip of his cock hitting her wombhead. Fuck… fuck… fuck… Right at the edge, her eyes fluttered open and she found Lyanna's stormy gaze locked on her. Lower lip sucked in between her teeth as her hips and legs writhed in discomfort. A hand almost unknowingly playing with her breast underneath the nightgown…

At that moment, Elia knew. It all became clear as day - her reservations disintegrating. She felt something for Lyanna… she lusted for Lyanna… Hells, perhaps she even loved her the same way as she loved her husband… Revelation hitting her just as she met another one of Rhaegar's thrusts, his fingers pinching a nipple, she simply shattered. Screaming her climax as she fell upon Rhaegar, kissing him hungrily.

"My love…" Rhaegar looked at her expectantly. "I haven't…"

Some sense coming to her, Elia grinned. "I love you, husband, but you have another wife to fuck." She licked his ear, almost giggling throatily. "A wife to breed again."

She saw it in his eyes. Something snapping, the violet turning almost black. Elia suddenly felt wet again. I've woken the dragon… oh how lovely! A split second passed before a surprised yelp came from Lyanna, Rhaegar rolling right atop of her and ripping her gown off. "I liked that…"

Cutting her off with a kiss, Rhaegar wasted no time as he entered her roughly. He attacked her neck as his rock-hard cock threatened to split the she-wolf open.

Lyanna's fingers dug into his back. Struggling to meet him as Rhaegar pounded into her. She wrapped her legs around him, begging her dragon to take her deeper.

Elia plunged two fingers into her cunt, moaning as she cared not whether her husband or sister-wife saw. Wishing she could join in, but knowing not to overwhelm Lyanna. Gods… Ellaria was right… Why had she wasted the last two moons not worshipping the god and goddess she had wed before gods and men. Oh… I am a Targaryen now… fuck her Rhaegar. Fuck her hard. A moan left her lips as the Prince began slamming hard and deep.

Head thrown back, Lyanna screamed. The entire boat seemed to rock with Rhaegar's thrusts. Her husband's grunts told her he was close, and so was she.

Suddenly, she heard a muffled voice. "Llll… Lllli…." Tilting her head to the side, forcing her eyes open, Lyanna found Elia close to shattering again. It was supposed to be repulsive to her, but Lyanna couldn't tear herself away.

"Elia…"

"Lya…" Her fingers reached out, weaving with Lyanna's as the she-wolf gasped. The dragon erupting.

"Elia!"

"Lya!"

"Rhaegar!"

"Fuck!"

"My loves…" And bliss.

Notes:

Well there you go. Still a little bit to go but the triad is forming :D

Lyanna and Elia really are thirsty, and is this the chapter where Jon is conceived? ;)

Until next time, where we see our trio in Dorne. Given my personal life, I may not be able to update for a while. If I get at least 35 reviews, I'll make sure to update by early next week :)

Chapter 38: Water Gardens

Notes:

Hi all. Weekly update out. Hope y'all are doing well.

As promised, I can say that after months of deliberation I have decided that the MFS version of Sansa will be Jon's second bride alongside Dany for when the story gets to that point. I know, I know, after season 8 she isn't a favorite among the Jonerys fandom, but partly because this story was initiated to get out of my comfort zone and the zone of normal archetypes was in the reason of my decision. Plus... I've always liked Sansa's organic character and the potential arc she had to be a devoted member of the Targaryen-Stark family rather than letting Dan Weiss write himself in her skin. I suppose this is my attempt to detoxify season 8 further.

Plus like Jon and Dany, the altered circumstances will change Sansa too in directions that fans of both Jonerys and Jonsa (ie, those who don't hate Dany or the Sansa not contaminated with Dan weiss' personality, cause let's face it, season 8 fucked all of the characters) will adore. Trust me, you'll love what's coming :)

Be sure to let me know what you think. Civil comments please, and I'll be happy to discuss my reasoning further in the comments.

Enjoy and please comment :D

What Elia Martell loved most about the Water Gardens was how egalitarian it was. Constructed by Maron Martell in an effort to woo the affections of his Targaryen bride - it didn't work as Princess Daenerys never ceased loving Daemon Blackfyre - subsequent Martells opened up much of it to noble and smallfolk alike. As such, the pools, gardens, and shops were always quite busy. Ellaria and most of her personal servants had all started out as childhood friendships born in the Water Gardens.

While Elia wouldn't trade such memories for the world, she did appreciate the private sanctum. One only allowed for the Dornish nobility… quite deserted at the moment. This she thanked the gods for. There was no circumstance where she would want any other wandering eye gazing at what she watched with barely repressed want.

Water rolling down her perfect, athletic curves, Lyanna emerged from the pool. "Gods, this place is amazing." She flipped her wet hair over her shoulder, looking back at her sister-wife with a grin. "We need a pool built on Dragonstone." Without waiting for an answer, she raced off towards the deeper end.

Eyes unable to leave Lyanna's nubile body, Elia didn't notice the other woman swimming up behind her. "That is the reason I love this place." Swimming in the Water Gardens was in the nude - Elia and Ellaria were both bare to the world, and so was Lyanna.

Climbing up an outcropping of rocks, the she-wolf stretched out. Exposing her entire body to the two Dornishwomen and several female servants - all of whom gazed hungrily. Elia wanted to wring their eyes out. "Stop gawking at her. You aren't a starving dog."

"But you seem to be." Laughing, Ellaria whistled as Lyanna took a dive. A… rather perfect one into the crystal clear water. "I still can't believe you fucked Rhaegar in front of her."

"You told me to."

"I never thought you'd do it… but good for you, Princess." Under the surface, the bastard Lady smacked Elia's ass playfully. "I can tell you love her. Claim her… before it's too late." Before Elia could respond, Ellaria breaststroked away. I wonder how we ever became friends…

"Wonder how who could be friends?"

Blinking, Elia saw Lyanna's beautiful face right across from her. "I really have to improve my senses. You're the second person to sneak up on me, Lya."

The wolf of Winterfell smirked. One that Elia almost thought was carnal... "I wouldn't beat yourself up about it. Wolves know how to stalk their prey."

"I've been meaning to ask, how can someone raised in the middle of the North know how to swim with such grace?" Gods, she wanted to kiss those lips - but was unable to.

Teasing her further, Lyanna motioned for Elia to follow her out of the pool. "There are lakes and pools in the North, as well as a pretty large river. One day I will show you the beauty of it all, sister."

Servants handing them bath towels to rub themselves dry, Elia smiled warmly. "Minus the cold, I truly would love to see the land that raised you." Returning the smile, Lyanna leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Elia was glad she was ahead of her, given the blush. "I believe it's time to meet our husband."

"Why do you think I only left the pool now?" Lyanna called out over her shoulder. Smirking at her cheery laugh, Elia jogged after her sister-wife. Overjoyed at seeing her so carefree again.

Unlike the pools, the hallways were filled with courtiers. Men and women, often chatting together lively - or engaged in simple acts of passion. All stilled as the royals passed. Smiles given to Elia and… in general dark scowls at the Stark princess. Most withered away at the almost dragon-like glare Elia gave them. You fucking bastards… I should take your heads.

Their arrival at Sunspear only a week ago had been… tense. It was clear that the Dornish court hadn't warmed up to them as Oberyn had, but no one said anything overt. Not that either of the royals let it get to them. Rhaegar was a Targaryen and Elia had grown in this world, but Lyanna took it with a particular grace. Fierce, determined… confident.

Elia knew it had to do with their… glorious nights. Every spare moment on the ship was spent in their cabin, Rhaegar fucking both of them into oblivion. What should have exhausted any mere man only awakened the dragon, and both Princesses loved it. Watching Lyanna's ass underneath her thin silk robe, Elia only wished that they could make that final step. Put aside whatever awkwardness and tension remained and simply love each other as… well, Targaryens. It's up to her. I won't push… But when Lyanna looked like that, seven hells it was hard.

At least they had Rhaegar… and Elia wasn't complaining. Heat close to unbearable even in the winter, both he and Oberyn - his sparring partner - were shirtless as they dueled. Actual blades, not training weapons. It added a proper flair… and danger. They both raked over Rhaegar's muscular body as did most women and men in proximity.

"Is it strange that I'm more hungry for him than usual?"

"In the Water Gardens? No, more bastards are quickened here than anywhere else in Westeros." At least that was what Oberyn once bragged to her.

Blackfyre glinted in the noonday sun. Rhaegar's wrists twisted quickly to block the determined counterstrikes from the Red Viper. Shirtless himself, Oberyn blocked the Targaryen Prince's hacks and thrusts as he himself thrust forth with his spear. Very nearly cutting skin. "Yield," he hissed.

Rhaegar answered with a smirk, parrying another thrust. "Baelor the Blessed I am not." He used Oberyn's twirl to charge, forcing the Dornish Prince on the defensive.

"He's all ours, Lya."

"Mmmmm… that he is."

Beside them, Ser Barristan watched with crossed arms. "They've been at this for twenty minutes, your Graces." Each had to be close to exhaustion.

Sure enough, another minute of strikes blocked or dodged… not an easy feat, both Princes simply withdrew from mutual consent. "Let's just call this a draw," mumbled Oberyn, panting.

Wiping a sheen of sweat from his face with a proffered towel, Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, draw. Good job, goodbrother."

"Couldn't let a Targaryen finally defeat a Martell, eh?" Wanting to shoot back another jape, Oberyn's eyes darted by chance on the balcony above. Finding a striking face framed by wet hair clinging to it.

"Care to try a game of cyvasse?" Rhaegar asked. "Pass the time till I meet with Doran?"

Normally up for it, Oberyn shook his head. "Another time, my Prince. I have something to attend to." With that, he bounded towards the palace itself.

Rhaegar watched him leave. "Will do." Shrugging, nothing now kept him from showering his brides with affection. "Enjoying yourselves?" he asked, lifting them both and kissing their noses and cheeks.

Lyanna giggled at the contact. "Very much so. The heat can go fuck itself, but I'm happy."

Their husband setting them down, Elia smiled. "Dorne is like that. Very free and liberating in a way." That doesn't make it less deadly. But she and Rhaegar wouldn't heap that on Lyanna - after the loss of the babe, she deserved the happiness. "Lya… I think you should skip our meeting with my brother."

Her happiness changed to a guarded confusion, brow rising. "I am the Princess too, no? I should be there."

"Lya…" Rhaegar began, pausing for a moment as her gaze shifted to him. "It's not that you can't hold your own, but your presence will be… antagonistic to Prince Doran." There was no better way to put it. "I…"

He was cut off as a giggling mass of black curls slammed into him. "Kepa! Muna! Muna!" Rhaenys was excited once more, the same carefree attitude of the place rubbing off on her. "Obara is showing me how to fight."

An overprotective trio of stares found the older child. "Just playing with staffs, nothing to worry about."

"Muna! Come watch us. Please please please!"

Seeing both her spouses' eyes directed at her, Lyanna sighed. "Alright, come on." She took Rhaenys' hand. "Perhaps I'll even teach you some moves, Obara." Unlike most in the Dornish court, Obara looked genuinely thrilled at such attention from Princess Lyanna.

"Ellaria!" the Prince called through the halls. "Ellaria, wait!"

Groaning, she turned. "What?" she spat out, irritated.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"You know very well why."

"I don't, please enlighten me."

She sighed. "We had a good time together in King's Landing, but it's ended."

He shook his head. "It was more than that and you know it."

"I'm not a person capable of settling down."

"Neither am I, yet here we are."

The argument continued through the halls. Ellaria tried to push him away and Oberyn refused to give up too easily. It brought them towards the guest quarters, voices loud until one silenced the other with a kiss. The kiss deepened, clothes already ripped off as they both groped their way inside. Anger turned to joyous laughter, both falling onto Ellaria's bed without a care in the world.

---

"Get up, Stark. I don't have all fuckin' day!"

Rickard fought from flinching as the King shouted. "Forgive me, your Grace," he murmured.

"I can't hear you!" Aerys' eyes began to blaze a bright violet. "Speak louder or I'll make it that you can't speak again."

Without Rhaegar there to truly shield him, Rickard knew his family was at the mercy of the King's mercurial moods. After what he did to Lyanna… He struggled to put that in the back of his mind, at least until he could send Brandon back to Winterfell. "I wish to inform you of a perfidy upon the North, your Grace."

The King blinked. "What is it this time? Another bunch of wildlings got over the Wall? I already sent a bunch of cutthroats to the damn Night's Watch. No more from me, Stark."

"I was not speaking of the Wildlings, my King. I speak of the Ironborn. They have raided Flint's Finger in the North."

"Ironborn?" In this the King leaned in to listen. "My knowledge is that their craven Lord Paramount wished to develop trade and cease raids." It had been he and Tywin's first true project after his coronation, and while his mind blotted Tywin out of the historiography in his mind it still brought him pride.

Clearing his throat, Lord Varys stepped forward. "Apparently Lord Quellon Greyjoy is bedridden with rheumatism. Your Grace."

Aerys stared. "What? Why wasn't I told about this?"

"It didn't seem important until now, since he was still dictating policy of his domains. But now that he is ill his sons are far more immersed in reestablishing the Iron Way."

Damn Tywin, he must be causing this. He was always jealous of my greatest triumph! "And what would you have me do, Lord Stark?"

Almost taken aback, Rickard didn't expect Aerys to be so… tractable to his requests. "I wished to get your approval to call the remaining banners of the North to ward off this threat."

Rubbing his chin, Aerys pondered the request. "I see. Where would you concentrate this?"

Rickard's head hurt. "At Flint's Finger and Deepwood Motte, with a few thousand at Moat Cailin in case the Ironborn try an inland raid." If he could wrangle that amount out of Aerys, then he could conceal the entire Northern army there.

"Inland raid? The Greyjoys?!" Aerys barked laughter, clutching his side. "I've never known the Ironborn to leave their ships except to pillage and fuck." His eyes turned, surprisingly, to the Imp right beside Rickard. "You, little man. I wonder if you think that Lord Stark's excuse to fritter away his men at a ruined keep comes up as short as you." He giggled at his own jape.

Tyrion, forcing a smile, laughed with Aerys. "Another good one, your Grace." Leo Lefford made that jape when I was eight, and I doubt he hadn't heard it first. "Personally, I think Lord Stark is correct. The Ironborn are as unpredictable as they are erratic. Being from the Westerlands, I know that quite well."

That ended up making the King laugh some more. "Oh, this one is perfect. I should make you my court fool, Lannister half-man."

Silent for a moment, Tyrion's lips pursed as he thought. "Are you sure you would want that, your Grace?" He fought a smirk at Aerys' confusion. "Because my father considers me a blight on House Lannister. Having me as a fool would be a good way to get rid of me, while advancing under Lord Stark's tutelage would bring me into court and make sure I am around to further embarrass him." He smiled, chuckling. "Like the time I put goat shit into my uncle Kevan's boots."

Aerys burst out with a chortling laugh. "Kevan was always a prissy idiot, brilliant! What happened?"

"I blamed it on a squire. The poor boy was flogged."

"Tee-hee!" Aerys fell back in the Iron Throne, grinning madly. "Alright Imp, continue humiliating your piece of shit father." He rose to leave, still snickering.

Rickard almost shouted as he tried to get the King's attention. "Your Grace… the Ironborn?"

Aerys waved Rickard off. "Do what you will, just don't bother me."

"That was good thinking back there, Tyrion," Rickard said outside the Throne Room. "We were almost in a bad situation there."

"No, bad situations are when the King is truly in a rotten mood. But it all required knowing what he enjoys… apparently it's making my father look like a fool."

"Aye, there is an enmity there."

They passed by a rather intricate mosaic of the Fields of Fire before Tyrion looked back at the Lord of Winterfell. "Tell me, my Lord. Why do you want some men at Moat Cailin?"

Peering, Rickard narrowed his eyes. "Let's just say they aren't the only enemies I worry about. The Red Keep is full of vipers." He sighed. "Winterfell is the same, and I don't think my sons know that yet - Ned could learn, though I suspect Bran knows he couldn't." Watching him blink, Rickard gestured towards Tyrion's quarters. "You've earned the afternoon off. Until tomorrow, Tyrion."

Still pondering what Rickard could have meant by that, Tyrion accidently took the wrong turn. "Fuck," he muttered, irritated at being so careless… when he heard voices. Naturally his curiosity got the better of him.

Tyrion crept silently towards the corner. His size actually giving an advantage for once, short stature more easily hid. "... Can you provide it for me?"

"I don't know… you're asking something of me that cannot be taken lightly."

Making it to the corner, Tyrion peeked around the corner, finding two men walking away. One in a gaudy doublet and trousers with fire-red hair, and the other a man in maester's robes. Connington and Pycelle. "What are you two talking about?" he murmured inaudibly.

Connington seemed insistent. "I can give you a lordship, when this is all over with." A lordship for the Grand Maester? "Lands from the traitors."

"But the concoction you want…"

"The Realm needs you to do the right thing, Pycelle. Don't get in my way and do as I ask." The last thing Tyrion heard was the Grand Maester sigh as they walked out of range.

---

Flanking the door, the two guards swaddled in spotted mustard tunics stepped apart, spears clanging on the stone. Disciplined to the core, but even more so that their beloved Princess had returned to her childhood home. "Princess Elia, Crown Prince Rhaegar."

To her right, Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, scowling except for a twinkling glint in his eye that betrayed his mirth. Elia smirked. "Querys, Lueral. It's good to see you too."

The aged guards smiled warmly, wanting to hug the little girl they had watched over for her entire childhood. "You look… radiant… your Grace."

"I am happy, dearest Sers. My husband makes me very happy." Elia patted Rhaegar's arm.

It heartened her greatly to see some in Sunspear or the Water Gardens to regard her marriage as a positive… "Not to mention that stunning northern beauty you brought here," Lueral smirked. "We expected your brother to shack up with a muscular warrior and a fierce maiden, but you beat him to it." Both of them laughed at how both blushed bright red. Arthur Dayne simply looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

"I think we embarrassed the future King, Lueral," said Querys, far more modest than his flamboyant comrade. "Plus it seems that our little Elia hasn't sampled her northerner."

Lerual's eyes widened. "Oh, Elia, say it isn't so. If I had both her and your husband in my bed…"

"Alright! Thank you for your kind words," she stammered, knocking them on their shoulders. "Is my brother inside?"

Biting back a smile, Querys nodded. "Go on in, he'll be there shortly."

Fancy Tyroshi columns and green-painted railings framed the three story balcony over the private courtyard of the Water Gardens. It was someplace Elia knew quite well - if it wasn't for the libertine Dornishmen and women that she called childhood friends scandalizing her every five minutes, the Princess adored the chance to show Rhaegar and Lyanna everything. Memories of kissing Rhaegar beneath the palm fronds came to mind… as did fantasies of doing the same with Lyanna.

Gods… one nude swim with her and my cunt is soaked.

"Those two seem like a fun pair to be around," she heard Rhaegar tell her, an arm snaking around her waist. "Sure I won't hear of them sneaking a young lad or maiden into the palace for you?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I don't appreciate that… and no. You were my only."

"Let's just say, I vastly prefer the Torrentine to here. Starfall, Wyl, and Yronwood have far more… sane people than you Rhoynish blood-addled prostitutes."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "Who blew sand up Arthur's ass?"

The kingsguard rolled his eyes. "I heard that."

Rhaegar grinned. "Unfortunately Arthur's been in a pissy mood because every knight and bastard knight is trying to lure Dacey into their bed." He gestured to Arthur's knuckles, which were rubbed raw. "All the ones he hasn't punched out, Dacey has. Barristan tells me she has quite the cross."

"Northerners… they're all as wild as their lands." Elia sighed dreamily. "That's why we… you love them." The glint in his eyes told her he didn't miss the slip. Or was it a slip?

Before any of the three could reply, the doors behind them opened once more revealing a rail thin man in robes of the finest Myrish silk. Muted black hair styled straight, Doran Martell held little of the firm musculature of Oberyn but was nonetheless every bit as regal. A tight yet genuine smile stretched across his face as he opened his arms. "Dearest sister." Behind him was his own trusted guard, Aero Hoteh.

No matter their… estrangement, be it from his being sixteen namedays older than her or from how… dispassionate he was in regards to using her as a political cyvasse piece, Elia loved him dearly. She returned the hug with enthusiasm. "Brother, it's been too long."

"Alas, travel doesn't sit too well with me these days," he said with an apologetic glance. Neither Rhaegar nor Ser Arthur missed his stiff legs. Gout or rheumatism… "My Prince." Abandoning the formal bow, he delivered the classing Dornish kiss on the cheeks… though it was anything but warm. "Thank you for bringing Aegon and Rhaenys. I delighted in meeting them."

"Yes, they are the light of my life, as is Elia."

It was obvious that Doran didn't believe him, but he kept quiet. Nodding to Rhaegar, Doran turned to Arthur. "I see King's Landing has treated you well. Brought a beautiful girl home to meet your father… I think he will be thrilled."

Whenever Dacey came up, Arthur's expression brightened. "I hope so too, Prince Doran." The then heir to Sunspear was a constant companion to Lord Althos Dayne and his brood of three children whenever they visited the Water Gardens… which was quite often. Arthur and Ashara didn't like libertine Sunspear, but they loved Oberyn and Elia like siblings. "I'm sure Ashara will love her."

"That makes two of us, now..." Doran motioned to several chairs. "I assume you didn't seek me out for a meeting such as this to catch up. What business do you wish to speak to me about?"

"I assume Oberyn told you some things," Rhaegar began as he sat.

Doran sighed. "My brother was… cryptic. Said you were plotting something in the capitol. I assume it has to do with your father, yes?"

They had discussed it at length on the ship to Sunspear. The three of them wrapped together under the furs, fingers caressing his chest as they went over what would be needed to inform the Doran about the plot. Clearing his throat, Rhaegar dived in. "I wish to overthrow my father and place myself on the Throne."

There was silence. "I was afraid of this," Doran finally exhaled.

"It's the right thing to do for the Realm, brother." She may have never connected truly with him due to the age difference, but Elia hoped that he would understand. "Aerys is a monster and is taking the Kingdoms down with his delusions."

"If you are referring to the loss of Lady Lyanna's babe, then I am aware of that rumor."

Lady Lyanna… His goodbrother's attempts to discomfort him wouldn't make Rhaegar react. But Elia did. "It's not… just that," she said slowly, trying not to let her ire rise for the woman she loved. "Aerys lets delusions of the Doom of Valyria and dragon eggs consume him. He wishes to go to war with the Westerlands because he feels Tywin Lannister wants to bring the Doom upon Westeros."

"Then why not just go around him? Daeron did that for his father."

"And yet only a storm stopped him from laying waste to Dorne," Rhaegar cut in. "Many follow my father, but only a bloodless abdication followed by my taking the Iron Throne can ease the tensions."

The Prince of Dorne stared at him, tired eyes a cold twin of Elia's. "Let us say you're right. Such was also said about another ruler. It resulted in massive wars and a series of pretenders that nearly destroyed House Targaryen." Leaving them unsettled with his Daemon Blackfyre reference, Doran sat back in his chair. "But you are my goodbrother. My sister is to be Queen, and my nephew the heir. I will offer you Dorne's full support."

A sigh of relief left Elia's lips, smiling brightly as she took in Arthur's surprise and Rhaegar's happy surprise. "Oh, brother." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I knew you'd see reason." No she didn't, but flattery was always good.

Such a good mood was stilled when Doran raised a finger. "However," he looked at his sister. "Our homeland has endured hells on earth from the very family you married into." The look shifted to Rhaegar, eyes darkening. "Therefore I will require two conditions of you."

Rhaegar - a quick flicker of the eye finding Elia confused at the direction Doran was taking - pursed his lips and leaned forward. "What are your conditions?"

"First, you are to cancel the betrothal of Prince Viserys to Lady Margaery Tyrell and instead betroth him to my daughter Arianne."

Blinking, the Crown Prince was slightly surprised, but only slightly. "That isn't… unreasonable. Margaery could always marry Aegon, yes, Elia?"

She agreed - it wasn't ideal to force Egg into a marriage negotiated while he was just a babe, but that was how things were done. "I agree, but why Viserys, brother?"

"Because I wish for Martell blood to stay on the throne if something happens to Prince Aegon."

Perturbed by his bloodless tone, Rhaegar noticed the crux of the statement. "Rhaenys is the heir after Egg, unless Lyanna sires more sons by me."

It was almost as if Doran recoiled at the mere mention of Lyanna. "Rhaenys would be fine for me but the Andals don't take kindly to women rulers… but I'm glad you brought up Lady Lyanna." There it was again - Lady Lyanna. "Dorne requests a decree that removes any children of Lyanna Stark's womb from succession."

"What?!" Elia shouted in disbelief.

Rhaegar was furious. "Out of the question."

"Ah, so what I am told is true." Doran smiled… more like grimaced really. "This wasn't foisted on you. You wanted to dishonor my sister."

"I have not been dishonored, brother!" If Rhaegar was furious, Elia was seeing red. "How dare you insult my-sister wife, your Princess and future Queen."

Doran regarded her as one would a child talking of riding on the back of a giant. "I fail to remember the marriage alliance House Martell ever made with House Stark, and as I recall the Doctrine of Exceptionalism forbade pologamy."

"Dragons answer to neither gods nor men," she countered.

"But there are no dragons, so here we are." When riding a dragon, no one cared if one took a hundred wives. Without though… "I do not care if you wish to copy Oberyn's proclivities, sister - while I do hope that this harlot's cunt tastes well enough to…"

"Speak one more word and you lose your tongue," Rhaegar seethed - quickly, Aero Hoteh's hand went to his scimitar, followed by Arthur's to Dawn. Tension ratcheting up, a fearful plea from Elia sent Rhaegar leaning back, defusing the crisis. "Do not do that again."

Doran rubbed his neck. Sister," he looked straight at Elia, ignoring Rhaegar. "The moment Lyanna births a son, Egg's crown is threatened."

"Lyanna loves Egg like her own!" Elia protested, only to get the same patronizing smile.

"Oh Elia, you were always idealistic like our brother. The Starks may be fools, but anyone may wish to use a child born of Lyanna's womb to take power, leaving Egg and Rhae as liabilities to be put down." Now, his gaze turned back to Rhaegar. "I would rather you set aside Lyanna and send her back to Winterfell or to Robert Baratheon - I don't care which - but either you accept my requirements or we…"

"Not accepted," Rhaegar answered simply. Daring Doran to do something about it.

The Prince of Dorne merely frowned. "Very well." He pushed out of his chair, legs shaking as Hoteh came to help steady him. "Dorne will not stand against Aegon's birthright, but we will not stand with you either. Good luck." He left as abruptly as he entered.

As soon as he was gone, Elia let out a frustrated scream as Rhaegar punched one of the columns.

---

"Muna! Watch me!" Twirling the stick in her arms, Rhaenys tried to copy her uncle's movements as best she could… what resulted was a ridiculous if adorable flurries of assaults that were closer to a twirling Lysene dancing girl than the mighty Red Viper.

Lyanna giggled at the sight, clapping her hands. "I love your enthusiasm, little dragon," she called out. Go easy on her, Obara…

The vivacious yet plain nine-nameday old smiled the entire time, easily beating back the blows while letting Rhaenys get a few hits in. "Oww, I'm being bested," Obara shouted rather dramatically - how she managed to fend her off one-handed while pushing a strand of rat-brown hair behind her ear belied the truth.

"Bow before the mighty dragon!" Rhaenys shrieked, giggling. But a stumble over a loose stone found her 'guard' down. An eventuality that Obara 'exploited' by gently knocking her to the ground. Falling on her ass, Lyanna gasped and quickly dashed to her.

"Rhae, are you alright?" Above, Obara looked with concern - hoping she didn't hurt her little cousin.

But Rhaenys was made of stern stuff. Instead of pout or cry, she frowned and smacked the ground. "Seven hells!'

Chuckling at the girl's stubbornness, Lyanna kissed her brow. "Rhaenys, you're still young. Watch your language."

"Sorry, muna. But I thought I was good." Now the tears formed in her eyes. "I wanna be as good as you."

I love this child so much. "Oh, little dragon…" Lyanna hugged her close, pulling them both up. "I didn't just become like this overnight. It took me moons just to face your father."

"Kepa said you fought like a Silent Sister."

Frowning, Lyanna muttered something not ladylike. "I'll have to have a word with kepa then." Taking in the girl's returned smile, she ruffled her raven curls. "Let's start from the beginning. Try working on your stance. Staying firm in battle is the key to winning, like this." Lyanna formed a rather simple root stance, showing a simple right slash maneuver adapted to spears.

"Like this?" Rhaenys tried the same. While she was too sloppy, it was pretty good for a first timer.

"Keep practicing. Don't move your feet from where you plant them, but you're on your way, Rhaenys." The girl looked happier than she'd ever been. "And for you Obara…"

Watching with a smile herself, the bastard girl bowed her head. "Your Grace."

"Enough of that now. You're essentially my niece now, and I can tell you that you fight very well." It was as if she told Obara that she was going to marry the Yi Ti Emperor. "Keep working on your one handed parries. If you can wield that and a dagger in battle, you will not have many foes." She pulled back, watching Oberyn's eldest continue her exercises.

"Well, seems like my cousins have taken to you."

Turning, Lyanna found a short, beautiful young girl approaching, older governess trailing behind. It was clear the girl had been pudgy in her younger years, but now was slender as a reed, olive skin and large eyes promising great beauty upon her flowering. Lyanna had met her before, and genuinely smiled. "Princess Arianne."

Arianne Martell returned the smile, curtseying. "Princess Lyanna." Behind, her governess curtseyed as well, though the expression was far less friendly. "I see you've gotten the love of my martial cousins, though I'm glad to find the chance to speak to you myself."

"Well, you are a lovely, well-read young maiden. I'm glad to." She meant it.

"Good. Lady Allyrion, you may leave us." Delonne Allyrion, Lyanna remembered - the heir to Godsgrace.

The governess frowned. "But, princess…"

"I said, it was alright," Arianne repeated, only firmer this time. "You may leave us."

Scowling, Lady Delonne began to walk away. As she did, Lyanna heard 'Northern whore,' muttered under her breath. Sighing, she put on a proper facade. "I really am glad to see you, Princess Arianne. Your company was delightful at the feast last week." Turns out she was the only one not named Oberyn that truly wished to converse with her, and Lyanna appreciated it.

"Oh that, it was nothing. I was intrigued by the northern warrior Lady that so captivated my aunt," she replied with a significant maturity about her.

Nodding, the northern beauty noticed a rather tired Rhaenys starting to fall over. "Rhaenys, sweetling. I think it's time to stop." Gingerly kissing the crown of her head, she guided her to where the training weapons were stacked. "Elia is my best friend in the capitol - I'm better for knowing her."

"Do you take her to bed as you do the Prince?"

Helping Rhaenys stack the staff back, Lyanna stiffened. Arianne's rather inappropriate question freezing her in place, staff clattering to the ground. "Silly muna," Rhaenys giggled.

Gulping, Lyanna turned. "Um… what?"

Arianne smirked. "You heard me."

"I'm not sure what you mean…"

"Don't jape me, your Grace. I'm nine namedays, not addled. Besides, there's plenty of that going on in the Water Gardens… so tell me. Do you take Aunt Elia to bed?"

"Gods…" Lyanna blushed red. "No, I don't."

Cocking her head, Arianne regarded her curiously. "Why? Is she not pretty to you?"

The blush grew hotter. "What… she's very beautiful, but I'm…"

"Not into women?" This time it was Obara. "Doesn't stop most of the ladies here. They seem pretty happy together."

What was it about Dornish girls and their precociousness? I'll need to make sure Rhaenys doesn't lose her maidenhead once she's flowered. "I… northerners don't do stuff like that. It's…"

"An abomination? Relax, I've heard it from septas before." Arianne sighed. "I don't want to judge you, your Grace, but when I see my aunt look at you with longing I don't want to see her heart broken."

This floored Lyanna. "No, Elia doesn't feel that way about me."

Arianne regarded her with a smirk. "Sure, keep telling yourself that." Laughing, she began walking away. "Come on, Obara. I think we've lit the fuse in my newest aunt." They left hand in hand, a gaping Lyanna in their wake. Her mind whirring, mixed with imaged of her sister-wife. Scrutinizing her looks… shifting to her face… and then her body… She really is gorgeous…

"Muna! Walk with me in the gardens!" She nodded absentmindedly as Rhaenys led her towards the beautiful trees and flowers.

---

As he expected, Rickard Stark found Jon Arryn at his desk, scribbling notes all over stacks of paper that cluttered the wood. "Interrupting?" he asked.

Jumping slightly, Arryn's shock melted into a friendly smile across his wrinkled face. "Lord Rickard… no, not at all. Come, sit." The northerner took the chair across from him offered. "What brings you here?"

"Ned has confirmed the Mormonts have begun building the extra ships."

"Oh? Good." Arryn winced. "I don't wish to believe Connington is behind the Ironborn attacks, but I can't say he isn't. Best to preempt him and see what happens… when he makes his move."

Noticing the heavily scribbled over sheafs of parchment on the Lord's table, Rickard clicked his tongue. "Trying to calculate the height of every peak in the Vale again? I remember Ned saying you spent a year trying to prove Archmaester Artys wrong," he chuckled.

Jon Arryn gave him an exhausted smile. "Oh, I wish it were so delightfully mundane as that." Ten namedays younger with a lungful of fresh mountain air… it sounded divine to him. "No, something far more irritating. Marriage alliances."

Rickard winced, bile in his mouth. "I may not be the best to seek advice on that from. My attempts to find Lyanna a suitable husband did not end well." Had the King not relieved me of that… Lyanna wouldn't have the happiness she did have, though much the same pain most likely.

"Very true, old friend, though I'm glad to have someone to discuss this with. It's high time I find Elbert a proper bride rather than that string of bannermen maidens and wives he's siring bastards up and down with."

"How many is it this time?"

"Three that I know of, all girls thank the Seven. I don't want mini-Blackfyre rebellions all over the Vale." His dashing, martial nephew was everything Jon Arryn wished for in an heir, much like his brother had been - but not the first time he had found himself praying that the lad would be more modest as he was. Like Ned. "Not as many as Robert is rumored of siring already, but I digress. He needs a bride."

House Arryn - due to a string of bad luck - was on the brink. With the death of all of Jon's children, all that was left were a cousin, his sister's brood not bearing the Arryn name, and Elbert. "Have you considered taking a wife of your own?"

"What? Me? Oh, by the Seven no. I'm far too old. Twice was enough to tell me that I just don't have luck in that guild."

"Walder Frey still sires children even though he is as old as you."

"Comparing me with Walder Frey? If that would convince me?" The two of them both ended up laughing. "No, Elbert is my heir. I love him as a son, if not as much as Ned… would you be so kind as to let me have him?" Jon asked with a teasing tone.

Smirking himself, Rickard shook his head. "No, I'm too partial to my pups, especially Ned." He picked up a finished list. "Most of these names are crossed out... Lyanna?" He raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

The Lord Paramount of the Vale chuckled. "A man is never too old to dream, is he? Don't get offended, I crossed her off immediately after."

"Mmmm-hmmm. I'll make sure the Crown Prince doesn't catch wind of this." Pursing his lips, Rickard continued to scan the list. "There are no ladies of the Vale here?"

"Best serve Rhaegar's objectives. Get some alliances set up."

"Good thinking." Laena Velaryon, Lucerys' daughter. A good choice, very rich indeed. Ashara Dayne, a beautiful lass. More crossed out names, mostly from Dorne or the Reach. Lynesse Hightower. Lysa Tully. It seemed as if Arryn had nearly pierced the paper so hard he crossed her off. Dacey Mormont… There was no hiding why that was crossed out. Her being in a delicate condition by Ser Arthur was the gossip of the Red Keep after interest in Lyanna's miscarriage started to wane. "You crossed out Cersei Lannister."

Snorting, Arryn snatched the parchment from Rickard. "And good thing. I'd rather not have Ned hate me for the rest of my life."

Confusion clouded Rickard's expression. "What does Ned have to do with this?"

"He didn't tell you?" The Lord of the Eyrie chuckled. "Apparently he danced with Cersei Lannister at the royal wedding and then disappeared for a walk in the gardens. Both quite besotted."

Rickard's eyes bugged out of their sockets. "Cersei Lannister?!" How in seven hells had this not come to his attention? "Gods, Ned. First Lya and now you setting your sights on the unattainable."

"And yet Lyanna's sights weren't unattainable, were they?" grinned Jon Arryn, chuckling… only for him to cough. As if he was hacking out a lung. "Fucking body, don't fail me now." He gulped down some wine. "Cersei is a good choice for him. Reach out to Tywin and make it happen."

"Tywin would want Brandon, not Ned."

"Then make Ned your heir."

"I couldn't do that to my eldest son." Olenna Tyrell's words kept repeating in his head. Gods, everything had seemed so simple before the Tourney at Harrenhal. "Regardless, who do you think would be best for Elbert?"

Leaning back, Arryn smirked. "Changing the subject are we? Alright, I've settled on Olenna's remaining unmarried child. Janna Tyrell."

This was intriguing. "A Tyrell? Quite the beauty. Elbert would be pleased enough."

"I should hope so. The Reach has money, food, and power. Allying with Olenna may swing Mace away from supporting His Grace." Another cough, this one rather painful. "He… he is quite fond of… both... " Cough. "His sisters…" More coughs.

Out of his seat, Rickard moved to the Old Lord. "Jon, are you well?" This did not seem a normal malady of the lungs.

Not a man of vibrant color even before, it seemed as if Jon Arryn's face was rubbed with chalk. "Seems… my gut…" Suddenly he bent forward, retching his stomach onto the entire table. Only instead of the greenish acid of bile… it was blood. Bright red with the stench death vapors.

"GET THE MAESTER!"

---

Having emerged from the palace kitchens with a flagon of spring water, Benjen's eyes followed her quizzically. "Do you have a question, Ser Benjen?"

"It is not my place to ask, your Grace."

"Just ask, brother."

"Alright, why are you carrying a flagon yourself?"

"Am I too snobbish to even bring water to my room?"

"Not at all. Just hopin' you didn't become a perfumed, swooning lady like in the capitol." As a young, dashing knight, many of those sought to invite him into their beds - it made Benjen all too familiar with such species.

Lyanna smacked his shoulder. "You believing me capable of that is insulting."

"At least Dacey or Ellaria…"

"Dacey is spending time with Arthur. Horrible pregnancy sickness." He was a natural father and lover already, caring for Dacey's every need. "And Ellaria…" A grin. "A certain Prince hasn't left her room all day."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Can't be Rhaegar, and Doran looks like he couldn't fuck a goblet… no, not Oberyn."

"Seems the two biggest whoremongers in the Realm have finally settled down." It really was sweet if she thought about it. "Now all that's left is finding you a woman… or a man," Lyanna giggled.

Benjen was not amused. "Shut it."

The grin widened. "I mean, this is Dorne. If you want either then you can find it."

"You're lucky you're my sister, Princess or no." Thankfully reaching the chambers, Benjen took guard next to Ser Gerold. "Sleep well, Lya." Nodding, Lyanna kissed her younger brother's cheek and darted inside.

Feeling happy and content, such died at seeing the grim frowns on her husband and sister-wife. "What's wrong?" Rhaegar held a dispatch. "Did something happen to the Queen? My father?"

Rhaegar sighed. "No, not them." He was dressed for sleep, chest bare and hair let down over his shoulders - Elia rested atop the bed in a sheer nightdress with her hair down as well. Both looked absolutely beautiful. "Jon Arryn, dead of acute failure of the bowel."

"Oh no…" She may not have been the closest to Ned's faster father, but he was a good man and a loyal ally. "Will the Vale stand with us, now?"

Elia answered her. "Lord Elbert is a close friend of both Ned and Brandon, so I should hope so."

"I'll write a condolence letter to the Eyrie in the morning." Yawking, Rhaegar sat upon the bed, motioning for Lyanna to slide in beside him. "Right now I need my brides." Smiling, Lyanna began untying her skimpy Dornish gown to join her now kissing spouses.

An hour later, the now exhausted Rhaegar was dozing in the center of the bed. Milked dry of his precious seed by both panting beauties - each clutching his chest as they tried to calm their heartbeats. "Lya," Elia called softly to her, gradually moving her fingertips closer to hers.

"Aye?" replied Lyanna, peering over Rhaegar's chest at her sister-wife.

"Doran won't help us." She bit her lip. "Not unless we exclude your line from the succession."

An anger hit Lyanna for a split second, morphing soon after into simple fatigue. "Any chance that happens?"

Elia's eyes darkened. "Not in a thousand lifetimes."

While she should be flattered, Lyanna was nonetheless fearful. "We need Dorne's support."

Looking at the woman she loved, Elia wrapped her fingers around Lya's. "Not as much as you… we need you more." I need you more… "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"My House, my brother, my fault." Elia suddenly felt a squeeze, Lyanna's grey eyes boring on her.

In the low moonlight, the Dornish Princess looked radiant. Just as beautiful as Rhaegar, just in a different way. Dark and sultry rather than an almost winter flame that was her husband. "It is not your fault."

Lyanna looked away. "Sometimes it feels like it is." She heard everything they said, saw every look they gave. There wasn't much doubt in her mind that the Northerners would treat Elia with respect. Am I truly the mistress that dishonored my sister-wife? A woman she cared about, who was practically her best friend…

Perhaps someone even closer than that.

Elia squeezed her hand back, drawing Lyanna to the beautiful honey-brown eyes that made her heart hitch, almost like Rhaegar's violets. A look that made Lyanna doubt her denials to Arianne's question if but a moment. "I don't blame you, Lya. I could never." They smiled at each other, falling to sleep not long after.

Notes:

Lyanna's getting closer, but Doran isn't budging.

Jon Arryn dies... that's gonna cause some shit.

Next time, Doran's insults lead to a beautiful moment for our Prince and Princesses :D

Chapter 39: My Loves

Notes:

Hi all. Hope y'all are doing well.

Enjoy and please comment :D

For the third time that night, Lyanna Targaryen refilled the tiny brass bowl with the spiced oil concoction, decadently dipping the crusty bread within. "I see you're enjoying our fine baked goods, Lyanna," her goodbrother said warmly, shoulder length black hair pulled back into a bun. He looked years younger, almost boyish, although the woman seated next to him - her shoulders affectionately brushing against his - probably contributed to that.

Lyanna smiled at Oberyn. "Bread is bread, brother, but…"

"Oh, bread is most definitely not bread, Princess Lyanna," stated Lady Mellario Martell, having finally returned to Sunspear from the Free Cities. Impeccably dressed in the finest of Myrish fashion, she looked like a true exotic beauty. Far different from the more muted blacks, greys, and reds of Lyanna and Elia. "The sweetbreads of Norvos, simply the best."

"I have no doubt about that, sister," Elia replied, a bit icy as she sat across from Lyanna - Rhaegar at the guest of honor position across the length of the table, overlooking Doran at the head. Her goodsister was more respectful than most here, but still interrupted Lyanna. They know better. "I think what my sister-wife meant was the oil and spice mix."

Nodding, Lyanna delicately bit off a bit. Dacey would probably scarf this down in one bite. "It tastes heavenly."

"Father grows it in his personal gardens," boasted Arianne, seated across from her mother and next to her brother Quentyn. "Oh, some of the most wonderful fruits grow there. The blood oranges are amazing."

The princess was given a warm look from Lyanna. "I'll have to try them later."

Tonight was their last night in Sunspear - the culmination in their disastrous progress through the seventh Kingdom. Rhaegar was already praying Althos Dayne was of a better disposition towards him before he continued to the Reach. The insults and hate that were coming Lyanna's way simply reminded him of a classier version of what his father dished on Elia. They see her as an insult… or a threat. It didn't help that he was a Targaryen. Just one more day, one more day. They'd have even more grief if Doran sided with his father out of spite.

The dining room was smaller than the great hall, meant for more intimate dinners of the family or honored guests. Candles lit the sandstone walls while large windows let in the cool sea breeze, stars twinkling in the sky. It was beautiful, undoubtedly, added by the deliciousness of the meals as the servants brought in another course.

"Oh, Lyanna, you should try the fish." Arianne gestured to a plate that Elia was already scooping up steaming helpings of. "Cooked in butter and lemon, purely delicious." Doran glanced disapprovingly at his daughter, but she didn't notice. Quentyn did, though the seven-nameday old remained quiet.

"It is, Lya," Elia added. "My favorite."

"Since when?" Rhaegar japed. "You never eat fish."

She gave him a cross look. "Blackwater Bay's fish are disgusting. This is Dorne - we have more refined stomachs." Oberyn almost choked on his food as he laughed, Ellaria, Arianne, and Quentyn joining him. Even Doran cracked a smirk.

Lyanna giggled. "You walked into that one, husband." Just the recommendation of her sister-wife would have been enough, but when the smell came to her, her stomach rebelled. "I'll have to pass, though. The ham-wrapped shrimp look delicious though." Taking a bite, it truly was.

"Don't have fish in the north, do they?" Her eyes lifted from the plate to find her other goodbrother looking at her. "Oh, there are ports, but I take it that the fish would need to be salted to make it to Winterfell without spoiling. Such a shame - ruins the taste." He took a bit of his fish, saying nothing more.

Glancing at Elia, Oberyn knew his brother was insulting the North's backwardness in terms of roads. He decided to change the subject. "Oh, I heard something from my friend Quentyn Qorgyle. Seems his uncle the Lord Commander is putting the thousand brigands and cutthroats the King sent to Castle Black to good use."

"Really?" This was news to her. "How so?"

"The wildlings, they're uniting around a King, oddly enough. Half of them already pledged to him, though none bent the knee."

A snort from Mellario. "Of course they didn't. Those up there, savages all of them." She didn't even bother to differentiate.

Lyanna remained calm. "I think Dorne would appreciate a people that live unbowed, wouldn't they not?" Elia and Ellaria bit back giggles, while Rhaegar smirked openly. Enjoying the irritation on Doran's face.

Dinner continued in general silence until Oberyn cleared his throat. "There is something we wished to tell all of you." He tangled his hands with Ellaria. "As my reputation precedes me with, I am not as one would say a abstemious man."

"That's putting it mildly." Elia preened at Oberyn's mock glare. All that was missing was an olive being thrown across the table and it would have been their childhood.

"Anyway, I didn't think this day would happen, but I finally found a woman who stole my heart." Smiling softly, he kissed Ellaria's cheek - the woman grinning like an idiot. "I am glad to say that the beautiful Ellaria Sand has agreed to be my paramour."

The reaction was instantaneous from Elia, who very unregally squealed and enveloped her friend in a hug. "Finally! I'm so happy for you, sister!" she couldn't help but add at the end.

Laughing, Ellaria returned the hug. "I wouldn't go that far, but thank you. I am quite happy."

Grin on his face, Rhaegar looked over at his goodbrother. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd settle down, Oberyn. The same woman waking beside you for the rest of your life…" he teased.

"Oh, that would have unsettled me only a week ago, but Ellaria…" He kissed her cheek again. "For her I don't seem to mind."

Drawn into the happiness of the moment, Lyanna smiled as well. "I have a feeling that you two are perfect for each other, in that the adventures won't end anytime soon."

Lascivious look sent her way, Ellaria nodded. "You know me so well, your Grace."

"I'm delighted, uncle. Most blessings to you," Arianne offered, as did Mellario and a quiet croak of thanks from Quentyn.

One person, however, was silent. Waiting for the excitement to die down before he finally spoke. "Brother," Doran said quietly. "Have you thought about this? I mean really thought about this?"

The first crack in Oberyn's joy happened then. Eyebrow quirking up. "What do you mean, brother?"

"What I am saying is that is this woman the one you truly want the world to see you with? I can understand her being a mistress, but your paramour?"

"What's wrong with Ellaria?" challenged Elia, locking eyes with her brother. Around the table, Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Arianne seemed to shrink in their seats. Knowing a storm was coming. "She's my devoted lady in waiting and of high birth."

A sickly smile spread on Doran's face. "I know this, sister, but she isn't of a true high birth. Nor does she act as one would."

The table was silent, tense at this. "Watch yourself, Doran," Oberyn glowered, still holding his love's hand. "Do you dare taint even your nieces of the conditions of their birth to spite me?"

"Not at all. I love my nieces, but just because you've fathered bastards doesn't mean you should marry one. Especially one that is such a…" He stopped, taking a deep breath even as both his siblings reddened in anger. "I've tolerated your… indiscretions for years because you were young, unattached, and a loyal son of Dorne, plus I already have my heirs. But there was always an assumption you'd marry someone respectable for the gain of our House."

"I'm sitting right here," Ellaria hissed. "If you have something to say, you can say it to my face… my Prince."

"What my husband means to say is that she is a trollop." The Prince of Sunspear was a diplomatic man, but Lady Mellario was as uncompromising as the religious laws she grew up under. "No better than a common prostitute."

"Mother!" Arianne yelled, face reddening.

Though knowing better, Lyanna interjected. "Perhaps we should just move on…"

Her comment only led Doran sigh. "I didn't say those words, but my lady wife holds a slight kernel of truth. Tell your brother that he is making a dreadful mistake - it's bad enough that through you House Martell is associated with another…"

While catching himself, Doran had already said enough to mire him in an even worse conflict. One that challenged not just his family, but his future King as well. Elia's eyes darkened. "What?"

Lyanna looked down at her plate, while Rhaegar looked up. "I would like to know what as well, goodbrother."

Even Doran knew that he had blundered into something he wasn't comfortable discussing here, but there was no doubt he meant what he was trying to say. Thus, for his equally precocious but insecure son, the desire to please his father led him to blurt it out. "My father says you insult my aunt by taking a whore into your bed… oww!" A sudden punch under the table from Arianne shut him up.

Elia blazed with anger, but at Doran. "You called Lyanna a whore?"

"I wouldn't use those words," Doran countered. "But you know my views on the subject."

"How dare you…"

"For what?" Lady Mellario said, interjecting for her husband. "You condone this… living in sin even though it would spell doom for House Targaryen."

Elia had never liked her goodsister - Norvos was a city ruled by insane priests, and it led them to chaos. "The affairs of House Targaryen are none of your concern."

A snort came from Doran. "They became my concern when you became the Crown Princess, sister. They became my concern when my nephew became second in line to the throne." He didn't want to say anything more, but now he didn't care. "No one envies the position that I am in, worried that his nephew and niece will be usurped by the other woman at this table."

"If you think Lyanna would hurt them then you are as addled as your idiot of a son." Quentyn opened his mouth to defend himself only for Arianne to silence him with a pinch.

Doran chuckled. "No? I worry every day at how your husband sees the world. Of whether he is actually the strong Prince we hope he is or if he channels the personalities of Aenys the Weak and Viserys the Clueless. Enjoying his pleasures while his family schemes behind his back to stab him when he least expects it... and you're content to let them do it."

Elia looked at him incredulously, while Rhaegar and Lyanna were silent. Both unsure of how to respond, while the latter felt her very soul being attacked.

"At least they were devoted men, from my knowledge of the early years of House Targaryen, not that they were welcome times for Dorne." Doran supped from his glass, shunning the spiced watered wine that all others drank for a finer vintage. "I suppose such humility and faithfulness would have done Aegon the Unworthy well." He laughed softly, meeting Mellario's eyes before continuing, gaze focused intently on Rhaegar. "Now Aegon the Conqueror and Daeron the Young Dragon nearly wiped Dorne out, so it is ironic that I find him the most unpalatable of all the Targaryen Kings." I mean, his flagrant parading of his First Man mistress all over the Red Keep was just embarrassing..."

A sharp metallic clang rang out, silencing the dining hall. Lyanna stood, eyes training to her as she trembled slightly. She drew a steely, emotionless mask on her face - it didn't fool anyone that truly knew her. Melissa Blackwood, Aegon IV's mistress, from the family that famously kept to the Old Gods below the Neck. Lyanna's gods, Doran essentially used Melissa Blackwood to call her a mere mistress of court rather than Rhaegar's wife. Not as obvious as Quentyn, but everyone understood.

Especially Lyanna. Without a word, she simply pushed in her chair and walked out of the room. Servant barely able to open the door before she pushed her way through it with her head held high. "Lya," Elia called out, springing upright. "Wait!" Beside her, Rhaegar seethed silently, jaw clenched.

"Sit back down, sister, before you embarrass yourself," Doran scolded. Using the same tone as he did whenever she held a romantic notion of marriage to Prince Rhaegar before the actual wedding.

Sensing an even further darkening in the mood, Oberyn interjected. "Please, sister, our brother was too deep in his cups. Doran… please apologize for insulting our guests."

"Apologize?" Quentyn huffed. "You are addled, uncle." He felt his sister thump him from under the table.

Oberyn would have done much worse. "Shut your mouth, boy, before I teach you some manners."

"Don't speak to my son in defense of her." Oberyn's conduct seemed to greatly ire Doran. All because of that Uller bastard. "It was only because of you that I let that… woman enter our castle as our guest. Claiming she's a future Queen in the same vein as the other dragons that burned Dorne to the ground." He missed how Rhaegar bent a fork right down the middle out of repressed rage - Doran was lucky the Crown Prince inherited his mother's calm. "That whore dishonors our House by being here."

Seeing red, Elia spat at her brother. "You dishonor yourself, Prince Doran." She picked up her cup only to slam it down again. "It appears my true home is Dragonstone now." The Princess stormed off, the only one on her mind being Lyanna.

All remaining at the table - especially Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold - glanced at Rhaegar, wondering how the mighty dragon would explode. His own heat starting to cool, even Doran regarded him with a slight apprehension. But all was for naught. Rhaegar simply stood, pushing his chair in. "Thank you for the meal, but it appears I've lost my appetite." He bowed his head. "Good evening, my Prince. We will sail for Starfall on the morrow, so I thank you for your hospitality." It wasn't long before he disappeared.

A dark chuckle left Ellaria's lips, staring right at Doran. "And you say I'm the unworthy bastard."

Underneath the table, Arianne thumped her brother again. This time harder. "This is all your fault, fucking toad." The Targaryens wouldn't be able to count on Dorne as an ally in the wars to come after all.

---

"I can't believe that was my family!" In her years at the Red Keep, Rhaegar had seen Elia in many moods, from the most unbelievable joy to abject melancholy. Until recently the latter had been closer to the norm, leading many in court to dub her 'the Dreary Queen,' given her stature. But only once did Rhaegar find her ever this enraged. "It's almost like I was seeded in a different womb from my cunt if a brother!"

"Please, my love. Calm down," Rhaegar said without relish. His expression was dark, but instead of the natural Targaryen temper he brooded in a chair. Cheek leaning against his arm as slouched there.

As he expected, Elia didn't listen. Wearing a rut in the floor from pacing back and forth in anger. "That… that… fucking cunt!" Yes, she and Doran had never been close, but his utter rudeness in front of everyone no less finally pushed her over the edge. "I will never forgive him for this! Never!"

Another scowl from Rhaegar - not at her, but at the situation. "We don't have the luxury to be unforgiving."

"You're really going to let him get away with insulting Lya like that?! By insinuating she and Ned and Benjen would harm Egg and Rhae?" By her orders, the Stark kingsguard was on duty protecting the children. A gesture to spite her brother.

"If I could I'd take off his head myself, but we're not hedge knights. I'm the Prince and you're the Princesses - we cannot afford to antagonize Dorne…" Aenys the Weak and Viserys the Clueless… Doran's words… unnerved him. Am I them? Aenys the fool that tried to please everyone while Viserys the fool that didn't see his own family destroying each other under his nose. "No more than we already have," he murmured.

Seated quietly upon bed, Lyanna looked blade-shocked. Staring unseeing into space with hands folded about her lap. Mind going through its own crisis. Doing nothing but listening to her beloveds argue with each other.

And oh did Elia argue. It was as if she had finally transformed into the dragon she had married. "More than we already have?! Us three have done nothing to antagonize my homeland aside from fucking existing and not plotting against each other! And if they truly wish to be angry then why don't they attack your damned father for being a jumped up, abusive cunt…"

"They're right, Elia."

Cut off mid-tirade, Elia turned to gape at Lyanna in shock. Unsure of how the fierce she-wolf could sound so meek now of all times. Frankly, their roles were reversed at the moment. "What in seven hells are you saying?" Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Go the fuck away!" she screamed.

But Benjen poked his head in, hesitant. "Your Graces… Egg… he won't sleep…"

Rhaegar stood. "I'll help put him to bed." Kissing Lyanna on the head, face contorting in pain as she barely responded, he leaned in to Elia. "Please, my love. Help her."

Elia matched his concern. "I will." Soon, it was just them again. Flashing back to just after the miscarriage, only this time there was no grief for Lyanna to truly feel. Without delay she was on the bed - pulling the woman she loved into her arms. "None of what he said is true, Lya. None of it."

"How can you be sure?" The Lyanna one moon before was broken, hurt and sobbing because of it, but this one was… hollow. As if she'd given up. "I can't even assist you or Rhaegar in securing allies."

"That has nothing to do with you, and you've done plenty."

Looking at her sister-wife, Lyanna hung her head with a sigh. "I heard everything they said… all their looks, their words. Calling me a whore. A savage, all of it."

Elia's heart broke. "Oh, Lya." She hugged her even tighter, chin falling in the crook of the northern beauty's neck. Was it wrong to think she smelled so heavenly with all that was going on. "They are jealous crones."

"No, I can't dismiss it." She buried her face in her hands - this wasn't a sudden-onset matter. It had been weighing on her for the longest time. Perhaps the last bit of chaos the loss of her babe had given her. "They have little reason to support House Targaryen as it is. Only the fact Daeron II was the legitimate King kept the Blackfyres from taking everything on anti-Dornish sentiment." The blood feud between the southernmost Kingdom and the rest of Westeros was as old as a united Westeros was. "You and Rhaegar had a delicate balancing act as it is… I'm the liability making it worse."

Reacting almost violently to that, Elia drew back, cupping Lyanna's chin gingerly. "Do not think like that. You are anything but… if I had to choose between Dorne and you, I'd choose you… and so would Rhaegar."

Lyanna blinked. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"It's the truth." Those grey eyes were almost hypnotic. At that moment Elia knew what her husband must have felt in that cottage during the tourney - she was powerless to resist Lyanna either. "I wish I could prove it to you."

Staring with her mouth open slightly, Lyanna regarded Elia. Lids hooded over dilated eyes, lip quivering, an almost glow to her honey skin… It was the same longing look she used to give Rhaegar before the wedding. Arianne's words frittered into her mind. '...when I see my aunt look at you with longing…' Was this what she spoke about?

And gods help her, she was liking it. I shouldn't like it… But it brought her an overwhelming sense of comfort, of joy.

The silence was getting to Elia. "Lya…"

"How would you prove it to me?"

Pulling back slightly, Elia gaped. "What?"

"You… you heard me…" There was a hitch in Lyanna's voice, belying her nervousness. As if she would lose her will at the drop of the hat.

Moons of self-control snapped. Her body realizing that it was now or never, Elia surged forward, covering her sister-wife in a warm and loving kiss.

Lyanna didn't know what to think at the moment. This was not what she was expecting at all.

"Elia…" Lyanna, pushed with her arms, putting a gap between them. Taking a deep breath as her head spun. "What… what are you doing?" She knew, but it was overwhelming.

Breathing heavily herself, the Dornish Princess felt like if fire was coursing through her. Her fantasies, her dreams, none compared to the real thing. Not with Rhaegar and certainly not with Lyanna. "I can't stop…" Elia said. I'm forever addicted... "I've been wanting this for a while now."

"But.. but…"

She was cut off as Elia pressed a finger to her lips. "I didn't expect it either. It… you caught me by surprise, just you." The she-wolf's eyes widened - Elia telling her that the same attraction Ellaria held for women only applied in Elia's case for her. "Let me pleasure you." After an interminable length of time, she only nodded. Elia smirked and dove in again, tongue begging for entrance. Slowly and torturously given in by the dazed woman. I shouldn't be doing this… But oh did she want to...

Thankfully, little Egg just needed his father's attention. Rubbing his face tiredly, he nodded to both Oswell and Barristan at his door - Arthur and Gerold given the night off. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, your Grace."

Opening the door, Rhaegar yawned as he entered. Wanting to just fall on the bed and pray for death… until the mere glimpse out of the corner of his eye turned into a widened stare. Jaw dropping at the scene before him. Seven bloody hells… Both of his brides locked in a passionate embrace, something out of the life of Aegon I or Maegor. "My loves…" he breathed.

Too consumed in each other, their husband's arrival surprised the princesses. Almost groggy, Lyanna found him with a slightly surprised expression. "Rhaegar, I…"

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, no longer tired.

A bit perturbed at the interruption, Elia found a rather… excited part of her husband that turned her mood around. "Just happened, of which you have perfect timing." It was all as new to her as it was with Lyanna, but based on her certainty and the northerner's daze, she would have to take charge. "Come here, my Prince." Sultrily, she beckoned him over with a finger.

Mouth dry, Rhaegar looked at his other bride, who seemed to gain lucidity. Glancing at both, her hesitance was overcome by her lust. "Yes… come here." Lyanna wanted them both, and at least her husband would ground her. Could steady her emotions with the whirlwind of new feelings bound to come with her way.

Slowly, a smirk spread out on Rhaegar's face. "I always did want to be Aegon the Conqueror. I have the looks," he said as he began to untie the laces on his tunic. "I have Blackfyre." Off it came, dazzling his brides - Elia peeling off her own gown. "And now I have the brides. All I need is a dragon."

Elia stood, pressing her nude body against his as they kissed. "I have my dragon in front of me."

Almost falling apart on the spot at the two absolutely stunning creatures embracing passionately, Lyanna's hand absentmindedly drifted to between her legs. Rubbing the pooling wetness over her underclothes. An action noticed by the two of them. "Enjoying the view?"

"You're beautiful…" she murmured.

The prince chuckled. "I think she's referring to you, wife."

"Or both of us," Elia laughed. "You're overdressed, Lya."

"Do something about it." A blush formed on her cheek, embarrassed at the wanton tone of her words… All was forgotten as two sets of hands descended on her shaking body, removing her clothes and filling the icy beauty with warmth.

And this brought them to their current configuration, itself a series of fumbles and groping that their lust-addled minds glossed over. Lyanna laid on her back, head half-propped atop the down pillows as her tanned lover draped her skin on hers. Kissing her feverishly, hands tangled in her head while Lyanna's hesitantly touched her waist. "I've dreamed of this," Rhaegar husked from behind them both, teasing Elia's folds with his cock.

"So have I," Elia moaned at both their touches. "We're Targary… ooh yes…"

Lyanna tilted her head to the side to allow Elia more access to her neck. "Elia… oh…" she couldn't help but beg softly, moaning when Elia's lips travelled across a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. "Don't… don't… don't stop." There was no stopping. She had never craved a woman before… or anyone really before, but these two overwhelmed Lyanna's senses.

Elia's hands grabbed her breasts, running her thumbs across her nipples. "Oh gods…" Moons of visual appreciation couldn't compare with the real thing. "I know now how lucky you are, husband."

Lips sucked on Elia's bronzed neck, coaxing a moan from her. "I am the luckiest man alive," he murmured. With these beauties in his life… Rhaegar could be a common pauper and it'd still be true.

"Fuck," Lyanna hissed, hands trailing down to touch Elia's, feeling how pert and soft they were in her hands.

Elia's hand travelled lower, hand going between her legs to feel the silkiness of her cunt, already wet with her arousal. "She's so wet," she gasped. Elia touched a finger to her mouth, getting the taste on her tongue. Lyanna tasted like sweet nectar and Elia was immediately hooked on the taste. "Delicious."

"My favorite," her husband said, enjoying sharing this with his Dornish bride. "One of my favorites." Leaning down, hand grasping his straining cock to relieve the pressure, he attacked Elia's cunt with his tongue. Swiping up and down.

Bucking her hips, Elia's tongue had been trailing along Lyanna's buxom breasts - beautiful and meant to be sucked - when the sensations made her nearly fall over. Screaming in pleasure. "Gods… yes, husband." She urged Lyanna to sit up, which she did. "Isn't he amazing?"

"The best," Lyanna groaned, entranced by the sight of her sister-wife near her flower. "You are too."

Love surged through Elia, eyes sparkling before she took her first proper taste of a woman… At the same time Rhaegar sheathed himself inside her. Screams muffled by Lyanna's heat.

He was a Valyrian god… she was a Rhoynish nymph. Head struggling to remain upright to see everything going on, Lyanna committed to memory each tiny detail of her new life. Her new relationship… because by the old gods and new there was little chance she could give this up now. Elia's tongue plundered her nearly as well as Rhaegar's. Less forceful but with an instinct on how to pleasure her. Her hair soft and silky as the northerner tangled her fingers in it. Cheeks smooth against her thighs instead of the rough stubble of her husband. Lyanna found herself loving both sensations equally. Certainly her body did from the tightness in her abdomen rapidly reaching its crest.

Skin slapped on skin. The wooden headboard smacked against the wall rhythmically. Rhaegar pushed down on Elia's back, grabbing her neck and almost forcing her into Lyanna's cunt to fuck her harder. Groaning himself as she pushed back against every thrust, trying to bury him as deep as possible within her cunt. Kissing her womb. Seven hells… I want to quicken her. He wanted to quicken both of them again. To have their bellies swell with their babes, watch them filled with light and life as they had been. The urge, heightened at seeing them together, made him ravenous, fucking them harder with the stamina of a young dragon.

Moaning again, Elia lashed her tongue against Lyanna's nub. Smiling at her frantic moans, one hand gripping her hair in a vice while the other fisted the covers. Almost hurting her arm to bend itself, she decided to try a trick Rhaegar often used on her - without warning she slid three fingers deep in Lyanna's cunt. A sharp scream left the she-wolf, almost a howl. Intensifying her need to make them shatter. She fucked herself harder on Rhaegar's cock, fingers pistoning and curling faster as she approached her edge. Thinking the most delightful sound in the world being Lyanna's climax, the taste of her gushing fluids sparking her own. Milking Rhaegar's in the process.

For them, it was just the beginning.

Blinking in wonder, covered in a sheen of sweat, Lyanna shuddered in aftershocks from Elia's mouth before noticing the aforementioned sister-wife sliding off her. Rolling onto her back. "Oh gods… what are you doing?" Lyanna suddenly yelped as Rhaegar grabbed her legs and flipped her over. Starting to harden again, scorching skin pressing against her butt.

"What does it look like, Lya?" His voice was a dragon growl, almost making her cream right there.

"You're horrible…" she didn't mean it.

"You're delicious," Elia retorted with a smirk. Leaning up to kiss her once before she grabbed her hair, guiding her down. "But I've been told I am… toooooo…" It was her turn to be surprised, the reluctant and timid Lyanna - at least here - attacking Elia's cunt like a woman possessed. "Fuck… so… good…" Words failed her as she just accepted the pleasure.

Lyanna screamed into Elia's cunt when Rhaegar took her, fingers gripping her ass. His familiar thrusts - pounding her with a force that could drill through marble - mixing with the unfamiliar taste of a woman's juices to cloud her mind with a swirling brew. It was a… unique taste. Earthy and savory, and there was no stopping her from swiping through it. Answering each forceful thrust against her inner walls by frantically licking, delighting in both the masculine grunts and feminine whimpers as Rhaegar tightened his grip and Elia pulled at her hair.

She wouldn't have given up her wedding night for the world, but somehow this seemed more intimate. Closer… more right… And it terrified her. Confused her. Led her to the most powerful climax of her young life when her two lovers erupted their fluids in each end of her.

"My loves…" Elia mewled.

"My Princesses…" Rhaegar grunted.

Lyanna had no words, just gasping for breath, heart beating out of her chest.

An hour later… many satisfying climaxes later, Elia laid in the middle of the bed curled against her sister-wife, Rhaegar spooning her from behind. A smile of contentment still hadn't died from her face - everything she had imagined had come true and more, the princess feeling a pure joy for the first time since she had held Rhaenys in her arms after childbirth. This was where she belonged, blessed by the blood of Mother Royne marriage to the dragon to soar above and beyond convention. Rhaegar and Lyanna are mine, and I'm not letting them go.

Behind her, Rhaegar slept soundly. The worry lines that constantly marred his face were gone, leaving something serene and youthful. Untouched by the stresses of duty and honor. Something innate in the spirit of the dragon had returned to the line of Aegon the Conqueror, lost long before when the Conciliator bowed to the Faith. A sense of wonder, of defying the world… for dragons answered to neither gods nor men. Both would deny him the loves of his life, and yet the mighty dragon roared defiantly at them. They were his, and he was theirs.

At the edge of her bed, Lyanna laid on her back. Utterly exhausted from the tremors of pleasure that rocked her, and yet nowhere close to sleep. It was a feeling that she was familiar with, she and Rhaegar no stranger to depraved acts of passion in their own bed… and yet the thin, soft form of the honey-toned Dornishwoman against her side - arms wrapped around her while Rhaegar's weaved into her hand - confessed the tempest in her heart.

I made love to both of them…

To Elia… my best friend…

How had this happened? Yet she knew the answer. Because I wanted to… because she is as irresistible as he is… They both enchanted Lyanna, Rhaegar from the moment she saw him and Elia gradually - more and more as she got to know how strong the seemingly frail princess was.

"I shouldn't do this…" It was wrong and defied all convention. But since when did the She-Wolf of Winterfell conform her carefree spirit to convention? Every longing look, every gentle caress, every soft pair of lips on her body. Gods… Lyanna just wanted more and more.

As if their touch could heal her pain. Looking at their sleeping forms, Lyanna squeezed Rhaegar's hand and kissed Elia's brow. "I love you," she murmured as she nodded off. Not knowing which she whispered to.

---

Maegor Targaryen had many enemies. Hells, all Targaryens at the time did as the freshness of the conquest faded from the new generation of zealous warriors of the Seven, but it was Maegor that took a stand. It was he that refused to bend and scrape for the Most Devout or Faith Militant. Many immolated under the dragon fire of Balerion the Dread, but for those needing interrogation and torture… his architects and masons designed the Black Cells.

As Aerys waited in the chambers carved deep into Aegon's High Hill, he couldn't help but realize how apt the name was. While enough air drifted through the various corridors leading to the bay, the only light was what the torches created. Leaving a pitch blackness for the condemned to endure.

Such made the stench and dampness all the more bearable. It was perfect for the plans Aerys had in his mind once the traitors revealed themselves.

"Are we sure this is a workable plan, your Grace?" asked Jon Connington. The immaculate knight of the Stormlands looked distinctly uncomfortable to be here, which amused the King. His favorite pastime was making people uncomfortable - it exposed their truths.

"Don't fuckin' ask me, Connington. Ask the drunk here. He said it would work."

Swaying from the three flagons of Dornish red he had consumed the hours before, Thoros of Myr managed to mask his discomfort. "It may work, your Grace. Legend has it that this was how Vhagar was birthed on Dragonstone…"

"You see!" The King poked Connington in the chest. "Told you."

"Aye, your Grace," the Hand replied. Thoros said nothing - with Melisandre gone he was the leader of the Red Temple delegation, much to his chagrin. She knew more about these rituals, and even she knew little of the blood magic. It had been centuries before anyone actually did the rituals lost to the doom of Valyria. "I would prefer the more… experienced Priestess conduct this." It was as if the ginger was reading his mind.

Aerys rolled his eyes. "Well I would too, but that bitch is with my son in half-breed land. My Lord Paramount of the Vale died under suspicious circumstances, so we're not taking any chances." Pycelle dubbed Jon Arryn's death from an acute inflammation of the bowels, but the King suspected foul play. Some kind of magic by the hands of Tywin and Jenny. When the door opened, he grinned. "Ah, the show begins."

Alliser Thorne and several other guards muscled in a hooded figure. Squirming and writhing as he begged for mercy. "Please! I haven't done anything! I'm loyal!" At the King's direction, Thorne removed the hood to reveal a disheveled, worked over hedge knight. "Your Grace !" he wailed. "I am loyal! Show mercy!"

Behind the guards was Varys, distinctly emotionless as he rattled off the man's crime. "This hedge knight in the service of Lord Loren Payne," everyone knew the name of Tywin Lannister's closest friend… the man had few friends. "Had been found guilty of speaking out against the divine right of His Grace to rule."

"Please! No! They're all lies!"

"By the order of King Aerys, Second of His Name, he has been sentenced to death."

Everyone knew what the knight was guilty of. Prince Viserys overheard him spreading a jape about the King having betrothed his son to Lyanna Stark so he could have Joanna Lannister's daughter for himself - the truth told by Varys did not match the tale Viserys spun for Connington about Lannister plots. Nevertheless, what better way to conceal the truth about Lord Arryn's death than to feed it into the King's delusions. "Be done with it," Connington ordered, gesturing to the impromptu stake.

If the Hedge Knight didn't realize how fucked he was before, he certainly did now. Screams were quickly followed by the fresh odor of warm piss… though it wasn't much worse than the natural stink. The pleas drew no reaction from the King, who watched with a scowl as the knight was tied. As the servants brought the black egg. As he regarded the cold surface, desperate to feel the life inside. Unable to, he waved them to place it among the fetters.

"So what now?" he snapped at Thoros.

Even close to blindness, the drunk priest wish he had another goblet. "Um… you… hic… light the pyre with the… hic… flames of the Lord of Light."

"Your Grace! Mercy!"

Aerys ignored the knight. "I'll do you better. Rossart!" The spindly Pyromancer darted forward, beady eyes flicking across the room as he brought the jar of wildfire forth. Emptying it gently over the fetters, the egg, and the feet of the knight. Already the noxious smell permeated the room, making many gag - and Thoros ache. The smell was unholy, the flames equally unholy. This would never work with such blasphemous fire.

But he didn't tell the King that. "Go ahead," he croaked, resolved to pass out for at least a half-day after this. At a nod from the King, Rossart grinned and took a flint to a short fuse. Darting back once it caught, soon engulfing the poor knight in the wild green fire.

There was a… force deep in his soul that drew Aerys to the flames. To any flame, a sort of desperate longing present since his childhood. Much as his uncle - Brightflame - but not mad. Never mad, for fire wasn't something to take lightly. It was his birthright. His very blood. My blood. House Targaryen had once bent the eternal hellsfires to its will, and Aerys yearned to be the one to once more harness the great power.

But as the green flames licked up from the fetters, scorching the poor hedge knight's legs to blackened husks as his screams echoed through the dungeons, Aerys felt something else. A different sort of power. One that had been taken away by the Lady of Duskendale. Her black magic polluting and desecreating his very being - for years Aerys had escaped it. Fought it. Isolated himself from all he had once cared about to banish the helplessness and pain… only for the fires the give himself control. To rescue him, as it had before.

Lady Serala of Myr, tongue torn out as well as her womb, all burned alive as the entire Targaryen army watched. He would never forget the woman that tortured him, the parts that brought him such misery, purified in the fires. Destroyed by the fires.

His weakness was destroyed by the power of House Targaryen.

Thorne was aghast.

Connington wished he were elsewhere.

Varys tucked his lips in a hard to read expression.

Rossart seemed bored.

Thoros was glad he was drunk.

Aerys, his eyes glistened. Sitting straighter, each new scream bringing new life to the King. His cock hard as rock for the first time in years.

When it was over, and the corpse was nothing but a pile of ashes, the servants poked through the fetters for the egg. Finding it unhatched - the ritual a failure.

Yet, Aerys didn't care. For once, the smile on his face was unavoidable even in failure.

Notes:

Oh Lyanna... you've fallen hard and will never get up.

I hope y'all like how Doran was portrayed (like as in felt was an accurate portrayal).

Next time, Lyanna reflects on someone very new in her life :D

If I get 35 comments, I'll update on monday :)

Chapter 40: Jon Targaryen

Notes:

Hi all. Hope y'all are doing well. Glad everyone took the trio formation well :)

One comment attacked my portrayal of Rhaegar as weak, so allow me to address it: Rhaegar wants to be a dutiful son, but as of now his goal is to avoid bloodshed. The Blackfyre Rebellions nearly destroyed the Realm, and no one wants that. I can't believe people don't understand this.

Enjoy and please comment :D

For a Lord of the North, the fragrance of incense smoke wafting into his nostrils irritated Rickard. Forcing him to stifle a sneeze on more than one occasion. "Damn you southerners."

Looking up from his ignominious perch, Tyrion smirked. "What is it this time, Lord Stark. We just witnessed you finally ceasing your complaints on having a Royal Executioner."

The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. House Stark's adherence to the Old Way was likely why they never fared well south of the Neck… not without ruthlessness bordering on brutality. But he was too stubborn to give it up. "It just galls me why any man would want their body gawked over like that."

Tyrion shrugged. "To each their own, I suppose."

Below, the ceremony for Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie continued unabated. His aged body had been cleaned up of the bloodstains, clothes in a knight's armor and finery as would befit him. The King's Landing chapter of the Order of the Silent Sisters attended to his body in the customary ritual prior to tomorrow's departure for the Eyrie, head pointing towards the Stranger as two colored stones rested atop his eyes - shut forever.

"Gods, how Brandon can tolerate this with such ease is beyond me." All northerners had to put up with the Faith of the Seven, but most did so only grudgingly. His eldest, however, was nonplussed.

"He's an adventurer, like my uncle Gerion. The new and the exotic… however mundane excites him I bet."

An adventurer. For Rickard, it seemed as if Brandon had taken Olenna's words to heart even without hearing them. Spending more time sparring with the Kingsguards than learning the ways of the court - almost as if he didn't wish to become Lord of Winterfell? Rickard put it out of his mind. "It irritates me greatly that these fools wield so much power. The Reach, Westerlands, and Stormlands survived Andal attack just as the North did. Why didn they cave?"

"The numerous don't win. The loudest and fiercest conquer them. They fought for so long that even the Targaryens were brought to heel."

Rickard glances down at the Imp. "They weren't brought to heel. The Conciliator made compromises to obtain peace."

"Exactly, brought to heel. Even Jaehaerys' daughter had to become a Septa… that must have made Maegor and Visenya roll in their graves," Tyrion laughed. "Face facts, my Lord. Only a dragon can challenge the Faith, and even then it's a close run thing."

Blinking, even Rickard had to accede to that. Rhaegar would murder anyone that suggested giving Rhaenys to the Faith. Ironic, their mutual dislike of the Andal traditions were what bonded him and his goodson in the first place. "A dragon or a direwolf." The sounds of boots against the smooth marble of the Sept of Baelor drew his attention left. "The place is crawling with Lannisters, I see."

Tyrion turned to see his brother arriving in the full armor of a kingsguard - minus the helm. "Brother, this is unexpected. Where is your… I mean the Queen?" he asked with a knowing twinkle.

Jaime rolled his eyes at his brother. "Lord Stark."

"Ser Jaime. I didn't realize you were off duty," Rickard said sternly.

"I'm not, Lord Stark. Her Grace wished for me to deliver her respects to Lord Arryn since she's… indisposed." He winced at the last.

Rickard felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach. "Indisposed?" Did the King… From his perturbed expression, Tyrion worried along the same lines.

"Officially, she has fallen ill with a cough. Unofficially… Prince Viserys is in a bad mental state."

While both felt relieved that Rhaella wasn't hurt, the matter was rather concerning. "He hasn't been in a good way since the incident, either," Rickard mused.

"A euphemism for the mood a brothel patron holds when he finds a stick and stones underneath the dress he paid for."

Jaime quirked an eyebrow at Tyrion. "Speak from experience, little brother?"

Of all those that could legitimately make dwarf jokes to him, Jaime was one. "I'd rather not say," he smirked. "But yes, I can hear the poor boy's tantrums and fits from rooms away." Granted, many of those were sobbing rather than shouting. "He hasn't been the same since seeing Lya attacked by his Grace."

That only brought Rickard pain at the memories, but he pushed them back. "I fear he's only getting closer and closer to his father's way of thinking." He turned to Jaime. "The Queen, is she taking it well?"

It was Jaime's turn to feel pain for his loved ones. "Since Rhaegar left… she hasn't left Viserys' side. I fear she blames herself." The Queen put on a brave face, but Jaime knew every single one of the tells on her beautiful face. "The tension only grows in the Red Keep."

"I'm glad you bring that up, Ser Jaime." Clearing his throat, Rickard looked at Tyrion. "I've been conversing with your father, and we've both agreed you should be sent back to Casterly Rock."

This was surprising. "I…" The Imp gaped. "I doubt my father would say that."

"He's still your father, Tyrion," Jaime interjected. "While he thinks little of you, you are still his blood."

"Oh, I am moved by his level of concern," he replied sarcastically. "But why must I leave? I've been learning so much under your tutelage."

"You have, and I do not doubt you will be a powerful administrator in your own right years in the future, but I have to think of your safety."

"What about my safety?"

Rickard sighed. "If a falcon isn't safe here, what chance does a lion have?"

Witty. Tyrion pointed at Jaime. "You're a lion."

"The King enjoys tormenting me too much to kill me," Jaime reluctantly admitted. "I'm a piece of furniture to rub his feet on. You… are more Lannister than most care to admit. That threatens your life, especially with the King's… new pastime."

"What?"

Jaime gulped. "Wildfire. He's taken to burning prisoners in the black cells alive."

Gulping, that… wasn't a proper image to fill his mind. "Still…"

His brother interrupted, shushing him. "Tyrion, I love you, you know that. Aunt Genna is right when she says that you have our father's wit, but the fact is you talk too much, and that might cost you a hand - or those vicious cunts the gods are, your life."

Opening his mouth to retort, Tyrion nevertheless deflated. "I suppose you're right. I mean, I haven't made the eight yet"

Rickard raised a brow. "Made the eight?"

"It's when you make love to a woman in all the Kingdoms in the span of one year," Tyrion laughed.

Running a hand through his aging face, the Lord of Winterfell suppressed a groan "Gods, I hate the southerners." That even managed to get a smirk from the Lion of Lannister.

---

"Aaah… my loves…"

Gods be good, there was a headboard to their bed in the royal cabin. Sturdy ironwood, it barely budged as Lyanna gripped it - steadying herself as the man she married lavished her cunt with his tongue. The tall northerner rode his face with relish. "Please… need…" Whatever words wanted to come out morphed into unintelligible moans.

Behind her, two soft hands gripped her waist. "Yes… fuck…" Hand moving to flip her hair to the side, Lyanna looked over her shoulder and the sight took her breath away for the dozenth time that night. Elia was frantically bouncing on Rhaegar's cock, raven hair fallen haphazardly over her face in a sheen - most likely tangled after she was in the same position Lyanna was over her own mouth. Thinking of her taste only fueled Lyanna's lust further, bucking harder on Rhaegar's face. Knowing he could take it.

They were both savage in bed and she was hopelessly lost.

Seeing Lyanna lose control made Elia growl. "Yes, husband… defile her cunt." She mewled, rising so that the dragon cock almost left her sheath... only to piston downward. Biting her lip to keep the screams down. Rhaegar was splitting her open and she adored it - just as he had split Lyanna open only half an hour before. Elia still tasted his seed from lapping it out of her she-wolf's cunt before they took this position. "Oh, I love you both," she gasped out.

Rhaegar grunted something, almost an 'I love you too,' as he speared into Lyanna's cunt. Hands reaching up to cup the heaving breasts… only to find Elia's tanned fingers there already. His wife greedily taking his other wife's luscious globes for her own. Thumbing the nipples and making Lyanna further wet his tongue. Bucking his hips harder into her, Rhaegar followed Elia's arms to grab her breasts. Making her moan. He felt like the Conqueror, inner dragon roaring.

One hand holding up her hair in tangled clumps, the other held the headboard tight so she could give Elia more access. Craving her touch… and later her tongue as the Dornishwoman leaned forward to lick her neck. "Eli...a!" she moaned until she screamed, Rhaegar swiping at her nub with his fingers while he stabbed into her clenching walls. Triggering her climax, frantically grabbing at the woman behind her for a hungry kiss. Neck straining but worth it.

Her lips were softer than Rhaegar's, but Lyanna liked that. Gods… I love it… It was so overwhelming.

Tasting everything she gave him, Rhaegar fucked up into Elia like a man possessed. Hitting her wombhead until the Dornish Princess became too much for him. He could feel her walls tightening, almost squeezing him out. The sound of their skin colliding filled their cabin, Elia abandoning all restraint, howling as she shattered. Riding him without control, triggering his sudden burst of seed.

One by one the two ladies collapsed bonelessly. Half atop their husband, sweat and saliva coated cheeks mashed against Rhaegar's chest. Quickly grasping out for whatever part of the two others they could hold. "This was worth the wait," Rhaegar ended up saying, chuckling.

Lyanna loved how his chest moved as he laughed. "It was. I… I can't get enough."

Wits starting to come back to her, Elia pulled the furs to cover their trembling bodies. "Me neither. I love you both." It wasn't long before their exhaustion took all of them.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Lyanna woke. Thankfully she had drifted to the edge of the bed - unlike most nights at sea, where her loves would envelop her in the middle with tight embraces. Yes, Elia's hand as wrapped tightly around her stomach while Rhaegar's draped over the Dornishwoman's slender form to grip her hip, but it didn't take much effort to slip out. Creep on the wooden deck till she could grab a nightshirt and cloak to quickly don.

The join between her legs ached from the constant attention of her two lovers - not that Lyanna truly minded. The northern beauty's gaze drifted back to the bed. Covers mostly kicked off in the southern heat, Elia had turned to cuddle against their husband. Bodies exposed to the moonlight. Lyanna bit back a moan at how delectable they were, Rhaegar's hard muscles and Elia's lithe curves both threatening to reignite a fire within her. Perhaps I should just crawl back and wake them…

She shook her head. Almost dashing out of the cabin and closing the door behind her. Leaning against the wall to calm the heat that was overcoming her. I need air… I need to think… And yet Lyanna had almost given into her lust for both delectable bodies. It surprised her… how little it bothered her. How little it bothered her every night since leaving Sunspear. I could make love to Elia forever…

"Focus, Lyanna Targaryen," she murmured to herself, taking in a deep breath and heading for the deck.

What few sailors were still manning the ship were clustered towards the stern, so Lyanna took a perch at the bow. Alone except for the moon and the stars, she placed her hands on the railing. Wishing that the smooth wood were of the Heart Tree at Winterfell. Connected to the old gods as she was in her childhood. To seek clarity, to seek answers on the tempest that had become her life.

"Do I love her?" she asked the emptiness… perhaps of the gods. "Does she love me?'

"She loves you not…" came a reply. One seductive… yet eerie at the same time. Like a sweet nothing whispered in her ear. "She's using you… betraying you… protecting her brood…"

A cold sweat forming on her skin, Lyanna suddenly felt a calming wave. "No," whispered another voice, innocent and firm. "She loves you… they both do. And you love them."

And as quickly as they both came, they stopped. Silence. "What?" Lyanna called out. "What are you saying?" The wind answered not, merely sending her loose chestnut hair billowing towards the front of the ship.

Hearing feet upon the deck, Lyanna knew who it was before she looked. "Following me, Ben?

Her brother and kingsguard huffed. "That cursed wolf hearing of yours."

"Don't be angry at me that Ned and I got the wolfsblood while you and Brandon didn't."

"Alright, alright. I know the two of you could sneak on a hare in a field of dry leaves while Bran and I can't go five seconds without stepping on a stick." It truly was a joy. After lives of assuming he would go to the Wall and she would marry some southern lordling, the two of them practically were fated in the same place for their lives. Two winter wolves against the whole of the Andal Court. Like one of those ballads Old Nan would always read them."But, there's something to do when you're as loud as a bear."

Her eyebrow rose a moment before Lyanna caught on. Cheeks ripening and eyes widening. "Oh gods…" She buried her head in her hands. "Fuck, you heard us?"

"Even the fishes heard you, Lya." Unlike Ned, who'd probably scorch his ears, Benjen found it hilarious. "I have to be honest, I've always wondered what two women do to… you know… find pleasure…"

"I don't want to discuss this with my little brother!"

A shrug from Benjen "I'm sure whatever you do do works, cause I sometimes hear feminine squeals without a corresponding princely grunt…"

Lyanna was totally and completely mortified - especially since she knew exactly what he was referring to. A moment the night before where Elia laid on top of her and they both pleasured each other simultaneously while Rhaegar watched… "Please stop." It was both humiliating and arousing to speak of it.

Laughing, Benjen smacked her on the back. "Forgive me, my Princess, but japing you is just impossible to resist." His chuckles died down. "But seriously. Arthur and Dacey aren't wasting time practicing for their next babe. As someone who doesn't have a beautiful maiden in his bed, why aren't you taking advantage?"

Beyond the adolescent japes, Benjen's question was actually a pertinent one. "I… I don't know." Her emotions just hadn't been able to take root anywhere. "I never felt this way about a woman… well, not even for a man before Rhaegar, but at least I expected it to happen."

Benjen took a moment to process the question. "I know less than you do, but I see it as this - you didn't lust after Robert, did you?"

"Not in the slightest." She didn't need to think about it.

"Aye, and he's supposedly irresistible to maidens or matrons." Lyanna cast him a quizzical look, but he continued. "It had to be fate that you saw Rhaegar in that clearing moons ago. I mean, gods, what a coincidence could it have been? If the gods wanted that to happen, then falling for Elia may be what they want too. Just go with it."

"You sound like Bran… but you may have a point." Staring at the half moon high in the sky, soft light glittering over the waves gently rocking the ship, Lyanna sighed. Feeling a cool breeze against her skin - eminently bearable for a northerner to handle. "Winter is non-existent here" she murmured.

"Aye," Benjen chuckled, leaning against the railing. "Fuckin' surreal 'in it? Feels more like a balmy summer to me."

"We wolves aren't meant to be here."

Head turning, the kingsguard's eyebrow rose. "I wouldn't go that far, sister. Ned probably belongs in the North. Father too, when it comes down to it." The two of them were just like the snowy landscape of their home. Ice to the core - dutiful and brooding, able to handle the unforgiving climate. "Brandon probably belongs on the seas going wherever he wishes. Me… I'm fine everywhere. But you… you're basically as much a dragon as a wolf. Flying, fierce, and free."

She shook her head. "I believed that, Ben. Gods, I believed that… only for it all to be torn away from me the moment I let my guard down."

Oh no… "I thought you were healing from that?" he asked hesitantly. Seeing her happy in the Water Gardens - or the weeks before they left - it gave the assumption that Lyanna Targaryen had recovered from her trauma. Were we all wrong?

"The wounds have healed, but there are still scars." She closed her eyes. "I fear I can't be as cunning as Elia. As strong as Rhaegar."

"You're the strongest person I know," Benjen replied firmly. He snorted. "You sound like Ned right now, brooding after a night of passion few are able to enjoy without forking out coin." She sent a tiny glare his way, but Ben shrugged it off. "What brought all of this on? Brooding doesn't suit you."

Biting her lip, Lyanna's hand drifted to her abdomen. Cupping it gingerly. Reverently touching as if the most precious of treasures nestled within.

It took a moment for Benjen to comprehend - his eyes widened. "A babe…"

She nodded. "Yes." Lyanna didn't meet his eyes. "You're the first to know, Ben." Even cocooned by the loving embraces of Rhaegar and Elia, both adoring her more than what Lyanna had once thought possible, she couldn't find the strength to tell them. Hells, she barely was able to process the fact she made love to both of them every night since leaving Sunspear.

"How do you know?" The signs of before… the fatigue and stomach malady, they weren't present.

"A mother knows," Lyanna chuckled mirthlessly. "It's a boy in there, too. A darling little Prince, every inch his father no matter whom among us he takes his coloring after." But she knew. There was no doubt the powerful young man in the dream long seared in her memory was the babe growing inside her now. Jon...

Wordlessly, Benjen drew his sister into an embrace. "I'm gonna be an uncle."

Pain seized her. "If he survives…"

"Don't say that. He will, if I have to lay down my life to do it." He watched her quirk a tiny smile. "You should tell Rhaegar and Elia. They will be thrilled."

"I hope." Now was the worst time for her to be with child… but Lyanna knew Rhaegar would be happy. Elia as well, for it was clear as day that the Dornish Princess loved her with every fiber of her being. She would love this babe too… concieved on the night Elia… So he has a little bit of all of us, I suppose. Such brought her a tender warmth, the thought of Elia being as much a mother to her son as she was. "Ben…"

His greys found hers. "Yes, Lya?"

"Tell no one about this. Not until I'm ready. Please?"

Benjen couldn't refuse her. "As you wish, your Grace." He tightened his embrace, letting his fierce older sister take a filial comfort in his arms. "My sword and shield are yours to command."

Normally irritated by the formalities, Lyanna smiled into his shoulder. She smelled the same salty pine of the North on his tunic. Without a heart tree to take solace in, the caring arms of her brother would be enough for now.

And from the stern of the ship, the Red Witch turned away from the brother and sister. Vindication written on her face as she walked away. The Promised was here, the Promised anointed. Two remained, the ones who would fly alongside, but it did not matter.

The great Rhaegar and his brides proved they were who the Lord meant for her to serve. They only must survive the trials ahead.

R'hllor… bless them...

---

Nimble and toned, eight and ten-year old Stannis Baratheon was quick on his feet. Forms fluid as his blade glided through the air. More than a match for whomever unlucky sod came at him in battle or on the training ground.

But even he couldn't face the raw animal fury of his older brother. Even weilding a wooden training hammer, Robert Baratheon engaged anyone that faced him like a demon charging at its prey. Powerful swings almost knocking his opponents' weapons out of their hands. Impressive bulk swung around like a battering ram - not that he didn't hold another impressive organ well-used in such a maneuver. It didn't take long for Robert to crash into Stannis, sending him sprawling with a mighty swing clattering the blade to the ground.

Stannis held up his hands. "Yield."

Tossing his training hammer to Meryn Trant, Robert bellowed out a laugh. "Fuck, brother. If I wanted to fight a pansy, I'd have invited Renly to spar with me." He gestured to the scrawny younger brother, leaning against a column with a dreamy look on his face. That had been his norm ever since returning from the crossroads inn, not that Robert gave a fuck. The Lord of Storm's End snapped over a servant. "Bring me wine, and be quick about it!"

Easing himself to his feet, Stannis struggled not to cup his bruised stomach. Not wanting to show weakness in front of his brothers. "Serves me right for challenging you to a spar after that letter from Casterly Rock."

Downing his cups, Robert tossed the goblet to the floor in anger. "Tywin fucking Lannister. He'd be lucky for me to marry his daughter, Bitch of the West." He spread his arms out. "He may shit gold, but I'm more priceless than the nugget that rips his asshole to shreds."

"Did you want to marry Cersei Lannister, brother?" Renly asked.

"That's not the fuckin' point." Luckily, another servant arrived with more wine. Not much better than a drink after a fight. The juicy deer he bagged two days ago would be, while something else he ordered procured was better than both. "She'll probably have tits that sag like a cow's udder in a few years - it's the principle involved. No one rejects Robert of House Baratheon."

"Someone did," muttered Stannis under his breath.

Retiring to his chambers, Robert immediately stripped off his sweat-stained clothes. Enjoying the cool breeze hitting his nude body. Teeth clenching from the stress of it all, he walked to the far wall across from his bed. There - mounted on several hooks in the stone and flanked by two black and yellow stag banners of House Baratheon and House Durrandon before it - was the family's ancestral warhammer. Stormbreaker, it was called, a treasured heirloom born by Durrandon conquerors as Arlan I and III who subjugated half of Westeros and Argilac the Arrogant. Taken by Orys Baratheon and wielded by Baratheon lords ever since. An august history now passed to him.

Picking it up in his burly hands, Robert drifted to the looking glass his bodyservants used to dress him for the day. Admiring his nude figure. Trim legs, v-shaped waist, bulging abs and chest that proclaimed him the finest specimen of man. Thick arms larger than some men's legs - a sturdy, handsome face sheathed by thick brown hair and close-cropped beard. And a monstrous cock, veteran of much plunder of the most beautiful women in Westeros, both high and low born.

All except one… the only one he truly desired with every part of his heart and soul.

He was the very epitome of his House, strapping and powerful. Holding the warhammer in his hands, he felt the call of his ancestors. The strength of his blood. The power of their words.

Ours is the Fury…

Robert trembled with the demands of his house's words. Desiring to claim the ultimate prize cruelly denied to him. Wanting to deliver the fury on those that wronged him. Upon the King. Upon Lord Rickard. Upon Tywin Lannister. Perhaps even upon Ned… And most of all…

"RHAEGAR!" Bellowing at the top of his lungs, his trembling hands gripped Stormbreaker in an iron hold as he brought it down upon an expensive dresser. Splitting the imported wood in two, clothes and splinters shooting everywhere. "You stole my Lyanna from me!" Another swing decapitated a long candlestick, Valyrian steel slicing through bronze as if it were butter. "Face my fury like a man, dragonspawn!" Robert swung downward with such a force that it cracked the very floor beneath him.

He dreamed it was Rhaegar's chest.

"My Lord?"

So consumed by his bitter rage, Robert hadn't noticed his door opening. Nor the attractive young women stepping in. Leaning Stormbreaker against his shoulder with a casual flair, he regarded how she didn't seem to be fazed by his nudity as most servant girls did - that told him plenty. "Did my steward pay you yet?"

"Yes," the whore told him frankly. "Two gold dragons."

"Ah, the whole night. Good."

"I'll require moon tea for this."

Damn… It was less enjoyable when the woman refused to be bred - but gazing at her long legs, buxom breasts, and dark brown hair Robert knew he could power through it. The woman resembled his long-lost love in almost every detail. "Tis fine," he murmured, moving to a flagon of wine and guzzling down the sweet liquid. "But you better not care what I call you."

She smiled at him. "Not at all, my Lord." Aside from the smell of alcohol and general attitude, Robert Baratheon was good looking and reeked of a loose spender. A better client than the fat, stag-pinching merchants and lordlings she usually served. Wordlessly, she unlaced her loose dress, revealing her naked body in all her glory.

Setting his warhammer against the wall, Robert wasted no time in grabbing the whore in his arms. Lips sloppily taking hers as they fell upon the bed. "Lyanna…" he whispered harshly, assaulting her neck and breasts with his bites. Roughly shoving two fingers in her. "My Lyanna…"

"Yes, yours, my Lord," replied the whore, thankful she had pleasured herself before coming here. Had she not been wet, this would have hurt.

Barely half a minute of foreplay enough for him, Robert angled his cock and stabbed into her cunt. Gasping at how tight it was. "Gods, Lya…" He set a brutal pace. "Beg me - beg me to fuck the Dragonspawn out of you." Mind clouded with lust, he began to believe it was truly happening.

Does he mean Princess Lyanna? The whore didn't care, though. Coin was coin, even if she rather did like Targaryen rule. "Please fuck him out of me, Lord Baratheon."

Her words didn't have Lya's northern lilt, but he could conjure it in his fantasies. "My wife. My wife… Mine!" Erupting quickly, powerfully, the image that flashed before his eyes was of the dragonspawn dead at his feet, Lyanna herself begging for his cock beneath him. A black-haired babe born not long after… a worthy heir to his greatness. "Lyanna…"

---

Lacing her dress in what she thought was the perfect bow, Dacey studied it in the looking glass for several seconds before cursing. Pulling it out and starting all over again. She huffed in annoyance when two arms wrapped around her swelling waist. "You're breaking my concentration, Arthur."

Arthur chuckled against her neck, enjoying how her breath hitched. "If you 'concentrate' any harder, I think your head will rupture."

"Well it's your family I'll have to meet today," she shot back, irritation hiding an immense worry for what was to transpire. For moons she had heard stories about the wise and noble Althos Dayne, the charming Alaric Dayne, and the renowned beauty Ashara Dayne. A great Dornish family against the wild northerner bearing the Sword of the Morning's babe in her belly - a babe that would never hold the Dayne name. "I have to get dressed."

"We dock in an hour. I think you should get undressed." His hands moved to undo her laces…

Only to have them slapped away. "Oh no you don't, Arthur Dayne." Dacey shook her head, but was unable to stop a grin. "Last night and right before dawn wasn't enough to sate you?"

"What can I say?" he husked in her ear, licking the shell. "You are irresistible, especially in your condition." Her irritation dropped away, replaced with a moan - heat filling the join of her legs. But just then Arthur stood. Dacey watching through the glass as he grabbed Dawn and began tying it to his belt. "But as you said, we're going to dock soon and I think their Grace's want us there."

She found his eyes, a put out expression on her face. "You just know they're entangled together right now, Arthur." Luckily, he hadn't put on his armor - opting for a more casual padded leather cuirass now that he was returning home. Dacey rose, shimmying under the same forest green dress she used to tempt him all those moons ago and dropped her smallclothes "I don't have to undress for you to satisfy me."

Always so stern and chivalrous, the lecherous glint of Arthur Dayne's violet eyes never ceased to tintalate Dacey. Thus, when he pulled her to him, she gave no resistance - merely kissing him hungrily.

Half an hour later, the daughter of Bear Island quickly smoothed out some remaining wrinkles in her dress. "Trouble?" asked Lyanna, standing in front of her and looking over her shoulder. Dacey noticed a twinkle in her eye.

"No more than you," Dacey whispered back, grinning as the Princess blushed. A sigh followed, the she-bear hoping the mid-morning sun didn't scorch her fair skin. Ellaria had loaded her chest with several creams and salves bought at Planky Town, but the only thing that truly helped was shade. Dorne doesn't like me… The thought made her bite her lip. Never was the fearless Mormont this nervous, but this was her lover's family. Her babe's family. Their opinion of her truly mattered. Likely why the Martells upset Lya so much. She hoped the Daynes would be different.

The Torrentine was a fast river. Running through valleys and canyons in a series of rapids and steep banks from the mountain springs in the Dornish Marches all the way to the ocean. But at the end it opened up into a flat valley, widening as it approached the bay. Right in the middle of this estuary was the island on which Starfall rested. Traced back to the earliest Dayne tracking a falling star, the sandstone walls jutted from the rocky crevices of the island - a natural barrier that allowed the Daynes to add to its beauty over the centuries. Inlaid against the green mountains and clear waters, Dacey marveled at it's beauty.

"Home sweet home," Arthur whispered in her ear.

For you, at least… Dacey hoped it would be for her and the babe.

Noticing how the royals in front of her were ever so tense, it helped to know that she wasn't alone in worry. Yet hers was personal, theirs was even greater. If the Daynes don't lend their support, then all of Dorne will be lost in the coming chaos. A lot rested on their shoulders.

The docks were thankfully in the shade of the keep. River gentle so their mooring quite uneventful - passing by quickly. Dacey blinked when the Prince and Princesses parted to allow her a path. "They're your family, Arthur," remarked Rhaegar. "You should greet them first."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you, your Grace." Placing an arm around the small of Dacey's back, he guided her to the gangplank and escorted her down. "I can see them already," he said, joy in his voice. "They'll love you, I promise."

Dacey didn't have time to reply when a raven-haired woman dove into her lover's arms. "Arthur!" Far from his normal standoffishness to public displays of affection, the Sword of the Morning laughed merrily and twirled the girl around. "My heart can rest easy."

Setting her down, Arthur kissed her brow. "I have longed for the day I'd see you again, Ash." Ash… Ashara Dayne… Dacey could only stare. "Brother," she heard Arthur say.

The handsome form of Alaric Dayne punched his older brother on the shoulder. "Doesn't a Kingsguard have to wear armor?"

"Not when he's meeting his idiot brother for the first time in years," Arthur retorted before the two burst out into laughter. It reminded Dacey of her and Jorah growing up, and it was heartening. "Who is this?" Attention shifted to a rather demure blonde lady, petite and quiet."

"Ah, this is Ynys, formerly of House Yronwood and my wife." Alaric threw an arm around her with a smile.

"You married? Without telling me?"

"Thought it'd be a good surprise… you certainly gave us one." Alaric gestured to Dacey. "This her?"

Before Arthur could reply, Ashara stepped between her brothers. "Not five minutes and you're already acting like fools in front of your ladies. Shame on you." Dacey grinned slightly - she liked Arthur's sister already. Reminded her of Lyanna. Ashara stepped forward, rather informal as she reached out and grabbed Dacey's shoulders. "You must be Dacey Mormont. I'm Ashara, and I've heard a lot about you."

Looking her over, Dacey studied the infamous beauty of House Dayne. The whispers didn't deceive - Ashara was striking. Raven hair tumbling over her shoulders, she was as tall as Dacey with haunting violet eyes. So violet that they rivaled even Rhaegar. Few could compare with her. "I'm glad to meet you as well… and I hope Arthur only said nice things in his letters." She cast her lover a wry glance.

"Oh, this one I like," Ashara immediately said, grinning madly. "I cannot wait to see my little nephew." Without another word, the beauty of Starfall threw her arms around Dacey, hugging her like a sister. A hug that Dacey returned.

"I thought the Kingsguards couldn't take lovers?" Alaric asked. The family had all come to terms that Arthur would be unattached and childless for the rest of his days, only for this to happen.

A sigh. "They can, only not marry or father legitimate children."

Alaric patted him on the back. "Well… good thing we're Dornish then. Father will likely dress you down, but that babe is our blood and we stick together."

Not long after, the Prince and Princesses made their way to the docks after the family reunion. Each of House Dayne knelt for Rhaegar before Ashara embraced Elia in an equally fierce hug. To be expected, for the two were like sisters growing up. "Marriage and royalty agree with you, my dear Elia… I mean, your Grace."

"As Lya would say, cut that horseshit out," Elia chuckled, drawing a smirk and a raised eyebrow from Ash.

"That sort of talk is refreshing from a highborn, though I would likely hold it against Dacey if it isn't a shared trait of the North."

Having heard nothing but wonderful things about Ashara Dayne, seeing her interact freely and happily with Dacey only reinforced what Elia spoke about her. Instinctively Lyanna knew that this was the kind of woman she would want for her brothers, a compliment that could be matched by no other. "It most certainly is a shared trait of the North."

Taking their customary positions - never trusting any household guards even though House Dayne was loyal - Ser Oswell found his newest brother utterly captivated. "Told you about Arthur's sister, didn't I?"

"No one could do her justice," Benjen murmured.

"She's your age I think, Ben," the white bull suggested. "And I think she's smiling at you."

"What…" Looking back at the Dornish beauty, sure enough those violet eyes were sparkling as they studied him. Benjen quickly looked away, trying to pass off his blush as heatstroke. "Fuck…" Both Gerold and Oswell chuckled at his expense.

Eventually, the group of theirs began its trek to the keep. "Any other Dornish houses answer the call?" Rhaegar asked Alaric, Arthur walking by his side.

Alaric shook his head, visibly deflating the Prince. "Not Dornish, but we did get someone interesting." Two sets of brows rose in question. "Titus Peake."

"Lord Titus Peake, of Starpike?" Rhaegar glanced back at Elia, finding her beaming - her plan worked.

"Didn't I say it was interesting? He learned you were coming here and rode from Starpike to seek guest right from my father. I've never seen a man so desperate to seek audience."

"I'll have to talk to Lord Althos before seeing him. Best figure out what in seven hells is going on." Rhaegar grinned softly as his brides grabbed his hands. Perhaps after Sunspear things were finally turning his way again.

Arthur looked at his brother. "Where is father anyway?"

It was Ashara who answered. "Praying in the Godswood."

Lyanna and Dacey reacted as if hit by lightning. "Godswood? Here?" Confusion tinged their expressions.

"Yes, House Dayne is like the Blackwoods. Alone among the other Dornish in keeping to the Old Gods and the Old Way." Ashara furrowed her brows. "Didn't Elia tell you?"

Glancing at her wife with a sidelong look, Lyanna was not amused. "No… Elia didn't tell me."

"Thought it would be a surprise," Elia replied, bumping Lyanna's hips with hers.

The beauty of Starfall giggled. "You're welcome to pray there if you like."

Already, Starfall held more hospitality for Lyanna Targaryen than their entire stay at Sunspear combined.

Notes:

Yes, little Jon has finally come!

So now we've met the Daynes, especially Ashara.

Robert is still an a-hole.

Next time, Tyrion finds Cersei in a delicate condition :D

Chapter 41: Sleepless in Starfall

Notes:

Sups all. Sorry things are so slow with me. Lotta stuff to do. Got a job finally but I have to move to a different town in the metro area, that's a drag. Plus more crap. Not much time to write.

Just found a great new story on fanfiction.net called A Targaryen Dynasty by BlackRose999. Really recommend to read it :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Hobbled by rheumatism, Althos Dayne looked nothing like the Sword of the Morning prior to Arthur. Each step he took of his frail body seemed to bring him pain, but nevertheless he persisted in walking stride by stride with Rhaegar. "My son tells me a great tale, your Grace. I hope you realize how great a request you ask of me."

"This I realize, my Lord," Rhaegar replied.

"I don't think you realize the danger my House is now in."

"Father, you should trust Rhaegar as well as myself. King Aerys has greatly deserved what is about to come his way. He will be deposed one way or the other, and it's best if Prince Rhaegar is the one…"

The Lord held up his hand. "My son, I trust you greatly even in spite of how you nearly broke your Kingsguard oath." That silenced Arthur - unlike his siblings, his father was… frosty about Dacey's pregnancy. Not about her or the baby, but more on what it meant for Arthur. But that wasn't the current discussion. "If you believe in Prince Rhaegar, I do as well. But we are speaking of treason. Lord Titus Peake is awaiting your audience and he is sworn to Mace Tyrell… whom I know is a wannabe confidant of the King. I wish to make sure that thousands of Reachmen aren't about to descend upon us because of your arrival."

Rhaegar found that reasonable. "Perhaps it is time to hear what the young Lord has to say." He hadn't told the Lord about his and Elia's raven to Starpike. Best see if Titus Peake would be receptive.

House Dayne's guards brought Titus Peake into the grand hall. "My Prince." The young Lord of Starpike - face handsome, framed with curly-brown hair - knelt before Rhaegar. "My sword and shield are yours."

He seems desperate in his loyalty… good sign. Titus Peake wasn't anywhere near the level of deceptive caliber that Rhaegar was used to. "Rise, my Lord." He gestured to the table, both Arthur and Lord Althos taking a seat across from the young Lord while the Prince took the head. "Now, what do you wish of this audience?"

Titus seemed quite unsure of himself, but continued - taking a deep breath. "My Liege Lord, Mace Tyrell, sent ravens to all over the Reach… He is asking us to reaffirm our loyalty to the Crown."

It took all of his fortitude for his heart not to pound out of his chest. This he did not expect so early. "I don't see any reason for him to have done that." Did Mace find out? The dolt was the last person he considered for knowing of the plot. At his smartest, he'd just use it to extort a betrothal to Aegon.

"It only said what I told you, your Grace, but I can put together that the Realm is in danger of… something. And considering my House's… questionable history with House Targaryen, I wished to express my support to you personally."

The Peakes were ardent supporters of Daemon Blackfyre, and Rhaegar's great-grandfather King Maekar Targaryen was killed while trying to storm Starpike during one of their rebellions. Seems Elia's reliance on that history paid off. "My… father and I do see threats on the horizon to the crown. Your House is a powerful one, and I would be honored to have its support."

Smiling softly, Lord Peake leaned in. "Forgive me for my forwardness and intransigence, but if the interests of yourself and the King do diverge, I feel that my Liege Lord would side with the King… while I am inclined to side with you… my Prince."

He doesn't know what we're planning truly, but it doesn't take a maester to realize the tension in the Realm. "I appreciate it, Lord Peake." He could just fuck Elia till she passed out from this - Lyanna too, given the newest developments. "You are an honored guest of my household and I hope we can discuss our alliance further at a different date."

Titus bowed respectfully. "Thank you, your Grace."

"So what are your thoughts, Arthur?" Rhaegar asked as they walked down the vine-covered walls of the great castle, battlements to their left overlooking the east course of the Torrentine. "Should I trust Lord Peake?"

The Kingsguard pursed his lips. "When we were the Kings of the Torrentine, House Peake often tried to subdue us for the Gardeners. Then they tried to fight us for… well, your House. And then they fought us for Daemon Blackfyre. A mighty, warrior house are they… which is why you should trust their support."

"Why?"

"Warrior houses are bad at deception in the political realm for the most part. Titus Peake is trying his best to play politics, which is an earnest effort. Heed it."

Rhaegar pursed his lips. "Alright, Arthur. I'd be a fool not to trust you in your own element."

Arthur nodded, hands behind his back as he looked over his home. "I didn't know how much I missed it here till I arrived."

"I'm glad you adapted well to the Kingsguard lifestyle… Although Dacey probably isn't."

"I don't regret it… regardless of my father's disapproval, I don't regret choosing her."

"You are a great knight, Arthur. There is no doubt in my mind that you can hold honor and loyalty for both your oath and your family." Arthur smiled, greatly appreciative of his friend's praise.

Nestled within several layers of walls and hillside away from prying eyes, a thick grove of olive, citrus, and myrtle surrounded the blood-red heart tree of the Starfall Godswood - itself ringed by circular pools and fountains. They found their women kneeling in the center, praying before the foreboding visage. Elia and Lyanna were right beside each other, allowing him to pull them into a hug from behind. "Finding spiritual enlightenment, my loves?"

Lyanna tilted her head back, kissing Rhaegar on the cheek. "Nothing as mysterious as that," she chuckled.

"Just trying to convert Elia," chuckled Ashara, rising to greet her brother. "I think we have her right where we want her."

"Very funny, Ash," Elia said from Rhaegar's arms. "You're lucky I'm still taking you in as my Lady in Waiting." With Ellaria now living with Oberyn, there was no better choice than her other childhood friend. "But Rhaegar, this place… it… all I can really say to explain it is that I understand why Lyanna always found solace here."

Gods, do I need it right now. Surreptitiously cupping her stomach, she hoped no one noticed her apprehension.

"Can the Prince of Westeros escort these fine ladies to their midday meal?"

A deep breath followed by a smile from Lyanna. "Lead the way, my dragon."

Just as she rose to follow her husband and sister wife, Ashara brushed beside her. "You should tell them… The gods favor honesty." Smiling, the beauty of Starfall left the northern Princess before the heart tree - the tempest of emotions never ceasing.

---

Dearest Ned,

I don't think there is any better way to tell you this, so I should just come out and say it. I am planning to inform father that I am renouncing my claim to Winterfell.

It was as if all sounds in the room had vanished, replaced with a silence that boomed in Ned's ears. He blinked, rereading the sentence only to blink again. Had he misread?

Apparently not.

Call me selfish if you wish, brother, but the entire family knows that you are more lordly than I could ever be. The selfish thing would be for me to guide House Stark when I am not the one most suited for the job. You are, and as your brother I will be your loyal servant in any task you require of me.

Ned's hands trembled, blood turning to ice. Was this really happening? Was he to become the Lord of Winterfell? So much to take in…

My one worry is the Lady Catelyn. While I care for her, she is too good to marry someone not a Lord. I shall try to convince both Lord Tully and Elbert to betroth her as the new Lady Arryn, because let's face it. Lysa is insane and won't make a good Lady.

Ned had to snort at that - it was on the nose.

Gods be with you, Ned. I am taking my destiny by the horns, and I know you were born to do this.

Your brother,

Brandon.

Letter dropping to the desk before him, Ned pushed the chair from the desk, leaning back on it. "Why… why, Bran why? You were born to be a Lord."

Was he?

Lya had brought it up to him once, at the Twins. Watching him dance and be merry with Walder Frey's daughters even though the old codger loved using his women to snare highborn men. How Brandon slept with Lady Catelyn prior to their upcoming vows… one just didn't do that with a highborn girl unless they were absolutely certain of their intentions. Was there always that strain of deficiency in Bran? One that predicted this?

Rather - more importantly - was there a strain of leadership in him? One that both Rhaegar and Bran saw? Head pulsing with the weight of it all, Ned rose from his chair and grabbed his cloak. "I need to think," he muttered to himself.

Late at night few people visited the grove of pine and spruce trees, even as the servants lit pathways and the hot springs kept it robustly warmer than the surrounding landscape. Ned and Lya in their youth could always count on the silence to provide an escape. Even when stepping one foot into the Godswood, the tightness in his heart already felt lighter.

However, he was not alone. A lone figure stood in front of the heart tree. Long tresses of red hair that tumbled across her back truly shocking him. "Lady Catelyn?"

Startled, Catelyn turned. "Oh, Ned. I didn't see you come in."

"They always did call me the Quiet Wolf," he quipped dryly, trying to ease her tension. "What are you doing here?" She blinked, eyes frittering to the mournful face carved into the tree. "I must warn against lying. The gods don't care for that in front of the heart tree."

"I wasn't…" Biting her lip, Catelyn sighed. "Forgive me. I don't really know what brought me here, but I… My Brandon knows the south, but I did see him in the Godswood at Riverrun. We don't have one of these trees and yet he still prayed… every day."

Brandon… She didn't know - Ned didn't have the courage to be the one to tell her. "Aye he kept our faith in his own way."

Longing filled her expression. "I miss him. It's been moons and life just isn't the same for me without your brother. I enjoyed my childhood, but he simply brought new life into me."

"He has a knack for doing that."

"I honestly can't wait to be his wife. Perhaps that will help me adapt to here better." Catelyn looked again at the heart tree. "Perhaps he can be my connection to this place - whatever transpires, it will be the pleasure of a lifetime to experience it with him." Smiling wistfully, she reached over and lightly hugged her future goodbrother. "Seven blessings to you, brother." A single kiss on the cheek and she walked off towards the keep, leaving Ned alone.

"Her heart will break," Ned said to the heart tree, answered by nothing but the wafting of the leaves. "I pray she finds Elbert a better husband." Putting aside thoughts of Lady Catelyn for now, Ned knelt before the weirwood, hand resting against the smooth bark.

Great ones, heed my prayer. Watch over my family - father, Bran, Ben, Lya, Rhaegar, Rhaenys, Egg, and Elia. I… I am not prepared to serve you as the Lord of these lands. Grant us your wisdom and show me your way.

Suddenly he found himself pulled away from his body, images flashing before him...

Ice flashing in a great battle, spilling blood in Ned's hands as he wielded it in a mad, desperate charge.

Laughing with Lya, two furry shapes bounding in the snow ahead of them.

Walking down the snow-lined pathways with a girl kissed by fire, handing her off to a young man with Lya's hair and Rhaegar's eyes - a pure Valyrian beauty standing to the side.

A gorgeous young woman embracing him tightly, crying at the loss of her young love. Ned comforting her as he whispered "Rhae…"

And lastly, the glittering smile of someone that made his heart clench. Framed by rivers of gold, the joyous image of Cersei Lannister watched him. Eyes filled with the deepest love.

"My darling wolf…"

Suddenly flung back into the present, Ned almost keeled over as spasms tasked his lungs. The old gods seemed to task him with a life of pain and struggle… and yet also of love and family.

She is not worthy of a second son.

Yet you aren't to be a second son anymore…

By a stroke of Brandon's pen, all he ever wanted was finally in Ned's grasp. Cersei…

Unbeknownst to any of the Starks, the Lord of Leeches let himself into the Lord's solar - having snuck passed the guards who were too engrossed in a game of dice. Searching for advantage, if any could be gained.

Rifling through Eddard Stark's papers, the leech's milky eyes widened at the words. Without a sound he set everything the way he found it. Slipping out - desperate to think of a way to salvage what was left of his plans.

Roose Bolton would not let this slip from his fingers.

---

"Well, looks like I'm back," Tyrion mused as his father came into view, almost grinding his teeth at the annoyance. It's good to see you too, father. What he didn't expect was the buxom, smiling woman to his right. As such, she was the first he greeted when the guard opened the door. "Aunt Genna."

"My little nephew." She picked him up rather easily, hugging him to her chest. "Glad to finally see you out of that shit-smelling monstrosity."

"It wasn't too bad," he chuckled, appreciative of his aunt's affections. They obviously irked his father, but Genna was always able to get away with it. "I learned a lot from Lord Stark."

Being set down, he didn't expect any form of greeting from Tywin and Tywin didn't disappoint. "That is all well and good, because I doubt I would have allowed you back had he not insisted."

"He's your son, Tywin. Of course you would have," Genna countered sternly.

Appreciating the defense, Tyrion nonetheless spoke up. "I believe Lord Lannister wishes that I complete the apprenticeship I sought rather than resume my previous life of frivolity."

They began to walk up the steps, making for an odd trio of golden-haired lions. "You are a disappointment, but are not stupid." For Tywin, that wasn't faint praise. "I expect you to put what you learned to the test."

"I would expect nothing less, and it'll be fun showing off to my uncles."

"You'll have to discount Gerion, he's no longer here," Genna said sadly. "He's on an expedition."

That surprised him. "Where?"

"Old Valyria, Tywin replied with a scowl. "If your uncle wishes to kill himself that's his damn business. Though I wouldn't cry if you went on something similar, you didn't and thus better pull your weight. Excuse me." As soon as he could, Tywin dashed off down a corridor, leaving his son and sister to continue towards the motte without him.

There was silence for a long while, the only sound being the scuff of their boots atop the stone steps. "I've endured a lot from my lord father," Tyrion finally said, "But he seems to be in a worse mood than usual."

Genna rolled her eyes. "Oh, your father just finds things to put him into moods. He's been in this one since the news with your sister ended her betrothal negotiations."

"Betrothal negotiations?" Cersei never mentioned anything in her letters to Jaime - in extension, to him, but they were always addressed to his brother.

"She didn't tell… Jaime?" Genna was no fool regarding the family dynamic. "Not surprising, given everything. Ty wanted to betroth her to Robert Baratheon. She refused, said she wanted to marry…"

"Eddard Stark?"

She looked down on him with a surprised expression. "You knew?"

Tyrion chuckled. "My skills, Aunt Genna. I drink and I know things."

Joining his mirth, Genna shook her head. "The first is my father, the second is your father. Spitting image of the two, which is why I think Ty is uncomfortable around you." Tyrion disagreed, but he didn't voice it. "Anyway, yes, Cersei wished to marry Eddard Stark and it got them into a massive scuffle. He would have bound and shipped her to Storm's End if…" She trailed off.

"If what, Aunt Genna?"

A sigh. "I think it's best if she tells you herself." Tyrion did not know what to make of that.

Two hours later, Tyrion knocked at his sister's door. "Careful, little Lord."

His brow rose. "Little Lord?"

"Aye, you're a Lord and you're little." Sandor Clegane shrugged. "She'll bite your head off. Sickness getting to her."

"Sickness?" Now Tyrion was worried. "What does she…"

"Nothing that she can give to you."

"Come in!" Cersei shouted from inside. She hasn't changed a bit, then. Giving Sandor one last quizzical look, he entered the room only to stop. Eyes widening.

Cersei looked pale and haggard. That pointed to some things, but the tight cut of her dress that did nothing to hide the growing swell of her stomach narrowed it down. "If you talk to anyone outside this keep, I will cut your cock off."

Threat not fazing him - knowing she had slept with Ned Stark made this shocking, not surprising - Tyrion smirked. "Ever since I was a babe you have been rather wishful to do so, sweet sister."

She glowered, but nevertheless did not object to her brother finding a chair to make himself comfortable. "If you're gonna yell at me for getting with child, father's done enough for the both of us." Cersei sat back upon her bed, willing the malady to break for once this month.

Tyrion snickered - the Light of the West humbled like this wasn't a sight one often saw. "Our loving father certainly has a way with words doesn't he?" He eyed her pregnant abdomen curiously. "So there's really a lionwolf in there, huh?"

As much as she could not stand her brother, Cersei tolerated his presence. Not only was the company if someone other than Aunt Genna that didn't judge her rather welcome, she had to admit "lionwolf" made her smile. She brought a hand to her belly. "Yes."

"And you're upset because…?"

The joy at her thoughts died at his idiotic question. "Why do you think, Tyrion? First, my stomach is trying every day to expel itself out of me. Second, I'm pregnant with the bastard child of the man I love and can't ever be with. So yes I'm fucking upset!"

Tyrion had to shake his ears, trying to hear right. Did she admit she loved Eddard Stark. My sister, Cersei?! She continued to surprise him. "Well… Ned's not married." It did seem a rather obvious solution. "And if he feels for you as you do him - which I suspect is true, you have him like a puppy waiting for a treat - he will beg father for your hand."

Cersei has to admit his characterization of her direwolf was accurate. Ned was ready to elope with her on their first night. "Father would still never allow it."

"He never allowed Jaime to be a Kingsguard, and yet there he is, wearing the white and ogling the Queen." Watching her bite her lip, Tyrion figured he was lucky for Cersei to be so amiable.

Cersei sighed, conceding he had a point. She caressed her stomach protectively. "I hate it when you make sense."

He grinned. "Cause you'll just have to admit that you appreciate my advice? Must be horrifying for you." They poured each other a goblet of cider. "By the way have you thought of names for the little one?"

That subject made Cersei smile. "I've thought of a few…" The smile turned into a devilish smirk. "Mostly to piss father off."

Now Tyrion was interested. "Oh? Care to name a few sister? If anyone is an expert at pissing off the great Tywin Lannister is his dwarf of a son."

"Though his daughter is catching up to that dwarf," she replied. "Maybe Tytos... or Robb after Ser Robb Reyne."

"Good choices, though if you truly want to irk him, go with the latter. As much of an idiot and whoremonger our grandfather was, our father still loved him." Family mattered to Tywin - probably the only reason he hadn't smothered Tyrion in his sleep.

"If its a girl… perhaps something Dornish.

"You could name her Ellyn."

"Ah, the Reyne whore." She giggled, sipping her cider. "For once I like the way you think."

He raised his silver goblet, clinking with Cersei's. "The Lannister siblings, irking our father one day at a time."

"I think young cousin Lancel will come close." That boy was as useless in combat as Tyrion without any of the… excuses. "Let's see if Jaime catches up."

"Oh, he very well could. I see a little boy or girl with blond hair and purple eyes in the future."

"The Queen? I don't doubt Jaime's enough of an idiot to cuckold the King, but Rhaella won't let him."

He wagged his finger. "Never underestimate the courage and stupidity of a man in love."

"Or a woman," Cersei sighed. "You know, I feel less and less desirous of tossing you off the Rock's cliffs."

Tyrion clutched at his heart. "Why, you move me dear sister. Father might, though."

Cersei chuckled. "He was about to when you milked the eel into his turtle stew."

"Yes…" Tyrion murmured softly, pushing out of the chair. "Father was the only one I did that to..." He was already halfway towards the door.

It took a split second of thinking before Cersei's eyes widened. "You disgusting little monster!" But Tyrion was already out the door when her goblet crashed against it.

---

Ashara Dayne was beautiful.

There was no denying it even for the most jealous and envious of women - of whom Lyanna was not. With her raven hair, dark purple eyes, and fair complexion, she combined both the ethereal Valyrian looks with the lithe strength of the First Men. All with a warm heart that made Dacey feel at home in what was essentially her goodfamily's keep. Lyanna understood why Elia liked her. Why she liked her. The Princess was slowly bonding with the Dornishwoman, a friendship developing.

"You need to tell the both of them," Ashara said gently but firmly as they walked under the moonlight. The crescent sliver casting an ethereal hue over the Torrentine.

"It's not that simple, Ash."

While Dacey would have rolled her eyes and Ellaria would have snorted, Ashara merely wrapped an arm around her shoulder. All appreciated in their own signature manner. "Elia told me of what happened. I may not have experienced being with child, but I know this isn't a burden to bear alone."

"I don't want to bear this alone…" Lyanna murmured. "But if something happens, I couldn't bear to see them hurt as they were." I hurt them both and now it's happening again…

Ashara sighed. "You don't have to relive it if it hurts too much…"

"No." Lyanna shook her head. "It's fine." She cupped her belly. Jon… my pup… I love you already. "I love this babe, Ash, just as I loved Visenya. What if I lose this one too?"

Ashara's purple eyes held an intensity, though not like Rhaegar's. Lustrous rather than fiery. "And you will lose yourself if you don't find joy with them. I can tell they both love you." It was shocking that the prudish, withdrawn Elia Martell had fallen into a traditional Valyrian marriage with the Crown Prince and a northerner, but recent events proved to Ash the… appeal those north of the Neck held. "Let them love your babe with you."

Walking back to the keep, Lyanna smiled at her new friend. "You are wise beyond your years, Ash."

"Oh, while Arthur was becoming the greatest swordsman that ever lived, I endured the worst training course for a lady wishing to understand people - the Dornish court." Both chuckled at that. "On another subject, when Elia left Sunspear there were plenty of young knights and courtiers that had fallen desperately for her."

"Are you trying to make Rhaegar jealous?" Or me jealous? Because it was working if her inner wolf's possessive ire had anything to say about it.

Ash smirked, eyes twinkling. "No, just curious. Did your younger brother leave anyone like that in Winterfell?"

Lyanna regarded her curiously. "I don't believe so…. Ben's always been the quiet sort."

"What a shame then." Even as she stepped a bit ahead of Lyanna, the she-wolf could tell the Beauty of Starfall smiled widely.

Lyanna entered the guest chambers ten minutes later to find her shirtless husband alone. Back hunched over a writing desk as he scribbled something. Her heart did a little hitch at seeing him - silver hair glinting in the firelight. She strode behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Hello wife," Rhaegar said, leaning up for a kiss.

Which was readily given. "You've memorized my touch, haven't you?"

"Yes, but also your smell," he replied, chuckling.

"Elia?" Lyanna asked.

"Privy. We waited up for you."

They are so sweet. "Why did you do that?" She leaned down and placed kisses on his neck and shoulders.

Rhaegar groaned… "Can't sleep without you." His violet eyes shone with love. "Both of you have spoiled me these last weeks."

Lyanna blushed faintly, still in disbelief at it all - at how sudden it all was. At how much she loved it. I've never thought such about a woman before… "What are you doing?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Preparing notes for my conversation with the Most Devout." Their next stop was Oldtown, one they dreaded more than Sunspear.

Lyanna closed her eyes. "A talk that would go much easier if I wasn't around."

"Don't say that."

"No, your marriage to me challenges the Faith." She laughed dryly. "Another cut your father made to you." Drawing back, Lyanna walked to the bed. Sitting upon it with her hands in her lap.

"Lya?" His voice was soft, comforting as he sat beside her.

In the comfort of her own chambers Lyanna's strength evaporated. Tears rolling down her cheeks as she sobbed softly.

Rhaegar felt almost stabbed through the heart at his beloved's tears. "Lya…" She was in his arms instantaneously, burying her face in his chest. "Tell me what's wrong."

Just then the door opened and Elia walked in. Clad in her nightdress and stretching - yawning sleepily. All sleep left her at seeing her sister-wife so despondent. "Seven hells, Lyanna." She quickly took the empty space to her side. "What happened, Rhaegar?"

"I don't know," he murmured, watching as Lyanna leaned into Elia.

"Gods, Lya, did something happen?" Elia asked her, heart breaking in two from the horrid sound of Lyanna's tears.

'She will hurt you…' The seductive voice delivered its poison directly to Lya. 'The babe is a threat to her…'

"I… I don't know if I can do this again…" she choked out, voice quivering. "If it happens again…"

"What happens again?" Rhaegar ran a hand through his hair, fearful. "Tell us, please."

"I didn't mean for this to happen, my loves," she gasped, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "Believe me… it's all my fault." She knew all they were about to endure. "My fault…"

"You're scaring me, my wolf. Please…"

"I'm with child…" It was so soft, Lyanna wondered if they heard it.

When a strong palm, soft yet calloused, cupped her belly she knew they did. "You're…" Rhaegar asked, trembling.

Elia was silent. "How… how long?"

Anger, pain and anger. "A moon. Likely the first night on the boat." The irony was immense, her son conceived with a little bit of all of them. "I'm sorry…"

She was cut off as Elia kissed her desperately, lovingly. Lyanna just managed to suck in a breath before Rhaegar followed. As if there was no greater joy in the world than this. "Did you think I'd be upset?" Rhaegar asked, voice hollow.

Biting her lip, Lyanna nodded.

"Why would you think that?" Elia's voice had a tinge of hurt. Does she not know how much I love her? Perhaps she hadn't come to terms with having a female lover. Not all of us can.

"I… the coup. The chaos… now is the worst time."

"There are never perfect times for this, Lya. But we're in joy nonetheless," Rhaegar cooed as he kissed her brow.

"I meant what I said to my brother," Elia added. "I love the little one as if he was of my womb." Such as it was for the dragonlord of old, or the ancient first men. "Fuck what all others say."

Their words brought an indescribable happiness. And yet… Her voice caught, almost inaudible. "What if I lose this one?"

Rhaegar's grip tightened around her. "Never."

"You don't know that… I lost…"

"We won't let that happen," Elia said firmly, her hand cupping Lya's belly. "Right husband?"

Eyes blazing dragonfire, he fell to his knees, inching his head to her stomach. "My son, my child… Kepa will never let anyone harm you."

This time Lyanna cried again, only the tears were of joy. Of how the two of them already adored little Jon. "I don't deserve this…"

"You do, Lyanna." Elia kissed her again, sighing happily as her sister-wife melted into it.

"By all the gods, you do." To her wide eyes and Elia's giggles - it was quite ridiculous in a way - Rhaegar grabbed Blackfyre and knelt before Lya… and their babe. "I pledge my eternal loyalty to you, Princesses Lyanna Targaryen, Elia Targaryen, and Rhaenys Targaryen - Prince Aegon Targaryen and the as yet unnamed Targaryen Prince."

Lya snorted. Her husband really was adorable.

Smiling at his loves' reactions, Rhaegar continued. "My sword and my shield are yours to command, until my dying day."

"Rise, Rhaegar of House Targaryen." Elia wanted so badly to kiss him. "So you're our sworn sword now?"

"Aye, this day till the end of my days. Yours and our babes'... that if the she-wolf doesn't mind - I know how picky she is about knowing she can defend herself."

Heart clenching with warmth, Lyanna simply leapt at him. "No… it's perfect. Thank you, Rhaegar." She let his heat calm her. "We're having a babe…"

Pulling Elia up to join the embrace - greedily accepted by his brides - Rhaegar kissed Lya's head. "I love him already, my loves." You will not take him, father. I swear by the old gods and the new.

The transition was natural. Spontaneous - from comforting and sweet to heated and no less comforting. Lyanna and Rhaegar's eyes met, the spark so familiar between them igniting as she slowly closed the distance. Mouths opening up to accept the other in a tangled, languid display of love.

Watching the two she most loved in the world, Elia felt her nethers tingle. Hand reaching to caress Rhaegar's bare muscles, cupping Lyanna's soft cheek. At the contact she saw Lyanna break her kiss with their husband. Eyes meeting, the beautiful greys that had captivated her from the moment they met - Elia could admit that now - she smiled and leaned forward. Kissing all the same. She unknowing of the spark that first appeared to Lyanna. The first of someone other than Rhaegar… the only someone other than Rhaegar in her life.

There was no jealousy in Rhaegar's gaze, only love and lust. An unspoken agreement with his Dornish Princess to pleasure their she-wolf. To make sure this memory of their babe was one to treasure and not despise. "My love…' Rhaegar cooed, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. "I'm so happy." He kissed her cheek and Lyanna sighed softly into her embrace with Elia, leaning her body into his. "I can't wait to meet our little Prince."

It was a short journey to the bed, Elia and Rhaegar shedding their few clothes before moving to disrobe their love. Peppering each stretch of bare skin with kisses and loving caresses. Gently pushing her onto the bed. Lyanna bit her lip, staring at them with lust-filled eyes. Rubbing her legs together like a cricket. A pure, wild beauty of the North…

And it drove them just as wild, but the joy of the babe in her stomach calmed them.

Rhaegar leaned forward first, planting a sweet, soft kiss on Lyanna's lips. Running his tongue along her teeth, placing his other hand on her belly - it made her swoon, and gush. Lyanna kissed him desperately, putting her hands in his hair as she plundered his mouth.

The bed dipped as Elia climbed on. Snuggling next to her sister-wife with rather… prurient intentions. Steeling a hungry kiss from the northern beauty, hands immediately groping her breasts. The pregnancy already made them hypersensitive, a bit heavier than normal. Elia lusted for them. Especially after Lyanna mewled in her mouth, turned on greatly by the ministrations.

Mewls turned to a deep moan when Rhaegar entered her. Slow and sensual rather than the feverish fucking that the dragon and wolf went at each other with normally. He clenched his teeth at how tight she was. Pressing on with a quiet determination. "My love. My wife. Mother of my babes."

"Mmmmm… fuck me, Kepa, please," she moaned, bucking her hips to take him ever deeper. "I love you."

"I love you too." His pressured face suddenly grew a smirk. "Ready to join, my sun?"

Lyanna was confused until something warm and beautiful fell upon her mouth. The smell intoxicating. "Please, Lya," Elia begged. The sight of their lovemaking making her burn with need. Gasping when the she-wolf's eager tongue stabbed through her folds. "Oh, gods… Lya… I love both of you."

"You are ours to protect and cherish." Rhaegar kept his thrusts firm. Grabbing Elia's breast from behind to steady himself. "Our Queen."

"Our lives were empty without… you," Elia choked out, core pulsing with pleasure.

Moaning into her cunt, rocking from the thrusts, Lyanna closed her eyes. It was then that she heard it return… 'They will hurt you… she will hurt you…'

But Lyanna ignored the seductive, poisonous voice always at the back of her mind. No… they won't… She felt the love… felt the passion they had for her. Gods… I'm so loved… She attacked Elia's cunt, desperately meeting her husband's cock. Loved… loved… loved… Oh… Her climax rocked her, joined moments later by Rhaegar and Elia. Together, a loving family for the miracle babe inside her.

Nestled together moments later in a tangle of flesh, Elia shared a languid kiss with her husband before resting a palm on Lyanna's belly. "This is nothing but a blessing, Lya. Don't ever think differently."

Trembling from the pleasure she had experienced, Lyanna cried happy tears. "Yes, he is."

"Are we sure it's a son?" Rhaegar asked, in awe of it all. The vision of the dark-haired boy riding next to him on dragonback came to his mind. The Prince loved him already.

Lyanna's thoughts were of the same boy, appearing in her own vision. "Yes. I'm carrying a son. Our son."

"Ours," murmured Elia. The three of them rested in silence for several moments, simply basking in the gentle joy. "Rhaegar," the Dornish Princess suddenly remembered. "Sing it to us."

He furrowed his brows in confusion. "Sing what?" A knowing glint in Elia's eye brought him realization. "Lya, my love." Rhaegar got her attention. "I made this for you, when you were with child last time." Pausing, he made sure Lyanna wasn't in pain - if she was, she handled it well. "Let me get my harp."

Making to move from the bed, a two sets of arms refuses to let him go. "No," Lyanna murmured. "Stay, please." Her grey eyes were filled with need.

"Your voice is all we want, right now," Elia added, kissing his shoulder.

Settling back on the bed, Rhaegar waited till his brides rested on his chest, their arms draped over each other. He cleared his throat, beginning to sing...

"Duncan met with Jenny fair

"In these hallowed halls that day;

"But the Prince right now is fu' of care

"Since these Princesses staw his heart away."

"Altho' she seemed too gu'd be true

"She proven has, a price'ss find

"Which drives the Prince aften rue

"That he'd loos'd a maiden kind."

Elia felt her sister-wife grip her hand tighter. A welcome feeling. She herself had heard the song before and Rhaegar's voice already was driving her to tears. Let alone how Lyanna felt.

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"The let no'un drive my love astray."

The northern beauty let her cries out. Soft and gentle, coaxed from her by the meaningful melody. Even in such hardship, such pain, she wouldn't have given this precious gift up for anything in the world.

"Since she is fause whom I adore

"I'll never trust a woman more;

"Frae a' their charms I'll fade away

"So fer' them my pipes I'll sweetly play,"

"Duncan met with Jenny fair

"In these hallowed halls that day;

"But the Prince right now is fu' of care

"Since these Princesses staw his heart away."

They all cried. Crying for what had to be done. Crying for the pain Aerys put them through. Crying for the babe they lost… and for the babe in Lya's stomach that they all loved so. A sign of the future. Of the dawn that ended the darkness.

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"Tis o'er the hills and far away

"The let no'un drive my love astray."

---

"Please, mi'Lord! Have mercy!" The unfortunate soul screeched from his hoarse throat as he was racked, limbs stretched to their breaking point. It was grotesque to watch, but Jon Connington couldn't be bothered to feel anything.

Holding up his hand to the beefy torturer, Jonothor Darry paused the procedure. He still wore his Kingsguard armor but with helm off for effect. Leaning in, his voice was gentle. Syrupy sweet with persuasion. "It can all end soon. Just confess."

The prisoner's torso was covered in bruises and burns, long having been stripped of his jerkin and gorget emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark. "Mercy…" he murmured. "I beg…"

"Confess," Ser Jonothor said again. "Tell us how you assisted the Princess Lyanna at the King's Tourney."

"I don't… I don't know… what you're… talking about." A sigh led the Kingsguard away, drawing more protests. "Please! I don't know! Please!"

Glancing at Connington, at the nod of the Lord Hand the Kingsguard waved to the torturer. Pulling the winch on the rack, more screams echoed through the dungeon.

Notes:

Did Lya really think her loves would be upset? That was dumb of her, though she likely didn't care cause everything was so happy :D

Ned sees his chance, but you just know Roose Bolton's gonna fuck it up.

Cersei and Tyrion are a riot to write!

Next time, the fun begins. If I can get 40 reviews, I'll publish it by the end of the week.

Chapter 42: Burn Them All

Notes:

Alright ladies and gentlemen. We are now at the point of no return. Time for the Rebellion to start.

Aerys is his own warning.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Are we sure now is the time?"

"Don't flake out on us now, Jon. Put your tourney boots on and mount the horse."

Sighing, Jon Connington nodded. "Alright." This would be the most difficult part of his plan… supposedly betraying his Silver Prince to the man both planned to depose, but it was necessary. The Starks must be culled before they poison Rhaegar even more… this will destroy them while assisting Rhaegar. His inward encouragement may have been basic rationalization, but at that moment he believed them.

Without further delay Ser Jonothor Darry pushed open the doors to the King's personal solar… a dark, stuffy room filled with wisps of smoke from the hearth and eight braziers stationed around it - each containing one dragon egg nestled among the embers. "Your Grace," Ser Jonothor bowed. "Lord Hand Jon Connington has requested a personal audience." With four brothers of the Kingsguard with Prince Rhaegar, he essentially was the King's lone guard and it helped greatly.

Half-eaten loaf of bread on a plate in front of him, the King was silent for the longest time. Subdued, lost in thoughts both real and contrived. "What do you want, Connington?" he eventually snapped. "More grievances in favor of my son?"

The Lord Hand steeled himself, taking a deep breath. "I have come to report to you the gravest treason."

Aerys turned, his glassy eyes starting to return to life. "Yes?" If this was the moment he finally had proof of Tywin's treachery, he'd snatch the bastard and bring him here - perhaps it would be Ser Jaime that he made conduct the execution. The thought made him smile.

"It concerns the Knight of the Laughing Tree." All traces of a smile died from Aerys' lips. The King grew visibly harder, tenser, his already pale skin growing white with apprehension and… fear? "I have conclusively proven his identity." Motioning to the guards outside - both trusted bannermen of House Connington - they entered carrying his evidence. "This shield was discovered in a cabin outside Harrenhal."

Stepping forward, the King ran a hand along the well-painted weirwood. Maw open as if to laugh at him. Jenny…

"She returns from the dead." Whispered the soft, seductive voice in his ear. "She plans to destroy you with her champion."

"No… Rhaegar killed the traitor!" he hissed.

"Unfortunately, it seems not." Another gift, this one a cloth favor. "This was discovered in the cabin as well. A favor, emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark."

Aerys trembled when he held it. The sigil was undeniable. "Which one? Brandon? Eddard? Lord Rickard? I'll kill them all!"

Unlike most, Connington would enjoy this part. "He is actually a she. The knight is in fact Lyanna Stark."

"Impossible." The King laughed. "A woman couldn't be a fucking knight."

Connington shook his head. "Ser Jonothor interrogated a man of the Stark household guard. He confessed to assisting in Lyanna's plan for the tourney." He couldn't divulge the true source of the information, but everything had to be calculated to produce the proper result. Lyanna's banishment, the culling of House Stark, the humiliation of the North and its allies into supporting Rhaegar. All had to be gauged carefully. "The Princess planned to return and challenge your rule openly, but Rhaegar found her in the cabin and she instead seduced him. Deciding to undermine your rule from within. It's why she carried the false dragon in her womb."

Forgive me, Rhaegar, but this is for your own good.

Aerys staggered. Disbelief in his eyes. "Ser Jonothor…?"

"It is true, your Grace."

"They threaten your throne. Your life… your destiny."

Picking up a knife from his desk, one of Valyrian steel he had obtained fighting the Blackfyres in the Stepstones, Aerys fiddled with it as his mind wandered to Rhaegar. His own son, married to that wildling harpy, overpowering the frail Martell girl and his weak excuse for progeny. Gods, it was clear as day. He didn't even need to see the proof again - in his heart Aerys knew it to be true. "Tywin isn't the one Jenny sent to destroy me…"

"The Stark girl… it's always been her!"

"Yes, always that wildling bitch! Her whole family, they must have arranged for her to seduce Rhaegar once Jenny put it in my mind!" All made sense now. His thinking clear for the first time in ages.

Connington felt sweat running down his forehead, be it from the fear or the heat rolling off the braziers. "Your Grace?" he hesitantly asked, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat off his brow. "What do you wish for me to…"

"Where are they?!" he demanded. "My idiot son and the bitch. Where?"

"Starfall, your Grace."

He scowled. Fuck… Ser Arthur's family would defend them to the death because of Rhaegar's friendship with the Kingsguard that broke his vows.

"You still have Lord Stark… and his son… Show them fire and blood as your ancestors did."

That sounded like a splendid idea. "Yes, we must show fire and blood!" Aerys' eyes found Connington quickly. Stabbing the blade on the wooden table as a cruel grin curled on his lips "They will die."

Blinking, Connington shared a look with Ser Jonothor, who looked interested. "Who will die?" He hadn't truly expected deaths out of this… was he naive?

"Find your brother, Jonothor," Aerys snapped. This was the moment he became a true dragon. Dragons didn't plant trees, they unleashed fire and blood. Aegon did so by burning Harrenhal and the Ironborn within, while he would do what Aegon failed to do - wipe House Stark off the painted table. "Tell them to arrest Rickard and Brandon Stark."

"On what charges, your Grace?" he answered.

"Accomplice to witchcraft and treason." The kingsguard nodded and left the chambers. That left Aerys and Connington alone. "I know you care for my son… this must have been hard to do."

Connington's brow rose as his face remained neutral. "I serve you, my King. If this is your command I will see to it immediately." He paused, formulating his words. "Rhaegar may be weak, but he is loyal to you. I would suggest…"

Aerys turned her head to look at him, a sadistic grin on his face "He will have his chance to prove his loyalty. In the meantime, see to the Starks' trial at once. It must be for the entire Realm to see." As the door closed behind Connington he turned to the fires. Willing from them their secrets. Tell me.

"The wolf and false dragon… destroy them."

"I will," he murmured into the flames.

"Burn them all."

---

"Forgive me son," Rickard murmured - as if he had been punched in the chest. It felt like he was given the shock of his life. That seemed to happen more than once after travelling south many moons ago. "I don't believe I heard you correctly."

Brandon sighed. "Father, please. I'm not naive," he said gently. Nevertheless, he complied. "I am renouncing my birthright as Lord of Winterfell in favor of Ned."

It rocked him even greater than the first time. "Why? For gods' sake, why?" Rickard was in disbelief. "Were you threatened? Wait… did you sire a bastard off some southern noble?"

"What… no…" Running a hand through his wild cowlicks, Brandon felt close to suffocated. "Father, it's not like that, gods, I knew you'd be like this."

"Be like what?" They were both in the Master of Laws' solar, Rickard seated at his desk while the as of now former heir to Winterfell stood across from him. "I am dealing with the life or death decisions of our House only to find my son and heir willing to cast aside everything I've fought to give him." I sound like Tywin Lannister. The comparison was jarring but he did not find it problematic.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Brandon sat in one of the ornate chairs that the servants had stocked the room with. "Father, I mean no disrespect and I have no intention of abandoning you or our House, but you have to know that I am not suited to rule from Winterfell. Ned may be young and a little rigid in his honor but I know he's everything a proper King of Winter or Warden of the North could ever hope to be."

"And what is it that you would do?"

Memories of his conversations with Prince Oberyn or Gerion Lannister came to mind. He had thought about it for a while. "I yearn for a life of adventure, father. Of making our House proud by travelling the world. Rewarding the North with its riches. Serving Ned or Lya in any far-flung task they wish of me."

Pursing his lips, in his heart Rickard knew Bran was right. That his son had looked deep inside himself and found the same deficiencies as Olenna had informed him of at Lyanna's wedding. He's my son… "What do you want me to say, Bran?"

"Say that you understand, that this is what is best for our House."

"And Lady Catelyn? She is set to be your bride."

That did affect Brandon greatly. Catelyn was his fire-kissed maiden and he cared for her, but… "She is worth more than the life I could give her. I'm sure Lord Tully could find a match just as well for her. Lord Arryn perhaps?"

Elbert Arryn was a good match, and probably better than House Stark given the Tully piety. "And what match would you make for Ned? A Lord needs a Lady."

In that, Brandon could smile. "He's besotted with Cersei Lannister." Rickard looked shocked that he knew. "Don't be surprised. It was obvious at Lya's wedding." The two shared a chuckle at that.

Abruptly, there was a knock at the door. Rickard's brows furrowed. "Come in." The visitor was… unexpected. "Lord Varys?"

The Master of Whisperer's flabby face was devoid of its characteristic composure. Instead, he looked rather distressed. "Lord Stark… unfortunately matters have gotten rather complicated."

"What do you mean?" Are the gods going to beat me down today?

"Remember what I told you about influence? That you would have the time to properly build a network to battle your rival at his own game?" Rickard nodded, gulping, while Brandon looked confused. "It appears that we didn't have the time."

A dark glower formed on Lord Stark's face. "Connington is making his move?"

Varys nodded. "Lord Arryn is testament to that."

Another sledgehammer to the chest. "That buggerer killed Jon Arryn?!" Brandon roared, only for his father to shush him. "How for gods' sake?"

"Grand Maester Pycelle, he has Tears of Lys in his stockpiles. A bottle of which went missing within the last moon…" He was cut off when there was a banging at the door. A loud one, as if someone was trying to… It burst open, battering ram blasting it off its very hinges.

Fully armored as if going to war, the guards stormed Lord Stark's solar. One shoved Varys to the side, the eunuch's robes rumbling as he toppled. No one paid him heed. The guards were too busy in their dash for the Starks. "Unhand me you scum!" Brandon yelled, kicking one and hurling another halfway across the chamber before the guard captain smacked him across the head with the hilt of his sword.

"Bran!" Rickard cried, leveling a fierce gaze at the guards. "Bastards!" That earned him a slap while two men restrained his arms.

Back twinging from the fall, Varys hailed his soft, jolly body up just as Ser Willam Darry walked in. The master-at-arms looked quite smug, arms behind his back. Dressed down as a noble rather than the warrior he was. Varys sauntered up to him. "What is the meaning of this… uncouth assault upon the King's councilors?" the eunuch sputtered.

"Shut it, Varys," the Riverman knight barked. "You're lucky I'm not here for you as well." Clearing his throat, he approached the glaring Lord Rickard and the groaning Brandon. "Well we'll, if it isn't two wolfboys."

"The King will have your head for this."

"Oh, I beg to differ, Lord Stark." Leaning back, he pulled out a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. "By the order of…" Darry cleared his throat. "King Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name and Lord Jon Connington, Hand of the King, I hereby place Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark under arrest."

By now, Brandon had recovered his wits. "Arrest?! What the fuck for?!" He struggled against his captors, only to get a fist in the gut for his trouble.

Darry grinned. "For treason and accessory to the witchcraft of Lady Lyanna Stark." He gestured to the guards. "Take them away." Incredulous protests from the Starks aside, there was no more fuss. He turned to the Master of Whisperers. "Your 'little birds' didn't tip you off to that… did they?" he mocked.

Varys said nothing. Wiping some of the remaining dust from his robes as he looked at the floor. "Tell Lord Connington that few of us will remain here once this reaches its end." A pair of ruddy eyes found Darry's older ones. "The victors will be just as cursed as the defeated." With a sigh, he walked out of the solar.

---

"Please, your Grace." Frantic worry on his face, Jaime tried one last time to stop Queen Rhaella from entering the Throne Room.

Rhaella's eyes darkened. "Out of my way, Jaime," she told him firmly. No one would stop her, even him.

After what Prince Lewyn told him, Jaime didn't wish for her to be burdened by what was to come. "It will only cause you pain."

Gods, he's so much like Joanna it's uncanny. "Something is going on in there and I won't let you keep me out." Before he could react she pushed past him, determined as any dragon. It made him want her more than he thought possible, but the circumstances didn't allow for that. Instead, he was forced to follow his Queen into the packed hall of Maegor Targaryen's throne room. Into the jaws of the seven hells themselves.

Nearly every courtier in King's Landing crowded among the columns - summoned by the goldcloaks or journeying of their own accord to watch the show unfold. Around the throne were the two forms of Ser Jonothor Darry and Lewyn Martell, joined by a squadron of household guards. Every one of the King's sycophants were in attendance - Lucerys Velaryon, Renfred Ryker, Owen Merryweather, Symond Staunton, Qarlton Chelsted, Grand Maester Pycelle, Willam Darry, and the disgusting Pyromancer Wisdom Rossart. Beside the Iron Throne were Jon Connington and Varys, the latter quite distressed.

Seated upon the throne of Aegon the Conqueror was Aerys II Targaryen, looking quite pleased with himself. "Ah, wife. Took you long enough to show up."

"What have you done, your Grace?"

Such insolence was normally ill advised, but the King was in a good mood. "You shall see."

At that moment Rhaella noticed a small, silver-haired figure tucked close to Prince Lewyn. "Viserys!"

"Muna!" His cries made her start to rush towards him.

But the King wouldn't allow it. "Lannister! Make sure she stays by Lord Varys." It was across the Iron Throne from Viserys and Jaime hated having to follow the order, but he did so. Begging with his gaze for Rhaella to comply… which she hesitantly did. Something told her this was not going to be what young Viserys should witness. Once she stood next to Varys, Aerys clapped his hands. "Ser Manly, bring the prisoners!"

Newly appointed Lord Commander of the City Watch, Manly Stokeworth was enthusiastic and loyal. He beamed and summoned other guards, dragging the two prisoners forth and forcing them to kneel in front of their King. At the sight of them, Rhaella hid a gasp… something the crowd didn't.

Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark, both filthy and ragged from being set upon by fists and truncheons. They were both tied up with their hands behind their backs, three goldcloaks guarding them in full armor. Gags were in their mouths, which were removed by order of Lord Connington. Brandon sputtered and glared at the throne. "This is a travesty!" He whipped his head around at the court. "You're all witnesses to this fucking, criminal travesty!" Of the goldcloaks kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling.

While what the King was planning didn't sit right with him, Connington was resolved to find this satisfying. "Lord Rickard Stark, Brandon Stark," he announced with a ghost of a smile. "The both of you are hereby branded enemies of the Crown."

"Bull, fucking shit!" Brandon snarled. "You're fucking murderers, both of you!" He headbutted a guard and tried to rush the throne, but was subdued quickly. Jaime admired the lad's spunk.

"To what grounds?" asked Rickard, tone even… though with a thinly-veiled anger.

Aerys laughed. "To what grounds?" He scoffed, spitting at the Starks, "Here are the fucking grounds, traitorous fool! You let your bitch of a daughter become a heartbeat away from becoming Queen, only to know she committed witchcraft?! Threatens to bring the Doom upon us all?" He motioned to Connington. "Read the evidence so we can get this over with!"

Citing the found helm, the favor emblazoned with the Stark direwolf, the 'confession' of the guard, Rickard took it all with stoic silence. Waiting for Connington to finish before he addressed the King. "Allow me to recite my evidence."

"Be silenced, fool…" Willam Darry began before the King held up his hand.

"Wait." He leaned back, smirking. "I want to hear what he thinks I did." This was so delightful.

Narrowing his eyes, Rickard's voice was every inch a proud Lord of the North. "Aerys Targaryen, you have committed assault upon Princess Lyanna Targaryen and the murder of the unborn Prince or Princess in her womb." There were some gasps, as the baby wasn't widely known. "And Jon Connington and Grand Maester Pycelle, you have committed the murder of Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale."

"Murderers! You're the murderers!" Brandon snarled.

Surprised, Rhaella looked at the Lord Hand. "Is this true?"

Connington said nothing, but the King replied. "He was a damned traitor anyway," tacitly admitting it. "I've heard enough. Carry out the execution in the name of your King!"

"Of course, your Grace." Connington motioned to Stokeworth, who nodded and forward with the other goldcloaks. They grabbed the Starks and lifted them off their feet.

"Fuck you!" Brandon screamed, kicking at them. "Rhaegar and Ned will kill you all!" More guards and servants came forward with two large litters stacked with fetters and logs, while others looped two harnesses from the rafters. Tying them around the Starks' arms and shoulders to suspend them above the pyres. It was obvious to all there what they were doing.

Scurrying forward, Lord Rossart has a skeletal smile upon his gaunt face. "I would say it is an honor, Lord Stark," he offered to Rickard in a hoarse voice. "For I am greatly looking forward to this." Licking his lips, the Master Pyromancer opened his mouth to speak just as Rickard spit in his face.

"Fuck you," Rickard breathed, turning his head to stare at the King. "Winter will come for you, Aerys Targaryen."

The King scoffed. "Am I supposed to be scared?" he taunted.

"You will be when this is over, my King. The ice and snow will engulf you."

"Ice does not concern a dragon."

"You are no dragon!" Brandon yelled, still fighting against the restraints.

Scowling, Aerys' fists clenched on the throne. "Rossart? Is it ready?"

The pyromancer nodded. "Yes, your Grace. I only await your command."

Suddenly someone fell to her knees at the foot of the Iron Throne, grasping at the King's legs. He recoiled back, only to find Rhaella pleading with wide eyes. "Please, your Grace. Please, brother… mercy! For the sake of our son!"

A snarl curled on his face. "That traitor is no son of mine." Before he could order her dragged away or strike her, Ser Jaime hauled Rhaella up - carrying her down the steps.

"Let me go!" she yelled. "Mercy, brother! Mercy! You know not what you start!"

"Get her out of here, Lannister!" He barked. Gods, she was an embarrassment. Thankfully her cries of mercy faded out, leaving nothing but his perfectly staged ceremony. The moment he would finally take control and banish the traitors from his realm. Oh, Jenny… you have failed. The bitch you sent to bring the Doom will die soon.

Ready to give the command, Aerys hesitated. A moment of lucidity penetrating the haze of his brain. Rhaegar would never hand over his bride, he would never tolerate such an insult. The north would go to war to avenge their Lord, and after the revelation reached the Eyrie so would the Vale. Did he want war? Did he want to have to kill his own son.

"You have doubts, my King…"

There… the voice. His gaze softened as the soothing tendrils of the mysterious voice wrapped around him. It was always there to calm him, to protect him from evil. To set him on the proper path.

"Even the wisest have doubts, but the greatest among us are bold and decisive."

Bold and decisive… the actions of the mighty. The actions of a dragon.

"Yes, my King. A dragon, you are the dragon reborn to the world."

A power flowed through Aerys. Warm and comforting, yet one that stoked his strength. Made him feel invulnerable. A great beast soaring in the skies, untouched by man or god.

"What does a dragon do to those who would do it harm? Burn them all…"

Aerys locked eyes with Rickard."

"Burn them all…"

He saw the defiance within the gaze.

"Burn them all…"

Anger coursed through him at the thought of a direwolf defying the dragon.

"Burn them all…"

Suddenly his voice roared through the chamber. "BURN THEM ALL!" And euphoria…

Without hesitation Rossert drew his flints and struck them together. Spark catching on the fuse that started burning fast. Spreading closer and closer till it reached the wildfire-soaked logs and fetters underneath the suspended Starks. "Everything burns, Lord Stark!" he cackled, drawing back as the green flames suddenly sprang alive. A wall of heat shooting in every direction, many courtiers stumbling over, unprepared for the fury of wildfire.

The pain was instantaneous. Roaring furiously, the tall flames began to lick at the feet and legs of the still finely dressed Rickard and Brandon Stark. The latter began to scream, agony of the searing flames unbearable even only against his feet. The former held strong, refusing to relent even as his feet roasted within his boots. He was a direwolf of House Stark and they never howled in pain… but the wildfire racing up his leg broke even him.

Aerys' eyes shone as he watched it unfold. Smiling in ecstasy at the green flames, color reflected in the violet. Every bit of fear and weakness that had grasped him was gone in that moment. In this, he finally found the power and control he so sought. "Lewyn! Bring me my son!" The Kingsguard complied, face unseen under his helm. Depositing the trembling Prince Viserys on the King's lap. "Are you scared, son?" Aerys whispered softly to the Prince.

Viserys nodded. "Yes, kepa." By now the flames engulfed the entire lower half of the Starks, both screaming in pain. Curdling blood of even the most hardened sycophant of Aerys II Targaryen. "My ears hurt."

"You are a dragon, Viserys. Watch." The boy peeked and then looked away. Brandon and Rickard's legs had almost burned to ash… only for Aerys to grab his chin and force Viserys to look. "Watch it! This is who you are! You are a dragon, and a dragon doesn't plant trees."

His arms still trembled. "A dragon doesn't plant trees…"

"Say it again."

"A dragon doesn't plant trees." Brandon Stark began to howl. Wolf cries echoing into the chamber - joined later by Rickard. Mournful requiems of the line of the Kings of Winter - with winter came House Stark, remembering all.

Fury stoked by the defiant cries, Aerys gripped the jaw of his son tighter. "Say it again!"

In that instant, Viserys' eyes seemed to glow just like his father's. "A dragon doesn't plant trees." The howls petered out as the green flames engulfed them all. "I am a dragon."

"Good! Very good!"

Death was close, they could feel it. All their flesh cooking alive, the sweet embrace of death close enough to touch. "Lya…" Brandon murmured, blackness coming. "Brother, avenge me…"

Rickard's last word was less defiant. More peaceful, the flames giving way to a light as bright as snow. "My love," he gasped, suddenly seeing his late wife. "Lyarra… I am here again…"

The wildfire burned for almost ten more minutes. Aerys forced everyone to watch as the long-dead corpses of Rickard and Brandon Stark were turned into charred husks dangling from the ceiling. On occasion a bit of ash would fall to the embers below. Most were sickened, some were indifferent, and a few were grinning openly. Among the latter was the king. "Get on it, Connington," he barked.

"Yes, your Grace." Connington was stunned by what happened - indifferent, but stunned. As such, he stuttered as he started the proclamation. "By the order of his Grace, Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name and King of the Seven Kingdoms, the following decrees are made." He cleared his throat. "Lyanna of House Stark is declared guilty of treason and witchcraft and sentenced to death. Eddard of House Stark is declared guilty of treason and sentenced to death. House Stark is hereby stripped of all titles and lands."

Gods, it was music to Aerys' ears. "Remember, son, a dragon must burn all traitors."

"Burn them all," Viserys murmured, and was rewarded by his father kissing his head. Aerys never kissed him.

"Furthermore…" It pained Connington to say the next, but it was necessary for now. "Rhaegar of House Targaryen is stripped of his birthright and name. Prince Viserys of House Targaryen is hereby declared heir to the Iron Throne." Decrees finished, he clasped his hands together. "All hail the King! Long may he reign!"

It rang in Aerys' ears. "Long may he reign!"

The voice was pleased. "You have done well, my King."

And now for them to destroy each well, my King. Soon all your enemies will burn before you."

Soon, all of you will destroy each other...

---

The tears were unavoidable at first… but there was a moment where the pain and anger had gone beyond tears. Beyond even yelling and screaming. There stood Rhaella, hunched over the hearth. She gripped the stone lip tightly - as if the physical pain of her white knuckles would ground her. Drive into her the reality of what her husband… her brother did.

Rickard burned. Brandon burned. Jon Arryn dead by Tears of Lys, Lyanna to be put to death. Rhaegar… Viserys… my sons… One stripped of his birthright and likely exiled while the other was forced to endure the full force of Aerys' madness. Who among them was the worst off? By the gods she knew Jon Arryn was the luckiest… at least his death was quick.

There will be war… There would certainly be war. Rhaegar would die for his beloved Lyanna. Eddard Stark and Elbert Arryn calling the banners - the Tullys and the Lannisters to join them. On her husband's side the ambitious Tyrells would stubbornly stand, joined by the Lords of the Crownlands. Robert Baratheon would slay thousands if it meant getting revenge for her son winning Lyanna's heart. Just like his grandfather… and grandmother. Rhaella knew her sister well.

Rivers of blood. Lakes of blood. Oceans of blood graced the future of the realm. Gods, what have we done to merit this curse?! Has our bloodline and culture paid for contrition in our blood?! The answers would not come, and so Rhaella would continue to be plagued with the reality of her hellish existence.

"Ser Jaime!" Her eyes widened, whatever blood remaining in her head washing away in fear. "Of course you're here like a good little cub." The voice came from outside her chamber door. Strong and confident, wicked and powerful… a feeling she hadn't heard from the King in over a decade. "Stay here and don't move a fucking inch."

"Yes, your Grace," she heard her sweet bodyguard croak. Oh no… Jaime… Tormenting the beloved son of Tywin Lannister was a pastime for Aerys, and to most torture him would be to…

The doors flew open and her husband entered, grin on his lips and a spring in his step. "Oh dearest Rhaella, how glorious is this day?!"

She blinked at him incredulously - watching Jaime's green eyes find hers before the doors shut in front of him. Rhaella missed them greatly. "You're a monster!" There really was no sugarcoating anything anymore. Not after what happened.

"I prefer the term dragon," he beamed, eying her like a hungry predator. He hadn't done that since their first stillbirths… Rhaella's eyes found a tent lower in his robes. Gods… please no. "For once this realm has one that sits on a throne."

"You are no dragon, husband," she yelled, tears starting to fall as she shook from anger and fear. He reeked of sweat and smoke… of burnt meat, the stench of what had been her son's goodfather and goodbrother. Rhaella fought not to vomit. "Just a kinslayer."

His eyes darkened. "You say this to me on the day of my glorious triumph? At the moment we are about to create a Valyrian Princess for our son?"

He truly was lost. "You have lost everything, Aerys. Rhaegar…"

Rhaella saw stars when he struck her. "Do not speak his cowardly name in my presence again!" Aerys moved to kiss her when she struck him back - an elbow to the gut. "You little bitch!" Grabbing a poker from the hearth, he advanced on his now running wife. Striking her as he could. "Get the fuck back here, sweet sister!"

Heart beating out of her chest, Rhaella grabbed whatever she could to throw at him. Frantic, eyes wide in terror. "Brother! Stop!" she shrieked, picking up a small knife from her used to open wax seals.

The King saw this and laughed. Mind clouded with the green tongues of wildfire. I am the dragon! "You think you can slay me? Be a kinslayer yourself, sweet sister?" She lunged at him, only for Aerys to sidestep it, bringing the metal rod again and again on her back and sides. "Get on the fucking bed!" Rhaella shoved him back, racing away. "Get back here, sister!"

She kicked the door to their bathchamber closed, hearing it smack. "Brother! Stop!" Rhaella screamed, rivers of tears stained with blood and snot running down her cheeks. Tripping on her vanity stool, she fell to the marble floor. Crying out in pain as her husband's steps stomped closer to her. "Think of muna!"

Aerys stopped where he was, clenching the poker tightly. Her words echoing in his head. An image of Betha Blackwood, her smile loving and her eyes sparkling, filled his mind. Breaking through the green-tinged haze for but a moment… only for the wildfire within to roar back. "Muna's dead!" he bellowed, kicking down the door and advancing on the hapless Rhaella.

"No, Aerys! Stop!"

"You're mine, slut! Mine to breed!" Further screams echoing from beyond the door to the royal chambers. Each one a knife to Jaime's heart. Over and over and over again… "Mine!"

The Lannister knight shook. Hearing nothing but the screams of the woman he loved desperately. "You're hurting me! Stop… I'm begging you!" A faint crack rang out, the King bashing her with his fist.

"My son will have a dragon bride!" Clothes ripping, Jaime's hand drifted to his sword. Teeth gritting as his fingers wrapped around the hilt. Ready to storm in and run it through the King's back. "You will give me one!"

"Aerys… ahhhh" Her wails pierced his ears.

"Mine!"

Protect her…

Not from him.

As the Queen screamed, Jaime stood there. Hand on his sword, but unmoving. Unable to do anything for her…

And wanting to die.

Notes:

Unfortunately, for Dany to be conceived the worst had to happen. It was not easy to write, and much harder for Rhaella and Jaime to deal with :(

But yes, the Starks couldn't escape death this time around. Only this time Aerys has no leg to stand on - Rickard and Brandon were completely innocent of even stupidity.

Next time, Lyanna will have to find out the truth. Not going to be pretty :(

Chapter 43: Farewell, My Loves

Notes:

Hey guys! Today's my birthday! Thought it would be perfect to get out a chapter today :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Well, well, your Grace." Prodding her stomach with his finger, Lyanna yelped a bit at the maester's firm motions. "You are definitely with child."

The northern Princess wanted desperately to feel happy. "And… is he… is he healthy, Maester Qyburn?" It was almost choked out.

Beside her, Elia gripped her hand tight - putting on a braver face but just as nervous. Her husband leaned down from where he stood, mouth by her ear. "I love you," he whispered. Gods, without both Lyanna would undoubtedly be lost.

Maester Qyburn was a wiry man with slicked-back hair. Eyes twinkling with an inquisitive nature that didn't hide why he sought out the Citadel. "You need not worry, Princess. I don't see any reason you should worry about the little Prince."

Elia simpered with glee as she hugged Lya. Rhaegar was more circumspect, kissing the crown of her head - but a glance up found his eyes watering. Lyanna let out a relieved breath, letting herself feel the joy of the babe in her womb and the love they all felt for him. "Oh gods," she murmured, laughing softly. "You're sure?"

"I earned a gold link in my chain for exceptional knowledge in the methods of human quickening, your Grace," he smiled, patting a golden link. No maester she had seen ever had one, let alone the dozen he had.

"You should be an Archmaester then," Rhaegar observed. "The Citadel needs more men like you."

The wiry maester sighed. "Alas, my desired choice of study always butted heads against orthodoxy. It was either take my chain away or accept whatever outlying keep needed a maester." Taking a concoction from his shelf, he handed the bottle to Lyanna. "Take this with each breaking fast to ensure proper growth, and exercise regularly while avoiding stress."

"Don't worry, maester," Rhaegar replied. "I make sure they get plenty of exercise." It took a split second before they caught his meaning, Elia and Lyanna blushing madly.

"I can't believe you said that, Rhaegar," Lyanna chided, smacking his chest for the fourth time as they walked back to their chambers. She was held tight against his side, relishing the closeness.

"You should know by now our husband's propensity to tease," smirked Elia. "It's better than his brooding, though he is handsome in both." Almost puffing out with his ego stroked, she caught the eye of her sister-wife and they laughed at Rhaegar's antics. "That was a relief, though," she sighed.

Lyanna reached down to rub her belly. "You heard the maester, Jon. You are strong."

Rhaegar wrinkled his nose. "Are we sure about Jon? Why not a proper Valyrian name, like Daeron, or Jaehaerys?"

"I'll have you know that Jon was the chosen name of our Valyrian Prince," Lyanna smirked, kissing Rhaegar's chin. She would always treasure that memory of the marketplace. "Jon Targaryen, a powerful dragon."

"Dragonwolf," Elia corrected, smiling at the thought. "I suppose that makes Rhaenys and Aegon dragonspears."

"I think sun dragons to be a better term," Rhaegar remarked, only for him to frown.

Elia noticed. "Gods, husband. What do you have to brood upon now?" It was very clear something serious was on his mind.

"Rhaenys, what shall we tell her of the babe?"

Both Princesses sighed, eyes sad. Their eldest had largely gotten over the atrocities inflicted upon their little family by King Aerys, but Visenya's death… changed her. She had matured greatly, but her carefree, mischievous streak had dimmed greatly. They knew she wouldn't take this well. "I hadn't considered that, honestly." Elia had been swept up by the joy of Lyanna's quickening… as well as her growing sexual appetite.

"Would you want me to…"

Rhaegar was cut off by Lyanna. "I'll do it." She pains because of my loss, my suffering. "She needs to hear it from my lips." After a short silence, Rhaegar merely pulled his brides into a hug… just what they needed.

Parting with both her loves, Lyanna bit her lip as she arrived at the door to Rhaenys' chamber. Knocking for propriety's sake, she entered to find a familiar sight. "Morning, Rhae," she said warmly.

As expected, Rhaenys was sitting quietly, Balerion in her lap. At seeing Lyanna, her eyes sparkled. "Muna." Instead of getting up and running to her, she simply beamed.

Lyanna smiled back. Quiet… less carefree. There was growing up and there was this - not at all normal for a child like Rhaenys had been. Striding over, she picked up the little Princess, cat and all. "How is my little dragon this morning?"

She giggled. "I'm well, muna. Just… enjoying quiet."

"That doesn't sound like the mischievous little dragon I know," she smirked, nuzzling her shoulder. Rhae merely cocked her head to the side, seeing right through her. "I need to tell you something important."

Rhaenys' expression was perfectly Elia. It made Lyanna love her more. "What's wrong, muna?" she asked as she was set down on the bed. Balerion curled to sleep at the edge of the bed.

Lyanna stroked a hand through the raven curls. "You're so much like your muna and kepa." Taking a deep breath, Lyanna met Rhae's violet eyes. "Little dragon, you're having another brother."

There was instant recognition. "Babe?" she asked, setting a hand on Lyanna's stomach. "Brudther?"

Lyanna nodded. "Aye. A new prince and brother." She was hopeful.

The next words dashed her hope. "No!" Rhaenys' breathing quickened. It was horrible. Her muna…

Trying to remain calm, Lyanna wrapped her arms around Rhaenys. "Sweetling, it's alright…"

"No! Not alright!" But her muna held her tight. Hearing Lya's heartbeat, it became too much. Whatever hope she had of staying strong as she had for a whole moon was dashed, Rhaenys breaking out into sobs.

"Rhae… don't cry." The scene tugged at Lyanna's heartstrings.

"No babe… babe almost took you from me…" she said between tears. "No lose you, muna."

"You won't lose me."

"I will, and it my fault…"

Lyanna was confused, but continued to stroke her back through the cute purple dress she wore. "Why by the gods would it be your fault?"

She buried her face into Lyanna's dress. "I made grandfather hurt you… first time. Then he hurt you cause babe… now new babe…"

It made sense, Rhae's personality change. A combination of selfless guilt and utter worry for her life. There was no doubt she was Rhaegar's daughter. "Listen to me, my little dragon. Dragons and wolves protect each other."

"Pack survives," Rhaenys mumbled.

"Aye, together it survives." She was a very smart young lady. "We're gonna protect each other, I promise."

There was a silence only broken by soft cries and sniffles, Rhae trembling in Lyanna's arms. "Can…" She sniffled. "Can I touch babe?"

"You certainly may."

Leaning down, Rhaenys placed her hands on her muna's belly. "Hi bro...ther…" She stroked the soft skin. "You part of my pack, now. I protect you lots and lots." Her tiny lips pecked just above Lyanna's navel. "Love you, brother."

Feeling the tears return, this time of happiness, Lyanna hugged Rhaenys back to her.

---

"And so… when Lord Stark asked Bael about the payment for his singing, he requested only the most beautiful flower blooming in Winterfell's gardens. As one would think," Benjen stated, "Brandon gave him a winter rose."

"Winter roses are beautiful," Rhaegar mused. "As are the girls they crown."

Lyanna rolled her eyes as both Elia and Ashara swooned - only half done to irritate her. "You're lucky I'm already married to you. A poet you're not."

He smirked. "Liar." Lyanna chucked a throw pillow at him from where she sat and they all laughed.

"Anyways…" Benjen was regaling them with the tale of the great Bael the Bard on the hot afternoon along the Torrentine, making them forget about the winter's heat in the guest solar even for a little while. "The following morning, the maiden daughter of Lord Stark had disappeared, and in her bed was the blue winter rose."

"Gods…" Elia hadn't expected that. "What is it with Stark girls and mysterious, handsome singers? It's happened twice now."

"Not you too, Elia." Had her sister-wife not been massaging her swollen feet at the moment, Lya would have smacked her with the throw pillows too… but it felt too good to rock that boat.

Ashara grinned at Lyanna. "She has a point, your Grace."

"Twice in two thousand years does not count as a trend, although after long marrying other northerners, we have a weakness for dashing, exotic lovers." Rhaegar's Valyrian features - especially in his loose tunic and red trousers so easy for her to strip him from - simply made her wet just by looking at him. Eyes shifting back to Elia, seeing her smooth honey skin and revealing Dornish dress also confirmed her statement.

Stop it, Jon. You're making muna too ravenous. It was weird to say to her babe, but it was true. Pregnant, Lya was simply insatiable in bed.

She could feel his eyes trained on her. "Lya, what are you thinking?"

Looking up at him, she smiled. "How happy I am. Of all the people I love." With the coup rapidly coming, Lyanna learned to enjoy these days as long as they lasted.

Fate, had other plans. A knock at the door drew Benjen to it, finding a servant. "Dispatches for his Grace." Bowing, the man left as quickly as he came.

"Who's it from?" asked Elia as Benjen handed them to Rhaegar.

"Hmmm… one from Connington and one from my mother." He opened Connington's first, brows knit in confusion from the first line. "This is odd…"

Rhaegar Targaryen

You are instructed by Royal Decree to return to King's Landing at once with your family.

Jon Connington

Hand of the King

Read out loud, it was Ashara that answered first. "He didn't call you by your title as Crown Prince. Something's wrong."

Thinking hard, Rhaegar came up with nothing. "Jon's always had a flair for the dramatic," he figured, taking his mother's letter and breaking the wax seal with his thumb - pursing his lips as he read the elaborate script. "Wouldn't surprise me if…"

Sensing he stopped abruptly, Lyanna looked up. "My love? You were saying?"

Blown eyes trained on the words in front of him, Rhaegar's face went white as chalk. His knees wobbled, slowly backing up until he reached a table by which he could prop himself up. Of all he expected his mother to say - even the most outlandish and far-fetched - nothing could have prepared him for this. Ice filled his veins… freezing the dragonblood if that was even possible.

Now Lyanna was worried. She shared concern with Elia, who stopped rubbing her feet. "Rhaegar? What's wrong?"

Mouth opening to reply, nothing came out. Rhaegar's jaw flopped open and closed like a fish - the words simply died on his throat. How… how can I tell her this… "Give it here," Ashara demanded. It was a level of familiarity that Arthur had earned, but was too chivalrous to use - his sister would use it for him as Lady in Waiting and close friend to Elia. Not a few seconds into her reading did she let out a half-hiss, half-growl. "Fuck… just… fuck…" How else could she describe this?

The greatest worry filled the northern princess. "What happened? Rhaella? Viserys?" There were few things that could get her husband this panicked. Oh no… Aerys… "Rhaegar," she begged. "Please tell me…"

"Your father and brother are dead." He croaked. Scared to see her world shatter yet again, but making sure to look into her eyes all the same.

Lyanna blinked, as if not registering. "What?" It hadn't hit her yet.

Elia rose, trembling. "Ash, let me see." Ashara handed over the letter from her limp hands, Elia quickly scanning it. Shock hitting her for a split second, followed by a deep rage. "That sadistic cunt!" she screamed. "That fucking vicious mad cunt!" Elia slammed a closed fist against the wall, honey-brown eyes blazing - ignoring the throbbing in her hand. "Damn him to all the seven fucking hells!"

It didn't take long for Lyanna to put it together. Suddenly she felt as if a Baratheon warhammer had slammed in her chest. "No…" She sat up, eyes wide and alert.

"What?!" Young and brash, Benjen was incredulous. "What do you mean, they're dead?! What the fuck happened?!"

"No... you're lying." She knew what they would say, and wasn't having it. "It's not true!" Her sister-wife didn't reply, only walking close to her and handing off the letter. Rhaella's script passed forth for the last time. Hands trembling, Lyanna read the words, letting out a gasp of agony.

By the Seven, my son. Your goodfather and goodbrother are dead! Gods forgive me for being the one to destroy whatever happiness you've found in Dorne, but your father's last strings of sanity have snapped. And dear Lyanna and her family found itself in the face of the flames.

Somehow, Aerys discovered about Lya being the Knight of the Laughing Tree. He declared it witchcraft and had Brandon and Rickard Stark burned alive with wildfire, while putting a bounty on Lya's head and stripping House Stark of all titles and authority. What's worse, he stripped you of your name and birthright.

Also, it seems Jon was responsible for the death of Jon Arryn. Someone snuck the news out of the city and now Lord Elbert has called his banners for revenge. The city reeks of wildfire as all prepare for war.

I can't tell you what to do or where to go, but please do not waste time. Forget about me and protect your family. Find a way to finish this, for all our sakes.

Your Muna.

Paper falling to the floor, Lyanna sat there, unable to move. Her world suddenly stopped, mind blank as it tried to comprehend what she had just read. Father… Bran… burned alive… Only half a minute had passed, but it felt like years. The same monster that took away her beloved Visenya had now killed more of her family... "It can't be true… It just can't…" She looked upon Rhaegar, upon Ashara. "This is some sick jape, right?" It had to be… there was no way the gods could be this cruel.

You lost your child…

A hand went to cup her still flat stomach on instinct.

Seeing the truth, Benjen collapsed into a chair, armor clinking. Face expressionless as he sat dazed. This couldn't be happening. His father and brother couldn't be dead.

But it was happening. "It's not a jape," Rhaegar said, his own face twisted in pain. "My mother would never lie, and it was her writing. I can tell." Oh, how he wished it weren't true. That his love wouldn't have to suffer more simply because she married him. That there wouldn't be war… but only those were true, not the hope of happiness.

Her breathing grew heavy, heart clenched in a vice. "No! No, you're lying!"

Anger still raging, Elia heard her sister-wife and immediately calmed. "Lya…"

"Tell me it's a jape!" Her scream shook the room, but it held no anger. "Please…"

Elia threw her arms around Lyanna. "Oh, my love. I'm so sorry."

Normally the soft embrace of the Dornish Princess would soothe Lyanna, but in the state she was in. I'll never see father's tiny smile, feel his fingers ruffle my hair… never will hear Bran's laugh again… dead… dead… burned alive… wildfire… Knight of the Laughing Tree… Both of them killed for her and her impulsiveness. "My fault." She began to feel short of breath… My fault...

Hearing those words from her brought Elia physical pain. "No, my love. It wasn't your fault… that monster…" She hadn't grown too close to the Starks apart from perhaps Ned, but the anguish of Lyanna was enough to bring her to tears. "Please, Lya…"

Lyanna was beyond tears. Unable to breathe, heart being pressed on by an unseen weight. She collapsed onto Elia's shoulder, hyperventilating. "Bran… father… dead… burned alive… Jon… Jon…" It was all happening again. Her nightmares coming true, all falling apart.

At Elia's panicked look, Rhaegar gestured to Ashara. "Find Maester Qyburn. Now!" The woman was only glad to comply. He then dashed to beside his brides, enveloping them in his comforting arms. "Calm, Lya… calm… I'm here, I love you. I love you. I love you…"

Her breathing began slowing, comforted by both Elia's softness and Rhaegar's enveloping strength. "Jon… Rhaenys… Egg... not safe… our babes…"

"Nothing will happen to our babes, my loves," Rhaegar murmured, holding them tighter. "I will kill anyone that harms them." Hearing a throat clear, the Prince's eyes met his goodbrother's. Seeing the burning resolve within Benjen's gaze… knowing his own mirrored it.

Both knew what had to be done.

Both knew war had come to Westeros, and if their family was to survive they'd have to win.

And it terrified Rhaegar.

---

What brought only pain for the Targaryen family instead brought panic to the great hall of Starfall. Everyone trying to yell over the other as they argued.

"Aerys Targaryen disgraces our Princess!" bellowed Ser Gerold Dayne, the 'Darkstar.' "And he has murdered the Leige Lord of my unborn cousin's mother in cold blood! It's time we bring the wroth of Dorne upon him!" The four-and-ten nameday old was as brash as he was skilled.

"Sit back down before you hurt yourself!" barked the graceful young beauty Lady Larra Blackmont. She had just arrived the previous day from her keep further north on the Torrentine to greet the Crown Prince, and not only had she found her House's longtime rival House Peake there, but a brewing civil war. It irritated her and the young Darkstar suffered for it. "Gonna bring ruin to Dorne if you go off yelling like a wildling into every battle."

Alaric Dayne interjected for his cousin. "We're already deep, my Lady. Gods, do you think the favor curryers of Aerys' court will let House Dayne survive from this?"

"House Peake sides with you, my Prince," proclaimed Titus Peake. "Name where you wish for us to go and we will follow you."

"So will I, my Prince." Myles Mooton - a former squire and current sworn sword alongside Richard Lonmouth - was utterly loyal. Even to the point of defying their lieges would they fight for Rhaegar, though Ser Myles was less likely to betray House Tully than Ser Richard was to betray House Baratheon. All knew where Robert would go.

Seated at the lord's table, Rhaegar rubbed his temples. He had listened to their squabbling for over an hour and it hadn't ceased. "There can be no peace now. War is for certain…"

Lord Althos' voice was still powerful. "Lord Arryn calls his banners. Soon Lord Stark will as well. King Aerys has no shortage of enemies, and it is a close run thing for you to be declared one as well by the rebels."

"My goodbrother would do no such thing!" Rhaegar exclaimed, only to sigh. Ned wouldn't… but his bannermen might. "By the nature of my father's declaration, I am just as much an enemy as they are."

"You will face the might of the Stormlands for sure," Lady Blackmont cut in. "Not to mention the oaf Mace Tyrell.".

And yet, another guest found himself insulted. "My father is not an oaf!" Three-and-ten Garlan Tyrell, squire to the Crown Prince, shouted. "He's just confused and without recourse!"

The condemnation of Rhaegar's retinue was swift. "Shut up, whelp," Ser Richard snarled.

Benjen Stark lept in, his mood just as foul if not more so. "We all know why your father sold his soul to the Mad King!" He was itching to lash out. Had it not been at the meeting it would have been at the training yard. "Backing a monster in exchange for your infant sister becoming Viserys' Queen."

"That's not true…!"

All bickering was cut off as the doors swung open - revealing the Princesses. Guarded by Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne, each stood side by side with Lady Dacey and Starfall's own Ashara Dayne behind them. All stood, bowing to the two beauties as they walked by - easily noticing their clasped hands. Elia met their eyes, studying them, while Lyanna kept her head high. Eyes red and sunken with grief but still tall and powerful in the red and black dress of her house by marriage.

Every inch a Targaryen Queen.

Ashara took a seat among her father and brother, squeezing Elia's free hand while kissing Arthur's cheek. Tellingly for those present, Dacey sat there too, brought into House Dayne regardless of marital status. One of them, and it made the Queens smile softly as they reached the Lord's table. Elia hugged Rhaegar closely, kissing his jaw before sitting - while Rhaegar approached Lyanna, she stopped him with a searing kiss to the lips. A united front against the world, just what he needed them to be.

Still standing, Rhaegar looked upon the hall. "I have listened to what all have had to say." Everything had been coming to this moment - much as he had lived in denial, Rhaegar knew it would arrive. "And have made my decision." Glancing at both his Queens, they nodded at him - love evident. It was time…

I was never going to be the dutiful son no matter what I did. Once the madness took over, his father was doomed. Rhaegar saw that now.

"For too long my father has been ruling the Seven Kingdoms with an unsound mind." He sighed, mentally leaning on his beloveds even in their time of sorrow. "The murder of my goodfather and goodbrother only proclaimed his inner demons to the world."

"What will you do, your Grace?" Lord Peake asked.

"I will take my birthright." There was an awed silence, witnessing history. "My father no longer lives, all that made Aerys Targaryen now gone." Rhaegar drew Blackfyre, holding it vertically against his chest. "I go to war against the cabal that controls the shell my father was, and I will claim the Iron Throne."

Arthur Dayne's voice boomed into the hall of his ancestral home. "All hail Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of His Name. King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The moment should have shook him, but instead Rhaegar felt a weight lift from his chest. "I do not expect to command you, but I ask that you join me in this fight."

Several moments passed before Ashara Dayne, the beauty of Starfall being the first to swear allegiance to King Rhaegar I Targaryen of the House of the Dragon. A fact committed to detail by Maester Qyburn for his future histories. "Long may he reign."

The aging, hobbled Lord Althos Dayne slowly stood… and slowly bent the knee as his daughter did. "Long may he reign."

Alaric Dayne was next. "Long may he reign!"

Titus Peake drew his sword and knelt. "Long may he reign!"

Lady Melisandre smirked, eyes never leaving Rhaegar as she knelt. "Long may he reign!"

Barristan and Oswell made their choice. "Long may he reign!"

The Lord Commander followed, loyalty to the true King. "Long may he reign!"

His father having chosen Aerys, Garlan nevertheless went with the man he loved and respected. "Long may he reign!"

All others in the hall knelt, filling Rhaegar's chest with a surreal pride. "Long may he reign!"

On his left, Rhaegar felt Elia kiss his jaw lovingly - her slim, soft form pressed into his side. "Long may he reign."

On his right, his eyes spotted Lyanna… looking with pride in the man she loved. "Long may he reign." She guided her hand to her belly - it was as if Rhaegar could feel the babe inside her.

For them, I fight.

Essence wafting through the great hall, a gentle, ethereal spirit smiled. Knowing her first champion in centuries had finally woken from his slumber. 'We are with you, Rhaegar Targaryen.'

---

It was not something she looked forward to, but the uncertainty of it all pulled Princess Elia Targaryen away from her husband, sister-wife, and children to seek out a woman she was sure she despised. A woman that opened the door on Elia's second knock as if she knew. "My Queen."

"Lady Melisandre." Elia didn't even bother to hide her disdain as she walked in. She had obvious reasons to hate the woman - especially since she was travelling with Rhaegar on his journey north. It filled her with fire and jealousy, but something drove her to ask something of Melisandre. The only greater emotions than anger… love and fear. "I… I want to see the future."

Raising an eyebrow, Melisandre regarded Elia curiously. Fire-red hair wild to the world only enhancing her exotic appearance - it made Elia want to roll her eyes. There was no woman that could match her Lyanna in beauty. "You wish for my Lord to provide you his guidance?"

"Yes." Best play along.

"Why?"

Elia sighed. "Because I worry about my husband… I worry about my wife… my children." In spite of herself, a tear formed in her eye. "I need to know what will happen. Can you provide it?"

Two red eyes raked over her before turning to the hearth. "The Lord has shown me many things, your Grace. Life and death, joy and agony, war and peace… along with things I can;t begin to describe." She looked back at Elia. "You will be given not what you seek, but what he chooses to show you. Is that acceptable?"

It took but a moment for Elia to reply. "Do it."

"Alright." Melisandre motioned to the hearth. "Stare into the hearth, let the flames calm and warm you." Elia complied, hearing the almost inaudible High Valyrian chants from the Red Witch as she tossed blessed oil into the flames - making them spark.

"Is this supposed to work?" Elia asked… though it came out far more dazed than she had intended it...

"Look into the flames, my Queen. Let the Lord show you the way."

She blinked, almost sleepy. Elia found her eyes glazing over, orange-red flames hissing and crackling as her gaze fall deep into the fires. Almost as if she was being pulled in...

Elia emerged in a great waste. Ground baked into nothing but red sand and stone, a red, foreboding sun casting its heat upon it. It didn't faze her, though. The sun was her family's sigil, the source of the life-giving heat that forged dragons by which her husband found his blood and power. It felt… comforting.

'Dearest Elia…'

She looked up, a voice filling her ears. Elia searched around, but found nothing but the barest of deserts.

The voice still spoke to her. 'Be warned, my sweet Queen. Enemies abound.' In the distance, the moon began a slow and steady rise - sun beginning to dim for each inch in the sky its counterpart gained. Gradually, the heat around her started to cool. Normally she didn't mind the cold, but each bit of it brought nothing but agony to her as she winced in pain. 'Ice is pain. Snow is death. They will destroy you…'

It was seductive, the voice appealing to her. Urging her anger and hate at the cold that so hurt her. Casting her condemnation at the moon that was slowly strangling the sun of her house.

'No, Elia!' Another voice hit her, this one light and innocent despite the frantic tone. Almost as a mother or a dear friend rather than the deep timbre of a lover that came before. 'Ignore the pain. Banish the hate - allow only love and understanding and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.'

'The siren offers false hope. Cast it away,' the first voice commanded in such an enticing tone. Around her, light dimming as the sun was being slowly destroyed by the rising moon, a fine black whip of smoke began its journey to wrap around her. 'Destroy the ice and snow. Melt it with the heat of your heart…'

And yet another whip appeared, this one a cobalt blue. Encircling her in a spiral as it danced a vicious battle with the black. 'Hold, my dear. Let not your heart be turned to hate and anger. You know that of the north to be of love… of your dearest love…'

North… North… Shaking in rage, sweating from the freezing pain, Elia looked up to see the sun dead, replaced by a terrifying moon of ice and death… but Elia sighed. Letting the cold embrace her. For there was nothing of the North that she knew but love…

Suddenly she fell onto her back, shielding her eyes as the moon exploded into a brilliant yellow sun. Brighter than the first had ever been. And in the distance, Elia could just hear the cry of a babe…

Yanking back, Elia sucked in breath after breath. Hand flying to steady her beating heart, frantically searching around to only see the chambers of the Lady Melisandre. "Your Grace… what did you see?"

Recovering her bearings, Elia felt a need to be with her loves. To seek their love after the… confusing, terrifying image. Without another word she walked out, shutting the door behind her.

Sighing, Melisandre turned back to the hearth. "Tell me your secrets, my Lord. What do you wish from the Song of Ice and Fire?" The flames only danced in response.

---

"Rhaegar…" Elia gripped her King's muscular ass. "Don't stop… lover…" she murmured into his ear, begging. Pleading as he bottomed out inside her. "Oh…"

"Elia," he hissed through gritted teeth. Her hands on him, her legs wrapped around his back - her cunt squeezing him powerfully. He couldn't count the number of times he had taken Elia that night, but it was never enough. Couldn't make up for the years they denied themselves this… nor what he would have to do. "I love you."

Heart clenching, Elia's mouth gasped silently with each thrust. Looking up at him with the most tender look. "I… love you too…" How could her dragon make her swoon in the middle of the filthiest acts? Her hips bucked with his in tandem, trembling from Rhaegar's thrusts. He rocked stones-deep into her and she still wanted more. "Please…"

How could he deny this goddess? Her walls clutched his cock, Rhaegar's pressure building but holding back stubbornly. Bottoming out into her with long, slow strokes that made Elia writhe in pleasure.

An eager embrace wrapped around him from behind. "Please husband," his other bride's sultry northern burr whispered in his ear. "Make her come… hurry." A wet tongue traced the shell of his ear before latching to his neck, sucking softly - he felt alive.

Elia gasped, pulling him down upon her. Their mouths fusing together in a sloppy kiss. Rhaegar quickened his pace, needing his sun to pulsate around him. To cling to his chest and cock as she quivered her release. She screamed into his mouth, nails nearly clawing his back open in her climax. He hadn't spilled in her this time, but Elia didn't care.

Her other love deserved his seed, and her mouth watered at the prospect of watching it.

Hearing Elia wince when Rhaegar pulled out of her, Lyanna bit her lip. Her husband eying her buxom chest with hunger. She puffed her globes out. Silently giving him permission to ravish her. Gods, she was already wet enough.

But after countless lovemaking Rhaegar even still could surprise her. He pulled her on top of him, Lyanna instinctively straddling his cock. "Fuck… Lya…" Without delay he latched onto a brown nipple, sucking hard. Lyanna almost cried out from the pleasure.

"Take him, my love," Elia gasped, Lyanna's eyes darkening at seeing her pleasuring herself. "Ride our husband. Make him spill inside you." She assaulted her clit. "Make him remember what he fights for."

Words finding her body howling with desire, Lyanna frantically grabbed Rhaegar's cock, letting him slip between her wet lips as he still devoured her breast. Walls stretching to fit him in, he was so deep inside her. More… more… more… oh, gods… Her thighs clenched his hips, skin slapping together. Filling Elia's lecherous gaze with sinful images. The three of them shattering together in a mutual crescendo.

And here they were. Lyanna resting atop her husband while Elia wrapped around his side. Rhaegar held them both, softly stroking their silky smooth skin - completing the wonderful cocoon as the embers of their pleasure burned.

Yet, such a moment wasn't one of happiness. Instead, heartbreak and worry hung in the air. Such kept Rhaegar's hold tight on his Queens. Such had Lyanna and Elia pressed as extensively as they could against their King's skin. As if this would be the last time they would see him.

It was Lya that broke the long-lasting silence first. "Did… did you prepare everything for the morning?" Her voice threatened to break, holding back much.

Rhaegar sighed into her wild brown locks. "Aye. Ravens were sent to all Lord Paramounts and large houses, with instructions to duplicate them. Enough loyal keeps will spread the message, or else the Citadel will for propriety's sake." It had done so for Daemon Blackfyre, spreading news of his claim for the throne as an avowedly neutral act.

"Doesn't matter," murmured Elia, kissing his neck. "As long as Ned and Lord Elbert are receptive, their rookeries will spread the word."

"Will Elbert…"

"He will." Rhaegar was convinced. "He's not foolish enough to take on my father alone. Ned will support me." He sighed. "If only I have allies left in the capitol. Any remaining have probably fled or been killed."

"Just Lewyn and Ser Jaime," Elia breathed. "And Queen Rhaella."

Rhaegar shook his head. "I can't risk my mother's life, and I'm concerned your uncle wouldn't make a move without your brother's approval as head of House Martell."

"What about Varys?" Lya asked.

Elia sighed. "I don't trust him… he… he had to have known about what was happening and failed to tell us."

"How can you be sure?"

"He knows too much not to be knowing of things like this." But such was too deep a conversation for the moment. She merely snuggled further into her husband's side.

"And Lord Hoster?" The Riverlands always suffered in wars of succession. Brandon's betrothal to Catelyn took away their neutrality, but Brandon was dead. "Ned could marry Catelyn, but I can't ask that of him," Lyanna choked out. "Gods, what must he be going through…"

Her sister-wife leaned up to kiss her shoulder. "Ned is strong. He'll make your house proud." Elia felt her husband tense. "Rhaegar?" The question in her tone was obvious.

His eyes were closed, face pained. "It's all my fault."

Elia hugged him tighter. "No, my love…"

"I should have heeded you, but I never thought Jon would…" It sunk in recently… his longtime friend's betrayal. Was his jealousy so severe he would be willing to destroy Rhaegar because of it? Apparently. "I should have…"

In a combined effort, Lyanna and Elia threw themselves upon him - covering Rhaegar's face in fierce kisses. Elia burying her tongue down his open mouth while Lyanna sucked his neck, both palming their favorite part of him. Stoking his fire, needing his fire. Whimpering in a forlorn joy when he rolled them over. Recriminations forgotten in the all consuming, desperate lust of lovers soon to be seperated.

Sleep didn't matter to any of them. Only this, always this.

Unsaid between all three that should one not return to the embraces of their two loves, at least the memories would exist.

---

The day had come. The day where Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name, would begin his quest for the Iron Throne.

None wanted it to come, none more reluctant than the King-claimant and his Queens. The power of the Iron Throne was still held by Aerys, and only war would dislodge him. Young as they were, the youthful enthusiasm of tourney knights and eager boys were absent. Horror and violence awaited the King-claimant, and the Queens knew this.

Such made the farewell within the outer courtyard of Starfall quite a somber affair.

"Protect them, Arthur," Rhaegar said with a hitch in his voice. The only one among his retinue that hadn't mounted his horse - apart from young Garlan, his squire - the Crown Prince greeted his closest friend. Sworn sword of the Kingsguard, but met as an equal with their hands clasping their forearms. A show of the greatest respect. "Let not harm come to them."

"With my life, your Grace," Arthur replied with conviction. His oath bound him, and now with a family of his own the resolve was only enhanced.

Nodding, Rhaegar turned to his goodbrother. Before he could open his mouth the youngest Stark preempted him. "Winter will come to any that try and harm them." A tiny smile. "Key word being try."

Rhaegar chuckled in spite of the moment. "Good. Thank you, brother."

"Any time… your Grace."

Now it was time to wrench his heart into pieces. What Rhaegar dreaded. For the last year - years before counting the days of a flawed but strong marriage hidden beneath the surface - the Targaryen Prince had found a rock in his beloved brides. Elia, the graceful Dornish Princess and growing political mind, his silent supporter through the greatest trial of his life. Lyanna, the wild northern she-wolf that brought life back to his and Elia's existence. Filled him with the fire needed to do what needed to be done. Rhaegar didn't know what he'd do without them by his side…

"Kepa!"

He barely had time to kneel when his daughter leapt on him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Rhaegar hugged her back, inhaling the scent of her hair. "Rhae…" She smelled just like her mother, and Rhaegar loved his little girl all the more for it.

"Please no go, kepa," she begged. Hot tears slipped through the joins in his armor to the tunic beneath.

Rhaegar softly stroked her back. "I must go, little Dragon." Pain filled him for breaking her tiny heart, but it had to be said. "Duty commands it of me."

She was stubborn like both her mothers. "Why?" Rhaenys held to him tighter as he stood from the ground, taking her with him. "Love you, kepa. I can't lose you…"

"You won't." By some miracle he managed to loosen their embrace, making her look at him. "You're growing, Rhae - growing into a proud Targaryen Princess." One harm securely wrapped around her waist, Rhaegar cupped his eldest's cheek. "I'm gonna need you to be a brave dragon for me. Protect Egg and your unborn brother, and keep your munas happy." Two wide, bright violet pools stared at him intently. "Alright, little dragon?"

Rhaenys nodded. "I will, kepa. I make you proud."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "I'm already prouder than any man has the right to be, Rhae." Setting her down after a kiss to the cheek, Rhaegar gestured to Dacey. "Go to your aunt Dacey. Your munas need me." Headstrong normally, she thankfully listened.

Stopping right before Elia, he reached one arm around her waist while the other moved to pinch the cheek of the quiet Aegon. Fussing in her arms and reaching for him. "He misses you already," Elia murmured into his neck. "So does his mother."

"I love you, Elia." Rhaegar looked in her eyes. "I know I never always showed it…"

"Shh," she cut him off. "I love you too, husband." Elia promised herself she wouldn't cry now, and it took all her strength not to at that moment. "Do what you must. Don't trust Varys more than necessary." The reason could be left unsaid, they trusted each other. "And win."

"I intend to." Kissing her deeply, committing her feel to memory, no sooner than he had let go of her and Egg did his northern Queen leap on him as Rhaenys had. "Oh Lya…"

Unlike Elia, Lyanna was unable to hide her tears - but she remained composed. "If you die I will never forgive you," she hissed fiercely into his ear. "I'll come into the seven hells and cut off your cock myself."

"You love my cock too much," he whispered back, unable to resist the quip. Lyanna laughed through her repressed sobs and kissed him hard. Their tongues battling in a bittersweet passion. "I will return to the both of you," he promised.

Lyanna bit her lip, guiding his armored palm to her stomach. "Jon needs his kepa. Keep your promise." One more savage kiss and it was ended. Rhaegar painfully breaking the embrace and stepping towards Moondancer, leaving the two Queens to stand pressed into each other's sides for whatever comfort they could find.

Garlan bowed his head. "Your Grace." Out came Rhaegar's helm, all of black and with a roaring dragon's head in the crest - two wings of steel rising on each side.

Nodding at his squire, the Prince took the helm and placed it upon his head. Mounting Moondancer with little trouble. "My King," remarked Ser Barristan, who took position next to his sire. "We are ready."

"So we are." Taking one last look at the gathered noncombatants taking refuge in Starfall with Arthur's House, he drew Blackfyre. Holding it high as Moondancer raised on his hind legs. Looking every inch a dragonlord. "Fire and Blood!" he bellowed

"Fire and Blood!" came the reply, words of House Targaryen the loudest from his Queens. Finding comfort in the house of the dragon.

Notes:

LONG MAY HE REIGN!

And Rhaegar is off to war in yet another timeline. At least now poor Lyanna won't be alone. She has Elia, her kids, and Benjen to keep her company. After all that heartbreak, she's gonna need all that love.

Qyburn shows up. I have plans for him.

Next time, Ned sacrifices much for the survival of his house and his family. Be sure to comment. It's the best birthday gift :D

Chapter 44: Duty is the Death of Love

Notes:

Hey all. hope things are going well.

Enjoy and please comment :D

It felt like a chain weighing on him. Ice, the mighty Valyrian steel greatsword of House Stark,

as a prize of lifetimes. Yet for Ned Stark the belt that held the sheathed sword felt like a Sothoryos python slowly crushing him.

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North… The shouting voices to either side of his perch at the head of the map table were essentially inaudible. I didn't deserve this… my father is supposed to be here...

"My Lord, it is time!"

Blinking, Ned shook aside his daze to find the gathered Lords of his war council either staring at him or glaring at Ethan Glover. "You ask us to be fools," replied Wyman Manderly, wider than when he was last here. "To betray our King."

Greatjon Umber snarled. "The King you speak of burned our Lord and future Lord alive!"

"He speaks not of Aerys, but of Rhaegar Targaryen, husband of our she-wolf and the rightful King," Howland Reed remarked, remaining calm. "Do you dare betray Queen Lyanna Targaryen?"

"Shut up, frog-man," Lord Glover hissed back. "Rhaegar and Aerys can fight for the Iron Throne. It is time to fix a centuries long obscenity. It is time for Eddard of House Stark to reclaim the mantle of House Stark - King in the North!" He smacked his hand on the table.

Lord Manderly smacked his hand in return. "Quiet yourself with that shit! We'd be foolish cunts to toss ourselves in the blizzard rather than bring the blizzard to our enemies."

"What use do we have with the south?! Or with the damned dragons?! Lord Rickard did so and was burned alive by Aerys Targaryen. I say fuck them all! We'll do better on our own like northmen always do!"

"We'll fucking starve without the south, you idiot."

His words drew scorn from Helman Tallhart. "Of course Manderly, you've always been a southern bootlicker, too desperate for that trade with your former masters in Oldtown than the welfare of the North."

Wyman flushed bright red. "Say that to my face you cunt."

"I'll say it as I shove my sword up your fat ass…"

"Enough!" Head pounding, Ned glared at his bannermen. Now mine. "You deign to speak for House Stark? As far as I'm concerned, it is my decision for what course the North takes. I will hear your concerns and ideas, but if you seek to toss me aside and bicker like spoiled babes then I'll find Lords that are more agreeable."

Snorting, Roose Bolton looked over Ned with a thinly veiled respect. He was rising to the occasion surprisingly enough. Time to tie the anchor…

"Cousin, it is our decision for proclaiming a King in the North," Rickard Karstark observed. "Pushing aside your council will only…"

"There won't be any Kings in the North, nor will I ever entertain such from my bannermen," Ned shouted. "My goodbrother has informed me that he is seeking the Iron Throne as the rightful King, and that's the path we will take. The North will stand with King Rhaegar and Queens Lyanna and Elia of House Targaryen, for better or for worse." He eyed each of them, daring Glover or Tallhart or Karstark to disagree with him. No one did. "Good, now, Lord Umber. Have the final forces of the Mountain Clans arrived close to Winterfell?"

Chuckling, eying Ned with a proud glint, Smalljon Umber shrugged. "I suppose they'll be here within the next day, but the ones we're still waiting on are Glover's men."

Ned glared at Ethan Glover. "Lord Glover, is this true?"

Ethan flushed. "I gave the order for my cousin Robett to march with all haste, and you received a raven indicating their departure three days before…"

"Oh, don't expect them to get here for at least a moon," Lord Karstark offered snidely. "Robett Glover is more craven than a sword-swallowing pansy." Ethan pricked, enduring the jeers of the other Lords.

Sighing, Ned eyed the map. "Well, it looks as if we'll have to march south piecemeal. First to move will be the Mormonts, Manderlys, and Boltons. We should say prayers that none of Aerys' forces ambush our men marching down the Kingsroad…"

"My Lord, there is another issue that precludes anything tactical or logistic in nature." Ned's attention was taken by Roose Bolton, tone so cold and emotionless as if dipped in ice - was the man ever warm? The running jape was that he was so frigid that his first wife died of hypothermia in the bedroom. "How do we know Lord Hoster will allow us passage."

Blinking, Ned didn't seem to understand. "Why do you doubt that?"

"He was only allied with us due to your brother's betrothal to Lady Catelyn. With his unfortunate death…"

Silent for the longest time, Ned found his blood going cold. Roose had a point. "I… I…"

Clearing his throat, Martyn Cassel stepped forward. "Actually, my Lord. A raven arrived from Riverrun this morning bearing the seal of House Tully. I was planning to give it to you after the meeting, but now that the topic…"

Ned took the letter, with a mumbled thanks, breaking the seal with his knife. Reading the letter in front of all the men.

Roose waited patiently while Ned read the letter. His expression remained calm, while inside he was truly nervous about his plan. A silver stag to the man that fed the ravens allowed his agents to obtain the raven from Riverrun, one Roose read before anyone else did. It contained the expected condolences from Hoster Tully for the death of Brandon and concern over his daughter… along with the following:

Your brother's death disturbs our alliance that your father so negotiated. If you wish to ratify it, then you have my blessing to marry my daughter yourself. If not, I shall not be offended, and my alliance with his Grace the Crown Prince will not waver.

A man in his employ that specialized in calligraphy duplicated the letter in all respects, except by omitting the last two sentences. Making it seem as if there was no choice in the matter. An alliance only for marriage, nothing else. Watching Ned's expression harden, and then turn into agony, Roose hid a smile. Suppressing his triumphant mood for later.

Ned let his hand drop to the side, still clutching the letter. "So that's it then? I marry Catelyn or the Riverlands will not fight with us."

"My Lord, you must marry her," Rickard Karstark urged.

"No," Howland Reed countered. "He can serve our cause more by wedding Cersei Lannister… or perhaps the remaining unwed sister of Lord Tyrell," he added quickly, knowing only the former was an option Ned could push. "Tywin Lannister provides more men than Hoster Tully could ever field…"

"But only the Riverlands can block us before we even get into position," Roose said. "Catelyn Tully will win us the war, I'm sure of it."

And so it went, the various Lords arguing between each other before Ned hushed them once more. Making his decision for good or for ill.

Ill it would have to be, at least physically for Ned as he arrived at Catelyn's private chambers. Greeting the Tully guards outside, trying desperately not to look like a wight from the weight of what he had chosen. The part of him he had to kill in the pursuit of duty. "How is she?"

One of them winced. "She's barely eaten anything."

"I was afraid of this. May I enter." Ned found Catelyn sitting by the window, staring outside motionlessly. "Lady Catelyn…"

She turned. "Ned…" Her eyes were sunken, face pale. Cheeks stained with long dried tears. She looked like a wraith. "You shouldn't be here."

"I will not dishonor you…"

"It's not that… I'm sorry." The look in her eyes, it was as if she had endured a lifetime of combat and torture. "It is my fault… Brandon's death…"

That shocked him. "Why? What in the gods' name would you think that?" Ned had been worried she'd blame Lya, but not herself.

"I gave him my maidenhead before we were wed, therefore cursing him. It defies the will of the gods to lay before marriage." Panicking for a moment, a mumbled prayer followed. "He was branded by my weakness, and now he was forced to burn… oh gods. How he must have suffered…"

Unable to know what to do, Ned walked to Cat and hugged her. It was stiff and awkward, but she seemed to appreciate it. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was…" came the murmur, but after minutes she seemed to calm down. "What did you wish of me?"

Ned gulped. "Your father betrothed us to be wed." She looked up at him in surprise. With that, Ned handed her the letter. "He gave me a choice, and I've chosen to accept it… you'll be Lady Stark after all." He waited for her to finish, the time interminable.

She gave no expression till the end. "My father truly sent this?"

"Aye, he did." Part of him hoped she would refuse, and he would have an honorable way out.

Catelyn looked to be in a trance. "'The maiden fair is bound to her father, willed to serve his commands…' I must follow his wishes," she murmured.

Ned recognized excerpts of the Seven Pointed Star. He didn't feel it could have gotten any more awkward and unappealing. That proved him wrong. "Are you accepting, my Lady? I shan't force you."

"'Woe to the fair maid that disobeys thy father, nor the wife that runs from thine husband,'" she continued in a daze. "'They have both committed grievous blasphemy against the Mother, as a coward in battle does upon the Warrior..'" Catelyn looked at him. "If such is my duty, it is my duty." Her voice was of a quiet resolve, not the passion and declarations of love Ned had imagined his betrothal would involve. "Brandon always spoke highly of you and you are honorable." Catelyn rose, heading for her chest. "Shall we have it on the morrow?"

"The morrow?" It just seemed so… surreal. "Sure, why not?"

It's not like it will be any different in a week or a moon. No matter what, she would never be Cersei, and Cersei would always have his heart.

Lya, this is for Lya… But deep down Ned knew that Lya would never have asked this of him.

---

A winter's gale lashed the thick walls of Storm's End with a terrifying howl. Lightning crackling through the darkness and waves bashing the cliffs with an intensity that could rival the legendary storms of Durran Godsgrief. "The time has come!" Lord Robert announced, hair and beard matted to his face as he stuck his head out of the window, rain assaulting him without care. "Hear that Rhaegar! You're going to face the Fury!"

"Brother, please listen." Running a hand down his face, Stannis had an uneasy feeling in his gut. Nothing about this smelled right. "Are you sure about this course of action…"

"Of fucking course I'm sure, Stannis! You told me of what Connington negotiated, of the coming threat to the Realm!" He sideled over to the mounted warhammer upon the wall, hefting it dangerously. "Never thought it would be fucking Rhaegar that turned traitor." The Starks were supposedly part of some conspiracy, but he didn't believe it. Lyanna was bewitched by that rapist! "We call the banners! We go to war against the dragonspawn!"

Ser Corlen Greenpools, the aging Master-at-Arms and a veteran of many a conflict was just as wary about this. "Brother, Dorne is undoubtedly to declare neutrality as is Tywin Lannister. Fighting against Rhaegar will put you against the Starks and the Arryns…"

"Pish," laughed Meryn Trant. Knighted by Robert himself after years as his squire, the fool's smugness irked Stannis greatly. "Why the fuck would they side with that pansy?" To Trant, anyone that didn't leave a string of bastards in dozens of women - or twelve-year old maidens just flowered in his case - wasn't a real man.

"Because he killed Rickard and Brandon Stark you little insect!" Stannis hissed back, advancing on the whelp to smack the shit out of him.

But Robert stepped in front of his brother. "Stop it, Stannis! There will be no war in my household, only upon the dragonspawn." He regretted the murder of the Starks and Jon Arryn -

gods, how he had cried after that… but the true villain was Rhaegar. "Ned and Elbert will never side with a rapist."

"My Lord, Lord Arryn has already declared war against King Aerys," Corlen remarked. "The Starks will be next."

"Our fight for Aerys can be temporary," mused Ser Cortnay Penrose. "Kill Rhaegar, then ally with the Vale and North to depose Aerys and install Viserys on the throne."

Robert smacked him on the back. "That's what I'm talking about!" He turned to the one person who hadn't spoke. "Renly! What do you think about that?!"

Quiet and distracted, it took a moment for Renly to hear what his brother said. "Um… All I know is that Stormbreaker will taste plenty of blood."

A bellowing laugh. "Oh brother, you finally say something worth listening too!"

"My lord…" Corlen said, trying one last time to end this madness before it happened. "I've fought in many wars alongside your father and grandfather... Nothing ever goes according to plan, and victory is often bathed in oceans of blood. Would corrupting yourself on the altar of Aerys Targaryen and alienating your greatest friends be worth the cost…"

"Saving my Lyanna from that rapist is always worth it!" the Lord snarled smacking Stormbreaker against the floor. "Call the banners!"

Later, in his chambers, Renly shut the door. Falling against it with a deep exhale. It had taken all of him not to speak during the meeting, all of him not to feel terror at the prospect of war. Bitter as he was, actual blood and death scared him greatly…

But it was the tiny letter in his pocket that kept his resolve. For what had to be the dozenth time, he pulled it out.

Dearest Renly,

War comes, and I know I can count on House Baratheon's armies, but I must count on you as well.

Rhaegar is at Starfall, and he will not risk his family in the coming war. They will stay there at the protection of House Dayne.

Hear me, Renly, Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell are dangers to peace and to House Targaryen. They must be controlled by those loyal to the Realm or else their poison will destroy all we love.

A ship of fifty thousand gold dragons will arrive in Storm's End harbor by the end of the moon. Use them to raise an army to take Starfall once the war truly commences. Ensure that the two whores are brought to me with all haste.

I am counting on you, my sweet Stag. Once all is done, you and I can be together.

Jon

Holding the letter to his breast, Renly swooned of a man in love. For Jon, he would do anything.

Even the most brutal acts.

---

He could smell it even from here in the Tower of the Hand. No matter how many candles of scented oils or braziers packed with herbs that he burned, the stench of wildfire and burning bodies wafted up the countless stories to his nostrils. Jon Connington blanched every ten minutes, but kept up his work. If Willam Darry and Owen Merryweather were set on burning half of court upon the pyres in the courtyard to please the King, then that was alright.

Not that the people condemned to the fire were useful anyway. It kept the King occupied in his mad rants between bouts of taking the Queen in her chambers. Connington had more pressing matters that he would rather not be interfered with.

Desk more cluttered than usual, he kept a checklist close by of the great houses. Already all of the North and Vale were written off, while the Westerlands were conspicuously neutral, as was most of Dorne. The entire Reach was behind Aerys aside from a glaring X next to House Peake. Figures. Connington preemptively got the Stormlands as allies, while the Riverlands was a question mark.

The door thereby entered and in walked Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard and Lord Qarlton Chelsted, the new Master of War. The former was professional, if ruthless - Connington regarded the latter as craven… as well as ruthless. "You sent for us, Lord Hand?" asked Chelsted, taking a seat. Ser Jonothor said nothing, merely leaning against the wall and observing.

Connington nodded, holding up the checklist for the Crownlands. "All houses are behind us except House Celtigar. They've declared for Rhaegar."

"Send me to Claw Isle. I'll burn it to the ground."

"I already sent Lord Velaryon there… and it's deserted aside from smallfolk. Lord Adrian left with all his fighting men and is likely in Maidenpool right now."

This perked Ser Jonothor's interest. "Think they'll use Maidenpool as staging grounds." It was a major keep and close to the Vale and Kingsroad.

"Either that or Harrenhal would be obvious, or Riverrun if they were to seek something farther back." Connington trusted Hoster Tully to keep his alliance with the Starks even with Brandon dead. "Varys says that the Tullys have called their banners, so we better take both keeps to protect against the Vale and the North." It was shorter from the Eyrie to Maidenpool than it was from Highgarden to King's Landing - and Mace Tyrell wasn't known to be fast.

Ser Jonothor quirked an eyebrow. "Take the keeps? And what to do about the Lords if they resist?"

Leaning back, Connington sighed. "You, Ser Jonothor, will lead half our forces to Maidenpool. Lord Chelsted, you take the rest to Harrenhal. If they do not surrender, end their lines." He produced written orders to wit, signed by Aerys himself.

Chelstead grinned savagely. "Consider it done."

The Kingsguard was skeptical - practically so. "Thorne won't go for it." The Young Captain of the Household Guard was known for his honor as well as his loyalty.

"Don't worry about him. I sent him to the Reach to find Rhaegar." Not that he could.

---

Queen Elia

There is no need to worry about the loyalty of House Arryn. By the Grace of the Gods, Aerys the Mad and his vile council will suffer for the despicable murder of my uncle. No Lord that I spoke with will stand against me as I advance to join your husband's cause.

While my uncle in a remarkable act of foresight had called the banners of the Eyrie, the delays in calling up the remaining levies of the Vale will cause several moons delay to be ready to march for the Riverlands. I regret that we cannot meet your timetable, though my impending marriage to Lysa Tully of Riverrun will ensure that our alliances will remain strong.

Elbert Arryn

Lord of the Eyrie

Groaning, Elia dropped her head to the table in frustration. In dozens of letters sent by raven, depleting the rookeries of House Dayne and many of House Blackmont, Elbert Arryn's had been the most supportive aside from the North. Yet even he wasn't rushing to give aid to Rhaegar's cause. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"I didn't think Elia Martell knew how to speak profanity." Elia raised her head to see Ashara leaning in the doorway, smirking and holding a candlestick in her hand. "But from the noises out of your shared quarters, it seems the dragon and wolf have brought you out of your shell."

Reddening, Elia averted her eyes. It was like being with Ellaria… only that Ashara had some desire to hold her tongue. "Did you only come to tease me?"

A snort. "No, but it is amusing." Unbidden, the Lady of Waiting to the Queen made her way to a plush seat across from Elia. "Burning the midnight oil?"

"There is a war on, Ash. I have to do my part so that my husband can come home safely."

"And by home, you mean the home he can come in?" Catching an annoyed glare from her Queen, Ashara laughed. "I'm sorry, Ellaria used that on me when I was ten and four and I've been waiting to use it ever since."

Elia rolled her eyes. "Gods, she's all the way in Sunspear and she's still finding ways to jape with me." But yes… Elia did want Rhaegar to come in her. Every night. "So what truly brought you here?"

Ashara sighed. "Lyanna's stomach was roiling worse than it's ever been." That quickly caught Elia's attention, her expression fearful. "Qyburn settled her stomach with a calming tea and now she's sleeping. She asked for you too."

Hanging her head, Elia felt so conflicted. "Seven hells, I'm neglecting even my own family."

Reaching out, Ashara clasped Elia's hand. "You're a good wife and mother, Elia. As good as you are a Queen, and honestly…" She spread her arms at the papers scattered on the table. "You're fighting for them all the same. Once Rhaegar wins, you'll be the most powerful Queen since Rhaenyra."

"Hopefully I don't end up like her." They shared a weak grin at her quip.

About a quarter of an hour passed with the two of them reviewing the various dispatches. To their relief, even the more intractable upper Riverlands houses such as the Brackens were amenable to backing Rhaegar's cause… all conditioned on Hoster Tully's approval.

"Elia?"

"Hmmm?"

"What's it like, sleeping with a Stark?"

Almost choking on her own spit, Elia looked up with wide eyes. "Why… why would you ask me that?"

"Everyone tells me that Targaryens are like Valyrian gods in bed - I mean, Maekar Targaryen's wife was a Dayne and I've read her diaries." She shrugged. "Was curious as to if Starks were the same. They have magical blood too."

Pursing her lips, Elia slowly smiled. Thinking of her lovely Lya. "It's amazing." The things her wolf's tongue did to her… "It really is like having a wolf in bed, though I can't speak for the men of House Stark." Something clicked in her mind. "Are you pining for the House of the Direwolf?"

It was Ashara's turn to blush. "No."

"Don't lie to me. You were always a terrible liar."

She groaned. "I can't help… but look." Ashara laughed lightly. "I mean, Arthur has the white cloak and now he and Dacey are having my niece or nephew. If one kingsguard can then another kingsguard…"

Oh Benjen, you do not know how lucky you are. Many men propositioned the lovely Ashara Dayne, but this was the first time Elia had seen her truly smitten. Something's there about the Starks. One wouldn't think they were great beauties… but they truly are irresistible and priceless. "I have no doubt that if you fancy him, Ash, he fancies you. I know my goodbrother."

A radiant smile came her way. "Thank you." Another ten minutes of going over reports before Ashara excused herself, yawning.

She hadn't been gone a moment before there was a shadow at the door.

"Muna."

Elia looked up to find not Ashara, but the haphazard curls of her baby girl, two wide violet eyes looking at her. "Oh sweetling. What brings you here."

"Can't sleep," she murmured, soft enough so Elia only barely heard it.

Smiling, the Queen opened her arms. "Want to sit with muna?" With the decisiveness of a dragon, Rhaenys didn't wait before she ran to Elia. Jumping into her lap. "Ooof, careful, little dragon," she chuckled.

"Sorry, muna." The two settled into a rather cozy arrangement. Elia going over more letters from each of the Dornish Lords - more demurrals in light of Doran's inaction - while Rhaenys buried her face against Elia's side.

It stopped when Elia heard soft sobbing. "Sweetling… what's wrong." She dropped all she was doing and hugged her daughter, kissing the crown of her head.

Rhaenys stopped sobbing, but her eyes were red and tortured. "I miss kepa."

Her soft words broke Elia's heart. "I miss him too, my darling daughter." Her eyes were exactly like Rhaegar's, it made Elia both smile and tear up. "Your father is the greatest man I've ever known. I love him very much."

That seemed to make Rhaenys a little happier. "Muna… I… I think, you and kepa… no very close before muna came."

A sigh. Children were more astute than one thought, and Rhaenys was particularly smart. "He and I… we had bad people that gave us a lot of pain. We were wrong to, but it kept us distant." Lyanna not only gave her love, she gave Elia her husband back and for that Elia could never begin to repay her.

Knotting her brows, her violet eyes looked almost… hardened. "Because of grandfather?" The latter was said as if the child was speaking of a demon.

And Rhaenys saw first hand what Aerys was capable of. "Yes, sweetling. Because of grandfather." She wouldn't lie to her daughter.

"I want him burn." There was no levity in Rhaenys' voice. Just certainty in what she wanted. "Kepa burn him like Maegor."

Exhaling, Elia merely hugged her closer. So do I, sweetling. So do I.

---

"I'd advise that you not look like you are watching Winterfell burn, Ned."

Ned frowned hard - apparently the cordial mask he thought he wore well simply wasn't… or Howland was extremely observant. "I'll be fine, Howland. Catelyn is a wonderful girl." Objectively true… if the man waiting by the Weirwood - or Septon rather - had been named Arryn, Tyrell, or even Manderly. But for a Stark of the North… Howland raised his eyebrow, but said nothing. "Something on your mind, Howland?"

The Crannogman shifted his feet. "It's not too late, you know." They spoke in whispers. "You can still back down. Go with your brother's plan to betroth her to Elbert."

Closing his eyes, the Lord of Winterfell - it still felt like bile thinking of himself in his father's boots, far before his time - shook his head. "No. I have my duty." He couldn't lie in front of the Heart Tree. "The North is counting on me. Lya and Rhaegar count on me. My father and brother's memories count on me."

"House Lannister is a far stronger alliance than House Tully." He had agreed to preside over the ceremony, but that didn't mean he agreed with Roose Bolton's reasoning. The Lord simply looked… smug at the front of the guests.

"It isn't the alliance we need at this moment, Howland. We need the Tullys, Rhaegar needs the Tullys." I am the Lord of Winterfell now. For my people… sacrifices must be made. "What sort of Lord would be if I sully my honor by choosing myself over them?" His friend said nothing. What else could be said?

Ned watched the torch-lined path through the godswood. There walked his bride, Catelyn Tully, escorted by the lead of her guards. She wore a long, white gown of Myrish lace and the finest wool of the Riverlands. About her shoulders was draped the blue and red cloak of her House. He hitched his breath, imagining she Cersei for a moment… Don't torture yourself.

Coming to a stop just before him, Catelyn shivered as Ned gently pulled back her veil - eyes fluttering shut. A sheen of silk that the bride insisted upon, not that he truly minded or cared. Her skin was paler than usual, the cold air and snowfall accentuating the red of her hair. Kissed by fire as was said in the North, a good omen for those born with it. And yet, her eyes remained closed.

"Cat," he murmured softly. "It's alright." Slowly her eyes opened, revealing the glistening cerulean pools. A slight redness remained from recent tears, but there was no denying that Catelyn Tully was beautiful. No doubt one of the most beautiful maidens of the Realm.

But not the most. Forgive me, Cersei. Feeling Catelyn's freezing hand take his own, Ned accepted his fate. Turning so that both of them faced the Heart Tree.

Howland cleared his throat. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

Behind, the head of the Tully guard cleared his throat. "Catelyn, of House Tully, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the gods." Ned felt her squeeze his hand tighter. Not out of affection, but of fear - Ned could tell. "Who comes to claim her?"

Gods be with me. "Eddard, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

Howland's eyes conveyed a flicker of sympathy to Ned before looking directly at his bride. "Lady Catelyn, do you take this man?"

Catelyn seemed to steady herself. "I… I take this man."

Normally, this would be the end of it… but on Ned's orders a little tradition of the Faith of the Seven was added to the wedding - hoping to ease Catelyn's tension. "You may now…" Howland looked uncomfortable but nevertheless continued. "Cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Ned drew back, removing her blue cloak. He folded it carefully but quickly - noticing her shivers. Ser Rodrik came forward with the grey Stark cloak, to which Ned slipped it upon Catelyn's shoulders - taking her under the protection of the direwolf. A tiny glint in her eyes belied her gratefulness at the thoughtful gesture.

It's a start.

Now clad in the cloak of House Stark, Ned lightly held her chin and brought his new bride for their first kiss. It was cold, her eyes scrunched shut as if picturing someone different.

Not as good a start as I hoped…

The feast was quite boisterous, a paradox to the somber reality they were faced with… but truly not. Whole-roasted meats, crusty black bread, and gallons of ale disappeared down the gullets of the revelling Lords, soldiers, and smallfolk alike. Not of their new Lord though liking him greatly, nor of their new Lady of whom they had a far lesser regard, but rather for one last chance to be merry before war clouded everything.

Ned could not fault them for this, even as he eschewed the merriment himself.

Beside him at the Lord's table - seated side by side in the places once reserved by his father and mother - Catelyn was equally sluggish. Barely picking at the morsel of roast boar in front of her. Aside from a single dance, his bride hadn't moved. She shifted from momentary glances of distaste at the drunken arm wrestling contests Greatjon Umber engaged with whomever fool was deep enough in his cups to challenge him to a sullen stare that his whatever she was feeling.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" Bidden to answer, Catelyn offered him a small smile. Genuinely glad at the company of someone she knew to be honorable, but… I'm not Brandon. A curse he would always live with, Catelyn or not. He and father deserved to be here.

"A toast!" Roose Bolton called out, his milky eyes twinkling. "To Lord and Lady Stark!" He hoisted his cup high in spite of likely being the only one other than Ned and Cat not to be drunk. Ned regarded him with deem suspicion, while Catelyn seemed happy at the gesture

Rickard Karstark was nowhere near sober though. "Aye! To Ned and Catelyn, may their union bring us victory!" Ale sloshed on the floor as he swayed unsteadily.

"Long live House Stark!"

"Death to the Mad Dragon!"

"The North Remembers!" Hollered toasts boomed within the great hall till it collapse right back into mindless frivolity. Many a bastard would be born that night, most willing from how frisky the maids were with whatever man drew their fancy.

"They mean well," Ned told Catelyn, chuckling.

The tight smile returned, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Forgive me, Lord Stark, but I must retire."

He blinked. "You've barely eaten."

"I ate before the ceremony." Catelyn silently pleaded with him. "Please, Lord Stark. I need a moment to regain my bearings." They had already discussed doing away with the bedding ceremony - given what happened to Brandon and Catelyn's feelings on the matter, being groped by a dozen drunken lords wasn't the best to reassure her.

Sighing, Ned nodded. "You may, my dear. It is not an unwise request." Squeezing his hand with a grateful relief, Catelyn stood. The hall too drunk and preoccupied with a brawl between Greatjon and Ethan Glover to notice her leave. Ned watched as Septa Mordane stood from the end of the Lord's table, following Catelyn with a frown on her face. Her, he was confident enough to admit he did not trust.

Alone at the table, the last true Stark at Winterfell, Ned waited for what seemed interminable. Emptying a tankard of ale with Catelyn's helping of boar and potatoes, it made him numb and warm rather than the tipsy insanity before him. Best to calm as he finally stood

"The conquering hero!" Theo Wull bellowed, drawing laughs and jeers. "Driving his spear into the depths of the Riverlands!" He made an obscene gesture with his hips, which the drunk Lords found hysterical. Ned merely sent back an equally obscene gesture, which was an even bigger hit. Honorable though he was, these were Ned's people and he knew just how to deal with them.

Upon entering his bedchambers, Ned noticed the candles faintly glowing upon the tables and dressers, casting flickering shadows upon the walls. Hushed voices filled the room. Ned quickly traced them to the Septa and his new bride, the former knelt as she clasped Catelyn's hands. The two of them praying in whispers. He wouldn't begrudge Catelyn this, but the presence of Septa Mordane suddenly angered him. Provoking his inner wolf.

Having cleared his throat loudly, the Septa glared but nevertheless stood. "My Lord…"

"Get out," Ned hissed.

"We haven't finished our prayers…"

"I gave you an order," he replied firmly. "I wish to be alone with my bride so I suggest you follow it." The Septa roiled in anger, but propriety won out. Curtseying, she left the bride and groom to themselves.

Catelyn had ditched her cumbersome wedding dress, instead clad in nothing but a woollen nightgown. Dressed-down, but rather modest compared to the outfit Cersei had worn during their first coupling - namely nothing at all. "Must you have done that?" she asked him softly, eyes wide.

He nodded. "A man deserves to be alone with his bride on their wedding night. I would have dismissed anyone." But most of all, her. Unfortunately, the Septa's influence wasn't gone as in Catelyn's lap rested the Seven Pointed Star.

Her eyes shifted down to the holy book. "'The Maid brought him forth a girl as supple as a willow,'" Catelyn read from one of the more famous passages. "'...the Mother made her fertile… and the Crone foretold that she would bear the king four-and-forty mighty sons…' I hope to be even an eighth as fertile, my Lord." If not her Brandon's seed, then his blood.

Ned's cock went limp even with the presence of such undressed beauty. "Here," he said, pouring two cups of Arbor Gold. "To our marriage." Perhaps some wine will loosen us up.

Setting aside the holy book with great care, Catelyn gladly accepted the cup. Sighing as she drank - hoping it would calm her. "The finest vintage… much better than bitter ale." Ned's grip on his goblet grew tight. "Thank you… husband." They drank in further silence.

"You are not a maid," he said abruptly, wishing to just get it out of the way. She stiffened "I have no issue with it, if that's what worries you."

Cat shook her head. "No…" Suddenly tears formed. "Thank the gods we waited… they will bring blessings upon us, not curses."

It took everything in Ned not to roll his eyes. He knew not to criticize someone's piety, but Ned did truly want to. Enough of this. He brusquely pounded his cup on the table, startling her. "Let's get this over with."

Without delay, Ned crossed their gap and pulled her into an embrace. It took Catelyn off guard when he kissed her, his tongue rough as he plundered her. Pushing her onto the bed. Hiking up her nightgown touching her all over. It felt nothing like Brandon… pleasing enough, but without the love and tenderness… No, that was a curse… your duty is here. You must serve your husband, bear his sons…

His annoyance began to dissipate, eyes opening as Ned looked over his bride. She truly was beautiful - perhaps he'd best make the best of this. "Relax, my Lady," he said in a softer tone, fingers brushing over her skin. Flicking her nipples, stroking her sides, playing with her nub. She mewled, but her eyes were shut tight. Thinking of something… or someone. Sighing, Ned lined himself up. Breaching her entrance without fuss.

She squealed. It was abrupt… it hurt a bit, nothing like Bran's loving touches. His supple caresses that brought nothing but pleasure to her system. Only rough, uncaring, lustful, sinful… no, he was her husband. Ordained under the sight of the gods to be her master and her lover - she had sinned with Brandon, and his death was the punishment. Ned was her duty now... His kiss felt invasive, but Catelyn let him have her. The gods demanded she submit.

His wife was tight. Nowhere near fully soaked, but the pressure melding around his cock. This was her… not the one he wanted… not the one he loved. Cersei… Cersei… Her image popped into his mind. Moaning, legs wrapped around his hips as he split her open. How her eyes twinkled mischievously as she begged him to take her on all fours. Cersei… Without delay he spilled inside the woman beneath him. Not Cersei.

Guilt and hopeless longing filling him, Ned rolled off her unceremoniously. This was not how he had hoped his wedding night would be, holding his golden wife close as they lost themselves in countless pleasure… instead faced with his brother's sweetheart, both Bran and their father dead and himself one night away from marching to war.

"I will pray to the Mother that your seed takes root," he heard his wife say. My wife… "That I will bear you a son and heir, a great and noble Lord like Brandon… or yourself."

Her words… speaking of his brother after their coupling, Ned simply couldn't stand it. "Goodnight, wife," he muttered, turning his back to her.

He had fallen asleep before she could even respond, golden hair and emerald eyes haunting his dreams.

---

It had been over a week of constant galloping. Sleeping for a mere three hours a night or on the saddle as they raced through the Prince's Pass and into the Reach. Their horses were tiring, but Rhaegar had no choice in the matter. They needed to get to Riverrun by the next moon or else he could likely kiss his claim goodbye.

The hours and hours of traveling gave the King-claimant plenty of time to think. Of his mother, of his father, of his children and beloved brides. Often going half a day without saying a word - silently brooding. Sometimes the Kingsguards would try to speak to him. Sometimes Melisandre, the only woman among their complement. But they didn't get many words out of him.

This is your fault, their deaths are your fault. One voice constantly berated him, castigating him, sending his soul into the abyss. It was seductive yet dark. Enticing yet malevolent.

You can't blame yourself. You are the solution, dear dragon. Another voice would spur him on, soft and gentle - almost motherly. Fight for them, Rhaegar. Fight for your loves and children…

"Column ahead!" Ser Myles announced, their pointman. Rhaegar eased Moondancer, who neighed but otherwise complied. "Looks like pikemen and riders… a lot of pikemen."

Narrowing his eyes, Rhaegar shaded them to peer at the onrushing soldiers - marching along the road ahead of them. "Doesn't look like they're after us…" He motioned for his squire. "Do you recognize the column?" Rhaegar asked Garlan, who he kept close to him as they travelled through his ancestral lands.

Peering out, the young squire nodded. "Aye, House Fossoway of New Barrell - the personal sigil of Ser Jon, the intended to my Aunt Janna." He let out a breath in relief. "He's a kind man, we don't need to worry." The dashing knight he remembered was a jovial fellow always quick to jape. Charmed all the women in the family apart from his grandmother… no one charmed her.

Gerold frowned. "It's not worth it."

"I'm not lying, Ser Gerold," Garlan huffed.

"Not saying you are, but it's not you I don't trust." The Reach knight's eyes shifted to the far-off column. "House Fossoway was always grasping for more influence." He had seen it in his brother's court. "I could see them trying to take advantage of the bounty on your head for royal favor."

Nodding, Rhaegar nevertheless pulled his cowl tighter about his face. "We'll go beside them on the road. Slowly and nonthreateningly… I'm not taking any chances." Pulling his cowl over his silver locks, Rhaegar turned to Melisandre. "Any glimpse into our near future from your Lord?" She had been very close to the campfire the night past.

She looked at him, gaze unchanging. "Just that you shall find your destiny here." Cryptic as ever, Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders and urged his horse forward.

They grew closer to the column, almost a hundred pikemen of House Tyrell. Made sense that the Tyrells would allow the future intended for the Lord's sister to command their men, but Rhaegar would have vastly preferred one of the Tyrells themselves. "Off the road," said Ser Gerold, all of them pulling their cowls down further. Eventually passing by the marching pikemen. None of whom did anything.

It was halfway through the column when a voice rang out. "Halt!" Rhaegar thought for a split second to book it, but they were nowhere near a safe means to do so. "I'm Ser Jon Fossoway, sworn sword to Lord Mace Tyrell. Who are you?"

Rhaegar disguised his voice. "Just a group of hedge knights passing through."

"I'll bet…" came the sarcastic reply. Pushing up his visor, Fossoway regarded them suspiciously. "Wait, you look familiar," he said. Eyes focused on Rhaegar… suddenly widening. "You're Rhaegar Targaryen."

For his part, Rhaegar scoffed. Voice morphing into a sarcastic chuckle. "Yeah, that's why I'm wearin' dis fancy outfit." He motioned to his threadbare cloak of homespun wool - clearly not one any self-respecting highborn would ever wear. Had someone like Mace Tyrell found it even close to his clothes he'd have the whole lot burned.

While some among the Reach column laughed, Fossoway didn't seem to buy the bluff. "Perhaps." He urged his mount - a large Crakehall stallion - to pass in front of them. Circling the group with hard eyes. "Your horses are all purebred, but any good group of hedge knights would live on bread and water in exchange for a good horse."

Ser Oswell kept his eyes trained on the green apple knight, hard and narrowed. He hadn't been a Kingsguard far as long as Barristan or Gerold - the one Fossoway was least likely to recognize. "You have no authority to detain us on Tyrell land," he ground out.

"No, but I am, nonetheless." Fossoway pulled on the reigns, halting his mount. "That's a mighty fine sword you have," he said, slow grin spreading on his face as he spotted the hilt of Blackfyre poking out of Rhaegar's cloak. "Twin dragon hilt, ruby pommel… almost like Blackfyre." He drew his own blade, pointing it at Rhaegar. "Take off your cowl."

Rhaegar remained calm. "Fuck off and let us pass."

Fossoway frowned. "Take it off or I'll do it for you."

"You can try, but it would be very painful..."

"I doubt it."

"For you," Rhaegar finished, adding to the tension.

And yet, it was Garlan who threw the dice. "Ser Jon, as the second son of Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, I order you to stand down."

Wanting to groan, Rhaegar noticed the pikemen begin to chatter amongst themselves - hold growing looser on their weapons. Perhaps he has something on this after all…

If he was surprised, Fossoway didn't show it. "Ah, my soon to be nephew." He didn't sheath his sword, but did rest it against his shoulder. "Considering you are the squire to Crown Prince Rhaegar - though said title is now suspect - I presume I was correct about this one here."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Alright, the mummer's show is over." He revealed himself, as did the Kingsguards and sworn swords. "And the title is not Crown Prince, Ser Jon."

"Hmmm, planning to surrender to your father? Too bad for this to end so weakly…"

"He is your rightful King, Fossoway," Ser Gerold barked, removing his cloak so that his Kingsguard armor was revealed in its glory. "You are to address him as such."

A laugh left the knight. "His ass hasn't sat on the Iron Throne, nor does he have the capitol… or an army that I can see." Fossoway looked over Rhaegar with a greedy glint. "But his Grace, Aerys II would love to get his hands on you… and reward anyone who does it." He motioned to his men. "Take their swords and escort our… guests."

"Do not resist," Rhaegar ordered. Now was not the time - they would be slaughtered if he resisted.

Garlan bristled though. "I demand to see my father and grandmother!"

"Shut up," Fossoway ordered.

"No, your right to pit and gallows does not extend to Tyrell lands. Only my father can issue that order." He knew his stuff.

Ser Jon didn't look happy at that, but he was boxed in. "Your father is in King's Landing and your grandmother is out of the keep… your mother will have to make the final decision then." He jerked his hand to the west. "Let's go."

"You're making a big mistake, Jon of House Fossoway," the Lady Melisandre said matter of factly. The only one among them who didn't hide her face.

"And just who might you be?"

She smiled. "The one who will warn you. The night is dark and full of terrors - be wary to actually wade into it where you can't see the enemy coming to knife you in the back."

He laughed again. "You doth scare me shitless," he smirked, rolling his eyes. "Now shut up and get moving."

Wanting to kill the man that took Blackfyre from him, Rhaegar hid his rage behind a mask. Looks like my life will be in the hands of Lady Alerie Tyrell. He's have to be on his best behavior…

Or his most ruthless...

Notes:

Poor, poor Ned. Tricked out of marrying his love into an unhappy union. It's not going to be easy to him.

Elia is coming into her own as a Queen, and Rhaenys is growing into a little dragon.

Next time, Rhaegar faces the court of House Tyrell.

Chapter 45: Trial By Seven

Notes:

So... Hurricane Laura is headed right for where I am, so I could use everyone's moral support. Luckily, I'm on high ground and away from any flood risk. Wish me luck, guys.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Grimacing, Lyanna's stomach roiled once more. What meagre lunch she ate spewed out into the chamber pot, throat burning from the acidic taste. "Jon hates me…"

"He doesn't hate you, Lya," comforted Elia, holding Lyanna's hair back. "I think he's just upset cause his kepa's gone."

"Don't remind me," Lyanna groaned. It didn't help that Elia's gestures were all the little things that Rhaegar usually did. She loved Elia dearly for doing them, but it was a reminder of their husband's absence. "I think…" A soft but heavy belch left her stomach. "Fuck… I think I'm done."

Belly far larger, Dacey nevertheless took the soiled chamber pot to dump out the window. "She's right, Lyanna." Her Lady in Waiting rubbed her swelling stomach, wincing slightly as she walked on swollen feet. "The first weeks, I was shattered. Unable to keep even a slice of bread down… when Arthur and I reconciled, much better."

Lyanna rested against Elia's shoulder. "Just my luck that I won't be able to count on Rhaegar to come back, then." Wordlessly, Elia held her tighter. What would I do without her?

"He'll come back… or more accurately you'll go to him when he captures King's Landing," Ashara noted, the most confident out of all of them. Not once did her purple eyes show any doubt that Rhaegar would win the coming war. "My father wouldn't have pledged his banners with him otherwise."

"I hope so, Ash… I hope so…"

The four ladies shifted their eyes to the door when Benjen entered. His grey eyes unavoidably raking Ashara up and down - not that she discouraged him, tilting her body in just the right way. Benjen cleared his throat. "Lord Dayne requests your presence in his solar. A raven from the capitol." Eyebrows rose. "And… Winterfell."

Ten minutes later, all five had arrived in the solar. Lord Althos resting in his plush chair while Arthur stood behind the seat that he insisted Dacey sit upon. The three other women refused seats - even Lyanna. As a Queen, she would be strong. "Your Grace," Lord Althos said to Elia, handing Lord Varys' dispatch to the Dornish Queen.

Her brows knit together at the words. "Lord Adrian Celtigar's brother was burned alive," she hissed. "Treason… after Adrian declared for Rhaegar. Willam Darry's orders."

"I thought he was only appointed Master-at-Arms to irk Tywin?" Ashara asked.

"That position is one where power tempts you," Arthur said to his sister. "Quentyn Ball fell to hubris and greed… and so too does Darry it seems." There was no wonder why House Darry was one of few in the Riverlands to back Aerys openly.

"Continue, Elia," Lyanna said, voice affectionate. Making Elia smile inwardly… only to frown. "What?"

Her eyes went back to the letter. "The King is surrounding himself with new blood of knights, trying to craft a new Kingsguard or loyal sworn swords. Quality varies between Silveraxe Fell and Boros Blount, only favored because he faced Queen Lyanna in the tourney." She rolled her eyes at that. Boros the Belly. Gods save the Realm from fools like him. At the next tidbit her blood boiled. "Robert's called his banners for Aerys."

If Elia was enraged, Lyanna looked ready to murder someone. "I should have slit his throat when he advanced on me at the tourney." Lips pressing tightly, it was only when Elia squeezed her hand did she calm down. "It will take a while for the Stormlands to muster. By then Ned and Lord Elbert will fully muster." Varys' letter - instinct told both Queens not to trust him, but the information didn't seem deceptive - contained more information, but it was a bit inane. Minior gossip to be addressed later. Ned's letter arrived now. Trembling, Lyanna broke the seal and tried to open it… but she couldn't. "Ben… please…"

He gladly did the honors for Lyanna. By the end he let out a deep sigh. "Oh, brother. You poor, great bastard."

"What?" Ashara asked before either of the Queens.

"Ned's married… to Catelyn Tully."

Returned to their chambers after the quiet dinner in the main hall, the two beauties immediately embraced. Holding each other close as they let the masks and tensions of their duty release from their bodies and souls. Ladies no more, Princesses no more, Elia and Lyanna were both Queens now as Rhaegar was King-claimant. Duties different, what they did mattered far more now, and weighed on them greatly.

"Oh, Elia," murmured Lyanna, squeezing her slender waist once more before breaking the embrace. Walking to the closet and removing a dark red robe. One of Rhaegar's dressing gowns. It still smelled like him, to which Lyanna accepted with relish.

A hand fell on her shoulder. "Come here," Elia said softly, guiding her sister-wife to the commode - not after taking a whiff herself of Rhaegar's spicy scent. Bringing her closer to Lyanna as she sat in front of her. Hands moving to ease the braids out of her chestnut hair. "This alright?"

"Please do." With Ashara also having duties in the keep and Dacey assisting, being accepted into the house of her paramour, Lyanna and Elia were often forced to attend to each other. Not that it bothered them - they both loved it. "I worry for our godmother."

"Stuck in that hellscape where Boros the Belly and Rossart have actual clout with Aerys? I'd be suspicious of anyone not worried for her." She reached for a brush and comb, trying to decide where she should start. "But I can't help but feel that Varys isn't telling us the whole truth."

Lyanna looked back at her through the looking glass. "Why do you think that?"

Elia sighed. "Growing up in Sunspear, we have a special relationship with the Free Cities in a closer-shared culture than with the… North for example." She heard Lyanna chuckle at that - Elia could blend in on the streets of Volantis or Tyrosh, but she'd stand out like a sore thumb in Winterfell. "Varys was raised by Lysene mummers… and I can see little traits of his that show an insincerity where others are fooled."

Eyes cast downward, Lyanna's face fell. "Gods, I wasn't at all prepared to be Rhaegar's Princess."

A cross look came from Elia. "Please, I wasn't prepared when I arrived in King's Landing. With Rhaegar at my side, I learned quickly and you are as well."

Meeting Elia's gaze through the looking glass, Lya smiled softly. "Aye, it does feel like we can take on the whole world when we're with Rhaegar."

"You miss him."

Sighing at the feel of the Dornishwoman's hands starting to work through her locks, Lyanna nodded. "Our bed feels empty without him."

"Do I not warm our bed, my love?" Elia giggled at her cross glare through the looking glass. "I miss him too. It isn't the same without him." Lyanna's locks tumbled about Lyanna's creamy shoulders - bare in her sleeveless Dornish dress. Elia felt a fire in her loins whenever she wore them. "In the beginning I'd oft wake up homesick. Wishing to be in my bed in the Water Gardens."

Lyanna hummed as Elia began to brush her hair. Enjoying it greatly. "I felt the same… when I thought I'd be married to Robert. After… Rhaegar simply made me happy enough to forget I was away from home." Such was her love for her dragon - a mix of him and her now growing in her womb.

Smiling, Elia kept brushing. "Eventually I realized Rhaegar was my home. As long as I was with him… I would never feel alone or unloved." It is the same with you, my wolf. Looking back at her, Elia was surprised to see her beloved tearing up. "Lya… why are there tears?"

She reached up to wipe her eyes. "I'm sorry. I love Jon, but he's putting my emotions into a gale." Taking a deep breath, Lyanna met Elia's gaze. "Just look at how lucky we are, even in the midst of this shit. How we have a man that adores us." It wasn't hard to notice - how Rhaegar always kept a hand on the both of them. How his eyes would watch them with love and hunger. "My brother will never know that."

Oh… "Ned and Catelyn," Elia breathed, receiving a confirming nod from her love. "Lady Tul… I mean Lady Stark now, she loved Brandon."

"Like Florian and Jonquil, and now Ned will be forced to live with a wife that always holds a torch for a man dead." Thinking about Bran dead made it worse. "I know why he did it, but my heart breaks for him to not know what we have."

"My goodbrother is predictable. Always choosing duty over self." Her own brother was the opposite, but circumstance always lined up for Oberyn. "But what I lament for Ned… his alliance with House Tully is the proper political move in the moment, but when Rhaegar wins it becomes… useless."

Lyanna wanted to weep for her brother… for all they lost and what they would endure, but she was tired of the tears. Tired of being weak. I just want peace… With Rhaegar gone and the children asleep, there was only one she could turn to for that - someone she found herself turning to more regardless of the situation. "Elia?" she murmured.

Setting down the brush, Elia almost didn't hear her sister-wife. "Yes, Lya?"

Moons ago, she would never have thought she could feel this way, but in the face of reality Lyanna couldn't resist that the winds of fate drew her towards. "I miss him dearly, but…" She bit her lip. "You are my home too."

Eyes blinking, for a moment Elia wasn't sure she heard right. Lyanna hadn't yet come out to say such words of love openly to her… until now. "Do you mean that?"

Gulping, Lyanna nodded. Rising from her chair and wrapping her arms around the other woman's waist. "Don't ask me to explain it, Elia. But when I was grieving for Ned not having what I had… I was referring to both you and Rhaegar."

Her heart was pounding out of her chest. "So… does that mean you want Ned to have two wives?" The quip was unavoidable… perhaps her husband or Ellaria had rubbed off on her.

"If he wants," Lyanna giggled. Cupping Elia's cheek, she simply gazed in her eyes. Rhaegar was right… we truly are favorites of fate. Without another word, she crossed the distance and took the Dornishwoman's lips in a sweet kiss.

Taking her breath away, the kiss ended for but a second - her honey-brown eyes meeting Lya's greys - before Elia resumed it. Deeper, but languid. Tongues caressing slowly, pouring every bit of love and comfort into it. Rhaegar could not be here, but at least they had each other until he returned to light their lives again. We are luckier than most…

Nimble hands tugged at the ties to their dresses, Dornish gowns falling to the floor rather quickly - Lyanna marveling at the ease, knowing now why Rhaegar adored them as she ran her hands along Elia's body. Feeling a desire for the slender curves and soft flesh that seemed almost like her first time again. Their first night together, only now without Rhaegar's taut muscles to ground her. With the Dornishwoman sucking on her tongue, Lyanna's lust-filled mind didn't care. Her sopping core hot with desire.

"You are so beautiful," Elia husked, leaning down to take a nipple in her mouth. Licks turning ravenous as she devoured two things she loved very much.

"So are you," moaned the northern Queen, pushing out her chest. Grabbing her hair to keep the tingling pleasure even as they fell on the bed.

They were stretched out on the soft sheets, skin to skin. Elia hovering in between Lyanna's legs. "Lya…" Her gaze raked over her sister-wife, captivated by her beauty.

Lyanna felt herself blush under Elia's gaze. No less intense than Rhaegar's, and it lit a fire inside her. "Please… just… please…" Make me forget, Elia.

Her own legs quivered, cunt hot and begging for relief… especially after hearing the need in Lyanna's voice. "With me, Lya."

"I've never done that before," the she-wolf murmured softly, hands ghosting down the bronzed skin of her back.

"Me neither." She kissed her wolf with love. "But I'm willing to try if you are." But Lyanna surprised her, eyes darkening with lust and fingers suddenly searching. Find wet heat as two slipped easily inside. "Oh gods…"

Lyanna watched her with awe. "Good?"

Elia felt the pleasure rippling through her body. "The best…" She savagely kissed her sister-wife, quickly reciprocating the marvelous touches. Feeling Lyanna moan into her mouth as she speared through the northerner's channel.

They were inexperienced in this, but made up for it in a desperate enthusiasm. Quick to find the bounds of their desire. A wince slowed things down, but when Elia screamed into Lyanna's mouth when she added a third finger while her thumb brushed against the little nub both of them copied it. With wonderful results.

"Oh gods…" Lyanna threw her head back, immediately assaulted by Elia's lips on her neck. "Gah… don't… stop…" A slight curling movement made her see stars. "Do that again."

In her lust-addled mind, Elia almost didn't hear her. "This?" Curling her fingers again, she was rewarded with another scream, followed by her own when Lyanna did it too. Driving them to the same pleasure that Rhaegar did. Different from him but no less wonderful. "Lya… Lya… oooooh…"

Lyanna gasped as she climaxed, feeling a rush of wetness against her fingers from Elia shattering above."Yesss…" It could have been only five minutes, or three hours - their passion dazed them. Almost making them forget the pain of their reality.

Their breathing evening out, both women shimmied into a more comfortable position. Lyanna turned on her side, smiling at an arm wrapping around her waist. With a tiny grin she wriggled her ass into the Dornishwoman's front. A position that she loved doing with Rhaegar… and while different it felt no less delicious and comforting.

Peppering Lyanna's neck and shoulder with tiny kisses, Elia heard a sweet sigh when her hand settled on her sister-wife's stomach. Gingerly cupping the small swell of their child. "We'll be alright, my love," she murmured lovingly. This was something Elia wouldn't give up for the world, only wishing Rhaegar was here. Their handsome dragon, it wasn't the same without him "He will return to us," she said, firmer. Fighting for Lya to believe it… to believe it herself.

Close to the sweet shroud of slumber, Lyanna smiled at the words nonetheless. "Love you, Elia…" They barely passed her lips before she fell asleep.

Elia's eyes widened, beaming against Lya's skin. Even in these hells, joy could be found. Kissing a bare shoulder and stroking the swell "Love you too."

---

The halls of Highgarden echoed with the scuffing of boots on the white marble, the noble inhabitants of House Tyrell's argument plain for the ears of eavesdropping servants. "Mother, you can't let this happen…"

"Watch it, Gar, before you bruise the ego of your precious Prince Rhaegar." Janna Tyrell was never this biting, normally a sweet young woman - a late birth by Lady Olenna. Garlan figured it was a mood picked up to please her intended. "He will be judged by…"

"Shut it, Aunt Janna," he shouted back.

Already with much on her mind, Alerie Tyrell turned, glaring at her son. "You will not speak to your elders that way, young man." Her tearful embrace upon his return belied the former Hightower's normally sunny nature, but the tall, blonde Lady of Highgarden could be fierce if she wanted to be.

What tension formed was dissipated when a little bundle of brown curls ran right into Garlan. "Brother, brother," chirped the three nameday Loras. "Come see the horse granmomma gave to me. A little foal, all mine." The fair features of what promised to be a handsome knight, Loras and their youngest sibling Margaery were often thought to be the roses of House Tyrell.

Garlan kept his patience. "A little later, brother, I promise." Making sure his nursemaid collected him, Garlan ran back after his mother and aunt. "Rhaegar is the rightful King. You must let him go."

"You're lucky he's getting a trial, son," Alerie shot back, not liking it any more than he did. "Your father and brother are marching the banners to King's Landing and I pretty much should send Rhaegar to him." Ignoring Janna's scoff at even making Ser Fossoway prove his case, Alerie smiled at her middle son. "Perhaps he'll say something to sway us."

He ran a hand through his curly mop. That was the best he'd ever get. Damn father for siding with that monster.

The great hall of Highgarden, built by one of the Gardener Kings five centuries ago could hold three thousand people, but packed inside were only about two hundred. Mostly nobles or landed knights eager to catch a glimpse of the Silver Prince. Rewarded by not only him, but the famous kingsguards as well. Had they not been in chains, many a knight would have pressed forward to shake the hand of the great Barristan Selmy or Gerold Hightower.

But the frown on their Lady's lips proved this was no welcoming feast, but a somber occasion. She sat down, poised as any lady of the Reach. "Ser Jon Fossoway, you come to the court of my husband with a prisoner… seeking our right of pit and gallows."

Knowing procedure, Fossoway merely nodded. "Aye, but not so far, my Lady. This… man, is wanted in King's Landing for treason. I ask the Lady's permission to carry out the King's decree and bring him to the capitol for his true trial."

"Burn him!" yelled someone in the crowd.

"Burn the green apple," shouted another. "Long may King Rhaegar reign!"

"Quiet!" yelled Lady Alerie, several guards smacking their speartips on the floor to drown out the noise. "Prince Rhaegar, do you have anything to say?"

Eyes dark, the King-claimant slowly raised his head. "Truly? All I'm guilty of trying to save the Realm from my mad father." There were gasps of shock. No one talked of King Aerys in that manner… at least in public.

Alerie agreed with Rhaegar, but merely watched him. "You speak bluntly, my Prince."

Rhaegar shrugged. "At this point, I don't give a fuck." He wasn't going to lie to himself anymore, not concerning his father. "Release me at once and I won't remember this slight against the rightful King."

"You make no demands against the Lady of Highgarden, traitor," Fossoway snarled back.

"Or what?" Rhaegar regarded him as the insect as he was. "Are you going to mount your tourney horses to enforce this against actual warriors, Ser?" There were chuckles as Fossoway reddened. "Don't bother. My ancestors were dragonlords of Valyria while yours were scooping up shit in your broken down keep." By now most of the Reach highborns were snickering at Fossoway being the butt of the joke.

"Do not speak of my intended that way!" yelled Janna Tyrell.

"I'm sorry, but you're intended is a dolt. You have that in common with your goodsister… oh, forgive me, my Lady." He bowed. "I did not mean to insult the Lord of Highgarden."

He was obviously not sorry, but Alerie almost wanted to giggle herself. "No, tell me what you were saying about my husband."

Before Rhaegar could respond, Ser Gerold stepped forward. "I am a son of the Reach and uncle to Lady Tyrell, so I have every right to say that her husband is a walking humiliation and dolt that is lucky being the Lord of Highgarden consists of only holding tourneys and sending wheat to Oldtown for maritime trade - and that if he had to manage any of those himself then the Reach would fall into chaos within a moon." He smirked. "Been waiting a long time to say that."

"My Lady," advised the septon of Highgarden. "This is most unusual. The Prince should be sent to your home to stand trial in the Starry Sept for polygamy…"

"That's against the laws of Jaehaerys I and you know it," replied Lomys, the maester of the keep. "He must stand trial here."

"He's not standing trial here," growled Fossoway. "He deserves the King's justice!" And me the King's reward.

Eyes narrowing, Rhaegar wasn't about to let some landed knight with delusions of grandeur destroy him. Leave his beloved Elia and Lyanna alone without protection for themselves or the children. Fight for them, Rhaegar. Fight… "Enough!"

The entire room quieted down as he bellowed like a dragon. "How dare you speak that way to the Lady Tyrell!" shouted Maester Lomys, others of the household equally incredulous.

"I am a Targaryen King, the blood of the mighty dragonlords in my veins. I will not allow you to destroy me and the ones I love. Therefore, I demand a trial by combat."

Fossoway rolled his eyes while some of the more devout knights laughed. "Prince Rhaegar," bumbled the septon, "You are not allowed such a trial except in the jurisdiction with right of pit and gallows on you…"

"You misunderstand me Septon," Rhaegar replied, smirking darkly. The smarter ones managed to realize it, while Lady Tyrell and Lord Fossoway didn't. "I demand a Trial by Seven." Gasps came from the hall… a Trial by Seven could be ordered even if there were no charges, one of the oldest traditions of the Andals. "And I will do it without spilling a drop of Tyrell blood."

A scoff. "You can't honestly think…" Fossoway was cut off by clapping hands.

Alerie Tyrell had found her way out. "You have your trial, Prince Rhaegar."

---

Having served in such a capacity for years, Ellaria Sand didn't wish to be pampered by a lady in waiting. Truth be told, her status as the bastard daughter of Harmen Uller and the lack of a marriage with her new man made any request for one seem presumptuous… not that she minded. Lightly primping her dark brown curls in a controlled wildness that emphasized her smoky eyes, Ellaria smacked her lips. Checking the evenness of the cherry red lip paint in the looking glass.

Seven bloody hells, you look ravishing. As a connoisseur of both sexes, had Ellaria seen herself walking along the halls of the Water Gardens she'd have jumped her right there. Dressed in a sheer robe that hid her naughty bits but left nothing else to the imagination, Oberyn wouldn't be able to resist absolutely defiling her with his magic cock.

Her elation at his return disappeared as she turned to the opened door. Finding the Prince with a dark glower on his face. Slamming the door with a snarl as he kicked off his boots. Ellaria immediately grew concerned. "What is wrong, My Prince?" Ellaria went to him and embraced Oberyn lightly. Sighing in relief when he relaxed slightly. Leaning into her embrace. Gods, the feelings the once lecherous, free-wheeling Ellaria Sand had for Prince Oberyn were astonishing - not that the lecherous feelings ever went away, Oberyn's toleration and reciprocation of that being one reason she loved him so.

It was quickly clear she wasn't the target of his ire. "Apparently the reptile on the Iron Throne has seen fit to order the annulment of Elia's marriage."

She pulled back, eyes wide. "On what grounds?!" Now her ire was rising.

He chuckled darkly. "Apparently a septon in King's Landing said that the omens from the day of her wedding were… 'inauspicious upon further review,'" Oberyn hissed. "As if he could remember wiping his ass the day before."

Omens and the divine were usually elements of last resort. "Aerys must be scraping the bottom of the barrel, then." It was no secret that both of them recognized Rhaegar as the rightful King. "Can I suppose that your nephew and niece have…"

"Yes, both booted from the succession… I doubt Aerys recognizes them as legitimate anymore." He pulled out of the embrace and kicked at the large dresser. "And my illustrious, scheming brother asked me just an hour ago if we should offer a betrothal of my niece Arianne to the new 'Crown Prince' Viserys through back channels."

That truly shocked her. "He didn't." Ellaria fumed. "Elia would never forgive him for this."

"'Hedging our position,' he told me it was," Oberyn hissed. "And that was after he authorized this to be sent to every lordship in the Seven Kingdoms." Without delay he fished out a leaf of paper from his jacket and handed it to her.

By my authority as Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne, all bannermen and sworn house of House Martell shall remain neutral in the Targaryen succession dispute. We have no interest in such petty matters.

Whomever triumphs in this clash will receive our loyalty and allegiance in the coming peace.

Prince Doran Martell

Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken.

Ellaria wished she could have said she was surprised by this… she wasn't. Doran… much as the Dornish liked to separate themselves from the Andals of Westeros, Doran was exactly as many said Tywin Lannister was. Ambitious, ruthless, dispassionate. She remembered Tywin from the early years of Elia's marriage - always blunt and hard-charging even in his diplomacy. Doran wasn't like that, far more subtle but in that sense even more dangerous.

It could be said her treatment at his hands - and the hands of his household staff, apart from those either she or Oberyn had slept with amiably - clouded her judgement, but Ellaria knew that not to be the case. Elia confirmed it.

"He's planning for every contingency, and putting it on you to choose between your sister and Dorne."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She guided him to the bed, sitting him down upon it. Taking his hands in hers as she stroked the palms. "Unless you want Dorne to fracture against its ruler, you can't tell Elia… or she'll tell Rhaegar and the secret is out. Even if you decline to go to negotiate a betrothal, you're bound to keep the secret." Such was the truly unforgivable part. Using love of realm to sunder the familial bond.

Sighing deeply, Oberyn fell into her arms. Holding her tight and pressing his head into the crook of her neck. "Gods, Ellaria. My family… it's tearing itself apart and I can't do anything to stop it."

"You'll find a way, my Prince. You'll find a way." Kissing his neck, Ellaria managed to pull back and smile softly. "I do have some information that could improve your demeanor."

He raised an eyebrow? "Did you find a Lysene whore to join our bed? While I'd love that… tonight I simply want you…"

She shushed him with a finger to his lips, beaming at how sweet the Red Viper really was "Perhaps later we can indulge your fantasy there." Ellaria took his hands and pressed them to her stomach. "Obara and Nymeria will have a sibling in several moons."

Watching his eyes widen, suddenly Ellaria was pressed flat on the bed. Her lover's lips upon hers as Oberyn roughly forced her robe up. Fingers brushing against her bare mound. Desperate, hungry, possessive. Copied by her frantic gestures to rid him of his trousers.

As she felt him thrust past her wet lips, Ellaria moaned. Biting his shoulder, urging him to rut inside her. Both of them eager to celebrate the small bit of joy in this time of troubles.

---

"Ominous day, Barristan."

It was a beautiful, sunny morning, but Barristan understood. "Aye. Looks like the entire Reach is here."

Rhaegar's gaze panned out at the crowd. "To watch me lose."

Barristan grinned. "To watch you win."

Gentle steps heard behind him, Rhaegar turned to see both Garlan and his mother. "Your Grace," Lady Alerie offered, smiling softly. "Thank you for acceding to a bloodless affair."

"I seek not blood, only the opportunity to protect my family and free the realm of my father's tyranny." While Alerie refused to answer that - understandable given her husband's position - she didn't seem to disagree. Rhaegar let up on her by approaching Garlan. "Be ready to clean my sword when this is done."

"You shall win, my King," Garlan proclaimed. "The gods will shine their light on the innocent."

Rhaegar nodded, not wishing to insult his squire by expressing his growing skepticism in the Faith - merely clasping his arm in respect. Making the young lad beam. Blackfyre tied to his waist, the King-claimant descended the stairs. Watching the beautiful Janna Tyrell locking lips with the man accusing him, Jon Fossoway. While she had the propriety to avert her gaze as they passed on the stairs, Fossoway grinned, twirling his sword in his hands.

"He has no honor," Barristan murmured. "You'll see him do something."

"Those with no honor are predictable. They'll always try to go for the kill," Rhaegar replied.

Soon, Rhaegar and Fossoway were assembled in the middle of the courtyard, people watching the entire thing from the massive crowds. The septon walked between the accuser and the accused, clearing his throat. "We are gathered in the sight of the gods to determine the existence of cause to send Rhaegar Targaryen to the King in chains. Having chosen a Trial by the Seven, his Grace must allow his accuser to select his champions."

Fossoway was quite predictable, choosing some of the toughest and most intimidating knights and men-at-arms he could find. Humfrey Hightower and Aerys Oakheart, eager young knights. Ser Vortimer Crane and Ser Mark Mullendore, sworn swords to House Tyrell. Igon Vyrwel, not a knight but wiry and keen. And a massive red-haired, bull of a man named Arryk, one of the Tyrell personal guards that probably could split logs open with his bare hands.

But had any fought in anything but tourneys?

"Choose your champions, Rhaegar of House Targaryen," the septon announced, all seven of the Tyrell champions watching with curiosity and intrigue.

Unlike Maegor, Rhaegar needed no urging to find champions. "I shall fight for his Grace," announced Ser Barristan Selmy, taking the position of honor to Rhaegar's right.

"So shall I," came Gerold Hightower only moments later, eyes trained on his niece on the balcony.

Oswell soon joined. "My sword serves the true King." Three great knights facing them, some of the Tyrell champions looked nervous.

The next two slots were taken by Myles Mooton and Richard Lonmouth, but alas… "That's only six, dragonspawn," Fossoway sneered.

Rhaegar remained silent, but Gerold turned to the watching crowd. "Is anyone here willing to fight for their King?!" No response.

"See, no one will risk their honor for a traitor…"

"I'll give it a go." Interrupting Fossoway mid-sentence, a young, rough-looking man stepped forward. He had the look not of even a hedge knight, but a common man-at-arms in cheap armor. Even Rhaegar's men gazed at him suspiciously as he took a place among them. "Well what are you cunts starin' at? I'm standin' with the King. I pledge my sword to him, so that's seven."

The septon composed himself. "And who are you, Ser…?"

Snorting, the man spat on the ground. "Name's Bronn. Not Ser… just Bronn."

"Gonna trust a lowly sellsword to fight for you?" taunted Humfrey Hightower, jeering at the King and his seventh 'champion.'

Ignoring the jeers, Rhaegar made his way to where Bronn stood. "Are you a sellsword?"

Eying Rhaegar, Bronn shrugged. "Honestly… just startin' out and looking for somethin' worth doin'."

"He'll be killed within the first minute, your Grace," warned Ser Richard. Chuckling for a moment before gulping. A throwing dagger suddenly pressed to his throat.

"You were saying?" Bronn asked, smirking as he quickly put the dagger away before the Kingsguards or Ser Myles could react. "Satisfied?" he asked the King-claimant.

Motioning for Richard to leave it alone, Rhaegar didn't break eye contact with Bronn. "You realize I have no reason to trust you… Bronn."

Bronn's dark brown - almost black - eyes regarded him with something akin to… respect. "I'd think less of you if you did trust me… but seems to me like you have no choice in the matter now does it?"

He had a point. "I still don't trust you."

"If I were to kill ya', I'd have pulled the knife on you instead of Loudmouth here."

Such was another good point.

Horns blaring along with the ominous stucco of drums, each line of champions formed opposite each other. Ten yards separating them. "Remember men, no blood."

"Where's the fun in that?" Bronn shouted, but a glare from Ser Gerold Hightower shut him up. The Old Bull was intimidating even to him.

The wait was interminable. Seconds seemed to tick by, warriors studying each other with baited breaths. Some praying, some plotting their moves, others still simply allowing their minds to drain of all but the coming fight - all having their hands on their weapons, ready to draw them.

At the blow of the horn fourteen blades emerged from their scabbards. Fourteen men charging at each other. Onlookers involuntarily flinching as steel clashed against steel as the lines crashed together.

Much as he was maligned, Bronn made the first 'kill' of the day when Ser Humfrey lunged at him. Shield emblazoned with the Hightower of his house making him formidable but slow, Bronn easily leaping out of the way of the knight's strong slashes. Dance suddenly becoming a sprint as he rounded his opponent in a mad dash - flat of his sword crashing into Ser Humfrey's back. The knight fell to the ground, a kick to the head sending him limp.

"How's that for a fucking sellsword!" he bellowed with a laugh before having to jump out of the way of a scrambling Ser Oswell, the massive Arryk bearing upon them with a greatsword bigger than Bronn was. "Always a bigger cunt."

It didn't take long for whatever formation there was to fracture. Every knight descended into one-on-one or two-on-one combat, the Tyrell champions seeking glory while those of the King-Claimant were battling for survival. The former bold and frenzied while the latter defensive and ruthless. After Ser Humfrey, three others 'fell' in quick succession. A sword swipe knocked the helm off Ser Myles Mooton, opening him up to the hilt of Ser Mark Mullendore to crash into his face. "Stay down," he growled, not about to take the life of someone who was not out to take his. The King's side gained a victory when Ser Vortimer Crane was tripped up by a kick from Ser Barristan, sword tip to the chest sending him to the sides. But a wide punch from Arryk felled Oswell, leaving Bronn to fight the massive beast of a man by himself.

Fossoway grinned under his visor, shield blocking a strike from the mighty Blackfyre. Sallying forth and nearly running Rhaegar over had the King-claimant not sprung back. "Give up, dragonspawn. You will lose."

"I don't plan to." Again, Rhaegar gave ground, wanting his much more heavily armored opponent to tire. Around him, Ser Richard was being outmaneuvered while Gerold and Barristan were backed up into each other, each swinging and parrying flurries of attacks headed their way. Bronn had the worst of it - somehow getting Arryk to drop his blade, the giant merely picked up a wooden bench and used that as an impromptu club. The sellsword only just managed to leap out of the way.

Emboldened, Fossoway hacked in a frenzy, eyes turning red with bloodlust. Just tasting the victory, the triumph as he rode into King's Landing with Rhaegar's head… how the King would reward him… The flat of Blackfyre smashed into his helmet, denting it before redoubling and chopping his shield in half. Forcing Fossoway back.

Little Loras, peeking above the stone railing, was enthralled by it all. The brave Kingsguards fighting together as one - and his great-uncle was one of them! "Mama… I wanna be a kingsguard," he begged with wide brown eyes.

Alerie ruffled his hair. "I know you do, my son." He'd have to hope for Rhaegar to win. My son wouldn't survive a year in Aerys' court...

"When King Rhaegar wins, I'll make sure you get on, little brother," Garlan promised.

Their aunt scoffed. "Come on, Ser Jon!" screamed Janna, supporting her dashing intended. "Finish him!" More pious members of the crowd hollered in favor, while most others secretly rooted for the handsome Prince. Rhaegar winning them over with both his fury and his honor.

He had been right. The blades of his men hadn't spilled a drop of blood.

Dropping his visor back down, Fossoway snarled and charged - shield abandoned on the ground. But the disadvantage remained. The thick plate still slowed him down, took the speed and power out of his strikes. Rhaegar nimbly fell back. Giving ground in a wide arc - his silver hair flying free from the bun that made many maidens swoon. Wishing they were in Queen Elia and Lyanna's place. Fearing for him when Blackfyre only just blocked a furious hack from Fossoway's greatsword.

"Go Rhaegar!" Eyes were drawn to Loras, now held in his elder brother's arms. Both of them cheering for the Dragon Prince. With their little lords on their side, the new majority behind Rhaegar joined in. Openly cheering as he pushed Fossoway back.

It seemed as things shifted quickly. Gerold and Barristan broke out of their defensive stance and charged their exhausted enemy. Twirling his blade, the Bold smashed the hilt into Ser Arys' face and sent him reeling with the flat smacking into his shoulder. The White Bull was less fancy, merely running headlong into the tired Ser Mark. Two powerful left hooks felling him. Ser Richard fell on his back, almost out of the fight before he leapt to his feet with the agility of a much smaller man. It caused Vrywel to trip up, himself collapsing and finding a sword at the back of his head.

Alone in facing the redheaded giant, Bronn dodged the swing of the bench. He dodged it again, then leapt just out of range, agility keeping him one step from his brains splattering on the grass. Anticipating this, the brute charged… only for Bronn to unexpectedly charge back, getting within Arryk's swing and kneeing him with full force in the groin. Crying out in agony, the giant collapsed, clutching his stones gingerly. Theatrical as always, Bronn laughed. "Bigger they are, the harder they fall." For a sellsword, from the cheers he seemed to become a favorite of the crowd.

All that was left were the King-claimant and the accuser, battling it out. Rhaegar watched as his opponent grew tired and stood his ground. Engaging finally, Blackfyre slicing through the air in furious strikes. Each blow swung across, redoubling in a twirl to attack again. Oftentimes smacking against plate rather than Fossoway's own blade. Even snarling and charging again, the desperate counterattack was beaten back… Rhaegar roaring, knocking the sword out of Fossoway's hand with a left swing, uppercutting him to the jaw, and one last thrust...

The onlookers and fellow combatants watched as the tip of Blackfyre rested just an inch away from Jon Fossoway's throat. His own sword was raised, but nowhere near being able to hack down before Rhaegar ran the Valyrian steel through his neck. A clean kill by the rule of the trial - if done without blood, it was an automatic disqualification.

Rhaegar looked upon the surprised knight with a fiery gaze in his violet eyes. The man was actually arrogant enough to think he could defeat him. For the smallest moment, Rhaegar desires to push ahead and end this useless excuse for a knight. It only lasted a moment. "Yield," he commanded brusquely.

Watching Rhaegar with thinly veiled hate - and not a little humiliation at being outfoxed - it morphed into a crestfallen fatigue. Fossoway's arms fell to their sides, as obvious a yield as if he said the words.

"The gods have declared Rhaegar Targaryen innocent of all accusations against him," breathed the septon, shocked himself. In an instant, the Trial of Seven was over.

It wasn't a split second before Bronn whistled. Barristan laughed, while Myles Morion clasped Aerys Oakheart on the back across from Gerold hugging his nephew. Arryk offered a flagon of wine at Oswell, who grinned and chugged it down greedily. "Well done, my Prince," stated Vyrwel, who approached Rhaegar with an outstretched hand. "It was an honor to last more than five minutes against Rhaegar Targaryen wielding fuckin' Blackfyre."

Taking the proffered hand, Rhaegar offered a small smile. "Gonna tell your grandkids all about it?"

"Fuck that, gonna go to the tavern and get every maiden to eat out of the palm of me hand… and then swallow something else." Vyrwel winked.

Rhaegar chuckled. "Priorities, priorities."

As the tension in Highgarden slowly began to dissipate after having shrouded the ancient keep for so long, one didn't find himself swept up in relief. Looking at his intended, chatting amiably with Lady Alerie about whatever gibberish women liked to blather about, Jon Fossoway wrenched his gaze away. He thought that his fortunes would finally improve after marrying into House Tyrell, only for his dolt of a Liege Lord to neglect his home in favor of higher ambitions. Ignoring him to cozy up to the dragons… And now, my moment of triumph…. vaporized.

No! He hadn't brownnosed himself for half a decade to back down now. The Starry Sept may now not reward a kill, but Arys would - if the wrath of the gods came upon him, so be it.

Ser Barristan approached his King. "Well, your Grace. I would say nothing good ever happens in Highgarden… but at least nothing tragic happened today."

"Well said, my friend…"

At a scream from one of the servants, everything after seemed to happen in slow motion:

Rhaegar turning…

Janna and Alerie's conversation ceasing…

Fossoway raising his sword to lop off Rhaegar's head…

Ser Barristan going for his sword… far too late…

Rhaegar's eyes widening as his brain processed the sudden attack…

The simple combat dagger smacking into Fossoway's chest just as he moved to strike. Staggering the knight, sword falling out of his hands as he felt the blade embedded into his heart… and then he fell. Blackness overcoming him.

"Nooo!" screamed Janna Tyrell, almost leaping off the balcony in a frantic attempt to get to him if not for her goodsister holding her back.

Standing there, uncaring of the stares directed his way or the cries of the never-to-be Lady Janna Fossoway, Bronn glanced down at the corpse of the once proud knight. Without fuss, he turned to look at Rhaegar. "Well that's got it done." Bronn snorted, finally eyeing the rest of his audience. "Come on, 'ave a look!"

"You have no honor, lowborn!" raged Janna between her sobs, holding her goodsister tightly.

"And this fucker was a knight." He lightly kicked Fossoway's corpse again, making emphasis on the chivalrous highborn that committed the most egregious sin to the Faith. "And apparently I'm the dishonorable one."

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar opened them and met Bronn's gaze. "Thank you."

The sellsword shrugged. "Just when this is all over, remember the sour cunt that saved your ass, my King." He said the last sarcastically.

"No need, you can remind me yourself." He smirked as Bronn looked confused. "By accepting my call for seven, you swore your sword to me. Seems you'll be accompanying your King in the wars to come."

Bronn groaned. "Ah fuck."

Frowning, Gerold rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and walked to where Alerie could see him. "Niece, the intended for your goodsister nearly committed the blackest of sins. I'd advise you to make sure your husband has better tact in choosing whom next is intended for her." Alerie could only watch him with guilt and grief, still comforting the sobbing Janna.

"Open the gates!" attention for those that hadn't filtered out of the courtyard once the fighting was done turned to see an ornate wheelhouse roll through the gatehouse. A footman quickly opened the door… revealing a cane that gingerly assisted its wielder as she exited the wheelhouse.

Sensing that he was the last person Olenna Tyrell expected here, Rhaegar bowed respectfully. "My Lady."

For once genuinely shocked, her aged yet still sharp eyes flickered about the courtyard. Finding the milling knights, her crying daughter, and the body of Ser Jon Fossoway in a puddle of his own blood still left upon the ground. The Queen of Thorns gathered her wits quickly. "Seven bloody Hells! What happened here?!"

Notes:

Hell yes! Bronn is now on Team Rhaegar!

Right here, Rhaegar denied the Faith any chance to side with Aerys as the gods showed him favor in their eyes. Who knows what Olenna will do.

Elia and Lya are in love and isn't it wonderful? :D

What is Doran's angle here?

Next time, Olenna has a gift for Rhaegar.

If I get 40 comments, I'll review on Saturday.

Chapter 46: Let it be Done Quickly

Notes:

Sorry guys. Technical difficulties yesterday, so the update is out today. Enjoy :)

In good news, I just asked my girlfriend to marry me and she said yes :D

Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.

Ran into some awesome stories recently: A Jade Dragon by bykim0120 is awesome, while the new story The Reign of the Wolves and the Regency of the Dragons by KingOfIreland777 is a unique take on the post-Robert's Rebellion if Ned was bold. Both have my recommendation.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Would you like some wine, your Grace," Lady Olenna Tyrell offered.

Nursing a sprained wrist, Rhaegar politely declined. "That sounds lovely, Lady Tyrell, but I have a feeling that I will need all of my wits about me."

Hobbling towards her seat, Olenna laughed. "I can see why most like you, Prince Rhaegar… or is it King Rhaegar?" She didn't wait for his answer. "Most men would guzzle down my family's stores until ready to void their stomachs, all primed to underestimate a woman."

"Considering the origins of my House, it would be unwise to underestimate women," Rhaegar replied. "Now, the biggest problem I face is that most underestimate me."

"Ah yes." Olenna sat, frowning darkly… though not at him. "Please know that whatever happened down there was done without my knowledge. My gooddaughter will be disciplined."

"I don't think it was her fault, Lady Olenna. She seemed to want me to triumph. Your daughter's intended on the other hand…"

Olenna waved him off. "Fossoway? I've been looking for a means to break that betrothal for years. You did me a damn favor." Folding her hands together, Olenna leaned forward. "I'll be blunt, your Grace, I think you're going to win."

He raised an eyebrow. "Quite a statement for a Tyrell."

"Well, my son and I don't often see eye to eye." That dolt would sell the Reach for a gold doublet if I wasn't here. "I've come to different conclusions than he."

"So let me guess, my Lady. In exchange for letting me go, keeping Garlan as my squire, and allowing the forces from Starfall transit through the Reach, you wish me to guarantee House Tyrell's position?"

She laughed. "Am I that transparent, your Grace?"

Rhaegar laughed too. "No, you have many decades of sharpness left - I just know how bent over a barrel your family is."

"Quite… unfortunate, isn't it?" Without delay, Olenna pulled out a document. "Here, with my signature and seal."

Looking over the signed and sealed sheet of parchment, Rhaegar folded it and placed it in his breast pocket. "You know, Lady Olenna, I won't think that this piece of paper grants me an alliance with you. Paper… it can be so easily…"

"Forged?" Olenna finished for him. The Queen of Thorns smiled, skin crinkling into deeper wrinkles. "You are smarter than I give Targaryens credit for. I wouldn't begrudge you if you did want further assurance." She frowned. "My grandson as your hostage?"

"Garlan is my squire. Hostages are different."

Her brows rose. "Loras? He's but a child" Olenna sighed though. "Gods know that my son and elder grandson are hostages of the Mad King. Loras is safer with you."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Do you take me for a brute that threatens children? No, I was thinking more like a betrothal."

This attracted Olenna's interest. "If you agreed to betroth Aegon and Margaery, then I believe even my idiot son would declare for you."

"I need assurance, not brownnosing." Seeing that she was receptive though, Rhaegar continued. "Lord Titus Peake declared for me at Starfall, the only Lord of the Reach to do so."

"Hmmmm… didn't think any of that family had what it took."

"He does. An honorable man, but with the spirit of the Marcher Lords." He smiled softly. "Your daughter is currently without an intended, and I may not swing that way but Lord Titus is far comlier than Ser Jon."

Olenna slapped her knee, letting out a rare laugh. "You have the boldness of your ancestors, Rhaegar Targaryen. When would…"

"Immediately when the column arrives at Highgarden. They are to marry and Janna moves north with the baggage claim. I suppose you could say she is my hostage, for her conduct towards me didn't endear her any favors."

A sigh. "Yes, she was always a besotted idiot to that twat." Mace made the betrothal while she was away, so she was stuck with it. "Now, one last matter…"

"Your son won't be spared, Lady Olenna." Rhaegar was adamant about this. "I may be inclined to offer him exile if he doesn't engage in any atrocities, but his flagrant courting of my father's madness for a royal betrothal is unacceptable." This had been a long conversation with his brides. He would have to be merciful, but not naive.

"My son is not a traitor, just a dolt." Olenna seemed to have no trouble echoing Ser Gerold's characterizations - she'd probably chuckle at them. "He's been that way since he was a boy, obsessed with pomp and title but too lazy and stupid to go about it right." She sighed. "But he's my son and doesn't know any better. Please spare him."

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "I am a parent too, so I understand, but I can't. None of my father's inner circle can continue with title after I take the Iron Throne."

Olenna sighed again. "What if I sweeten the pot?" Rhaegar said nothing, simply listening. Wordlessly she reached under her desk. Revealing a secret compartment, out of which she drew something round and heavy. "Here."

The King-claimant gaped incredulously - completely shocked. "That… that's a dragon egg…" It was ossified just like the ones his father had acquired, the color an almost emerald green with little swirls of gold upon the scales. It captivated him. "Where did you find a dragon egg?"

"Your uncle," she said simply. "Prince Duncan was supposed to marry me, and was actually fond of me rather than that ditzy tart Tessa Baratheon." Olenna snorted, as if reflecting on an old rivalry. "I wasn't as fond of him in that way, but that's not the point. Anyways… your grandfather wished to pick Tessa, but Duncan wanted Jenny the Woods Witch - he felt guilty about spurning me, so he gave me this as a gift."

Based on what he knew of his uncle, Rhaegar wasn't surprised - it seemed something like the gentle Prince Duncan would do, even with something this valuable. "And you kept it?"

"Who gives away a dragon egg? Knew it would come in handy some day." She waited, letting it hang. "I think your uncle knew that as well, at least that's what he told me."

Struggling to listen, Rhaegar had to wrench his gaze from the egg. Its scales almost pulsing with heat that he could feel even feet away. "What… what did he tell you?"

A low giggle came from the Queen of Thorns - an actual giggle. "Oh, I didn't want him as I wanted my late husband, but Dunk… he was a good man. Cared for him, and he me oddly enough. First person to truly respect me for my brain instead of my beauty." Olenna had been a famous beauty in her day, as everyone told Rhaegar over the years. "We'd talk, and right during the Tourney to celebrate his betrothal to Tessa, he came in my room with this in a sack." She tapped the dragon egg. "Jenny, she apparently told him that I needed this as a particular gift. That only I could protect house Targaryen when the time came… whatever balderdash that was, but Dunk believed it."

"...you shall find your destiny here." Feeling the call of the egg, Rhaegar's recollection of Melisandre's words seemed to ring tru.

"So, the egg is yours if you spare my son and his title as Lord Paramount of the Reach."

Rhaegar barely heard what the Queen of Thorns said. Honestly, the burning of Harrenhal could be commenced not ten feet from him and he wouldn't notice - too entranced was he by the emerald egg before him. Violet eyes glassy, yet also bright. As if glowing in the low light of the winter's afternoon.

Slowly, hesitantly, the King-claimant reached out to the precious sphere. Placing his palm on it, hand caressing the smooth scales. They were soothingly warm to the touch.

"Your Grace?" he heard Olenna ask.

He gently took it in his arms. Clutching it as one would a baby, skin tingling from the warmth. "Did you place this in the fire, recently?"

Olenna blinked. "Why would I bloody do that?"

"It's warm…"

"No it isn't. Do my hands look burned?" Rhaegar only furrowed his brows in confusion.

Rhaegar…

Rhaegar...

Blinking, Rhaegar glanced down at the egg. Hearing voices, but finding the only other person in the room with closed lips, eying him warily. What… what are you…?

There was a change in the sphere, almost activated as soon as he took it in his hold. Rhaegar… Rhaegar… Within the egg, he could swear that something moved inside. Electrified by his very touch…

"Do we have an agreement?"

Meeting Olenna's gaze, Rhaegar nodded.

---

"Please don't jape me, Dacey," Ashara said incredulously, gaping at the taller northerner - purple eyes glistening with mirth. "And you confess that all it took to gain Arthur's prurient attention was an emerald dress and a ponytail?"

Dacey giggled, running both hands down her belly as she gazed up at the sky. Enjoying the seas breeze wafting into the Starfall gardens. "Oh yes. His mouth dropped like a trout and he could barely speak."

Laughing hard - almost bawling over at the thought - Ashara wiped a tear from her eye. "It's shocking, given that over the years Arthur has been exposed to utterly gorgeous maidens either practically nude or literally nude, and yet he seemed as chaste as a Silent Sister. One would think that repeated exposure to the affections of those that make our mutual friend Ellaria look a…"

"Silent Sister?" Dacey finished.

"I wouldn't go that far," Ash smirked. "Perhaps a cloistered maiden. I would say Elia, but given what you tell me of the boat ride from Sunspear, I can't consider her inexperienced in the arts of romantic pleasure." The two of them blushed - their monarchs hadn't been… discreet about their carnal pleasures. "Nor can I say the same of you, mother of my nephew."

Grinning, Dacey thought of how amazing a lover her paramour was. "Was he really a… I suppose I could use the term maid?"

Ashara shrugged. "I wouldn't refer to him as that in public - male ego and all that - but yes. Never broke his vow of chastity once, until you."

She looked guilty. "It still weighs on him sometimes, I see him tense… but if anything, Arthur is more devoted a knight than before."

"There's a reason he… if not by the canons, broke the spirit of the Kingsguard oath with you, Dacey. All those other maidens, he was used to their schemings and seductions. A man like him, earnest and dour, yet also fierce - he met his match in a northerner." Ash reached around Dacey's waist and pulled her in for a light hug. "Besides, you are equally devoted to their Graces. I am certain that his mind knew deep down that you were the one to both provide love and enhance his canonical duties."

Looking at Ashara, Dacey beamed. "My children will have the best aunt."

Ash raised an eyebrow. "Children?"

"Aye, children. When all of this is over and Rhaegar rules, I would seek a daughter from Arthur… hopefully her aunt would help her look glamorous. I'm afraid I don't know much, and Ellaria's taste is more suited to…"

"Selecting a brothel's wares?" Ash finished. The two women shared a smile. "Seems I'm the only maiden left in this keep…"

"I'm sure there is a young knight that catches your fancy?"

Biting her lip, Ashara angled her head downward. "There is one… but in that I encounter a quandry."

Dacey furrowed her brows. "What kind of quandary." Arriving at the edge of the gardens, battlements ahead, Ashara stopped. Eyes trained on a particular figure alone against the parapet. Following the gaze, Dacey's eyes widened. Understanding… "Ah, same quandary as me." What is it about that white cloak?

Ser Benjen Stark leaned against the stone parapet, idly watching the lazy course of the Torrentine into the Summer Sea. Such a beautiful land, of which Benjen had seen more of in the last two moons than his entire life aside for one journey to White Harbor and Last Hearth respectively with his father.

My father…

So proud he was of his white cloak, he hadn't truly enjoyed the last days with his father… or Bran for that matter. Some son or knight I turned out to be. Neglecting his father and brother while allowing Lyanna to be attacked and brutalized by the King.

Your loyalty is to the King and no other. The oath was ironclad.

Rhaegar is my King. His resolve was also ironclad.

"If I didn't know better, I would think it's his Grace you share blood with, not her Grace."

Startled, Benjen turned on his heels only to relax… then tense up again at the sight of Ashara Dayne - truly the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms. "My Lady," he said, bowing. "Forgive me, but I did not notice you."

It had taken several minutes for Dacey to build enough courage in Ashara to approach. "Not a proper attitude for a Kingsguard, is it?"

"I have a lot on my mind… and I'm not protecting anyone at this moment."

"My brother would say that it's the duty of a Kingsguard to always be on alert for threats to their charges."

Benjen sighed. "Perhaps it's all still growing on me."

"You'll get there." She took place beside him, purposefully getting close. "You're brooding. Why?"

"Same reason as my sister weeps, or that my brother married a stuck-up priss."

His rough bluntness only made him more attractive to her. Arthur, Rhaegar, and Elia are onto something with northerners. But his words saddened her. "I'm sorry."

"Rhaegar will kill him… Just thinking that for the first two moons of my oath I was bound to protect that slug…"

"Oaths are valuable, I believe," Ash offered, almost shuddering when his grey eyes found her. "Arthur believes them pacts with the gods - our gods, mind you. But the gods know when one must act in a manner… not all honorable."

"Is that what he says to rationalize having a child with Dacey?" There was a slight hostility in her beautiful face, so Benjen backtracked. "Not suggesting there's anything wrong with it, but is the oath bendable on that alone?"

Her gaze softened. "No… I think Dacey enhances Arthur's oath. For the former… From how he speaks, those oaths that bind a person to the greatest atrocities represent an oath abandoned by the gods."

He looked at her quizzically. "And who is to decide when such an oath is abandoned?" She didn't reply immediately. "Maegor Targaryen engaged in brutality to defeat the Faith Militant. Would that break an oath simply because he was ruthless?"

Benjen Stark was deeper than he seemed - Ashara found herself further in lust for this man. "I believe a truly honorable person can tell the difference."

"Perhaps you're right." Benjen rubbed the back of his neck. "Arthur believes that his love of Dacey enhances his oath?"

"Aye. She is as loyal to their Graces as he."

"Would you say you share the same loyalty, my Lady?"

Blinking, Ashara looked at Benjen… finding a restrained desire in his eyes. "Yes." Feeling bold, she turned to look at him. "And I think I know why you ask."

"You do, huh?" Benjen smirked.

"I do." Without hesitation, she reached up and pulled him into a sweet kiss.

---

"Lord Walter Whent." Master of War Qarlton Chelsted's eyes settled on the tall yet frail Lord of Harrenhal. Age had not been kind to the Lord of the largest castle in all of Westeros, and fate would match it in wrath. "You have been found guilty of treason against his Grace, Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name. Do you wish any final words?"

"Mercy!" cried young Mina Whent, yelling her desperation at the small councilor. Behind, Lady Shella Whent watched with barely disguised hate. "Our father is innocent, I beg mercy, my Lord!" Without delay, Boros Blount smacked her on the cheek, sending her sprawling. A red handprint marring her pretty face.

"Bastard!" Shella slapped him back for hurting her daughter, leading the burly knight to rock his fist into her gut. Felling her as well, laughing as he did it.

"Stay down, cunt."

Eyes narrowing, Lord Whent glared at Chelsted. "Is this what your King has come to? Hurting innocent women and girls? Slaughtering keeps on dishonorable tricks?"

Chelsted frowned - Harrenhal could hold out against a besieging army for years with enough supplies, but not against a bribe to a sworn sword that opened a back gate. Ser Boros leading - well, leading from behind - hundreds of men that swarmed in, slaughtering everything they saw and opening all gates. After, it was now thousands that slaughtered everything they saw. Including Walter Whent's four sons.

Even now, the pyres of the murdered men still reached higher than even the Kingspyre Tower. Undoubtedly hundreds of bastard Rivers' would be born in nine moons from the number of rapes the King's forces committed against the defenseless women and girls. He could care less. "This is your punishment for your treason, Lord Walter. Is that all?"

"Rhaegar will kill you all… that's if your King doesn't do the deed first."

Rolling his eyes, Chelsted motioned to the executioner. With a single swing of his sword, the Curse of Harrenhal would claim its latest victim - Black Harren undoubtedly smiling from wherever pit he slunk to after his immolation.

Half an hour later, Chelsted was gazing at the piles of corpses. Bannermen and conscripted locals hauling them to the pyres. Already the flies were congregating on them in spite of the cold, making the whole air quite unpleasant. Hopefully Lord Tully will get the message. From this and the attack on Maidenpool, though the Mooton forces managed to largely escape. The King's favor will smile upon me.

"Lord Qarlton." Looking up from the carnage, Chelsted found the stolid Ser Willis Wode, master-at-arms of Harrenhal. Nominally loyal to House Whent - emphasis on the nominal. "Seems like the castle is yours."

Nodding, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Aye, it is." Wordlessly, he took a coinpurse from his belt and dropped it in the knight's hand. Paying the turncoat what he was owed for his services. "The rest is in a wagon in my baggage train. Plenty to buy more lands for yourself."

Wode furrowed his brows. "But, my Lord. I was promised Harrenhal. You said…"

"I said that your assistance in taking the castle without bloodshed of the King's armies would result in a reward." He gestured to the purse. "And you have. But Harrenhal will go to Boros Blount for his bravery in leading the attack."

"Boros the Belly?! That little shit?!" An incredulous look formed on Wode's face - to which the Master of War didn't begrudge him for. Blount was a little shit, but apparently his attempt to 'valiantly slay the demon knight at the King's Tourney' had won the King's favor. "I turned on my liege, Chelsted," Wode hissed, his already stiff neck growing even tenser. "I deserve this keep as my reward, or an equally prestigious keep. I heard Riverrun is nice this time of year," he said smugly.

Chelsted scowled. "Are you refusing a direct decree of his Grace?" Wode's face fell. "I would hate for this to reach King's Landing before that of your cooperation and continued fortification of the keep against House Tully." Dumbly nodding, Wode raced away, Chelsted chuckling under his breath. It was only too easy.

---

As soon as the spoonful reached her tongue, Cersei moaned something far more apt in a brothel. "Oh, gods." The squash and bacon soup steaming in front of her had a taste she could only describe as springtime - especially combined with the honey-braised pork belly and fresh, crusty bread. This is better than coupling… unless it's Ned. "More cider, please."

"Yes, my Lady," the servant girl chirped, curtsying before farting out of the private dining chamber - used by Cersei's father for family dinners… those were rare since Joanna died.

Melara Hetherspoon raised a brow across from her, which Cersei noted. "What?" she asked gruffly.

"'Please'?" She laughed. "Seven Hells, you're in a good mood."

She blinked. "Why do you say it that way?"

A scoff from Jeyne Farman on the other side of her. "You never treat the servants so well. I mean, you're better than as a child, but still…" It wasn't odd for the Light of the West to blow up at the maids or the stableboys.

Pushing her golden locks behind her shoulder, Cersei moved her hand to her growing belly. Patting the swell hidden by her gowns. "I suppose I am glad my stomach has calmed," she smiled. "A piece of my beloved growing inside me, accepted by my father…" Such was a bit of a euphemism. Tywin Lannister hadn't spoken to her since the confrontation in the audience hall. "And I think the circumstances will bring us together soon."

It took a moment for Melara to decipher that. "You mean the death of his father and brother?" She frowned. "I never thought you to be that cold."

Her mod turned from sunny to scowling in an instant. "Gods, Mel, are you that thick-headed. Of course I hate that Ned lost his family." Her poor direwolf, having to endure all that chaos and grief alone? I should be there, holding him close and taking his pain away. Tears clouded her vision at the mere thought. "Fuck… damn these mood swings."

To her credit, Melara looked apologetic. "I'm sorry… I should have realized…"

"No, it's fine." Cersei wiped her eyes. "Just now, him being a Lord and little Robb or Ellyn growing inside me should finally sway father. Convince him to finally let me be with Ned in his time of need."

"I understand." She placed her hand over Cersei's. "If it helps, Jeyne and I would be more than happy to come North with you… If all northern lovers are as good as you say Eddard Stark is, then I probably would go by myself." The frown on Cersei's face was worth the jape.

The door opened but instead of the servant girl returning, it was Tyrion - his face grim. "Sister… Lady Farman… Lady Hetherspoon."

"Brother."

"Imp." Taking cues from Cersei, her friends saved a passing contempt for the dwarf. Especially as he grew older and his looks grew exceedingly prurient in nature. "Why are you interrupting your sister's meal?"

Tyrion gave a pained look. "I wouldn't if I didn't have reason." Ignoring Melara from then on, he turned to Cersei. "May we talk in your chambers?"

"What is this about?" While she didn't actively try to torture him as had been the case before, Cersei still didn't wish to be around Tyrion in more than small doses. Old habits died hard, she supposed. "If this is some prank…"

"I wouldn't jape about this. Please, let's go to your chambers." Catching how serious he was, Cersei nodded - rising and offering Melara a look of apology for the intrusion.

The dining chambers were only a short walk down the corridor to hers. "Alright, Tyrion. What could be so important to interrupt my lunch. Little Robb or Ellyn needs their sustenance."

My little niece or nephew… Honestly, Tyrion didn't know who would be a bigger victim from this news, Cersei or the babe she carried. Mayhaps both… "Sister… you know that Brandon Stark is dead."

"Yes, I know that. Burned alive by the Mad King… gods, I thank all above that Ned wasn't there." She had cried softly that night for him. It's as I said - I should be there to comfort him. "What of it now? Did Rhaegar finally arrive from Dorne? Did father throw his lot with Rhaegar?"

"Well… no. Efforts to secure an alliance by marriage have… hit a snag."

"What are you talking about? Shouldn't Queen Lyanna's brother, the Lord of Winterfell, merit an alliance?" There was no reason why Ned would deny an overture from father, unless… "Did father tell Ned to get stuffed?" Tyrion said nothing. "If he did then I'll fucking ride to Winterfell and marry him myself…"

Tyrion's raised hands stopped her. "Father never contacted the Starks… at least not before the news came in." He had never seen Tywin fume as he had, though Tyrion had been told by Genna that the reactions to Cersei's pregnancies had been the worst. To learn that Ned Stark had acted so decisively before he could even make an overture… It wasn't pretty.

Taking that and Tyrion's silence for the worst, Cersei's voice dropped low. "Brother… what happened…"

His words hit her like a collapsing roof. "Ned married another."

Cersei stood there a moment before it truly sunk in. She staggered, forced to fall atop her bed - face white as if drained of blood. "Who…" came the lonely reply.

"Lady Catelyn Tully, his brother's betrothed. From what father figures, it was the only way to get the alliance between the North and the Riverlands. I'm sorry." He waited for her rage, for her to scream and shout and throw things, but shockingly nothing came. "Sister…"

"Get out."

"Cersei…"

"I said get out!"

Craven in that moment, Tyrion scurried out. It wasn't till he shut the door did he hear the first glass or crystal piece smash against the wall.

Straight… turn… straight… straight… turn… turn… Cersei wandered aimlessly through the keep. The servants all gave a wide berth, knowing her penchant for tantrums. And from what they previously heard echoing from her chambers, the fears grew.

Oh, had she thrown a tantrum. Nothing was spared, glass scattered in bits on the floors. Clothes ripped open, a knife dug powerfully into the mattress scattering goose down in the air. This was the truth of her life. All stolen away from her by the Mad King and Catelyn fucking Tully.

But anger and sorrow had long been replaced with numbness. She would never have Ned. She would never be his… love each other though they may, he was too honorable to betray an alliance. His oaths were too important, and ironically such rock-solid reliability was something she loved about him.

And now he belongs to Catelyn Tully. The bitch that they both shared concerns about while in bed together, worried that she'd be a horrible lady for Brandon. At least Brandon loved her, and she loved him far more. Her beloved would never be happy, Cersei knew this - Catelyn may not have been a whoremonger like Robert Baratheon, but she would be as horrible a match, simply in a different manner.

Suddenly a sound broke her daze. Blinking, Cersei found her attention drawn to a specific room. Finding a crib inside, yet no servant as a baby wailed within. "Hello?" she called out. "Someone?" For some odd reason the area was deserted. Sighing, she made her way in.

The babe hadn't been crying for long, face still pink and plump rather than swollen red. There was no doubting who it was. Loren Payne's son… Podrick… There was no other dwelling in well-apportioned rooms such as these. Her uncles' children were five namedays at the youngest. Unable to just leave him - and honestly feeling the motherly tug that the tiny babe in her womb had given her - Cersei reached in.

"Hush, little one," she cooed, bobbing Podrick up and down. Saying thanks to the gods that he began to settle. "You know, I have a babe in my belly. One who will grow up here, same as you." The babe looked at her with wide eyes, uncomprehending but keen on her. Sighing, Cersei pulled him closer. "What am I going to do? What will happen to my babe?"

She'd never know the happiness in her love's eyes at their babe - never start a true family. Would Catelyn Tully ever grow to love him? Cersei had her doubts, but prayed that at least it would happen.

At least one of us deserves to be happy. In her arms, Podrick slept softly… and she truly couldn't wait to hold her babe the same way.

---

Coins jingled as Ser Will Cole tossed the sack onto the table. With a gesture from the young highborn, the grizzled knight opened it up, revealing a thousand gold dragons straight from the royal treasury. "Here you are. Ten sacks of these await you if the Brave Companions accept the contract I'm offering."

The Brave Companions were younger than most of the famed sellsword companies that Renly Baratheon had met with over the past weeks - dangling the coin and ingots that Connington had provided him for the task. Meeting with the rather… unsavory lots did not sit well with him, but since Robert and Stannis took the cream of the Stormlands off to the actual war, he would need to make due with what he had. And the Brave Companions were the most unsavory of the lot… but quite accomplished in war.

Comprising men from all over the known world - Westerman lancers, Dornish spears, Myrish crossbowmen, Qohorik light horse - their leader was a handsome Dornish bastard by the name of Tagyn Sand. What he had in looks was matched by the shrewd bitterness of a man that wished for more than his lot in life. "Ten thousand gold dragons, eh?" He stroked his clean-shaven face. Quite attractive, Renly figured, but nowhere near the beauty of his Griffin. "Tempting, very tempting."

"How soon can your men be ready to march with me?" Renly asked, growing impatient. The other sellswords, pirates, and brigands were glad to take the coin Connington provided. If I didn't need their damn numbers…

Tapping his bronzed cheek with a finger, Tagyn Sand thought it over. "Boat voyage from the Stepstones? I presume it would be about two moons…"

Another sack fell on the table. Ripping it open with a knife, a Baratheon guardsman revealed another trove of gold dragons. "Double if you make it less than one moon."

The dark eyes of Vargo Hoat settled on the boy, narrowed and savage. For a moment, Renly didn't know if the Brave Companion second-in-command wished to intimidate him or was eying him puriently. Either thought made his hand tremble underneath the table. "Young Barathhh-eon. Do nothh fuckth withh us," he hissed, fierce in spite of his ridiculous lisp - rumor said his innate savagery was only enhanced because of the laughs tossed his way. "I'll fuckthing rape your corpsthe if you screw us over…"

"Enough, Vargo," Sand interrupted, reaching out to scoop the coins in his hand. Jingling them gingerly. "How many others do you have? Sieges are expensive business in terms of manpower."

"Six thousand," Renly replied.

"All committed, I assume… including us?"

"Yes." The fact that all he could commit to the assault were five hundred Baratheon guardsmen, fifteen hundred assorted former criminals turned men-at-arms, and the two landed knightly houses of the former Peake keeps was not something he was keen on disclosing. If the negotiations with the other sellsword companies proved fruitful, he would have his men.

From their looks, neither Sand nor Vargo seemed to believe him. "And Starfall? The Daynes are a powerful House."

Forwarded by his beloved Jon, Renly had the latest whispers from Lord Varys himself. "The Peakes, Daynes, and Blackmonts have already combined their forces north of the Prince's Pass, marching for the Riverlands to fight with Rhaegar. Whatever forces remain are likely skeleton garrisons."

"I still don't like this," Sand mused.

"Why?" Vargo seemed less perturbed. "An unguardeth keep withhh twoth beauthiful Princesses ripe forth the takthing. I saythh we go forth it."

"You are not in command, I am," barked the Captain - Hoat shut it, but glowered darkly.

The young Stag was prepared for this. "This quest is with the full sanction of his Grace. Rewards far greater than these await you."

This was taken with serious thought. "I want Starfall."

"Lord Connington offers High Hermitage."

A smaller keep with fewer lands, the prospect of even this clearly sated the greed of the bastard of a Dornish landed knight. One who was denied even the most meager inheritance. "Done."

Renly smiled, another five hundred elite soldiers added to his cause.

---

"Well, that's a wrap." Elia tossed a stack of letters onto her desk, snarl on her lips.

"Calm down, my love," Lyanna cautioned, rubbing her bump - it was as if little Jon could sense his muna's anger. "What could be so bothersome."

A sarcastic chuckle left Elia's lips. "It's clear I barely have a family anymore. Doran refuses to help, or even authorize the Dornish houses to decide for themselves if they wish to fight for us." Looking at Lya, her eyes shifted from a wary fatigue to a bright anger. "I'm sure if I denounced you - something I would rather cut off my hand than do - he'd send some support."

Lyanna looked worried. "Don't cut off your hand. I rather like what you use it for."

Looking cross, Elia couldn't help but curve her lip upward at that. "Filthy girl. Our husband is weak enough to fall for that, not I." But the knowing grin on Lya's face belied the falsehood. When it came to Lyanna, Elia was like a blushing maiden - as was the converse. "Also, the Westerlands rejected all my pleas." Her scowl returned. "I doubt that Tywin even wrote this letter. The calligraphy is too flowery for the old lion."

Starfall almost an island in the sea of war, Elia nevertheless had immersed herself in fighting the war from afar. Buried in paper and ravens as she desperately tried to back their husband from thousands of miles away. "You can only do so much, love," Lya cautioned. "You are a Queen, yet you are also human." Lyanna wished Elia wouldn't exhaust herself so much. At least not that way…

"Somehow I think Varys is behind this in some manner. Remember what I told you about the Lysene mummers?"

"Vaguely, although…" Lya grinned, "I do remember what we did after you said it." She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, grey eyes twinkling suggestively.

A warmth spread through Elia's body. Was she blushing? Perhaps she was. "Yes… that was most enjoyable, my wolf." Their first true night together as two parts to the whole, lovers even without Rhaegar - though him not being there left its own hole in their hearts. Every night since… bliss. "I sense you wish to distract me."

Lyanna feigned an innocent look, even though she knew Elia was on to her. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Shut it," giggled Elia, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. Pulling back just on the cusp of abandoning everything and making the she-wolf moan and scream. "Now back to what I was saying…" In spite of the desires coursing through her system, Lyanna composed herself and listened intently. "Back when I was pregnant with Rhae, no one really paid me any attention. I was just some young, worthless girl who's only responsibility was to birth heirs." Her voice caught - the demons still not fully vanquished.

"You are so much more than that." Lya placed a hand on hers, rubbing it gently with her thumb.

Elia melted, picking up the hand and kissing it. "I love you."

"I love you too… now go on."

Nodding, Elia continued. "It did give me an asset, in that if no one cared about me then they underestimated me. Therefore, I was able to hear the various comings and goings of court at the time of the Defiance."

"Oh." Lyanna knew that was when Aerys' descent into madness began.

"The strain between Tywin and Aerys… I believe that Varys was the one that instigated it by spreading rumors and whispering in the King's ear about Lord Lannister's duplicity. It's a classic mummer's trick, gain influence by castigating others." Elia shook her head. "After Steffon Baratheon died, Tywin was the only one loyal to Aerys out of actual friendship rather than personal gain."

Processing what her wife was telling her, Lyanna started to piece the trains of thought together. "So you think Varys is selectively feeding Rhaegar information for his own ends?" The man had seemed sincere when he spoke to she and Ned on Dragonstone.

Hanging her head, Elia massaged her temples. "I cannot be sure of anything, stuck here at Starfall, but my suspicions are raised. Look." She lifted up a letter from the desk. "When my mother and I travelled the realm looking for a bride for me, I made friends with Leyla Hightower, Lord Leyton's daughter. We've kept close in touch, and now she sent me this."

Lyanna scanned the letter. "The Hightowers are fully mobilized and marching for King's Landing along with the forces of the Honeywine." That was not a good development. No matter how obsequious Mace Tyrell could be, his true power rested with the ability to muster Oldtown as well as Highgarden. "We haven't heard this."

"Exactly, why didn't Varys speak of it? Why didn't Varys tip any of us off to Chelsted attacking Harrenhal… why didn't he warn your father and brother of Jon Arryn's true cause of death."

"Perhaps he didn't know."

Sighing, Elia closed her eyes. "Perhaps he didn't, perhaps he did. I can't be sure anymore and it's truly shredding my insides. I want to do something… to help Rhaegar in his time of need, but everything is showing me that I'm just a twenty nameday girl over her head." She buried her face in her hands, trying her best not to succumb to the headache and heartache.

And yet moments later, her hands were pulled away and a soft pair of lips pressed against hers. Insistently breaking through her walls until Elia's thoughts were only on the wild northern beauty before her. They pressed together, Elia feeling Rhaegar's babe nestled inside Lyanna. Our babe…

Breaking the kiss, Lyanna stood - pulling Elia with her. "Come with me. Tackle this with fresh eyes and a better mood once you perform your wifely duties."

Elia chuckled, smirking as she let Lyanna tug her towards their chambers. "Wouldn't want to neglect those duties, now do I?"

---

Peering ahead at the low sloping hill that blocked his view of the rest of the Roseroad, Alliser Thorne wished he had a swig of real wine - not the sour horse piss issued by the King's Landing quartermasters. "Where is he?"

Blinking, his subordinate glanced around for several moments. Lost of what to say. "His… Lord Varys' little birds had him riding this way… from Highgarden. He should be here."

"Well he's fucking not." Both in front and behind the collection of officers mounted upon their horses, the rows of a thousand men of the Targaryen Household Guard waited astride the Roseroad. Waiting to block the progress of Crown Prince and King-claimant Rhaegar Targaryen, wanted for high treason by the King.

Yet none wanted to face Rhaegar. To be the ones to put him down for good simply over what Princess Lyanna did at a tourney. Seven Hells, they all loved the She-Wolf of Winterfell, how fierce and wild she was.

All of this just didn't sit right with the landed knight. Proudly following House Targaryen, this level of civil war and familial bloodshed made his blood run cold and stomach roil. Why? Why do this? House Targaryen almost destroyed itself in the Dance of Dragons… and then the Blackfyre Rebellions. This could have been the final end and Thorne just couldn't stand the thought.

"Riders approaching!"

Sure enough, a large detachment of horse crested the ridge. Many knights and mounted men-at-arms, tucked under a few fluttering Targaryen banners. "Spears and shields!" Thorne ordered. "Spears and shields!" He quickly dismounted, racing to the front of the line.

Starting out of Starfall with ten men and Melisandre, now over two hundred followed Rhaegar. Hedge knights and men-at-arms from the crowds of Highgarden and beyond flocking to follow the Dragon Prince into battle. For fame and glory, but also out of the desire to fight for the Seven's Chosen. A man who braved a Trial by Seven and emerged victorious, blessed by the gods. But faced with a thousand shock troops, they stilled their horses. Knowing they could not face a hedgerow of heavily-armed pikemen.

"That's Alliser Thorne," Ser Barristan observed. "He can't be fighting for Aerys."

"Perhaps a parlay? We could turn him," suggested Ser Myles.

"I say just run," remarked 'Ser' Bronn, having recently been knighted by his King. "We'll find a way around them.

The King-claimant turned to Melisandre. "Your thoughts?" The red priestess smirked, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.

At the front, the commander of the regiment cupped his mouth. "Rhaegar Targaryen," bellowed Thorne. "You are wanted…" The words tasted like bile in his throat, but his duty was his duty... "For the crimes of treason and witchcraft against King Aerys, Second of His Name. Present yourself for arrest!"

The Crown Prince - or King-claimant as he would style himself - slowly urged his stallion slowly forward. Leaving the protective screen of his hundred knights and men-at-arms. "Your Grace…" hissed Ser Gerold, but Rhaegar ignored his Lord Commander. Trotting Moondancer until about thirty feet separated him and the line of guardsmen. Dragonwings on his helm glinting in the noonday sun.

To Thorne's awe, as well as the awe of his men, Rhaegar dismounted - boots hitting the road with a puff of dirt. Without a word he stepped forward, one stride at a time towards the line. "Present spears!" an officer barked, the front row dropping their halberds in a rippling line. But still Rhaegar walked. Unafraid and unwavering in the face of what could end up as certain death.

Drawing his sword, Thorne pushed towards just before the first row. "Stop!" he commanded. Gods, my Prince, just get out of here! Don't make us harm you… Still he walked - close enough to see his violet eyes underneath the helm.

But suddenly Rhaegar stopped - a mere ten feet from the points of the spears. He wordlessly removed his helm and let the magnificently forged steel fall to the ground. Again, he drew Blackfyre from its scabbard, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror glinting in the sun. It joined the helm on the ground.

Many a man gasped at the sight of their Prince so close. Silver hair blowing in the wind, showing not a glimmer of fear, he looked like a Valyrian god - strong and proud. Eyeing each of them with an inscrutable look upon his beautiful face, Thorne last of all, he raised his arms to the sides. "If there is one man!" he boomed, voice as powerful as a dragon's. "Who wishes to kill their King… Here I am. Let it be done quickly."

Not a sound followed but the chirping of birds... The buzzing of grasshoppers... The gentle breeze wafting across the landscape. All among each line men trembled, watching the mighty Dragon Prince offer himself up. Some were close to fainting, others shaking so much to nearly drop their weapons.

The clinking of plate and mail broke it all. Ser Alliser Thorne escaped the bounds of his men. Walking forward till he was almost face to face with Rhaegar - neither man gave away a single emotion as they stared each other down. Waiting, each second as if it would be an hour…

In a fluid motion, Thorne drew the blade at his hip and bent the knee before Rhaegar. "Long may he reign!"

The cries almost instantly followed. Armor and weapons smacking against the ground as entire rows of men bent the knee. Dozens, then hundreds, then the entire thousand.

"Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!"

All swearing allegiance to their true King. The man they were proud to follow, who would often personally train them and present them with commendations. Who paid them and visited them in their barracks, a mighty King that wouldn't fill the streets of their city with the stench of wildfire and burnt flesh. They did so out of their own will, proud to fight for him.

Taking Blackfyre back in hand, Rhaegar held it high as the entire regiment hurled to its feet. The cheers were deafening as both the knights that had followed him from Highgarden and the men-at-arms of the household guard converged to Rhaegar. "All hail the King!" shouted Ser Gerold, sword raised high.

"All hail the King!"

Notes:

The story of Napoleon securing the authority of the 5th Regiment during the Hundred Days was too awesome not to use. Check out the painting Napoleon's Return from Elba, by Charles de Steuben to see what the scene must have looked like for our Targaryen King.

Olenna with a green dragon egg (anything special about green ;D) to give to Rhaegar. The plot thickens :D

First glimpse of Cersei... I'm sad for her :(

Lucky that Elia has Lyanna to cheer her up with 'wifely duties' while she struggles with her worries for Rhaegar. I suppose the converse is also true ;)

Ashara and Benjen are getting along. Unfortunately, Renly is on the march.

Next time, Rhaegar arrives at Riverrun.

Chapter 47: Remember Your Blood

Notes:

Hi all. We're getting close to the first battles of Rhaegar's Rebellion.

Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"My King." Robert Baratheon set the Stormbreaker's head upon the ground. Kneeling before the Iron Throne. "I pledge my eternal fealty to you. My hammer and bannermen are yours to command." Wordlessly, Stannis drew his blade and knelt as well. A second son, even his blood uncle wouldn't care to hear from him. Thank the gods for small favors.

Seated upon the grotesque throne of swords, Aerys Targaryen watched the pageantry with a tiny grin upon his face. "Nephew… it is good that you have chosen the right side. Your grandmother would have been pleased." Eyes shifting, he jerked his hand. "Now, Mace. Do it."

Gold-etched plate armor and pauldrons over a forest green gambeson, Mace Tyrell drew his sword and knelt. He removed his massive helm adorned with bright ostrich plumes. All the way to his growing gut, the man looked much like a peacock. Quite pathetic in Stannis' view, especially compared to the more modestly dressed Willas and Lord Leyton Hightower, both of them kneeling as well.

"My King, the swords and lances of the Reach are yours to command."

"Aside from House Peake, that is?" Aerys' eyes turned fiery. "You can't even control your fucking bannermen, oaf?"

Mace trembled underneath his armor. "Forgive me, your Grace. I was not aware of their treachery until recently." Why does he put up with it? Was it all worth marrying his daughter to the now 'Crown Prince' Viserys? Who was sitting on a gilded chair next to his father while Jon Connington stood on the other side.

"We will deal with them once Prince Rhaegar is dead, your Grace," added Leyton Hightower, much more adept than his goodson.

Aerys huffed. "See that you do." He looked over at Connington. "Where are the Reach and Stormlands armies, Hand?"

"Still marching, your Grace. They took some time to answer the call due to the rains."

Snarling his displeasure, Aerys turned to Viserys. "See son, even the Lords that want to lick your bunghole will try and bend you over and take it." Quiet and very much withdrawn into himself, Viserys merely nodded, which Aerys found sufficient. His gaze returned to the kneeling Lords. "They better be here in a moon or I'll take off your hands, are we clear?"

"Yes, your Grace." Stannis' knees were already aching, but he fought to stay still.

The next words from the King's mouth almost made him topple nonetheless. "Stannis… isn't it? You look a lot like my brother, nephew."

He did not want to be noticed. "Thank you, my King and honored uncle."

"That was not a compliment. Try to not be as much of a fucking fool as he and you'll go far." Standing, Aerys simply walked out, followed by Ser Lewyn and the Prince. Viserys stumbled a bit, his eyes darting in every direction like a jittery dog. It unsettled the second son of Steffon Baratheon greatly, but Robert had to kill the man that took Lyanna from him so here he was.

At least he could stand again.

"Lord Tyrell, I understand your concerns…" Connington attempted to fend off questions as they retired to the Tower of the Hand.

But Lord Mace was not having it, cheeks puffed out and breath halting after the climb of the stairs. "I resent the implication that I knew what Lord Peake was doing under my nose… or my wife and mother." He gestured to Willas. "My son is here to fight for his Grace and my daughter is betrothed to the Crown Prince." The fact his daughter was barely one nameday didn't faze him. "My loyalty is unquestioned.

Connington had chosen not to inform the King of what happened at Highgarden. Gods, Rhaegar continues to dazzle me. But it wouldn't stop him from using it. "Be warned, Lord Tyrell, the fact that your mother chose to release Rhaegar to join his armies nor is trying to stop the Peakes, Blackmonts, and Daynes as they march for the Riverlands should keep you humble before me. Remember what happened to House Thorne." The Reach lords paled. After Alliser Thorne's betrayal, Aerys had his father, mother, and older brother burned before him.

The Lord of Highgarden opened his mouth to speak but merely stumbled and choked as a powerful arm smacked him in the back. "Cheer up, Mace!" Robert bellowed in his grandiose fashion. "We are fighting the righteous cause as all the septons say. What we need is someone bold to command and Craven Chelsted isn't the one to do it. Give me command, Jon," he demanded of Connington.

Shaking his head, the Hand demurred. "That would be impossible."

"Why the fuck would it?"

"Because Lord Chelsted has his Grace's favor after capturing Harrenhal. He will stay as Master of War unless circumstances change." Until he fucks up and gets killed.

While someone with tact would have read the subtext, Robert looked incredulous. "He?! Any man can bribe the fuckin' castillain of Harrenhal and get the damn place to surrender. It takes a proper warrior like me to defeat the rapist and wife-slayer. With my sixty thousand we shall be unstoppable."

"Don't exaggerate your strength, Robert. It's unbecoming," Connington scowled. "You have less than thirty thousand that you can mobilize, and the truth is far lower than that because of the rains."

Stannis raised his eyebrow. "How could you possibly know that?"

The patronizing look Connington shot him greatly irked Stannis. "I have a keep in the Stormlands too, young Stannis." He was doing it too.

"One that you haven't visited in years." Does he have a spy in Storm's End? Does Varys?

"There are such things as ravens." A cagey smile really raised Stannis' warnings, but the Baratheon bit back a response. Allowing Connington to move on to other topics. "Lord Hightower, have you managed to meet with the High Septon?"

Lord Leyton was a cautious man, more here to protect his interests than to fight a war. "That fat fraud holds no influence in my court, so I can't be of service there. As for the Most Devout… they are inclined to oppose the polygamist but…" He drops his voice. "Rhaegar's victory in the Trial by Seven muddles things. They are unlikely to make any pronouncements except the decrying of polygamy."

"See that they do, and I'll take care of the High Septon."

"Of course, Lord Hand."

---

Supposedly safe behind the thick walls and riverine island of Starfall, such didn't leave the new Queens of the Seven Kingdoms free to sit idle while their husband fought his wars. Her quill scribbling upon a dispatch to Highgarden, Lyanna absentmindedly stroked the now noticeable bump of her abdomen.

Even in her readings, Elia was greatly attune to her wife's movements. "What's wrong?" Eyes zeroed in on Lyanna in a growing alarm. "Is the babe alright?"

Startled out of her work, Lya looked up. "What? Of course he's fine." She gave Elia a queer look.

Sighing, Elia clutched her heart. Relieved. "Sorry… I just saw your hand go to him and…"

Lyanna shook her head, smirking. "You're worse than Rhaegar sometimes."

"Well excuse me for caring about our son," Elia huffed.

Our son… The smirk changed to an actual smile. "I didn't say that was a bad thing, my love." Elia's ire lasted as much as she figured, mirroring Lyanna's smile. "Gods know that I'd be as anxious if you were expecting."

Fat chance of that happening. Putting aside the sad thought, the Dornish Queen turned back to her work. "Any news from Highgarden?"

A nod. "Janna Tyrell is now Lady Janna Peake - cements that clause of Rhaegar's deal with the Queen of Thornes." A few nightmares aside, both Queens wished they could have been there to hug and tend to Rhaegar after his almost legendary victory in the Trial by Seven. "House Peake begins its return to glory."

"Maekar Targaryen rolls in his grave," Elia quipped. "The knights that run the other two Peake keeps aren't going to be happy. Lord Althos tells me that they didn't march with the Hightowers after Lord Mace called the banners." They didn't hope to threaten Starfall without more, but it was still a worry. Elia moved on. "The Rogares said they'd offer Rhaegar a loan, if at a high rate of interest."

Lyanna frowned. "Those cunts didn't hurt our House enough when Larra abandoned Viserys?"

"At least they're accepting our loan, not like the Iron Bank." Letters to the various banking families of Essos were generally rebuffed, most willing to stick with Aerys and the erratic but general stability his reign offered. "Part of me suspects they just want House Targaryen to die."

"Only part?" Lyanna was more convinced. "Westeros needs its own bank. The Dragon Bank or something… I'd even have Lord Tywin send one of his brothers run it - he knows his salt when it comes to coin."

"If your father had his way, then the dwarf could likely do it." Only then did Elia realize what she said, given the sudden pain on Lyanna's face. "Oh, my love…"

Thinking about her father… about her brother… The wound was still raw - even with Elia, the children, Ashara, Dacey, and the new babe lifting her spirits. Only her husband's absence truly hurt her more. "I… I'm fine," she tried to deflect, but it was an obvious lie.

But Elia didn't buy it. Rising from her feet and urging Lya to stand, hugging her close. "I know you're in pain, Lya. I love you, don't hide anything from me."

Lyanna lost herself in the embrace, letting her face bury itself in the crook of Elia's neck. Smelling the scent of flowers, Dornish apple to be exact - she had grown to adore the fragrance as much as winter roses. It is her favorite. Gently, she nuzzled Elia's skin, smiling at her sigh of contentment. Feeling her soft hand rest on her growing swell. If she were the Rhaenyra to her own Prince Daemon, perhaps Lyanna had gotten Laena Velaryon as well.

Lucky, lucky me…

'She's using you…'

Stiffening, Lyanna heard the voice - the same one that tried to poison her when she found out about Jon.

'Your father and brother would be ashamed at your wantonness…'

"My love?" Her heart started to beat fast. "Lya?"

A gentle kiss to her cheek brought Lyanna away from the voice. Back to the present where honey-brown eyes gazed into hers. "Is everything alright?"

Trying to calm herself, Lyanna put on a smile. "Yes, I'm fine." The she-wolf felt her mind clearer, back to the certainty of her feelings. Without hesitation Lyanna pressed a sweet kiss to Elia's lips. Enjoying how the Dornish beauty moaned into it. "All of this… thank you."

Elia was still a bit dazed from the kiss. "Why are you thanking me?" she asked innocently.

That look stirred up prurient thoughts in Lyanna. Ones she still sometimes took time getting used to. "Being here. Comforting me as our husband is at war - away from us."

Melting at the sweet words, Elia cupped her sister-wife's cheek. The woman she had shockingly but happily fallen head over heels for. "There's no need, because I love you… and you do the same for me." Caressing the swell of their babe, they shared another wordless moment before Elia had a thought. "Come, let's go see the children." How Lyanna's grey eyes sparkled at that filled her with a rare joy.

The second largest of the guest chambers in Starfall had been converted into a nursery for the Targaryen children - currently being watched over by their Kingsguard uncle and Lady Ashara. Rhaenys racing around with a sliver of wood, attempting to be Nymeria as she engaged Benjen while the infant Egg cheered her from his crib with babbling praise. It was a beautiful sight for the Queens as they peered into the room.

It didn't take long for the perceptive Princess to notice the new arrivals. "Muna!" She raced over and throwing her arms around them. "Hello, munas." Wriggling out of Elia's hold, she hugged Lyanna. Kissing the little swell. "Hello, little brudder." The love in her voice made Lya hug her tighter as Elia moved to lavish love on Egg.

Behind, Benjen chuckled. "How do you know it's a Prince, niece?" Unlike Ned, there was no awkwardness in adopting Elia's brood into his affections. How can anyone not love them?

She looked at her wolf uncle with the same imperious certainty as Rhaegar was wont to do. "I'm a dragon. I know."

"She has a point, Ben," Ashara remarked rather friendly, stepping forward to place a hand on his shoulder. Not going unnoticed by Lyanna. "These Targaryens, they are unlike you or I."

"And I have the blood of the Starks, as ancient and noble a bloodline as any Valyrian," he replied haughtily, but while Tywin Lannister or Olenna Tyrell could pull it off, Ashara laughed at how silly he sounded.

Lyanna laughed as well, until Rhae pulled on her skirts. "Muna, I'm hungry."

"You broke your fast a few hours ago, sweetling." But the wide-eyed plea and quivering lip simply melted her. "Alright, dear." Lyanna looked at Elia cooing their son, realizing she hadn't had quality time with Egg yet. "Ash, do you mind…"

The Beauty of Starfall thought nothing of it. "I'll take you to the kitchens. See if Wylla has some sweetmeats for you till dinner." A hug and a kiss from each of her mothers found the excited Princess bounding off, while neither Queen missed how Benjen's fingers brushed on Ashara's waist and how the young maiden giggled softly. Seems it isn't just Arthur, then.

"Tell me, brother," Lyanna asked point blank as she moved to her son. "Have you coupled with Ash?"

His eyes went wide. "What? No…"

Elia handed Egg to Lya, laughing as he babbled happily at her. "It is rather obvious, Ben. I've seen less lascivious looks in a Lysene pleasure house." She became aware of a jealous glare from Lyanna. "My brother dragged me into one," Elia defended.

Benjen sighed. "Ashara… few men could resist falling in love with her. Much less when she falls for you."

Lyanna laughed. "Hear that Egg?" she cooed at her son. "Your uncle is in love. Do you like that."

He peered at her with his father's violet eyes. "Muh… muna." Egg looked at Elia. "Muna."

His first words… The little joys were what kept them all alive during the hells of war.

---

"This is an outrage!" Willam Mooton hollered, banging his fists against the table overlooking he Lord's seat. "We must retake the keeps immediately from those shits that pillage and burn the Riverlands."

"And what forces do you wish to do that with, Lord Ham?" Jonos Bracken sneered, the martial jouster drawing attention to Ser Myles' brother's already considerable girth. The two of them were nothing alike, almost like Daemon and Viserys Targaryen - one a strong warrior, the other a merry lover of revelry. "Aerys outnumbers us, and that's with Lord Robert and Lord Mace closer to us than the damned northerners."

Speaking for the northern contingent, Rickard Karstark sent a death glare at Lord Bracken. "Damned northerners?! Says a lot of a family that prostituted its daughters to a fat oaf of a King!"

"My Lords, please," Hoster rose before Jonos could draw his sword. "Let us calm ourselves…" Rhaegar simply eyed Oswell beside him, his resident expert on everything Riverman. Oswell simply shrugged. "We can reach a proper accord to all of this."

"No, we must attack now!" demanded Ser Myles - in full armor and fresh off being on the victorious side of a trial by seven, he was a far greater presence than his soft brother. "Harrenhal is ruled by fucking Boros the Belly! The Darrys openly defy our Leige's orders. This cannot be allowed to stand!"

Hoster was a good man, but he simply looked over his head. Face flushed and struggling to maintain some level of authority. "Lord Darry has been stripped of his keep by my directive. He will meet his proper end as will Lord Boros." Beside him, Ser Brynden Tully, his brother, rolled his eyes. The man was of few words and wasn't about to leap into the coming madhouse.

His instincts were correct. "The keep must be given to my younger son," announced Tytos Blackwood. "As his Grace's longtime friend, I can safely say that no House has been more loyal to House Targaryen than ours."

"My ass," snarled Lord Bracken. The feud between the two houses was legendary.

"House Piper deserves the keep!"

"You're a bunch of drunks - it rightfully belongs to House Mallister."

"The only proper man that deserves it is Ser Brynden the Blackfish!" a knight sworn to House Tully announced, only to be silenced with a glare from the Blackfish.

And so the bickering continued, each of the Riverlords more eager to try and one up the other than unite. Hoster Tully did his best to wrangle them up, but Rhaegar could tell the man would not be able to. Aegon the Conqueror had elevated the Tullys out of loyalty, but it was obvious that they had the least power of all the great houses.

For fuck's sake… "We will attack immediately," he finally ground out - all voices falling silent as the King-claimant spoke. "This bickering can wait until after Harrenhal falls, which we will make happen upon the morrow." He waited for the first to complain.

That person turned out to be Lord Hoster of all people. "We are outnumbered by the forces of the Crownlands. If they fortify Harrenhal…"

"None of those fucks are close to Harrenhal." Eyes turned to Ser Bronn, idly using a knife to pick his nails. "I scouted that land myself. A rather chatty hedge knight in Connington's employ told me that Lord Chelsted moved his army closer to the capitol to wait for our move."

"They means to ambush us," murmured Lord Mallister.

"Yet they'll be reinforced rather quickly if Lord Robert gets his bannermen there," growled the Blackfish. "His Grace is right, we must strike now."

Appreciating Brynden Tully's support - and noticing a gleam of jealousy in Hoster's eyes - Rhaegar looked back out over the Riverlords. "We will advance and besiege Harrenhal while the Belly is still preparing it. Then we wait for Chelsted."

"And who will command this?" Jonos Bracken demanded.

He and his Kingsguards had already determined this. "Ser Brynden commands half the infantry, while Ser Myles and Lord Blackwood gets the cavalry and the remaining infantry. Ser Alliser will command the siege." A look to the new commander of the Household Guard found him nodding in approval - accepting the commission. "As for the northmen and men-at-arms in my employ," over five hundred assorted hedge knights and wannabe sellswords had simply joined Rhaegar, eager to fight for him. "Lord Reed will command them."

Howland, silent through it all, blinked. "Me, your Grace?" Lord Karstark seemed affronted, but said nothing.

"You know how to bushwhack and raid. We will need that."

The moment he shut the door behind him, the ruckus resumed within the great hall. Likely back to squabbling over who would get the Darry lands once all was said and done once more. "I should give the keep to Ser Myles and be done with it," Rhaegar breathed, heart heavy. Myles was the second son of his father, and thus was behind his brother Willam's brood of children in succession. "Wasn't he fond of your niece?"

Lips tight, Oswell nodded. "Mya, the fair maid. I think she was likely to be betrothed to him if my brother was to be believed." He shrugged. "She and I, the last of the Whents."

"Gods, Oswell…" In his own frustration at the lack of control Hoster had over his bannermen, Rhaegar had forgotten about Oswell's personal connection to the atrocities. "Forgive me my lack of compassion…"

"No, it's alright, your Grace." The knight would spare no more tears while this war was raging. "As long as I get to lop off the head of Boros Blount, Willis Wode, and Qarlton Chelsted, I shall endure."

Rhaegar found nothing problematic with the request. "Done." They began to head towards the guest quarters of the ancient keep. "You would be heir to Harrenhal without the cloak. If you wish I can relieve you of your vows."

Oswell shook his head. "As did Lord Commander Hoare centuries ago, I swore my vow to the true King knowing this may happen. I shall not abandon you, my King." His voice resounded with loyalty and determination. "Besides, that damned keep is cursed. Mya can rule Darry with Myles, give the fucking thing to some other poor bastard."

"If you say so." To think, if the squabbling over Darry was intense, Rhaegar shuddered to think what chaos the ownership of Harrenhal would create. Seeing Gerold approaching him, hopefully the Lord Commander would have some matter to preoccupy his mind from brooding.

"Your Grace," bowed Ser Gerold. "There is someone who wishes a moment for your audience."

For the first time, Rhaegar noticed the tall, stern figure of a knight beside Ser Gerold. "Follow me." The King-Claimant led the others to an unoccupied chambers - what looked to be a storage closet. How… quaint. "Forgive me, but these things are best done in private."

"There is no need, your Grace." The thin knight took to his knee. "Allow me to introduce myself as Ser Bonifer of House Hasty, and I am honored to swear my sword to the true champion of the Seven."

Perhaps it was instinct, or perhaps Lyanna was rubbing off on him, but Rhaegar felt a bit perturbed at the open display of piety in the Faith. Nevertheless, the man seemed sincere. "Heard about the trial at Highgarden, I presume."

Ser Bonifer looked up and nodded. "The fools of the Most Devout and the High Septon may be too corrupt to accept such messages of the gods, but the solemnity of a Trial by Seven is sacrosanct - more than a simple trial by combat or any middling tourney. There is no doubt who carries their favor, and he shall carry mine."

Smiling at the praise, still Rhaegar glanced at Ser Gerold - silent question obvious on his face. 'Why bring him here?' The Lord Commander didn't hesitate in answering. "Ser Bonifer is the founder and Captain of the Holy Hundred."

That did catch Rhaegar's interest. "The force that helped Ser Arthur Dayne defeat the Kingswood brotherhood?" From what Arthur told him, they fought smartly and professionally."

Rising, Bonifer smiled modestly. "The name is a bit of a misnomer - more around two hundred-fifty men as of now. Where my sword is pledged, so too are their swords pledged."

Extending his hand, Rhaegar clasped Bonifer's firmly. The man's hands were lean but strong - a proper warrior. "Where are you from, Ser Bonifer. I must confess that I do not know of House Hasty."

The knight didn't seem to take offense. "We are a small house of Landed Knights from around Summerhall, your Grace. My brother is the master of the manor, I am simply a sword sworn to the Seven and to House Targaryen."

"Not Lord Robert?" Rhaegar was wary of most Stormlanders these days, mostly due to his documented struggles with Robert and Connington. "I must ask…"

"I knew your mother, my King." That Rhaegar didn't expect. "She was a Princess then, and inspired the greatest loyalty in all proper knights of the Seven. Her piety, her grace, her kindness." There was something on his face, though. Something beyond mere loyalty and admiration. "From what I have seen, you are her son in every respect. The Warrior has noticed and showered you with his blessing. No one else is worthy of my sword."

"Well… I am glad to have your loyalty, Ser Bonifer. Move your men into my camp and they shall be part of the advance on Harrenhal."

Bowing, the knight seemed to have some other thing on his mind. "Your Grace… has the Queen ever spoken of me before?"

Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "Ser Arthur has, but I do not recall my mother ever mentioning your name."

He watched as a flicker of grief formed in Bonifer's eye. "Such is no issue. To the battles that come." He bowed once more and left.

"Why would he feel my mother would mention him?" Rhaegar asked Ser Gerold.

"I do recall a knight crowning Princess Rhaella the Queen of Love and Beauty during a tourney at Storm's End," Gerold mused. "That could have been Ser Bonifer."

"Hmmm… odd." A curiosity without necessity. Rhaegar put it out of his mind.

---

"It truly is a magnificent sight, isn't it?" Ned tried to prevent his nose from wrinkling - or simply shriveling into a husk - from the stench of Walder Frey's breath. He was surprised the old man still had any teeth left… forgetting that he still was able to sire more children both trueborn and bastard at his advanced age. "Troops marching across my bridge. Odd, it's one of the biggest bridges in Westeros according to my Maester, but your columns seem to make it look puny."

"The mind plays tricks on us sometimes, my Lord," he replied, eying him warily. Gods, for the times where all he had to worry about was if Lya would like Robert - all was so… innocent then.

A snort from the Lord of the Twins. "Sometimes I think I'm the only one 'ere capable of thinkin'." Sniffling, he suddenly spat out from the balcony of his keep. The sliver of snot and spit landed upon a random bannerman's head, causing Walder to laugh. "Stupid cunt."

Every man that passes beneath the gates of the Crossing must pay their toll to Walder Frey. Something Catelyn told him before he left Winterfell, surprisingly a good piece of foresight. The more drastic your situation, the higher the toll. Ned hesitated to ask what his toll would be - regardless of House Tully's order to back Rhaegar, Walder would get what he wanted. "Have your banners been called?" he ended up asking.

"I sent the orders… but the smallfolk here are a prickly lot. Might take some time," Walder replied.

"Quite." His experiences and hard truths had wisened Ned up a bit, casting aside the blatant naivete he acknowledged he once had. Walder's statement was horseshit - especially with the 'but' thrown in the middle. "The other Riverlords have already gathered at Riverrun. With Harrenhal captured, when can we expect you?"

Walder looked at him, smiling with a mouth of almost rotted teeth. "Do not worry, my sons will lead our bannermen into battle alongside his Grace very soon." Ned highly doubted that, but he had no evidence to push it further. "About your toll…"

Ned's brows rose. "We're prepared to pay your normal rate."

"That could be a problem." The quiet wolf steeled himself. "Given the times we are in, I must increase the normal toll rate by half… and be paid in specie, though I will take wheat or barley if you have it."

Inwardly, Ned was shocked. That's it? More gold or silver? "We can work with that." Over a century of not getting involved in the South had left the Northern treasuries rather full.

Nodding, Walder chuckled. "Good doing business with you, Lord Stark. Please inform the true King of my generosity and commitment to his cause when you see him next."

No sooner had the Lord of the Twins disappeared into his feted keep did another unwelcome face sidle up to Ned. "So what did old Walder want? Betrothal? Land?" Sinister as Roose Bolton was to people that knew better, Ned couldn't fault him on his knack for the game.

Ned shook his head. "He wants double the normal toll. No more, no less."

Raising an eyebrow, the Leech Lord shook his head. "He has something up his sleeve."

"You think?" Ned would much rather discuss this with someone he didn't have to scrutinize every spoken word for duplicity, but with Jorah and Howland gone Bolton was his only choice. "Probably looking to ingratiate himself with Rhaegar. He is smart, knowing Rhaegar is likely to win."

"More than that, young Stark." A subtle put-down, though the milky eyes wouldn't give away anything. "Walder desires to increase his influence, and given his… personality it is usually through silver and betrothals. Either he's banking a favor or he has something on House Stark or the North already."

Saying nothing, Ned's gaze flickered back to the marching soldiers. Banners of Houses Stark and Tallhart fluttering in the breeze behind a twin column of supply wagons. Bolton could end up being right on both counts… or he himself could be right. But the soldiers were getting through without incident, and if Aerys' advisers didn't think the North was coming then they'd be idiots. "Whatever it is, he won't expose it. We've gotten what we want, and that's what matters right now."

Roose nodded. "Of course, my Lord." He knew when to speak and when to shut up.

Another set of boots found Rodrik Cassel interrupting his Liege Lord's discussion. "Forgive me, Lord Stark, but a raven from the Lady Catelyn arrived from Winterfell."

Sighing, Ned took the rolled up sheaf of parchment. Scanning the well-transcribed calligraphy of his bride.

Dearest husband,

Rejoice, for the Mother has blessed my womb with a child. A strong pup of House Stark to continue your line. I have suffered the malady for several weeks and Maester Luwin confirmed the babe inside me only hours before my writing this.

I shall say a prayer to the Father and Warrior for a strong son and heir to Winterfell, and leave an offering to ward off the Stranger. Gods be praised, Ned, and hopefully you shall return before I give birth.

Lady Catelyn Stark

Your most devoted wife.

Trembling slightly, Ned almost dropped the letter. Mind a whirring gale of different emotions… all of them a mix of worry and joy. "My Lord… is something the matter?" Ser Rodrik looked worried, while Roose merely observed him as if studying a map.

A small smile formed on Ned's face - fingers clutching his chin pensively. "I am to be a father." The smile widened. Regardless of his feelings for Catelyn, this was a moment to celebrate. "My lady wife is with child." I only wish Bran and father were alive to see this…

Roose smiled as well, though unlike Ser Rodrik's it didn't reach his eyes. "Congratulations, my Lord. May the newest pup be born healthy and strong." And be as much a septa as her idiot mother. Oh, Roose would leave an offering at the Weirwood tree for his liege's child to be a female southerner. "Congratulations indeed."

---

A warm spell had descended over the lower Riverlands, melting whatever snowfall had accumulated and shrouding the waters of the Trident in a dense fog. Glancing out the window, Rhaegar couldn't even see across the river. The steady stucco of marching boots confirmed the world existed outside, and that his orders were carried out.

For now, he finally had time to himself. A moment to breathe… and it destroyed him.

Rhaegar… Rhaegar… Muscles tightened under his loose tunic, leaning hard against the stone wall with his arms stretched high above. Remember… Remember…

"What do you want?" He turned suddenly, staring at the green egg nestled in a chest - just as his father had. Rhaegar felt like a fool, yelling at a sphere of stone, but the words were loud in his head. Calling to him.

Rhaegar… Rhaegar…

A knock broke the trance, Rhaegar blinking and looking up. "Come in." It revealed Ser Barristan, and behind him Lady Melisandre. "Ah, good."

"You summoned me, my King?" the beautiful red priestess asked, curtseying while never taking her red eyes off him.

"Yes. I need your help." He pointed to the egg, walking to stand before it. "This egg is speaking to me and I want to know why." Gods… why not just say you're becoming your father.

Barristan looked upon him with a worried glint, but Melisandre only walked towards Rhaegar. Her eyes alight and a smile of awe on her face. "It speaks to you? What does it say?"

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar picked up the egg. Immediately feeling the warmth - like an ember of a long died out fire, pulsing with residual heat. Smoke and boiling water swirling inside. Rhaegar… Rhaegar… Remember… Remember your blood…

Before he could speak the Red Woman took it from him. "Dragonlords of old… they often said their dragons could speak to them - even from within the egg."

"The egg is stone. Long dead." Rhaegar remembered the tales of the Tragedy at Summerhall. How his grandfather had killed most of his family by trying to rouse eggs of stone to life. "There is no life within it."

"Then why do you feel the heat?"

Blinking, the King-claimant stood stunned for several moments. "How…" Was it all in his head… if so, how did she guess? "Ser Barristan, hold this stone. Tell me if you feel any heat or sign of life." The knight nodded and took the egg from Melisandre - even pressing his cheek against the scales. Rhaegar waited with baited breath, watching every motion on Barristan's face, however small. "Well? Do you feel it?"

Peering at the egg, Barristan finally gave up. "I'm sorry, your Grace. This egg is nothing but stone." He removed his hands from the green scales. "I wouldn't be surprised if this egg was laid before the Conquest."

Staring at Barristan for a moment, Rhaegar shifted back to the eggs. Rhaegar… Rhaegar… remember your blood… remember your fire… "You have my leave to go," he told the both of them - waiting until they both left the room. Placing his hand on the scales, they were still warm to the touch. A shiver of something within.

Remember your blood…

---

Many within the great throne room struggled to hide their distaste and discomfort, gathered by order of his Grace. Whether the pungent smell of wildfire, the mad glint in their King's eyes, or one of their own strung up upon a stake while the pyromancers smeared his legs and the fetters with the viscous green glow, all was unpleasant but something they had all allowed themselves to be a part of.

None of them would be as foolish as the Lord of Claw Isle.

"Ardrian Celtigar," announced Master of Laws Owen Merryweather. "You are hereby declared guilty for the crimes of treason and taking up arms against your King. Do you have any words before the sentence is passed."

A sour old man, Lord Ardrian's faded lavender eyes fell upon the King he had betrayed. "I've seen your grandfather and father rule before you in my lifetime, and they were proper Kings. Your brother was a proper King to be. You're simply pathetic." He cracked a smile at the anger growing in the King's fallen face. "My son will fight with Rhaegar, and before the sun makes a full turn you will be dead upon this floor."

"ENOUGH!" Aerys roared, standing from the Iron Throne. "Burn him!" A single spark billowed out a cloud of heat only moments later, green fire consuming Lord Ardrian in its malevolent tongues of flame. Even the most hardened of men cringed as even the tough Celtigar screamed in agony.

All but Aerys, that is.

Unfortunately, his good mood was destroyed by a bit of news courtesy of his Hand. "What?!"

"It is true, your Grace. The rebel army of Rivermen and some Northmen have besieged Harrenhal. Lord Boros has withdrawn into the castle but is low on supplies."

"Seven fucking hells, do I have Lords or a bunch of idiots?!" Aerys would not let this stand. "Harrenhal will be relieved by force of arms."

"But, my King," spoke Lord Wallace Massey of Stonedance, a senior commander of the Crownlands army. "Shouldn't we wait for at least Lord Robert's forces to arrive?"

Incredulous, a jerk of his fingers found Lord Massey seized by three household guardsmen - the man bewildered and fearful. "He is no son of mine, fucking cunt!" Spittle flew from Aerys' lips as he snarled. "Take him to the black cells. I'll have his corpse join the pile of ashes on the morrow."

The guardsmen complied, their captive screaming at the King. "Please! Mercy, your Grace!" Wallace Massey's pleas were unheeded, the young man essentially condemned to death already. No one in the throne room bothered to speak in his favor.

Still fuming, the King seemed to go red with rage. "I will not have my rule disrespected!" He slammed his fist on the armrest of the Iron throne, only to cry out in pain at one of the sword-tips slicing a two inch cut on his hand. "I will not let that ungrateful little shit disrespect me and take away my victories!" Aerys gripped his hand, the stinging pain and sticky blood only building his anger. "Chelsted!"

Hearing his name, the Master of War almost tripped as he raced to the side of the King. "Yes, your Grace?"

"Take your army to Harrenhal and break the siege…" Aerys thought for a moment. "And bring me Rhaegar's head."

Notes:

Aerys has given his command, so chelsted needs to make it happen.

gotta love Targling fluff.

Ser Bonifer... Rhaella's former squeeze. Wonder how he could crimp Jaime's style XD

Robert is still an ass, while Walder Frey is still sneaky as hell.

Sansa's coming.

Next up, the First Battle of Harrenhal. If I get 35 reviews, I'll update on Saturday.

Chapter 48: First Blood

Notes:

Hi all. Big battle chapter up!

Little note, I received a comment a week ago that had sloganeering in regards to modern politics. Please guys, let's save the comments for discussing the story, Game of Thrones in general, or history/literature to compare to GoT. Nondivisive subjects as Kit and Emilia pioneer, cause I think of this story and the comments as a safe space for the fandom to enjoy stories and fix things those two assholes ruined. Thank you :D

Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Lord Boros,

I invite you to watch as your besiegers become the besieged. That the traitorous prince find himself and his army of trout-fuckers are annihilated by the noble men of the Crownlands and House Darry. Sit upon the walls of Harrenhal and celebrate the coming victory.

Qarlton Chelsted

Master of War

Crumpling the piece of paper in his fist, Rhaegar Targaryen took a glance at the battlements of Harrenhal before turning back to his war council. "Well, my Lords. Do you doubt me when I say that Lord Chelsted's one of the most craven, ridiculous men that my father could select?"

A chorus of chuckles left the lips of the assembled Lords, reflecting on Rhaegar's accurate assessment. "He may be a bit conventional in his thinking, but he's a brawler as his sigil suggests," stated Aarrax Celtigar, recently arrived with hundreds of men-at-arms to fight for the man he once squired for.

"A mace and sword," scoffed Rickard Karstark. "Probably thinks it's terrifyin'. Now a dragon or a wolf or a Bolton flayed corpse, that strikes fear. A mace is fuckin' juvenile." Leave it to the Northerners to be blunt.

Peeking out the vision slits of the hastily constructed siege works that Thorne and the Blackfish erected around Harrenhal, Rhaegar watched the pockets of the enemy camp several miles to the southeast. "Lord Reed, did you find the layout of their camp?"

Howland nodded, Crannogmen serving as the army's scouts. "Nestled against the shore of the God's Eye for easy access to water. Looks like they're refitting after a forced march."

"Any contact with Chelsted's scouts?" asked the Blackfish gruffly. It became apparent that he talked to everyone this way, so Rhaegar didn't take it personally.

"Yes." Howland gave a tiny smirk, unlike him. "Granted my men didn't let them live to tell any tales." Rhaegar approved, though most of the other Rivermen huffed in distaste. Considering the dozens of 'scalps' collected of Chelsted's pickets, a tradition since the Andal invasion, the crannogmen weren't popular among most apart from the Blackwood levies.

Rhaegar approved, even against who moons ago had been his own bannermen. If they're afraid, they'll break sooner. "Do they outnumber us?" he demanded.

"About twenty-three or so thousand against our eighteen."

"I've faced worse odds than that," scoffed Bronn nonchalantly, chewing on a scrap of dried pork. If the crannogmen were of ill repute, Bronn was outright hated.

Ser Bonifer Hasty hated him most of all, considering him a disgrace to the knighthood. "We'll have less due to maintaining the siegeworks." The pious knight may have hated Bronn, but he was right.

"Means I'll have to fight harder," Bronn shrugged.

"Chelsted's an idiot," grumbled Ser Gerold, looking at the map laid out before them. "He should have attacked immediately but instead he's sticking to convention. Resting his forces before he attacks in a few days in coordination with Boros the Belly within the keep."

Brynden Tully scowled. "Say what you want about that pig Robert Baratheon." Few in the command tent could stand him - least of all Rhaegar. "He would have been bullheadedly aggressive in just the right fashion. Now… we have the advantage to attack."

"Sally forth now? And expose us to envelopment from the rear?" Lord Bracken warned.

Rhaegar shook his head. "Ser Alliser will hold the siegeworks with my Household Guard." A fool like Boros the Belly, the hardened guardsmen would make him piss himself to challenge. "That will protect our rear and serve to annihilate any force that Blount can send out."

Ser Barristan pressed his chin in worry. "And another thousand men taken away from the main battle."

"Not if we divide their forces," remarked he Blackfish. "But how? An idiot like Chelsted will keep his men together if all other things are equal."

Pursing his lips, Rhaegar studied the map. Remembered all war lessons he had learned, all the battles across the history texts lectured into him by his teachers - of the way all armies acted. Could be… "My whispers indicate that Chelsted left King's Landing ten days ago." Technically it was Lord Varys' whispers, but Rhaegar was not about to out his spy in the capitol. "They can't have taken a large wagon train with them, considering rains hit the land around Rosby and Stokeworth." The men would have to travel with light rations.

Oswell, having grown up in these lands and with a personal motivation to defeat Chelsted, seemed to catch on. "They will need to forage, then." He pointed on the crude map. "In these woods of game and these farmlands to the north, away from our cavalry patrols. I would think he'd send significant numbers of men to conduct the foraging."

"They are," clarified Howland. "I'd think hundreds, guarded by men of House Massey."

"My father executed the late Lord Massey several weeks ago." Rhaegar's jaw set in hard brooding. "Ser Bonifer, can your men march quietly?"

The pious knight blinked, not expecting his King to address him. "I believe so, your Grace. We will conduct ourselves in whatever manner the Seven's Chosen asks of us."

Rhaegar smirked. "Good, then you and Ser Bronn will need to get along." He had a perverse sense of enjoyment at how both of them blustered.

"I still think your plan is shite," Oswell added after the strategy meeting, the two of them strolling along the siegeworks. "Dividing our forces of some of our best men? It's asking for trouble."

Keeping his head low, nevertheless an arrow often smacked against the wood staves - his own archers and crossbowmen returning fire at the Blount bannermen manning the Harrenhal battlements. "Boldness is what wins, Oswell, not complacency..."

He was suddenly pushed down just as a crossbow bolt sailed just where his shoulder had been. Barbed tip embedding in the roughly cut wood. "Careful, your Grace." Oswell eyed the stained cloak and armor of his King. "Better mud on your cloak than two brides and three children without a husband and father."

Breathing deeply, Rhaegar nodded. "Fuck, thank you, Oswell." The two of them essentially half crawled, half crouched to a safer set of siegeworks two dozen yards beyond. "I need to take the initiative, he finally said once they were reasonably safe."

"I want to kill Boros and Chelsted more than anyone, but can't you wait till at least Ned Stark or Elbert Arryn arrive?"

"And Robert Baratheon and Mace Tyrell will arrive as well. If I wish to strike it will need to be now, and against a plodding, predictable enemy, boldness is what will win." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you trust me, Oswell."

The Kingsguard bowed. "I trust you, your Grace. Just be careful. I won't go back to your Queens saying that I failed to save their King." Without another word he moved to stand guard outside the entranceway, his armor generic and not signalling he was anyone special - best in case some marksman decided to use a longbow to end Rhaegar's life.

Withdrawing back to his own tent - damp and chilly, but his - Rhaegar's eyes shifted to the letter on a rickety camp desk. One he had hesitated to open since the day before out of… fear? Apprehension? Just the fact that another family member may have been lost, but if he didn't look he didn't have to know about it? You're stronger than this. Sighing, Rhaegar broke the seal of the Night's Watch and unfurled the letter.

Only for him to smile in relief.

Dearest Nephew,

You have endured the same grief as your mother, as your uncles and aunts and grandparents before you. And now, you face the agony of being on the cusp of the title of kinslayer. Gods… I prayed you would not suffer from this. I suppose they weren't heard.

However, you cannot ever allow yourself to think you are pursuing an evil cause. As a King, you will need to conduct yourself in ways that seem as if you are tearing yourself limb from limb, but such is the duty of our birthright. You are a dragon, Rhaegar. Show your babes what our family is capable of and be a dragon.

Uncle Aemon

Holding the letter to his breast, Rhaegar took a deep breath. Seeking to calm his emotions, he instead felt as if a fire was being stoked inside him. As if a mighty forge heating to intense

temperatures. Wordlessly, he walked to a chest in the room - picking up Blackfyre and gripping it tightly in his hand. Opening the chest and removing the green egg from where it was tucked. Relishing in its warmth.

Be a dragon.

---

Twig snapping behind him, Howland swiveled around, knife held at throat level. A silent warning to the hedge knight behind him. Do that again and I'll slit your throat. The knight paled and seemed to get the message. Normally so soft spoken and withdrawn, once in battle the crannogman lord was ruthless… as were his men.

That made them Bronn's sort of people - especially as they crept silently through the forests north of Harrenhal. Moonlight partially blocked by the spindly canopy of wintertime, the caw of owls and bats predominated the din. Giving them pretty good cover. "You sure they come this way?" he hissed softly. Bronn adjusted his position in the dirt. Just because he grew up in a forest hovel didn't mean he enjoyed the persistent itching.

"Aye," replied Howland, just as soft. "Along that road right there." A dirt track sunken into the ground provided quite the break in the treeline, Crannogmen and Holy Hundreds taking positions within the hills and bluffs scouted out previously by Howland and his best trackers.

Running over in a low crouch, the armored form of Bonifer Hasty managed not to make too much noise. Placing thick wool underneath what mail armor he was allowed to wear sure muffled the noises. "My men are in position for your… plan," he ground out. Bronn smirked, remembering the quick parlay hours before.

"How many men will we be expecting?" Ser Bonifer asked once Howland repeated what he told Bronn.

Howland sheathed his dagger, not seeing any danger around him. "About a thousand… banners of lambs and… a star of circles." The details were ones he committed to memory the morning before.

"Stokeworth and Sunglass, along with the five hundred Masseys waiting at the edge of the forest."

"Massey? The asshole son of the asshole who was killed?" Bronn did not mince words.

"Aye." Howland grinned, looking sinister in the moonlight. "Think he'll turn?"

The captain of the Holy Hundred pushed ahead with the planning. "So they'll march down the road, you said? From where?"

"Farmland north of hear, on the approach to Lord Harroway's Town. Foragers will trickle in through the night and then assemble at dawn…" He pointed to a clearing that led out towards the God's Eye and Chelsted's camp. "Right over there. That's where they organize their supplies to bring to Chelsted. Along with where Massey and his men wait."

He stroked the thin beard at his chin. "We can call forward Lord Karstark and Lord Celtigar. Once they assemble we attack."

"Fuck that," Bronn whispered, glaring. "I say we hit the fuckin' lamb boys right on the road. Wipe em out before anyone can notice."

Bonifer wrinkled his nose. "Ambush and banditry is not the way of the Warrior. We must meet him on open ground or my men won't see their fighting spirit maximize."

Grunting, Bronn pointed towards the enemy camp. "They outnumber us. I'm gonna pull every fuckin' trick in the book to fuck up those cunts." But… he would have to learn some discipline. "Lord Reed is in command, it's his go."

Howland didn't need much time. "We ambush them." Bronn grinned while Bonifer scowled…

Just as he scowled now, but the knight wore some acceptance. "Where are the Karstarks?"

"They're in position," Howland whispered. "When we give the signal, they and Arryax Celtigar will charge." At a loud clacking followed by laughter, the battle senses of the men took over. "Positions, now."

The Stokeworth and Sunglass foragers were in a merry mood for being out overnight, well-loaded with supplies and personal booty from looting the prosperous farmers once sworn to House Whent. A few men were lucky and found a maiden to… sample - hells, an older farmwife worked just as well. Hence the jolly mood as they marched down the sunken road with their haul.

Too lured into complacency by two nights of essentially complete latitude to forage, as they drew close to the assembly point a massive chorus of wolf-howls echoed through the trees. Out of the darkness to the west charged the hidden crannogmen and men-at-arms. Suddenly setting upon the foraging parties with knives, swords, and axes. Attempts to form battle lines lasted but minutes as what had been a skirmish developed into all out slaughter, close quarters and the strung out column negating any advantage their discipline and superior weaponry gave.

Chaos and butchery by the feared Crannogmen unable to ignore, the well-formed Massey swords advanced into the forest, preparing to rescue their Crownlands comrades. But before they could reach the afflicted supply train the horn was blown and the thousand Celtigar bannermen erupted from their staging position in the woods. The charge both smashed into the center of the Masseys while the flanks maneuvered wide to double envelop their foes.

Lord Justin Massey, son of the Lord killed by Aerys for a mere slight, had enough. In mere moments, what had been a close to annihilated force now embraced their Celtigar comrades. Swords held high as they defected to Rhaegar's cause, not willing to fight for the Mad King. Such doomed the foragers, while no one noticed the Karstark horse wheeling far north of the battlefield, sticking to tree cover.

"Why haven't you advanced yet?!" Demanded Ser Jonothor Darry, having just arrived at the camp of the Royal Army of the Crownlands. "Are you addled or just an idiot?"

"I resent your implication, Ser Jonothor," Qarltom Chelsted scowled, crossing his arms. "I understand Lord Connington wishes you to command your House's men into the fray, and you'll be leading the vanguard upon the attack at noon today."

Gods spare me from such fools. Though still dark, the first tendrils of daylight poked over the eastern horizon. "You should have attacked already! At least form up the troops now and assault the siege lines?"

Chelsted seemed perturbed. "And have my men freeze their stones off? They will fight at the best time for victory." He chuckled, besides, Rhaegar would be a fool to attack now. Outnumbered and outmatched. No, he will stay on the defensive."

However, he would be forced to choke on his words as a rider - horse nearly panting as he urged it into the camp - approached. "My Lord! The foraging party has been attacked!"

Eyes widening, Chelsted soon grew pale. "What?! How?!"

"Rhaegar has light scouts, apparently," Jonothor shouted. "Enemy?"

"Crannogmen, Ser." The rider shook his head. "Fuckers came out of nowhere… frog people they said… they butchered us. Knights too… and Celtigar."

"What are the casualties?" Jonothor's questions were crisp and direct, unlike the bumbling Chelsted who seemed out of breath trying to parse everything.

The rider paled. "Most of the foraging party… Massey struck banners. He's with them now."

Jonothor went red. "You sent fucking Massey to guard the damn foragers?!" He swore Chelsted would be stripped of his command once reporting back to Connington… if they won the day that is.

Such a disaster seemed to spur the Master of War out of his fog. "I will not be humiliated by frog people! Ser Balman!"

"My Lord?" Sandy-blonde mustache thick and droopy, the Lord-consort in waiting of Stokeworth and the husband of the Lady Stokeworth's eldest daughter, Balman Byrch commanded his goodmother's bannermen.

"Call your banners and patch up that line. Bring me the head of Justin Massey if it's the last damn thing you do!" Byrch nodded and dashed off. "As for the rest of you, assemble the lines - we attack now!"

Better late than never…

Emerging from the woods about an hour later, the rebel raiding party quickly found the Stokeworth men-at-arms advancing from the loyalist camp. Banners fluttering high and led by Ser Balman on horseback. "To arms!" came the hue and cry from dozens of throats.

"Spears and shields!" ordered Bronn, taking command of the other hedge knights and wannabe sellswords attached to Rhaegar. His command, so to speak. To his right formed the Celtigars and Masseys, while to his left Bonifer Hasty guarded the flank. Behind was Howland, his swamp fighters best to avoid first contact. Already the front row of Stokeworth infantry charged across the dusky field. "Alright, you fuckin' bastards!" Bronn waves his bloodstained sword high. "For Rhaegar!"

"FOR RHAEGAR!" The rebel line charged as well.

The fronts clashed in a flurry of swords and spears, blood soon soaking the ground as the weight of the rebel numbers buckled the Stokeworths. The Holy Hundred managed to carve through the far right of the loyalists and swept inward in an envelopment, Bonifer at the van fighting like a wildcat. Bronn hacked and stabbed with sword and dagger, his men giving the opening for Howland's Crannogmen to dart through and start slaughtering among the lines.

Ser Balman had planned this, ready to attack with his second and third lines, but out of the woods to the east came a shrill battlecry. One that turned his blood to ice just as an arrow sliced through his throat. It was Rickard Karstark and his cavalry, swords waved and spears depressed as they slammed into the Stokeworths. Attacked simultaneously from the front, Howland and Bronn breaking through, the entire loyalist host buckled, routing.

With the men of Karhold sweeping like a scythe across the dark field, slaying men left and right to the cheers of the infantry, the lumbering host within the camp began to awaken. Blocks of infantry and heavy horse emerging to the field, Jaremy Rykker leading the men of Duskendale in front to face Howland's command and rescue the field.

Only the resounding boom of horns from a mile away signalled the awakening of another lumbering host. Cutting down what remained of a Stokeworth man-at-arms, Bronn laughed loudly. "Come on you silver-haired bastard!" The first rays of sun poked over the trees as he twirled his sword. "Ya' can't 'eve all of 'em to me!"

---

Atop Moondancer, Rhaegar stood taller than any other - seen from across the breadth of the line as he led his army out of the siegeworks and onto the field. His stallion snorted under the glare of the morning sun… as did he. "Shhh, boy, shhh," comforted the King-claimant. If he suffered then all his men did - perhaps that was what Chelsted would expect.

As he had told Oswell, now was not the time to be timid. Now was the time to be a dragon.

Around him rode the knights of the Kingsguard, left resplendent in their white cloaks and gleaming armor - swords drawn and ready to defend their King. "Chelsted's halting in place," observed Barristan.

"Indecisive," growled Gerold, itching for this to be over with.

"Smart, actually." Eyes turned to Oswell. "Black Harren chose the ground well for his keep. No hills, no ridges, just flat ground. Perfect for an offensive army. His best move is to stay put and sacrifice part of his army for the whole rather than…" As if on cue, the faint horns sent the large formations of their enemy lurching forward, banners of House Rykker marching towards Howland's flanking force while the vast majority turned to face Rhaegar's army directly. "I don't fucking believe it."

Barristan snorted. "Guess he is that much of an idiot."

Blackfyre found itself out of its sheath. Rhaegar, helm off, turned Moondancer around to address his men. Letting his silver hair blow behind him from the winds coming off the great lake. In his red and black, he looked otherworldly. "Men, I will not lie to you!" he roared. "Today will be bloody and nothing worth of songs, but we bleed today so our wives and children don't burn tomorrow!"

That drew whoops from the men. Eager soldiers seeking to avenge the slaughter of the Whents and the Mootons. From the knights of House Tully to the cavalry of House Blackwood to the heavy men-at-arms of House Mallister to the archers of House Piper, all were ready to show what the Rivermen could do. Who better to lead them to glory than the Dragon King?

"They call me the Last Dragon!" he roared again, angling his horse towards the lumbering enemy. "Well they'd be wrong. As you fight with me, we are all dragons!" Cheers followed. "BE A DRAGON!"

Horns blew at that moment. "CHARGE!" screamed lord and knight alike, the rebel army surging forward - Rhaegar at the van atop Moondancer, Blackfyre levelled at the enemy forces.

Unlike the two unwieldy blocs of tightly packed men under Chelsted, Darry commanding one and Lord Rosby the other - their commander not eager to get caught in any battle - Rhaegar increased the flexibility of his forces. They were divided into four separate commands, the Blackfish and Ser Myles Mooton at the flanks. Rhaegar personally commanded the Brackens and Mallisters in the center while Tytos Blackwood remained with the cavalry reserve, wheeling around to join Howland. Following their King, the ground between the rebels and their loyalist enemies diminished rapidly until the two armies slammed together.

"Nock!" commanded Lord Piper, remaining back with the archers. Angling their longbows back, they arced high, aiming for the center of the loyalist mass. "Loose!" Five hundred bows thwacked, projectiles sent shooting into the air like a flock of pigeons marring the cloudless sky. They sailed upward before descending on their mission of death - hitting the battlelines just as the two armies met…

For Rhaegar it passed like a blur. Spurts of red blood, flashes of sunlight gleaming off armor and steel. It was as if he charged automatically through line upon line of men, Moondancer barreling through and trampling over dozens while he swung Blackfyre at any in range. Splatters of blood upon him only barely registered… until something knocked him from Moondancer, more pained and abrupt than any tourney.

Any romantic notions of battle were wiped out in that moment.

Head ringing from beneath his helm, Rhaegar forced himself to scramble up. Eyes focusing in the thick of battle. Whatever cohesion among the front ranks of the men had disintegrated, shield, blade, and spear locked together in a furious melee. In this - none of his Kingsguards within sight - the King-claimant made the perfect target.

A knight of Rosby colors made the first move, mace high as he charged. Top heavy, he stumbled when Rhaegar danced out of the way, Valyrian steel cutting through mail and slicing open his back. He wheeled around at a snarl and parried a swing, shield-butt deflected by his armored elbow - making Rhaegar grit his teeth in pain. Twirling Blackfyre in his wrist, the Dragon King used an opening and stabbed upward, hitting him through the chest and throat. Beyond, two men-at-arms hesitated only to get caught in a flurry of arrows thwacking into the ground, driving Rhaegar back. Blood up, he gave a roar of his own and charged at a Sunglass knight.

Within minutes the fields southeast of Harrenhal had become a charnelhouse of death and blood. Two blocs of rebel troops had slammed against Lord Rosby's center, trapping it in an almost crescent envelopment of stabbing and hacking. Blocking it from the flank blocs of Ser Jonothor and Jaremy Rykker, both starting to fall back towards the kingsroad and loyalist camp as the weight of the rebels crashed upon them. Jonothor engaged the Blackfish directly, experience meeting youth in a clash of steel. Meanwhile, the unconventional fighting style of Bronn and the crannogmen put the Rykkers at the worst disadvantage when Ser Bonifer and the Celtigars pressed afterwards.

Snarling, Rhaegar was pushed back as a crossbow bolt pierced the armor of his left bicep. He snapped off the end, finding the arm functional. Charging forward, he found the Velaryon footsoldier rapidly trying to reload - lopping his head off a split second later.

He quickly looked around and found Ser Barristan engaged in a duel with a Kettleblack knight. Rhaegar quickly closed the distance, cleaving through plate armor easily with a powerful swing. Lopping off a shoulder and kicking the knight to the ground. Breathing hard, Barristan smiled warily before his eyes widened. "Your Grace!"

Rhaegar swung around, just barely blocking a morningstar from caving in his head. The man - wearing Targaryen colors - laughed malevolently and surged forward. Black armor blocking Barristan's strikes as he targeted Rhaegar. Shield up and swung nearly knocking Blackfyre from Rhaegar's hands. But the Prince redoubled, charging within the man's swing and smashing his helm into the other's. Pitching back, own helm falling off, the Targaryen sword sword got a blade through his eye courtesy of Barristan. Rhaegar then ran Blackfyre through the back of another Rosby, kicking it atop another man before slashing his throat. "FORWARD!"

Parrying a wild swing, Bronn slammed his body against a Rykker knight's shield. Stabbing his dagger through the man's eye. The bellow of horns found Blackwood light infantry racing into the fray. "To the flank! To the flank!" Grabbing a Targaryen banner, he raced to guide the men where they were needed.

The added reinforcements boxed the Rykker forces on two sides,an envelopment that failed to hack its way through the bristling wall of shields and swords but forced them east… away from the rest of the army. Allowing Lord Blackwood to ride his knights directly at the exposed loyalist center. Lances tearing through flesh and bone, bloody, writhing bodies collapsing to the ground by the scores.

As such, the Crownlanders broke. Pressed at the front by the Dragon Prince's relentless assaults, assailed with swarms of arrows while their own men had run out, the Blackwood charge ended their spirit. First ran the Rosbys, then the Buckwells. Such a trickle became a flood as the center disintegrated.

Thrill of battle fading away, his heart easing it's pounding, such was when the pain hit Rhaegar. Aches and stings all over his body, bruises throbbing if a bit of plate or mail even brushed over it. The arrow in his bicep stabbed like a burning blade, making Rhaegar grit his teeth to keep from screaming as the pain showed its ugly off his helm to suck in the cold air, it managed to temper it somewhat - the King standing strong with his men among the dead.

A neighing caught his attention and Rhaegar felt his steel returning. There was Moondancer trotting to him, not a scratch upon his hide. Seeking out his master with a gentle nuzzle of his snout. "Easy boy… I'm alright. Sort of." All he could think about was how Lyanna and Elia would kill him… then probably ride him till they passed out, but kill him first.

"Dragon King!" The cheer of Richard Lonmouth pierced the hazy din of post-battle silence.

"Dragon King!" added Rickard Karstark.

"Dragon King!" The cheer of the sour Brynden Blackfish was all too surprising, but it was enough to resound across the entire field.

"DRAGON KING! DRAGON KING! DRAGON KING!"

And in spite of the pain, fanned if it didn't feel good.

---

Behind him, Ser Jaime could feel a slight pulse of heat as yet another burst of wildfire scorched the outer courtyard of the Red Keep. The smoke wafting over King's Landing like a cloud unseen since the mass burnings during the Great Spring Sickness decades earlier. The cost of defeat… Perhaps it was a mercy that many lords and knights of the Crownlands were already struck dead in the fighting at Harrenhal - or had surrendered and bent the knee to Rhaegar with their families. Their keeps would be destroyed, but at least they were alive.

Not much could be said for this wretched city.

Guards clinking their boots at the instantly recognizable Lion of Lannister, Jaime didn't acknowledge them as he prowled through Maegor's Holdfast. A man on a mission - a very specific mission for the one person that mattered to him anymore. His brother and sister were safe in Casterly Rock, friends and mentors fighting with Rhaegar and out of his control. Rhaegar… essentially the same way. Only one still relied on him for anything, and his service to her had consumed all of his soul.

His heart as well.

Such heavy on his mind, at the knock on the door to her private bedchamber the angelic voice from inside made his heart clench. "Who bids me?"

"Ser Jaime, your Grace," he answered. The King wouldn't bother to knock. At her positive acknowledgement, he came upon the most beautiful person in the world.

Queen Rhaella Targaryen leaned against the window of her bedchamber, overlooking the dragonpit and Blackwater Bay. A shimmering dress of white and red adorned her, almost as if diamonds were sewn into the silk. Her silver hair was in immaculate braids, wafting down her back and shoulders and held by a simple tiara. She looked like a goddess, taking his breath away.

"Ser Jaime," she regarded him, Jaime delighted to see a genuine smile forming on her gorgeous face.

It shook him from his stare. "My Queen." He bowed, removing his helm so that she could see his face. "News of the battlefield."

She nodded. "I noticed the green flames. Chelsted lost, I take it."

"Aye. Half the army either annihilated or captured, though Ser Jonothor saved the core. Lord Jaremy Rykker has been given command of it while Chelsted faces a royal inquiry today. Harrenhal capitulated to the rebels as well." Varys' little birds were bound to hear him tell Rhaella the truth, but he was on Rhaegar's side… supposedly. Jaime knew he spoke no open treasons.

"I don't care about Rykker or Chelsted." She approached him, hands falling upon his breastplate. "My son… is he…?" Her voice was low, but no less desperate.

Jaime smiled, his voice also low. "King Rhaegar lives. He fought with the fury of the Conqueror or Rogue Prince."

Relief spread on Rhaella's face. "Oh thank the gods." She looked as young as a maiden with the worries gone from her expression. "Thank all of them…" Her hands drifted to what was the smallest of swells under the dress.

It had been a bittersweet piece of news when the Queen missed two moons of her bleeding. A visit to Pycelle confirmed the pregnancy, much to the smug delight of the King - less about the babe itself but more about what the babe represented. Rhaella had been… far harder to read for Jaime even though he was an expert in her emotions. "Are you truly alright… my Queen?"

Still rubbing her stomach, a serene look passed over Rhaella's face. One that brought Jamie joy. "For the first time in a long while, Ser Jaime, I feel hopeful." Seeing him arch an eyebrow, she sighed. "I know about the hells outside, essentially my entire life only worse." Her parents and brother dead in the flames of Summerhall, her brother and husband abusive, one by one children dying… "But by the gods I feel hopeful."

"You don't worry about your babe?" Jaime willed to protect Rhaella from all threats, even if such a threat was her own optimism.

"Truthfully?" Rhaella took a moment to think. "I don't, Jaime." She cupped her swell. "My daughter will be healthy, I can feel it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Daughter?" I wish she were of my blood. Jaime would have showered Rhaella with love and affection at their child in her womb. The images of what he'd never have tortured him, but he thought it anyway.

Rhaella chuckled. "Yes, a daughter. And I shall name her Daenerys." She grinned. "If they call me Queen Naerys, then why not embrace it."

"You're much stronger than her, my Queen." Eyes sparkling at the compliment, Rhaella reached up and kissed his cheek. It was as if the maiden had hit him with pure joy. "The King… he requests your presence at the royal inquiry." Both their faces fell.

Reaching the alcove that provided the side entrance for the royal family to make their less than dramatic entrances, Jaime took one peek in the throne room only to halt. "What?" Rhaella asked, tone firm.

She received a grim look in response. "Let's go back, your Grace."

"No, what is going on."

"Nothing good," was his reply.

Frowning, Rhaella involuntarily straightened - looking every inch a Queen of House Targaryen. "You will not keep me from my duties and my strength, Ser Jaime." Without another word she brushed past him… only to understand a split second later to what he referred.

Qarlton Chelsted was in full dress armor, the finest imported silks, polished plate… and his face turning purple from the garrote slowly tightening around his neck. The perpetrator was Jonothor Darry, the Kingsguard's lips pursed in a tight line as he brought the King's Justice to the Master of War. Chelsted's hands alternated several times between frantically pulling at the rope and reaching for the Iron Throne, strangled gasps begging for mercy from a monarch not inclined to deliver it.

Rhaella was rooted to the spot, eyes wide and hands clasped together over the glittering dress. Unable to say anything. Watching the once loyalist for her husband be murdered before her very eyes and the fact that her beloved Viserys was being held down by two household guards to watch the whole thing happen. "I told you, your Grace," Jaime whispered in her ear, grieving for what she must be feeling.

She did not respond.

An interminable time passed before Chelsted's struggles ceased. No longer did Ser Jonothor have to strain to hold the garrote in place, for the Master of War slumped. Eyes blown in an agonizing death. He let Chelsted's corpse collapse to the floor, stepping back as drawn out claps echoed from the Iron Throne.

"Your apology is accepted, Lord Chelsted," Aerys announced gleefully, motioning to Pycelle. "Verify he's dead, Pycelle, and be quick about it." The Grand Maester nodded and scurried to the corpse. "See what happens to those that fail, Viserys?"

"Yes, kepa…" Viserys mumbled, his voice numb.

Hearing another of her babes be subjected to Aerys' madness shook Rhaella from her shock. She strode forward, visible to all with Jaime in tow. Respectfully - yet a front to the Kingsguard that knew her so well - she curtseyed. "Your Grace."

Aerys smiled sinisterly. "Ah, wife. I hope you saw the man that lost half my personal army get what he fuckin' deserved."

She wrinkled her nose but was otherwise expressionless. "I saw that, as did our son."

"Hopefully my new babe in your womb did as well. A girl, I hope, for Viserys to sire proper dragons from - she deserves to learn how to be a Targaryen, unlike that weak shit that you bore me first."

A weak shit that annihilated half your army, brother. Rhaella didn't speak her thoughts, though. "May I take Viserys to his studies with the Septa, your Grace?"

Pursing his lips, Aerys ended up nodding after the longest time. "Aye, I have no use for him now. Remember what I told you, son, lest you become a weakling like Rhaegar."

Taking her son's hand in hers, Rhaella hurried him out of the Throne Room. Jaime keeping two steps behind - imagining what he would have done had the child been his ward to protect. The love he would show him and Rhaella both. "Are you alright, my dearest?" he heard her ask Viserys.

"A dragon… kepa says I must be a dragon."

"There are many ways to be a dragon, Viserys."

He shook his head, curls bobbing. "Not what kepa says. Not weak like… Rhaegar…" He hesitated in saying those, but the boy would never have before. Jaime winced under his helm, knowing the pain going through Rhaella at it all.

The steel of his blade cried out to taste Aerys' blood. And yet he was far too much a coward.

Notes:

There was no chance Aerys wasn't going full Darth Vader right there.

Rhaegar has won his first battle and proven himself in combat. He is becoming a dragon!

Little Dany is finally here! :D

Next up, the Quiet wolf and dragon reunite.

Chapter 49: No Quarter

Notes:

Hey everyone. Glad y'all liked the last chapter.

Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.

Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Open the gates!"

High in the saddle, for the second time in his life Ned Stark took in the might of Harrenhal. Winterfell could fit inside of it three times over. Each of the massive spires looked about to topple over, weakened by the years and from Aegon the Conqueror's assault. If one doubted the existence of dragons, the melted stone of Kingspyre Tower was all the proof needed.

And yet again, the walls of Harrenhal hosted another Targaryen victory. One Ned was unable to take part in but - at the head of a column of Stark horse far in front of the bulk of his army - he could catch the aftermath. All about, the stench of death still hung over the keep. Bodies still swung from the nooses of which had taken their lives. Large fires still worked around the clock to burn other corpses before disease spread.

And the wounded... Hundreds of them lined up to receive what little medical care the maesters, septons, and local healers could give. "My Lord!" He turned to see the spindly face of Rickard Karstark, just managing to dismount his horse before the Lord of Karhold took him in a tight embrace. "Thank the gods you're here!"

Ned blinked. "Did you take many casualties?"

Karstark shrugged. "Any man lost is a tragedy, but we came off better than most." He grinned. "Howland Reed really punched above his fuckin' weight."

"Howland?"

"Aye." He pointed to a pyre of corpses. "Most of those were his doing." A laugh left him. "Northern justice for these southern cunts… and the She-Wolf should be proud of her King."

A relieved breath passed his lips. "Where are your wounded?"

Rickard nodded. "Over there, follow me."

About two dozen Karstark and fifteen Crannogmen layed about the grass, tended to by a tall man in septon's robes - he looked to be of a warrior type, but showed signs of age slowing him down. "Lord Stark!" one of the Crannogmen shouted.

Leaning against a barrel, Ned crossed his arms and gave a smile. "Heard you whipped those southerners good?"

A horseman grinned savagely. "Fuck yeah, mi'Lord. We fucked 'em up the bum!"

"Didn't know what hit 'em," a small man of the Neck said, miming a knife into the gut. "Rest of the North behind us. We kin kick 'em to King's Landin' on our lonesome."

Ned laughed. "I don't intend to be King, so Rhaegar will have to lead the attack."

One northerner, looking like he was on death's door, offered a weak smile. "Let 'em, mi'Lord. E's good people." No southern monarch had gotten such praise since Good Queen Alysanne.

After chatting with the wounded for another half-hour, he looked to the septon. "Thank you for caring for them."

"Tis not a problem, mi'Lord," the septon repeated, pouring water over his aching feet. "I do what I can."

"Very noble of you…"

He smiled. "Meribald." He shrugged. "Been through war once many years ago in the Stepstones. This is far worse."

Ned seemed interested. "The War of the Ninepenny Kings?"

"So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. No penny now, but at least I caught a glimpse of the King. Good man." Meribald reached into a sack and took out a loaf of black bread. "I'd love to continue this, Lord Stark, but I believe a man like you has places to be."

"Oh… I suppose so." Ned stood straight. "Thank you, again, Septon Meribald. We shall continue this."

"Bring the King of you can," Meribald called out as Ned walked towards the keep. "I'd love to actually meet one!" Ned couldn't help but chuckle.

Ice strapped to his waist and direwolf emblem both pinned to his surcoat and etched on his cloak, all guards in the keep let Ned pass without fuss - often shooting him a whoop or a call of endearment for his House or Lyanna in particular. After the third minor knight mentioned defeating Arthur Dayne in single combat, Ned decided he rather enjoyed the little bit of pride.

Finally, Ser Barristan came into view in front of the solar of the Lord of Harrenhal - a familiar face at last. "Ser Barristan!"

Catching a glimpse of him, the taciturn knight smiled genuinely. "Lord Stark, you've finally arrived. The Queen will be relieved when she is brought the news."

Thinking of Lyanna calmed Ned. "Decided to rush it when I heard of his Grace's victory. Is he inside?"

"Aye, had a strategy session with his generals. Ser Myles, Ser Richard, Lord Brynden the Blackfish, and Lord Reed. Was just dismissed half-an hour before. He didn't leave though."

Brooding, I suspect. "Thank you, Ser Barristan. May I…"

"Of course." He stepped aside and allowed Ned to enter the solar.

Hunched over the map table, leaning on only one arm as the other was wrapped tightly with linen bandages, Rhaegar hissed at the annoyance of being disturbed. Looking up to give the intruder a piece of his mind… only for the anger to vanish at seeing the Lord of Winterfell standing right there. "Ned."

He certainly looked like a Dragon King, Ned figured. As well as the man Lyanna fell for. "Goodbrother." He smiled.

Rhaegar matched the smile, walking round the table to him. "You made it." The two of them wrapped their arms around the other in a brotherly hug. Genuine among the closest of friends. "You don't know how much I need someone I can truly trust in charge of my allies."

"Eager to provide it, brother," Ned said, truly meaning the words. "The North stands behind its King."

"Still getting used to that title," Rhaegar chuckled. But the reason behind it hit full force. "Gods Ned, please forgive me for what happened to your brother and father."

Ned held up a hand, controlling his emotions. "It wasn't your fault, Rhaegar. Only one is at blame, as only one is at blame for Jon Arryn's death." He clasped Rhaegar's shoulders. "You are the husband of my sister and father of my niece and nephews, may the gods strike me down if I wish ill on you."

Smiling warmly, Rhaegar embraced Ned once more. "That means the world, brother. If you can, I may need a fresh pair of eyes here - along with the disposition of the North and Vale."

"Aye." They moved to the place on the map. "By the way, what have you heard of Lyanna? Is she alright?"

A sad sigh left Rhaegar's lips. "Babe is growing inside her every day, and I'm missing it. Thank the gods she has Elia to… comfort her when I can't."

It took a moment for Ned to truly understand, blushing when he did. "Gods, that is something I never would expected of her."

"Nor Elia, but it's amazing how these things work themselves out." Rhaegar laughed. "I mean, you have to be familiar with such matters, married and with a babe coming of your own." He smacked Ned on the back.

Ned's turn to sigh came. "I wouldn't… I…"

Rhaegar understood. "Cold fish?" He took the silence for affirmation. "My apologies." Wordlessly, both brothers turned to the map.

---

"Riders approaching, my Lord."

Jon Connington, out of the capitol and feeling his youthful, vigorous body refreshed again, watched as a line of horsemen emerged from the woods. Banners fluttering in the wind - the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, black weirwood of House Blackwood, the white falcon of House Arryn, a few minor banners, and…

"House Bolton?" questioned Owen Merryweather. "Why would Rhaegar fucking send them?" He wasn't very bright, but his effusive praise of the King and constant sponsoring of feasts in Aerys' honor kept him among the royal advisers and well-regarded in court. Connington felt he couldn't screw up much, so included him in the parlay that was soon to happen.

"Trying to unsettle us I suppose," Master of Ships Lucerys Velaryon replied, no one doubting the pink flayed man that wafted upon the grey banner. Unlike most among the now reorganized small council, Lord Lucerys had a head on his shoulders.

The other had such a large head, just not on his shoulders. "Doesn't matter," Robert Baratheon growled. "If they know what's good for them they'll abandon the rapist as soon as we make such a demand of them."

Connington desperately wanted to bury his sword in the oaf's eye for insulting his Silver Prince. All in good time. As the riders approached, the Lord Hand hoped for Rhaegar but was fine with who it composed of. Blackwood will see sense and Bolton hates the Starks. They'd compensate for the vengeful Elbert Arryn. In a mere minute, both sides sat upon their horses - staring at each other. "Welcome my Lords," Connington smiled. "I am honored that Prince Rhaegar accepted my request for a parlay."

"He didn't seem like he could refuse," Elbert Arryn hissed. He bore the same blonde cowlicks that his uncle had in his youth, and cut an even more imposing figure. "Unlike you, Lord Connington, he has honor."

"Honor, ha!" Robert laughed. "Rapists and defilers of women have no honor."

Tytos Blackwood eyed him curiously - as did a hooded figure waiting to the back, shadowy eyes taking in everything that was going on. "Not the best person to speak about defiling women - how many bastards do you have? Three? Four?"

"Unlike that dragonspawn, all my women wanted my seed," he said proudly. "You can tell Rhaegar that he no longer faces craven morons like Chelsted, but a proper warrior of Westeros." Robert pounded on his chest. "Any army he sends, I will destroy."

The milky eyes of the Lord of the Dreadfort narrowed… dangerously. "You make a grave mistake to underrate our capabilities, Lord Baratheon."

Robert scoffed. "I know that Rhaegar the Dragonspawn only brutalizes fair maidens that take his fancy. He doesn't fuckin' scare me, leech." He pumped Stormbreaker in the air, wielding the massive Valyrian steel warhammer as if it were a stick. "Bring his worst, he cannot match the fury."

While most would either react in fear or anger, Roose gave away nothing. Merely a jerk of the hand. "Locke, get it." Donnel Locke, heir to Oldcastle and a sworn sword to House Bolton, directed two bannermen with a stretcher covered in a burlap tarp. At the command of his liege, Locke removed the tarp… Roose taking a silent pleasure in the gasps and blanched looks from most of Aerys' retinue. "My Lords, I present Lord Boros the Belly of Harrenhal."

What had once been Lord Boros Blount - the same pompous knight that Queen-claimant Lyanna Stark had unhorsed in the tourney - had been strapped to a large Rogar's Cross. Exposed flesh and bone a bright pink-crimson, the cold thankfully stunted the smell. His mouth had been left open, as were his eyes, showing just how the man had screamed and writhed in terror as the Bolton knives went to work.

"You can't have the skin. That belongs to me," Roose added with a casual smile. Behind him, both Elbert and Blackwood looked perturbed, but not sorry to see the vile 'Lord of Harrenhal' meet a fitting fate.

It was the amiable yet old Owen Merryweather that first replied. "You are a savage," he hissed, still shocked in disbelief.

"The realm will know of this perfidy!" shot Lord Tanton Fossoway, one of the Reach Lords representing Mace Tyrell.

Roose snorted. "Your King can place the body with the ashes of Lord Stark and Lord Celtigar if you wish to be reminded of what perfidy looks like." There were chuckles among the northerners.

Of all the loyalists, the only one who didn't seem a bit disturbed was Robert. He looked almost bored. "Is this supposed to scare me, leech?" He rolled his eyes. "The rapist better do a lot worse to scare me."

"This isn't meant to scare," Tytos Blackwood answered. "Simply to prove just how determined the rightful King is."

"Aerys Targaryen is the rightful King," hissed Lucerys Velaryon.

"Not after he fuckin' killed our liege," Rickard Karstark hissed back.

Sensing things were deteriorating, Connington urged his horse forward. Coming ahead of the Master of War to meet the eyes of Bolton, Elbert, and Blackwood. "This verbal melee solves nothing. I am here to deliver the King's terms, not trade insults."

Sharing skeptical looks, Elbert interjected himself. "King's terms? Same as what my uncle received? What Lord Stark and Brandon Stark endured? Because I'd sooner trust a wildling or a Ghiscari slaver over your so-called King."

"You will refer to him as His Grace!" Merryweather huffed.

"Silence!" Connington's bark quieted the amiable fool. "His Grace will be willing to accede to terms that further the peace." Terms that leave Rhaegar ready to strike with me by his side. "All rebel forces are to put down their swords and head home."

Lord Blackwood scoffed. "That easily?"

"Be lucky yer' livin' at all," Robert growled.

Wishing to silence him with a dark look, Connington instead continued. "Each rebel house will send a hostage to King's Landing and pay his Grace an added lump sum of bullion as reparation. As for Prince Rhaegar…" It's only temporary my Silver Prince. "He will renounce his claim and be given Summerhall and the lands around it to rebuild as a hereditary keep. Additionally, he will have his marriages to Princesses Elia and Lyanna annulled but the legitimacy of his children by them will continue."

"And Lyanna will be betrothed to me, where she belongs!" Robert added, adamant about it.

"The North rejects all such offers, Lord Hand," Roose said simply. "As does his Grace. Our counteroffer…"

"Enough of this!" Robert's steed trotted forward, getting as close to Lord Bolton as he could, blue eyes blazing the fury of his house. "Heed this and heed this well. If that rapist you call a King has any stones, he will come to neutral ground and face me like a man. No one else, just each of us and our weapons."

Elbert spoke up. "Please, Robert, for my uncle and your foster father - can we please come to a peaceful accord…?"

The rage-filled brute was nothing close to the fun-loving boy that Elbert had grown up with. Consumed with vengeance and bitterness. "The only peace will come when Stormbreaker crushes the chest of the Dragonspawn." He spat on the ground near the flayed body of Boros Blount. "Fuck your counteroffers. Seems none of you will listen to reason."

"You suggest that, Robert," Barristan Selmy said for the first time that day, removing his hood to stare at the Lord of his former liege. "Your father was as strong and warlike as you, but he possessed a working mind. Instead of his great legacy, you are nothing but a drunk and a pathetic fool raging after a woman that will never be yours." He spat at Robert just as Robert had to them. "Aerys has the knack of surrounding himself with the most dishonorable people, and you are no different."

It took everything in Robert to not end Barristan's life right there - the rational part of his mind knew that the Kingsguard could probably kill him. He raised Stormbreaker's head. "After I kill that rapist dragonspawn, I'm coming after you next, old man."

Barristan smirked. "I'll keep my sword sharp for that day." Easing back on his reins, he maneuvered his horse towards the rear - riding away.

Everything seemed to be still after the verbal clash of two such commanding men. Robert still commanded. "We'll meet on the battlefield like proper men."

"Indeed we shall," Roose Bolton remarked. "Till then, my Lords."

Watching the banners of the North, Vale, and Riverlands disappear towards the woodland, Connington found his hopes for a quick peace and return to his Silver Prince dashed upon the shoals of the God's Eye. Wiped out by the storms of Durran Godsgrief's 'illustrious' decedent. If that's how it will be, then time to force Rhaegar to realize what's best for him. It would be painful, but it would have to be done.

"Robert," he called to the Master of War. "Assemble the army to march, and tell Ser Baelor to take Stoney Sept."

The Stag Lord whistled. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" With a massive slap upon the back of the Hand, Robert galloped off - manic grin upon his face.

---

"Oh gods…"

"Mmmm… my lioness."

His gravelly voice made Cersei shiver with pleasure. "Ned… seven hells, you know… just what I like…" It was true, his hands, lips, tongue, and… attachments played her like Rhaegar played his harp. The only person she ever wanted to play her for the rest of eternity.

Lips descending from her neck until they latched to a nipple, she writhed beneath him atop the fur bed. Bare stone walls around her unfamiliar, yet also comforting the way only a home would be. "I love you," he growled as he moved to devour her other breast. A direwolf hungry for his mate.

"Yes… take your mate, my wolf" She tangled her hands in his hair.

Suddenly, his hands ghosted over her belly. "I love our pup too. All our pups."

Her heart clenched with love. Staring at his beautiful grey eyes as Ned entered her. Filling her up the way only he could. With a smirk, she flipped him over. "I love them too, but now is just you and me." Cersei's mouth dropping in ecstasy as she rode him...

"So, what would you like to know?"

Cersei looked around and saw the hovel from her youth. The scary facade of Maggie the Frog even penetrating her youthful haughtiness. "When will I wed the prince?" she found herself saying, not in control of her speech.

"You shant wed a Prince, but you will wed into a House of great Kings." In the distance, a massive line of shadowy figures still as stone seemed to appear, faces hard and eyes wary.

Cersei blinked, assaulted by the images not there during the actual memory. "I will be queen to this man, though? Will he love me?"

"Aye, he will. But this man shall be haunted by the ghost of another long dead..."

The figures disappeared, replaced by a man weeping in front of a Weirwood tree. Faintly, she could make out the sobbing words. "I'm sorry… it should have been you… it should have been you."

She began to hyperventilate, but the voice of her memory was strong and true. "Shall he and I have children?"

"Eight children you shall have, all destined for greatness but the greatest not of your womb..."

A vision of a beautiful redhead appeared, one that Cersei instinctively felt a great affection for even though she showed no Lannister features. But suddenly the vision pushed back to reveal her astride a mighty dragon - its roar nearly rocking Cersei back.

And then came the words… the ones that haunted her to this day. "But death shall come for your line, its claws driving forth to drag them to the abyss before you..." Shadowy tendrils of mist, black as night that filled the hut. Revealing a rider in a grey cloak, sword in his hand. "And the valonqar shall ride out from the mists that hath shrouded him his whole life, only to bury the dagger in the belly of the child you hold most dear..."

Cersei awoke with a start. Breathing hard and her forehead drenched in sweat - not the only part of her drenched… Cursing, she attempted to stand and… succeeded. Something the large swell of her child wouldn't afford her in a few weeks time. Take the victories as they come.

Waddling to a dresser, the act of changing her smallclothes was far more difficult. Robb really hampering her. If sensing the thought the babe kicked in her womb, making the lioness smile. "Easy, little pup," she patted her belly, resolved to not let her child ever forget he was a wolf. "Take it easy on mother." A little kick answered, as if he heard her.

"And the valonqar shall ride out from the mists... only to bury the dagger in the belly of the child you hold most dear..."

That day a decade before, still it plagued Cersei. Jayne and Melara had ran screaming from the hut but Cersei sat firm, determined to know her fate… Only to regret it forever after.

It drove her ambitions, melded her into mistrusting and shunning Tyrion - though as a child she needed nary an excuse for that. All hat drove her was one part. Eight children, all destined for greatness. She rubbed her belly. Including, paradoxically, a dragonrider.

She didn't dream of trying to dissect that eventually.

The door opened suddenly before she could reflect further. "Alright, niece. Nap time's over."

Cersei blinked. "Aunt Genna…"

The larger than life curvy blonde didn't accept delay. "You're no longer some maiden to be kept cloistered for some man. You're a proud lioness of Lannister and it's time you learned more of how to be one."

Wrist caught in her aunt's tight hold, Cersei nearly tripped as she was dragged out. "But Aunt Genna." She glanced at her commode, feeling this was supposed to be some formal matter. "I'll need to get dressed…"

Genna looked her over, taking into account her well curled hair and maroon dress that did little to cover the babe in her belly. "You're dressed well enough. Come on."

Turns out, Cersei was both right and wrong in her initial expectation. It did end up being a formal matter, but rather her father's planning chambers with nearly a dozen of his most trusted bannermen. As eyes of the hardened men found her, Cersei knew an extra smattering of jewels and Myrish perfume wouldn't have done anything. They either regarded her in personal contempt by how their eyes drifted to her stomach.

The Light of the West had become the 'Whore of the West,' though few still knew the secret. Tywin and Ser Gregor kept it from spreading.

At the head of the immense map table, her father's scowl greeted her and Genna both. "I said not to bother, sister, lest of all with... her." The biting tone hurt.

"Well tough," Genna shot back, elbowing aside Cersei's uncle Kevan to take the position of honor right beside Tywin - uncle Tygett and Loren Payne directly across from them. "I know more about politics than my husband, and he's here." Sure enough, uncle Emmon was scrunched at the end trying to appear invisible. "Besides, Cersei needs to learn."

Ser Rolph Spicer snorted, square jaw set hard. "But a woman of her… repute…"

"And you're the grandson of a jumped up merchant that only acquired his nobility by selling silk and perfume for my father's whores, so shut it." While Spicer and many others bristled, Cersei swore that she could see a ghost of a smirk on Tywin's face. Genna was rather on the nose in her insults. "Now can we get on with this?"

Before anyone could complain further of their presence, Tywin held up his hand. "Roland, please continue."

Clearing his throat, Lord Roland Crakehall - Tywin's right hand - gestured to the map. "Based on what we know, the situation has stabilized in terms of manpower. Both the Reach and Stormlands hosts have arrived in King's Landing and swell King Aerys' army to one of the largest in history under the command of Robert Baratheon and Randyll Tarly." He leaned and traced Harrenhal castle. "Rhaegar is camped here, and his Rivermen and whatever other meagre forces he has have been reinforced."

"By who?" Leo Lefford asked - he was also a good commander, if a bit unimaginative.

"Vale knights and levies under Elbert Arryn and the bannermen of Lord Ned Stark, both thirsting for vengeance." Cersei's heart clenched. My Ned… She knew he'd be going into battle but this was just too real for her. A hand brushed against her belly, before she took it away. No one knew the paternity aside from Genna, Gerion, her father, Tyrion, and Emmon. Lord Crakehall didn't notice. "Along with the Daynes, Peakes, and Blackmonts from the south. A force slightly smaller than Aerys' but strong in its own right."

Tywin stroked his chin. "Well, Rhaegar won't be able to advance. He's deficient in cavalry and that could allow Robert and Tarly to envelop him. It's defensive strategy for now."

"Brother," piped up Tygett. "If we declare now we can join with the Baratheons and crush Rhaegar in a vice." His suggestion drew nods from many around the table, most notably Rolph Spicer.

"And why should we possibly declare?" Kevan asked brow raised. "We have no dog in this fight. Best keep our men from being decimated."

A scoff from Damon Marbrand, Cersei's great uncle from her grandmother's side. "You've always been craven, Kevan, like your idiot father. Willing to fritter away all opportunity."

"What fucking oppertunity?" Genna exclaimed, incredulous. "You'd have us side with that monster? The one who absolutely hates our brother? Shame, Tygett, shame."

Tygett bristled. "You think me a fool, sister? Aerys won't last and Viserys will be far easier to manipulate. Our brother could find himself Hand again."

A laugh tumbled from Genna's lips. "If you think Jon Connington would allow that then you are the stupidest Lannister."

"And you'd have us side with Rhaegar?" Rolph scoffed. "The man that spurned our Light of the West?" He gestured to Cersei, as if forgetting the fact he had been one of the most flagrant offenders in the 'Whore of the West' murmurs that wasn't stupid enough to try and spread it outside the walls of Casterly Rock.

It made Cersei's blood boil. "I can speak for myself, Ser Rolph," she ground out, sounding a lot like her father in that moment. "And I believe we should side with Rhaegar."

"You can't possibly dictate…"

"Wait, I want to hear what she says," Loren Payne said.

Rolph looked him over with disdain. "And who the fuck are you to say…"

"I am in a position to say, Ser Rolph," Tywin said simply, shutting him up. "Tell me your thoughts daughter."

Her father's words were so… gentle that it almost unnerved her. But feeling Genna squeeze her hand gave Cersei confidence. "Aer… Aerys can win without us. Rhaegar likely can't." If she framed it as fighting to save her love, all the men would laugh her out of the room. She needed to frame it in terms of politics. "We can get more concessions out of Rhaegar rather than Aerys or Connington."

"That's… a wise statement, Lady Cersei," Roland mused.

Loren smirked. "Looks like you in a skirt, Tywin."

Tuning all words out, Tywin saw through Cersei's airs… but she did offer a smart observation. The choice was neutrality like the Dornish, or choosing one side… "Leave me."

"Brother?" Genna asked.

"I need to think," he said roughly. "All of you are dismissed."

Cersei bit her lip as soon as she was out of the chambers. "Did I…"

Genna laughed and hugged her niece. "Cersei, you did amazing." A gentle kick from Robb seemed to agree with his aunt.

---

Not for the first time in the history of House Bolton did its Lord appreciate the advantage of forests. They had concealed the marching hoplites of King Royce Redarm as they annihilated the Stark forces and burned Winterfell. They masked the approach of King Rogar the Huntsman as he routed the Andals near where the Twins would be. They shrouded Belthasar Bolton time and time again during the Longsister War with the Vale.

And now - watching his marching columns advance parallel to the flowing waters of the Blackwater Rush - so would the forest cover Roose Bolton as he advanced to save the very Vale houses his ancestors so gleefully slaughtered thousands of years before at the Riverlands town of Tumbler's Falls.

"Where's the fighting the thickest?" Bolton asked his guide - in the distance, the sounds of thundering hooves and clashing steel grew more and more deafening. Already, Donnel Locke and Rogar Reek were splitting the men into their attacking phalanxes. Men gritting their teeth and eager to show the tourney knights just who held the North.

Disheveled and exhausted from an entire day carrying dispatches across miles of the battlefield, young Andar Royce pointed a bit towards the southwest. "A hill just north of Tumbler's falls. Lyonel Corbray was supposed to be holding it, but his men have been savaged by Hightower cavalry."

Roose smiled. "Men, sharpen your knives!" he called out. "Time to flay the pious cunts of Oldtown!"

His bannermen whooped. "Who holds the North!" Bloodlust obvious from expression and reputation, even the savagery of that morning couldn't stop the three and ten Andar from shivering.

It had been early morning when the camp of Yohn Royce's six thousand cavalry had been set upon by Baelor Hightower and a force of over nine thousand prize horsemen of the Reach. Stampeding over the pickets and fording the Blackwater Rush in a branching pincer, Oakheart heavy cavalry engaging with Bronze Yohn's younger cousin Kyle at a small hamlet known as "Milltown" for the large windmill that dwarfed even the trees.

While each force traded control in charge after countercharge, Ser Baelor used the time gained to swing through two dirt wagon roads to assault Royce's main camp. Ben Beesbury excitedly charged at Elys Waynwood's disorganized knights close to the town itself but were bogged down by a recent snowmelt that hadn't dried, allowing the more rested Vale steeds to gain the momentum advantage. In the resulting slaughter of man and beast, the Lord of Honeyholt was among the casualties.

Ser Baelor had better luck trying to flank the Vale, ending up facing Bronze Yohn himself in a joint charge of lances that descended into a bloody mounted melee between the two forces - Reach armor and elan facing off against the discipline and endurance of the knights of the mountain. Ser Baelor rapidly found out that the latter mattered more, that skill in tourneys didn't translate to the rapidly moving slaughterhouse of the battlefield.

With all sides embroiled in stalemates, it was up to Mathis Rowan and his heavy horse to break Lyonel Corbray and his men mounted on Greenwood Hill, the highest point of elevation in the entire region. Twice they had charged, and twice the horsemen of Heart's Home stood firm under the shadow of Lady Forlorn.

Both charges had been piecemeal, and the second nearly broke them. Lowering his visor, Lord Rowan depressed lances and charged for a third time in one large sheet of over fifteen hundred horse. Hooves of the great stallions and mares churning the grass beneath them as they hundred at Greenwood Hill. Eager to finish what they started. But about to crest the hill, the Rowan knights found not the disorganized Corbray horsemen but five blocks of spearmen. Pikes bristling out and the dreaded Rogar's Cross of a flayed man slashing across their shields.

"Boltons!" came the hue and cry. The first wave stood no chance, impaling itself upon the front of the phalanx and taking heavy casualties. Men tossed from their mounts into bloody heaps, spears running through throats and chests. Wounded horses screeching in agony, falling and crushing their riders underneath. The second and third waves watched this as they struggled to a halt, milling about until Roose led a full charge at them.

What had been general organized descended into a series of confusing charges and countercharges that swept back and forth across the hill. But fresh and bloodthirsty, the Boltons cleared the hill for the final time as the sun was low in the sky, turning over a third of Rowan's men into casualties. Baelor's small reserve of Fossoway knights was delayed by inability to find the fords over the Blackwater Rush. Last minute attempts to try and break Kyle Royce at Milltown were for naught as the tired Corbray forces completed their three hour long swing around all their armies to reinforce their comrades.

Exhausted beyond belief, Baelor sounded the retreat under the cover of darkness - thousands of the pride of the Reach withdrawing across the river. Battles were not tourneys, and the young heir of the Hightower was sent smarting with this lesson. The southern shore of the God's Eye solidly in rebel hands and Rhaegar's position solidified at Harrenhal.

Setting camp and collapsing onto anything resembling a bed - be it a pile of hay or a patch of grass - the Vale knights were glad to be alive that day. Enjoying their blissful win. But it was the Boltons that celebrated their victory.

"WHO HOLDS THE NORTH!"

Roose Bolton was… far more circumspect. Focused more on the piles of Reach corpses. "I wonder how flowers look like without their skins," he mused to Yohn Royce after the battle.

"You really are a barbarian aren't you?" Bronze Yohn responded. Roose merely smiled.

---

Releasing a relieved breath, Lyanna sank back into the loveseat. Rubbing her aching belly and thighs all over. "Thank the gods, he's alright."

An equally relieved Elia plopped beside her wife, propping her head upon Lya's shoulder. "Aye, and your brother is finally with him. Harrenhal is large and they know the land. He'll be safe defending it." Lovingly, she caressed Lya's swell, feeling the flutters within of their little dragonwolf.

The touch of her love and the flutters in her womb made Lyanna sigh in happiness - Rhaegar should be here, feeling this too - though her mind was deep in thought. "He should abandon Harrenhal."

"Why?" Elia had little knowledge of military matters. Of the two of them, Lyanna was the closest to becoming the warrior queen that Visenya was.

Lya leaned over to kiss the crown of Elia's head, the two of them enjoying such a serene moment with each other. "Harrenhal is good ground but close to King's Landing. Best make Robert extend his supply lines and blunder into an ambush deeper into the Riverlands."

"I hope Rhaegar kills Robert," Elia ground out.

In response, Lyanna squeezed her waist. "I hope so too."

Suddenly, Arthur burst into the room. "Your Graces."

Elia was up quickly. "Is it Dacey?"

"No, I'm fine." Beside him, an equally worried Dacey looked as if she had seen a demon. "There's an army at the gates. Banners of the Reach, sellswords, and the black stag."

Easing herself up, at the last Lyanna's eyes widened. "Black stag… Baratheons." Her final word was spat out with the deepest contempt. "How many?"

Hours later, the group of them stared out a slit in the battlements, watching the sea of banners, tents, and gleaming steel settling to camp across the Torrentine. "There have to be at least five thousand," murmured Benjen, having tossed on his armor even though he was given the day to rest - having been with Ashara at the time. "Where did the Mad King get so many forces to come down here? Without being spotted by the Dornish?!"

"House Blackmont and our cousin at High Hermitage all left for the North," Ashara mused, lips pursed in apprehension. "Without patrols it would have been simple, especially if they had the cooperation of the Reach."

"Some riders are coming to the keep," said one of the Dayne guards. "They carry white flags of parlay."

"My father will want to treat with them," Arthur said.

Elia nodded. "Aye, and I will too. They are here for me, not for House Dayne."

As Lyanna moved to join her wife and guards in the gatehouse, her brother attempted to block her path. "Ben," she growled - eyes filled with a wolffish fury upon realizing what he was doing. "Move."

"Ser Benjen, stay," Arthur commanded, the senior of the Kingsguards.

Lyanna's glare was close to murderous. "As Queen, I command both of you. Move aside." They refused.

But her attempt to force her way past them was stopped by a gentle touch. Lya looked with wide eyes from the bronzed hand to honey-brown eyes. "Please, Lyanna. Let me handle it," Elia begged.

Her worried tone melted most of Lyanna's anger. "I am not weak nor feeble, Elia. My people need to see their Queen."

"Normally I would agree, but something is off about this." Elia moves to pat Lya's swell. "I can't risk you and Jon both."

"But…"

"Your Grace," interjected Arthur. "Among the banners I've seen are those of the Brave Companions and other sellswords. Their reputation is detestable even by the lowest standards."

Benjen looked grim. "They make the Boltons look honorable. Please, sister."

Biting her lip, the thought of one of those monsters hurting Jon swayed Lyanna. "Alright, but tell me everything they say."

"Of course." Leaning forward, she murmured something into her wife's ear, Lyanna nodding in understanding at each word. "Alright?" In lieu of an answer Elia was pulled into a quick and passionate kiss, Lyanna's mouth stealing her breath away.

"Stay safe. Come back to me." At her wife's plea, Elia could only nod. Having averted their eyes, the Kingsguards only shifted when Elia broke the embrace - Arthur following her into the courtyard while Benjen stayed with her. Small smile on his face. "What?"

He shrugged, smirking. "We have the same taste in Dornish girls, it seems." If it wasn't so tense, Lyanna would have chuckled along with him. Instead, she rolled her eyes and headed in the opposite direction of the keep. "Lya… Lya?" Benjen called out, following her.

Hands clasped on the front of her red and black dress, Elia certainly looked the part of a Targaryen Queen. Black hair pinned into a severe but intricate series of braids, she waited between Ser Arthur and Lord Althos. Elia's frown deepened at each clack of the chain that brought down the drawbridge over the narrowest stretch of the Torrentine around the island. "You still don't have to do this, your Grace," offered the eldest Dayne.

Seeing the riders approach the gatehouse, black and yellow banners of House Baratheon flanking them, Elia narrowed her eyes. "No, I have to." Wordlessly, Elia walked out of the gatehouse. Riders dismounting and approaching half-way as well. Only six feet apart, the enemy leader removed his antlered helm to reveal the youthful beauty of Renly Baratheon. "Princess Elia." He bowed, smirk on his face. "It is heartening to see you in person alongside the Lord of Starfall."

Elia smiled - more akin to a hyena than anything amiable. "Lord Renly. I could smell the foul stench of stags from across the Torrentine."

"My brother has a rather noxious stench, I agree. Seems I haven't scrubbed it off yet." Renly's smile didn't falter. He had every reason to be confident. "Where is the Stark whore? I would have thought the fierce Witch Knight would want to be here with lance and sword."

"The only sword you'll see is the one that lops off your head, Baratheon," Arthur hissed, hand on the hilt of Dawn, leading the others to reach for their blades.

It was Elia that deescalated the situation. "Enough!" It worked as to both sides.

One rather brutish fellow with an Essosi tan chuckled. "Well well, seems thhhe frail Princesshh has some bithhe to her. I approve. You'll make a fhhine pleasure slave for me."

Elia's eyes narrowed. "A dagger will end up in your stomach before I let you touch me, Brave Companion." She meant that.

His lecherous sneer turned into a scowl. "Howthh's abouthh we test thhhath now?!"

But a punch to the jaw stopped him. "Enough Vargo!" Tagyn Sand bellowed. "We are under a flag of truce. Forgive me, Princess. He does not know about Westerosi concepts of honor." The scowl only deepened on Vargo's lips.

"There is much he doesn't know, I suspect." It gave Elia a bit of satisfaction to ruffle the brute. "Anyways, what do you want, Renly?"

Unnerved by how his men were distracting him, Renly was glad to get back to the subject at hand. "Ah, good. It's simple really." He looked at Lord Althos. "Lord Dayne, you can keep your keep and your men… I'll even throw in your son, he means nothing to me. But only if you hand over the Princess, her brats, and the Starks. They face the King's Justice in the capitol."

"You mean being burned alive for crimes only existing in the King's delusions," Arthur glowered.

"I cannot speculate as to his Grace's mindset." The smile only grew wider. "I'll sweeten the pot, ser Arthur. You can keep your Mormont whore. Wildlings don't matter to me, only royals and witches."

Holding up a hand, Elia looked each man in the eye. A knight of House Dunn, Lord of House Sloane - likely here to keep their castles from reverting back to Peake control - the two Brave Companions, and Renly. How… pathetic. "I have but one answer for you, Renly." She dragged it out. "Fuck you."

The knights seemed shocked to hear a highborn lady utter such words, but Renly merely laughed. "You dare to face my thousands of men with your pathetic few hundred?" Elia merely raised her palm up, saying nothing - further infuriating him. "The blood of every man, woman, and brat in the keep will be on your hands…"

Suddenly an arrow smacked into the wood of the drawbridge, right between Renly's feet. The young highborn yelped and scrambled back - tripping and tumbling to the ground in a heap. Elia smirked, looking at the arrow. Just a bit higher and it would have ripped through his manhood.

Shaking from the fear of it all, his expression showed Renly knew that as well. His eyes, as well as all but Elia, drawn to the battlements of the gatehouse. To Queen Lyanna, bow in her hand and chestnut hair blowing wild in the wind. Almost a vision of Daena the Defiant.

Cheeks burning with rage and humiliation - he could hear the laughs of the Daynes and the hidden chuckles of his own men directed at him - Renly scrambled to his feet. "You will all hang for this! Consider this my notice of no quarter!"

Elia's eyes burned just as brightly. "Likewise, Renly. Likewise."

Notes:

So, the Queens are now surrounded. Not a good situation at all.

Ned and Rhaegar are already the closest of friends, while we now have Septon Meribald.

Hope you liked the new version of the Maggie the Frog prophecy. Already, we now have the senior leadership of the westerlands on display.

Next time, Jaimella comes to a head ;)

The more reviews, the quicker the update comes!

Chapter 50: Forbidden

Notes:

Good news, friends, I'm considering starting another fic. It'll be set during the time of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya, and Maegor the Cruel. Be sure to let me know what you think about it and I'll reveal more details later :)

Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Pitch darkness shrouding the entrance to the Bay of Torrentine, everyone aboard ship darted about with highly-tuned silence. Boots soled with cork or felt so as to not scuff atop the deck. "Steady, lads, steady," Davos Seaworth whispered. "Tiller amidships."

A gentle breeze passed from the southwest, perfect to slip the newly acquired sloop to make the dash towards Starfall. Large sails picking up the air, masts angled to provide the fastest push through the water, white trails of foam in its wake. A much better sailing than the skiff or tiny cog the smuggler used before. Plus, the stores he could carry were expanded now that he could focus on speed rather than innocuous stealth to slip past patrols by Braavosi customs officials or the King's tax collectors.

"Why are we headed to fuckin' Starfall," hissed his first mate, voice low so that only Davos could hear it. They'd been together since the beginning, and worked like a well oiled mill.

Davos glanced at the rocky hills and ridges that towered over the bay, the ones that had sunk several cogs that tried to break past the land blockade… at least those that had beat the Redwyne fleet patrolling farther out to sea. Amateurs. "The King-claimant's Queens are nestled in there, surrounded by hostile enemies. If Rhaegar wins, which I think he will, rewards are to be large when he finally does take the Iron Throne." Queens as good as them… the people would tear down the walls of the Red Keep to see them rule.

"Ya' better know what yer' doin', Davos." The First Mate moved away, towards the bow when a large fountain of water erupted a hundred feet off the starboard side. "Missiles!"

"Hard a starboard!" Davos bellowed, all sense of stealth abandoned. Even painted a dark blue, the sloop was not the quietest of ships - and the silhouette was still very spottable by a keen eye. Apparently the besieging forces had many a keen eye. The sloop groaned from the sudden jerk of the tiller, tilting heavily to the side as it made its hard turn. Davos gripped the railing, holding himself upright. Eyes closely following the flaming arc now plunging directly at him.

But as he had thought, they overcorrected the catapults, aiming farther to port and slamming very close to where the sloop had been… but far from where it was now. "Seabed!" one of the men called out. "Ten fathoms!" They were shallowing, so land was close.

"Half to port!" Davos called out, seeing the flicker of lights hard north. Starfall. The sloop groaned again from the power of the turn as two other missiles slammed into the bay. One close enough to shower half the crew with seaspray. Heart pounding, Davos hadn't felt as alive in years. "Land ho! Prepare docking speed!"

"Aye, captin'!"

Tying the sloop to the docks, covered and free of attack by the battlements of the keep itself, the crew had already unloaded half the supplies before a contingent of Dayne guardsmen arrived from Starfall. "Halt!" called out the leader, moonlight exposing his kingsguard armor.

Even a Flea Bottom gutter rat would recognize the Sword of the Morning. "Ser Arthur," Davos began, walking towards the detachment. "I come bearing supplies…" Only moments later he was seized by two guardsman. "What the fuck?"

"We don't know who you are, sellsail," Arthur growled back. "Take him to the dungeons till we can sort this out."

"This is a mistake!" Davos cried out, the guards hauling him into the keep. "I am on your side."

"We'll see about that, sellsail," a guard growled.

"Davos?!"

The guards halting where they were, Davos looked over to the end of the hallway to find a woman - a heavily-pregnant woman dressed in a more modest Dornish dress. Chestnut hair drawn back into a messy bun. He'd never forget such a fair face. "Princess… Queen Lyanna." She rapidly walked towards the group

Ser Arthur trotted to where the Queen was, meeting her in the middle. "Your Grace, what are you doing here at this late hour? You and the little Prince should be resting."

Truth was, Lyanna was unable to sleep, nightmares plaguing her even with Elia holding her close. She needed air and found herself close to the docks… only to find this. "The babe and I are perfectly fine, now what are you doing with this man?"

"He says he's a smuggler trying to bring in supplies, but we can't be sure of his identity."

"Your Grace, you must remember me," Davos begged. He had endured the dungeons of a castle before - it was an experience he cared not to repeat.

Lyanna, luckily for him, remembered Davos quite well. "This man is Davos Seaworth of Flea Bottom. He is a smuggler and is the husband of the matron of the orphanage." She marched to the guards. "Release him at once."

As his arms were released, Davos immediately bent the knee. "Your Grace, forgive me for my intrusion into your lodgings in this time of war…"

"If you had informed anyone, then there would have been no getting past the blockade, I understand." Lyanna beckoned him to stand. "Ser Arthur said that you brought supplies?"

Letting out a relieved breath, Davos nevertheless felt several eyes on him - Ser Arthur's being the most poignant. Dawn ready to protect his Queen from harm. Davos didn't intend to end up at the receiving end of the famous blade. "Some general foodstuffs from Oldtown, ones that wouldn't arouse suspicion from the Hightowers. Grain, oats, potatoes. Several barrels of salted beef and pork… plus a sack of fresh fruit for the Princess and Prince," he smiled sheepishly.

Lyanna beamed in response. "Well, I am sure that they would greatly appreciate it, Davos… as would I in my condition." She patted her belly. "Come with me, we'll find accommodations for your men"

Davos shook his head. "No, we'll need to be off before dawn to make it past the pickets. But we'll be back, I promise."

"I look forward to it." Perhaps they would survive the growing food shortage within the walls after all.

---

Huffing, desperately trying to catch his breath, Lord Willam Dustin burst into to war room of Harrenhal. Interrupting a strategy meeting currently in progress… but his announcement was important enough to blow three horses getting from the Crownlands to the great keep in less than a day. "Your… your Grace…"

Ned answered for his goodbrother, "Seven hells, Willam." The lead scout was close to collapse in front of the entire war council. "Fetch him something to drink."

"No time… Robert…" But when someone thrust a skin of sour wine… Bronn most likely, though perhaps the Blackfish, Dustin drank it down greedily. Soothing his wheezing throat and numbing it.

At the head of the table, Rhaegar looked upon him expectantly. "Well, Lord Dustin? Out with it." Given their skills on horseback, the Dustins took over scouting duty from Howland's Crannogmen - at least the far-placed pickets deep in the Crownlands.

Dustin nodded. "Lord Robert's army marches for us. Stormlands and Reach banners among the columns."

A cacophony burst out, every Lord and knight of the twenty-person council taking it upon themselves to point out their preferred strategies on the map. Jabbering at the top of their lungs to their comrades… until Rhaegar slammed his fist upon the table. "We will be civilized, you cunts. One at a time!"

Ser Alliser Thorne spoke up first. "We must prepare defensive positions north of the Keep. I'd give Robert two weeks to arrive here so we still have time to prepare."

"And not use Harrenhal as a defensive position?" Titus Peake exclaimed. "You're just asking for Randyll Tarly and Alester Oakheart to slam through us."

"Better than being hemmed into a siege at a position we could not hold," Thorne shot back.

"Your Grace," said Howland Reed, calmly scanning every escape route on the map. "We can still withdraw deeper into the Riverlands. Allow the northerners to raid and bushwhack until Robert overextends his supply lines… we can defeat him in detail then."

Leaning in, Ned spoke quietly in Rhaegar's earshot. "Harrenhal isn't defensible outside the castle. A few hills and a creek, that's it."

"Lord Stark speaks true, your Grace," added Ser Gerold, his mind sharp since commanding the royal forces in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. "You won last time since there were no defenses for Chelsted to utilize. No one would think less of you if you retreat."

Brooding, Rhaegar looked at the map again. They were outnumbered, not decisively so but in an open fight it could be. He visualized the various movements in every contingency he could imagine. The Battle of Redgrass Field kept coming to mind. Would he be Blackfyre or Maekar? Would he entrap Robert or just savage his own army in the process?

Robert is aggressive, not cautious. From jousting against him - and what Lyanna had said about him, Rhaegar's blood boiling at the thought - he would be opposite of Chelsted and attack with everything he had. That could exhaust the loyalist army, but given the Westerlands hadn't chosen a side…

No, he had to annihilate Robert on the field as he did Chelsted. Either withdraw or… "Ser Lyonel, how soon can the knights of the Vale arrive from Tumbler's Falls?"

Lyonel Corbray blinked. "A week if we push it, but I think it could be longer for the Bolton forces."

Nodding, he looked at the Blackfish. "Ser Brynden, Walder Frey and his bannermen still haven't arrived."

"He sent a raven saying Ser Stevron was on his way. Beyond that…" he trailed off.

Rhaegar scowled. He needed those men. "Send a rider up the Kingsroad. Find the Freys and get them here!" Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rhaegar would have to fight with what he had. "Tumbler's Falls changes the situation. Our strategic flank is secure, so we stay and fight. Ser Alliser, see to the defenses."

After the council drew to a close, Rhaegar explaining each facet of his plan and taking suggestions from the other Lords, he and Ned walked along the battlements of the great castle. "What you're doing is very risky, brother," the Lord of Winterfell remarked.

"I've been in the midst of battle, Ned. I know what risks there are." His arm had just healed up, and was still a bit stiff sometimes. I'll have to train more. "Robert has more men and his are fresh. We need to defeat at least part of them in detail." Catching how Ned winced, Rhaegar sighed. "I'm sorry that we have to face your friend in battle." He was determined to kill the cunt for what he did to Lyanna, so his sorrow was merely for his goodbrother's sake.

Wrestling with the recriminations of it, Ned simply sighed. "I've come to terms with fighting him, because I don't see him as the enemy. Your father is."

Rhaegar glanced at him - eyebrow up. "He wants Lyanna for himself, and he'll slam his warhammer in my heart to get her." He could sense Ned's conflict. "If the time comes, will you…"

"Just spare him if you can, brother. Promise me that." Ned's greys met Rhaegar's violets. "I know I can get through to him, make him bend the knee if he is taken prisoner… or if your father dies."

Looking at his feet for a moment, Rhaegar relented. "For you, I'll try to take him alive, but no promises. I won't do what Daemon did at Redgrass Field." His zeal to save Gwayne Corbray doomed him. From his nod, Ned understood.

Sensing a presence, Ned embraced the distraction. "Brother, come here. Septon!" he called out, drawing the attention of the humble septon. "This is the man I met when I arrived here, Septon Meribald."

As Rhaegar came into view, Meribald's eyes widened, taking to his knee. "Your Grace."

Few septons would actually bend the knee to temporal authority, so already Rhaegar had a good first impression. "Rise, Septon Meribald." As he did, Rhaegar smiled. "Northerners usually hate those of the Faith, but my goodbrother only speaks well of you and how you tended to the wounded of all faiths."

"I do what I can, your Grace. All souls are the children of the gods, and it would be hypocritical of me to deny one group such love while embracing another."

Rhaegar was impressed. "Not many Septons agree with you. Nor the High Septon or Most Devout."

Meribald's face curled in disgust. "Our noble Faith has regressed. Once we went out with well-intentioned piety to provide a true heavenly order in the world, but now the institution is either corrupted by earthly desires - as I once was." He would always seek penance for the sins he committed as a man of the gods. "Or fanatic zealots hellbent on forcing their ways into the entire kingdom, abusing the power the gods bestowed upon them."

"Sounds like you'd make some changes if you had such power," Ned observed.

He chuckled. "I do have dreams to make it all better, to bring honor and prestige to the Starry Sept once more. But alas," he shrugged. "I am just a country septon"

For once, a Septon brought Rhaegar calm rather than haughtiness or a sense of being smothered - removing his every blood instinct from him, everything that made him a dragon. "Tell me, Septon Meribald, would you take us to the sept to pray. Ned isn't of your Faith and I… I lapse sometimes, but we would be honored to take your prayer." Looking at Rhaegar, Ned couldn't help but agree.

Smiling, Meribald gestured his hands. "I would be happy to ease your mind, your Grace."

---

The sour-faced guard bowed as Aeron Greyjoy approached. The Septon to the Drowned God held an even sterner face than would normally be ascribed to those of the Iron Islands - weathered and hardy as the rocks that made up Pyke castle. But the guard was deferent to the youngest son of his Lord. Few earned respect through anything but the Iron Way, and through his faith Lord Aeron was one.

He nodded as he passed the guard. "What is dead may never die," he murmured, flickering a sprinkle of seawater upon the man's face. A blessing that was met with a profuse thanks. Allowing a rare smile to pass his thickly bearded lips, Aeron passed into his Lord's bedchamber. "Father?" he called out. "You summoned me?"

"My son?" A wrinkled wraith called from the sickbed. "Come here." Quellon Greyjoy was once a tall man, one that fought like a banshee in every sort of war and raid that the Ironborn were famous for. Attacking Blackfyre, Free City, and even Lannister forces with a fury that would make the Iron Way proud. Now though, he was emaciated by sickness. Barely able to keep food up and beset by powerful headaches. The great Lord of the Iron Islands was dying, all of his children knew such. "Oh Aeron…" Quellon's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Gods, you smell of rot."

Aeron shrugged. "Suppose I must change out the seaweed." Tied to his beard, the dried plant of the sea brought him closer to the Drowned God… though it needed frequent changing. "So, what did you request of me?"

Not one to mince words unlike his cunning son Euron, Quellon cut to the heart of the issue. "I'm dying, my son. It will soon be over for me." As if proving his statement true, he coughed - almost hacking out a lung it was so severe.

"Shall I fetch a maester, father?" Aeron asked, reaching forward to grab his hand. Reaching for the tip of his waterskin to draw holy seawater. Wordlessly he sprinkled it on his father's forehead, willing silently for the Drowned God to take the pain away.

A minute later, the Lord of the Iron Islands finally managed to settle down, though his voice remained raspy. "Son, all I've done… I've worked so hard and so much is left unfinished." The reforms of Quellon Greyjoy were extensive. Ones that constituted the greatest change in the Ironborn way of life since Harwyn Hoare conquered the Riverlands over three centuries before. Abolition of Thralls, ending of Salt Wife practices. The bringing of maesters onto the rocky shores… none could have been fathomable until Lord Quellon. "But your brothers seek to destroy it."

"Your children are all loyal to you…"

Aeron was stopped as his father lurched out of bed, grabbing his arms with bony fingers. "Listen to me," he hissed. "They will get us into war. To revive the Iron Price by any means necessary. Balon will do it, Victarion will lead the fleets, but it will be all Euron's doing, the little monster." It was no secret that Euron was his father's least favorite - quite mutually. "They will destroy us, for the Seven Kingdoms will reign fire upon the Iron Islands if they are just given the excuse."

"I understand, father, but they are in civil war. Dragon against dragon?"

Quellon shook his head. "Doesn't matter." He coughed again. "One will win. One always wins. My foolish sons will destroy us, so make sure to stop them. Stop them by any means necessary." His grip tightened on Aeron. "Save us… you're the only one… who… can…" Wheezing heavily, Quellon fell back on the bed, the coughs turning into spasms of pain.

The youngest Greyjoy was out of his seat in an instant. Yelling for the guards. "Fetch the maester! Tell him to bring milk of the poppy, now!"

Some time later, as the Lord of Pyke slowly drifted off to a serene sleep, Aeron walked out of the room. Heeding his father's words - needing guidance from the Drowned God, but knowing he was right.

---

It was obvious that Lord Robert Baratheon had a temper. Many had been at the receiving end of it, but neither Stannis nor the rest of the loyalist war council had ever seen him this enraged. "You fucking cunt!" Had Stormbreaker been in his arms, he would have likely cleaved the table in half. "Do you see what you've fuckin' done?!"

Connington didn't budge, not afraid of Robert. "If the army went at the pace you wished for it, it would have arrived at Harrenhal completely exhausted and at the mercy of the Starks and Arryns."

"We fuckin' outnumber them!" Grabbing Olyvar Oakheart, he thrust the Lord of Old Oak into the mix. "Go ahead, tell all of us what you just told me!" For once, Robert was completely sober and spoke in proper sentences. Battle agrees with him.

Gulping, the leader of the army's scouts rolled his shoulders back and made it to the table. "Alright, we outnumber the enemy forces at least eighty thousand to fifty thousand according to what reports Lord Varys has provided us." No one trusted the slippery Spider, but his information was supremely accurate and he had the King's ear. "They're being reinforced as we speak by the forces of the Vale under Yohn Royce."

"You fuckin' see?!" Robert bellowed.

Many Lords agreed with him. "Had we marched quicker we'd have caught them without the knights of the Vale," argued Lord Caron of Nightsong.

Randyll Tarly nodded, the man in effective command of the army due to his… strategic mind. "They'll have defense in depth, ignoring Harrenhal itself lest they be trapped in a siege." He gestured to the line of the small creek that trickled into the God's Eye. "Given we are unable to hit them from the rear as Baelor Targaryen did at Redgrass Field, we will have to strike them with a frontal assault."

Baelor Hightower frowned, still chastised by his defeat at Tumbler's Falls. While nearly a thousand of his men had perished and the same amount wounded and out of the fight, no one truly blamed him. Faulty whispers hadn't shown Bolton in the area, and he had withdrawn in good order. Never piss off the Hightowers. "Attack head on against prepared defenses?"

"They will not be expecting it, and are woefully short of heavy infantry. Northmen with axes and light armor may be good brawlers, but they cannot fight in formation to save their lives… except perhaps the Boltons."

"The Boltons are still in Tumbler's Falls," mused Lord Selwyn Tarth, another marital house of the Stormlands. "We could attack while some of Rhaegar's best troops are absent."

Connington pounded the table in agreement. "Good, my Lords, good. And Lord Baratheon can lead the main assault."

Robert seemed to perk up at that. "Wherever Rhaegar is, I'll be there to strike him down like the rapist he is." With a flourish of his cape, the Lord of Storm's End withdrew. Master of War gone, the council essentially began to empty… until it was just Connington and Stannis left.

Sensing the young Baratheon eying him with suspicion, Connington turned around. "Is there something you wish to say, Ser Stannis?"

Pursing his lips, Stannis nodded. "You seemed eager for a frontal assault, even as you wanted a slower movement. Why?"

"It's the better plan," the Hand replied.

"Or you wish to use the plan of least risk."

You're right, though I'll never admit it. Connington's… objectives of fighting the war didn't completely match up with his King's. "You're seeing ghosts, Stannis."

"Perhaps." The middle son made his way to the entrance. "Oh, by the way, my last raven to Storm's End and my brother found the Castillan respond in his stead. Seems he went off to parts unknown. I wonder if you have anything to do with that?"

Connington scoffed. "You must have hit the same flagon as your brother, Stannis."

Narrowing his eyes, Stannis simply walked off. He could never prove any of his suspicions, but the more the days went by the more he felt that his long, august House was ever closer to extinction.

---

"How soon will Lord Baratheon's army reach Harrenhal?" the king demanded with a snarl.

"It shouldn't be long, your Grace," replied Lord Merryweather, belly jostling as the entourage proceeded down the halls of Maegor's Holdfast. "The last raven had them setting out from Antlers…"

A bony hand waved him off. "Bah, Connington is slowing him down. A bullheaded lad like Robert, he would have fucking attacked weeks ago if let off his leash. Stupid stag cunt, but every ruler has to have one like that."

"Of course, your Grace."

Jaime fought the urge to roll his eyes at the obsequious lord - bending the knee before the Mad King in order suck his cock, it was revolting. Everyone bowed and scraped before Aerys… including himself, Jaime had to admit. Cowards all.

I've seen what he's done to my beloved… and I do nothing but pick up the pieces. It only made it worse that Jaime knew the feeling of helplessness… but for Merryweather and the others it wasn't fear of death, but a craven greed to manipulate the King. The Lord of Longtable had no competence in anything but organizing feasts and flattering the King, which earned him a high position.

Rhaegar… you can't win soon enough.

"...the Queen fairing in carrying your new Prince of Princess?" Catching the tail end of their conversation, Jaime's attention shifted. Listening with rapt hearing.

"Bah, she's weak like she always was. Confining her to her rooms with this Lion cunt guarding her every day…" He motioned to Jaime behind him. "But lately… she's fucking defiant."

"How so?"

Aerys scoffed. "It's as if she's trying to resist me." A cackle left him. "I showed the folly of that only hours before." Jaime's blood ran cold. "A Queen is subservient to her King. Had Aegon IV done that instead of gallivanting with mistress after mistress, then perhaps Naerys wouldn't have fooled around with Aemon or raised Daeron II to be a weak little shit," Aerys spat. "Fools all of them."

At that moment, Ser Olymer Tyrell - brought by his cousin Lord Mace to supplement the Kingsguard even though he looked quite uncomfortable wearing the white cloak - arrived to switch shifts with Jaime. He didn't blame the poor knight. Along with the Stormlander Ser Rolland Storm, the new Kingsguards chafed under the perfidy of serving Aerys on the whims of petty men.. Only Rhaegar deserved to hold their oaths, this Jaime knew with certainty.

He was everything a Targaryen King should be.

Bowing to the madman that supposedly held the crown, he hid the fear on his face. The dread at what could have possibly happened to the Queen. As such, he rushed towards the Queen's quarters, far away from the King's by all providence of the gods.

Dismissing the guards left at the door and waiting for the both of them to disappear around the corner, Jaime's heart pounded as he made his way inside. His fears were validated, finding Rhaell - his beautiful Queen - hunched over on the bed. Tears falling from her cheeks as she cried softly, hugging her legs.

Seeing fresh bruises on her legs and shoulders, Jaime rushed to her side. Hiding his own anguish beneath the facade of Aerys II Targaryen's kingsguard mask. "My Queen..."

Rhaella looked up and through her tears could see the one man left in the capitol that seemed to care about her. Helm removed, Jaime's blonde hair fell to his shoulders, emerald eyes sparkling with such compassion and worry that she could have sworn Joanna was back. The simple, happy days of her father and mother's reign where her friends Joanna Lannister and Mynara Martell lived without fear. It was only fitting that her son would provide Rhaella with an inkling of such times. "Ser Jaime..."

"Let me fetch some water." He proceeds to the bathchamber and wets a cloth from the filled basin - the servants always keep it well stocked due to the babe's needs. Returning, he kneels by her side at the bed.

She winced as the kingsguard eased the towel over the bruises, though it soon soothed her. Gods, she was glad to have him. "Thank you," Rhaella murmured, enjoying his attention. Moaning in contentment.

The moan threatened to go straight to his crotch. "Is the babe...?"

Moving her hands to her belly, Rhaella could feel her babe. Unlike her past pregnancies, this time she felt not a single thing wrong with her. "The little one is fine Ser Jaime."

A silence fell as Jaime continued to ease the bruises his Grace left - merely to keep her in line. "Why did he do it?"

Rhaella closed her eyes. "I spoke of him making amends with Rhaegar. This was the result." She trembled. "Luckily he didn't strike my stomach."

"If the babe came to harm, I'd kill him where he stands."

"No Jaime," Rhaella exclaimed, eyes flying open but keeping her voice down. "You're a Kingsguard, bound to protect the royal family." They had this argument before, but somehow things had changed. How intensely he looked at her, Rhaella shivered. "Doing so would put you at a level even lower that of the kingmaker, the kingslayer." Her voice had lowered even softer, however.

Just being around her made his heart beat faster. Rhaella Targaryen… she was perfect. There existed no perfect knights as in the songs, but even with the effect of reality she was exactly like the maidens idolized by all. "I'm sworn to protect the true King and his family…" Jaime took her hands in his. "Rhaegar is the true King and you are his family." At that moment he recognized the magnitude of his touch - how he could have his head removed just for this - but he didn't care.

Propriety dicated she remove her hands from his… but she couldn't bring herself to. "Viserys declared that his daughter was the rightful heir, that didn't stop Alicent and her allies from undermining it"

"I don't care..." Jaime looked her in the eyes. "I will protect you from him, I swear it."

Oh Jaime… Rhaella wordlessly hugged the son of her best friend, glad to have such a man to protect her. To hells with propriety - for once she was selfish, seeking some form of protection and comfort that she hadn't had since Summerhall. "Why do you protect me so... I am not worth it, Ser Jaime..."

Simply hearing her doubt herself, hate herself even… it broke something within him. Jaime backed up slightly and looked into the amethyst eyes he loved so much. "Never say that about yourself Rhaella." She shuddered when he dared to say her given name. It was intimate… as if between her son and gooddaughters. "You're a Queen, a Queen of House Targaryen and the one that brought me back from the abyss - that gave me something honorable to live for." There was no need to elaborate… they all realized that he meant the King. "I protect you because…" Fuck it. I don't fucking care anymore. "I love you Rhaella, with all my heart."

Her eyes widened. Utterly shocked at this... Rhaella should have seen it, but she hadn't. It all made sense though. How he's always beside me… his devotion… it was love… What most would think of as lust or greed driving him, Rhaella knew it to be genuine. "You love me?"

"Yes." He wasn't denying it anymore. "I understand nothing can happen between…" Jaime was cut off when Rhaella grabbed his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss.

This was insane - as mad as her husband. Treason for the both of them as what had happened to Bethany Bracken so long ago, but after all that had happened... Daenerys in her belly made her crave protection and comfort. All of which Jaime provided, was glad to provide. The only one who genuinely cared - it just happened. A burst of lust that overpowered her sanity and logic. Mouths fusing together in a loving clash of tongue and teeth.

Now it was Jaime's eyes that widened. He couldn't believe it, the woman he loved, the angel that had saved his very soul... she was actually kissing him. It was a dream… one he couldn't help but take advantage of. After the shock faded, he returned the kiss with full force, letting out all the pent up desire.

Her fingers desperately stripped off his armor, mouth watering at how the tunic barely his his muscular chest. It soon joined the rest on the floor, Jaime pushing her onto her back. Rhaella kept their lips together, muffling their noises. The red keep had many ears after all, but it didn't stop him from slowly stripping her. "I love you," he murmured. "You deserve it all." Rhaella was in a daze, but at his general caresses and clear desire for her - even with her pregnancy - for the first time in her life she felt pleasure from the sexual act. The touch of a man making her hum with pleasure rather than cringe in pain or revulsion

Jaime felt impatient, his body throbbing with need for the Queen. Forbidden love, but his. Jaime pinned her to the bed, earning a yelp. He gazed down on her, pale skin glowing, purple eyes shimmering with desire. Her lustrous hair was such a mess, plump lips parted as she panted.

It all made him painfully hard.

Rhaella stared up at him. Here she was, married and pregnant with the King's child, and all she wanted was to feel the love of her best friend's son. "Don't hurt me, Jaime," she murmured in a low voice, her history unable to abandon her.

But what he did next - not ignore her or leave - made her heart his. Jaime lowered his face until their noses were touching. "I would never hurt you, my dragon," and with a passionate kiss, he positioned himself and finally slid himself inside her with the utmost care.

Gasping, Rhaella wrapped her legs around his hips. Mewling in his mouth. Aerys always felt as an invader, while Jaime simply made her feel full. Head tilting back. "Oh gods…" she whispered.

She felt so good, so soft. Her vanilla and cinnamon scent was intoxicating. With the collapse of everything else in his life, now that the first act of wanting passion was on him, he wasn't stopping. Cupping the back of his head, her mouth latching to his neck, neither was she.

His movements were slow, loving, the deepest of care. Keeping his lower abdomen hovering so as not to hurt the babe. Why couldn't you be the father…? The thought was unbidden, but Rhaella couldn't help it. He was just so perfect… She simply lost herself, enjoying the most wonderful moment, the only wonderful moment in her sexual life. The first time Rhaella had ever known pleasure, shattering beneath him. The lion knight worshiping her body, his seed shooting inside her as he rode out her climax to its conclusion..

Guiding her to collapse on their sides, Jaime held her close - heart beating out of his chest. It had actually happened, and it was far better than he could have ever imagined. The woman beside him made Jaime realize that what he had done with Cersei, while pleasurable, was nothing.

But as the aura of the pleasure dissipated, Rhaella felt her fear... and guilt. I cuckolded my husband the King while with his child… Committed treason on both her Queenly duty and Jaime's Kingsguard vow. Jaime… the child of my best friend… oh Gods...

Jaime sensed the tension in her. He understood, but it still hurt. "Rhaella..."

She held up her hand, guilt increasing at how she loved her name on his lips... at how she desired him yet again.

"Please my dragon." He leaned to kiss her again.

"No." She pushed him away. "I will not have your death on my hands, Ser Jaime." Rhaella looked away. "Please go."

But Jaime, having just truly had her, was no about to let go. Ignoring her pleas, he embraced her tightly. Not opening his eyes until she sighed into his hold. "No Rhaella. Now that I finally have you in my arms, I'll be damned to the seventh hell if I ever let you go." He owed it to his vows, to Rhaegar… to the memory of his mother to protect his Queen. His lover.

"Please go... I made a mistake..." It was agonizing to reject him, but Rhaella needed to do it.

But Jaime was stubborn like his father and brother - one of the very few things they all had in common. Hands rubbing down the silky skin of her back "I won't let you go my dragon. You will always have me to protect you," he declared as he kissed her neck.

Rhaella shuddered with pleasure, but had to be strong. "Jaime..." She cupped his cheeks, watching how he beamed at hearing his name on her lips. "Please. I can't let you be caught like this."

"We will be discreet. It will all be over soon." Rhaegar would win, he was sure of it.

"Alright... just go."

Sighing, Jaime rose and donned his armor. Bowing to her as deeply as he could. "I love you... and you will always have my sword and shield."

Rhaella fought the urge to pull him back to bed. It wasn't safe, but he made her feel an unmarried Princess again. "You're a maiden's dream come true, Jaime."

"I don't want a maiden, Rhaella. I only want you... I'll wait as long as I have to." And with that, he was gone.

Left alone, the nude Queen fell to the bed with a groan, hands on her face. "Seven hells..." Just thinking about Joanna's son... all the filthy things she wanted to do with him... her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "Oh Joanna, why did you have to bring such a handsome man into my life?"

It could never be. Rhaella surprisingly felt no regret for the moment of passion she shared with Jaime, but the pain came with the brutal truth of it all. She and Jaime couldn't tempt fate again. She couldn't risk her life with Daenerys growing inside her, and the thought of Jaime burning in wildfire had her heart shattering.

"Rhaegar, my son…" she murmured, curling into a fetal position. "Please win. Please save us." Only if he won would the axe above their heads disappear...

She cried herself to sleep, not knowing that Jaime heard all of it from standing guard outside. "I'll never let you go my dragon," he swore to the old gods and the new. "That's a promise."

Notes:

Not quite there yet, but there pretty much is no earthly way Jaime and Rhaella are ever coming back from this. Full steam ahead ;)

So it's Starfall that Davos is running the blockade for, not Storm's End. Means he gets a new patron.

Greyjoys...

The more reviews, the quicker the update comes!

Chapter 51: Clash of the Titans

Notes:

Good news, friends, I'm considering starting another fic. It'll be set during the time of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya, and Maegor the Cruel. It'll be called Dragonshield and tell a story of the Conquerors being more cunning, the Starks being more in the loop, and Maegor changing things greatly by marrying his niece Rhaena instead of Alys Harroway, not to mention a much more robust Faith Militant uprising. Be sure to let me know what you think about it and I'll reveal more details later :)

Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Quiet. Perfectly quiet. Barely a bird chirping or gust of wind howling upon the fields north of the great castle of Harrenhal. Unlike before where many had come to watch, all smallfolk fled the region. Man, woman, child, beast, bird… Apart from the flora rooted to the ground the land was dead. Not knowing where to flee but driven by some malevolent vapor that gathered upon the creek and those lands adjacent.

Two days before, the snows had melted. Warmer weather arriving from the Reach, bringing with it the exposure of the dead grass of the vibrant fields of wheat that would grow in the summer. Plenty of time for the dirt to dry and harden, perfect for cavalry. Perhaps that added to the aura of impending death.

Banners hung limply from their poles. An occasional gust of wind came to shake them every now and again, revealing the fifty-five thousand score of the rebel army. Tightly packed and awaiting their day in the sun. Dozens of great houses some millennia old, interspersed with the blood red three-headed dragon upon black of House Targaryen. Of their King.

Said King eased his stallion towards the frontline. His lips pursed together, hair free about his shoulders. Looking every inch the Targaryen warrior as the Northmen he walked amongst - Lyanna's people, and his - gazed upon him in awe. And he on them. Banner after banner: Bears of House Mormont, Crossed-Chains of House Umber, Mermen of House Manderly, Moose of House Hornwood… Direwolf of House Stark…

"Welcome to the front line, your Grace," Ned offered, only sensing his goodbrother ease Moondancer next to him. Both were mounted, though Ned didn't intend for that to last.

Rhaegar merely narrowed his eyes, not looking at Ned. Instead peering across the field. At the force that stood against his. One of fifty-five thousand pairs of eyes that watched upon it with looks of resignation and defiance.

The influence of Robert Baratheon showed upon the eighty thousand soldiers of Aerys Targareyn's grand army. Unlike the commanders before him, every house fighting was spread out in view, armor gleaming as the morning sun cast its rays from the eastern horizon. Waves and waves of heavily armored knights and men-at-arms of the great southern Kingdoms. Veterans of the same lands only a moon before joined with the full-strength bannermen of Storm's End, Hightower, and Highgarden. Truly a powerful sight.

It would take less than that to intimidate a dragon. "I sent Ser Gerold to better coordinate the center. Lord Randyll commands there, the whispers say."

Ned nodded. Randyll Tarly was the smartest of their enemy. "I take it the Freys haven't arrived." wasn't a bad guess to make.

"No, not even a single banner within riding distance." Rhaegar spat in contempt. "Boltons are close, but they could arrive at any moment. Not good odds."

"The North has beaten their enemies with less." Of the ground, Eddard Stark's northmen would hold the weakest portion of the line on their left. Brynden the Blackfish took the center, strongly anchored by a sunken wagonroad that acted as a natural trench. Across the deeper parts of the creek with thick bluffs that couldn't be forded, the two bridges there were held by Yohn Royce and the Vale - the smallest number of men. "This is my first battle." He finally looked at Rhaegar. "Any advice?"

Smirking softly at Ned, Rhaegar gestured to Ice. "Stick em' with the Pointy End."

Tilting his head back, Ned chuckled. "Learned that from your teachers."

"An advanced lesson courtesy of Ser Gerold." The two shared a lighthearted moment of humor.

Ned sighed. "It helps that you're behind me, brother."

Rhaegar leaned forward to clasp Ned's hand. "With you leading the men, I have no doubt the line will hold."

Across no man's land, the trumpets blared just as Rhaegar withdrew to the rear. A line of horse and foot readying to charge on the northern flank. From his perch behind the readied men, Master of War Robert Baratheon assembled his Stormlanders against the northmen at the weakest point. Randyll Tarly and a mix of Crownlanders and Reach men-at-arms faced their old enemies from the first clash, while Mace Tyrell held his own knights of the southern Reach back close to the God's Eye and castle itself… following the orders of Jon Connington.

Such was the great uproar of the early dawn. Robert, Randyll, and many other lesser commanders demanded a full attack all along the line… especially in the south before the Vale could fully commit their forces. But Connington demurred, approving only a full assault in the north followed by attacks later in the morning. Mace, a tourney knight if there ever was one, had no qualms and looked relieved, while the others were angered.

Robert still steamed, but the prospect of single-handedly shattering the enemy army mollified him. "Ready?"

Ser Cortnay Penrose and Stannis both inspected their forces. The Houses of the Stormlands all raised their banners high, at the ready - Stannis' own archers were bunched up at the closest part of the front. Ready to march and keep up the steady fire once the entire line committed itself… orders from Stannis himself.

At their nods, Robert bellowed. "Charge!"

In one sheet, the mounted knights of a dozen Stormlands houses erupted out. A single line of galloping steeds thundering upon the dead farmland, marching feet rushing forward behind in a desperate attempt to keep up with the horse. They covered the ground quickly, half-way to the creek and the northmen holding the far bank… then a third-way… then a quarter-way...

"Come the fuck on, let's fucking go," Robert snarled.

"Not yet," Ser Cortnay replied, his hand up - signalling to Stannis behind them. "Wait…"

Gripping his reins, palms sweaty even in the chilly air, Robert felt the call of the battle drawing him in. Wanting to join the banners of his sworn Houses and prove himself in a real fight. "Now, nock now!" Behind, the three hundred longbowmen readied their bows. Wood groaning as drawstrings were pulled back.

Resolved that his Lord ountermanded his will, Cortnay dropped his hand. "Loose!" Stannis bellowed, the arrows releasing into the air. Ascending towards the bright blue sky on their mission of death. "We should wait half an hour, my Lord," he told his brother, watching the swarm of arrows meeting the highpoint of the arc. "Then full charge, break them."

Robert grinned. "The dragonspawn will meet my steel then," he announced just as the arrows met their marks.

---

"LOOSE!"

The thwacks of hundreds of their own bows momentarily overwhelmed the vibrations of the thousands of hooves. Ned watched as the arrows hurled themselves at the charging stormlands horse. Mixing with the ones gunning for his own men. "Shields up!" While he fought without one, two Stark bannermen protected their lord as the arrows pockmarked the ground. Plunging down into dirt… and occasionally hitting men.

Spurts of blood coated the dead grass, men hit in the foot, the shoulder, and occasionally the head and chest. Men-at-arms pitched into the shallow water of the creek, marring the crystal-clear waters. "Keep firm, men!" Ser Jorah shouted among the warriors of House Mormont, holding the patch of ground directly to the right of House Stark.

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Ned stood as soon as the last arrows dropped. Finding his men largely unharmed. Packed together in the classic Northern shield wall… not as firm as that of the Westerlands or even the Bolton phalanx that won the day at Tumbler's Falls, but powerful. Spears at front for the cavalry, now close enough for Ned to pick out the individual faces. Knights of Houses Selmy, Tarth, Caron, Estermont… the whole of the Stormlands upon them. This is it! Even with everything, the call of his wolfsblood exhilarated him.

"For Lyanna!" Ned bellowed, drawing Ice. It's Valyrian steel finish shining in the morning sun against the backdrop of thousands of enemies. An image begging for a canvas.

The Northmen screamed the same. "FOR LYANNA!" A split-second before the lines collided in what would be called the greatest day of the north in centuries…

Except it wasn't that at all.

It was a slaughter. A colliding of flesh and steel, the vapor of impending death transforming into the specter of the beast itself. Lances tore chunks off of men, spurting blood and guts over the trodden ground. Northmen found themselves trampled, bones crushed under the armored steeds of their southern counterparts. With snarls they shoved their spears forward, scything through many knights. Bodies were thrown back off their horses in twisted, mangled heaps. Massive gouges bashed in the rebel line only seconds before the Stormlands foot began to ford the creek, in an instant all order and chaos evaporated into one bloody melee.

Crimson liquid spattering his face where once his bannerman stood, the metallic smell hit Ned's nose. Torpor overcoming him, watching as his dreams of a heroic stand like the songs was engulfed by the reality of war. A flash of steel shook him from his reverie - quickly, he raised Ice and smashed across the front of a charging Caron knight. Mace flying from his hands as he went down.

As the initial momentum of the Stormlanders impaled upon the churning mud of the bank - horses kicking water upon the soil and leaving it a hopeless muck - the mass of northmen let out their battlecries. The glint of their blades, axes, and maces reflecting the eastern sun directly upon the southerners, they charged down the bank - wading through mud to push right into the creek. A savage melee began, steel overcoming the thunder of hooves. Masses of men were tightly packed from the two sides crashing over a very narrow stretch of front. Highborns raced about, cursing and yelling orders no one could hear in the noise. Eventually they gave up, swords drawn and wading into the fight themselves. The creek ran red with the blood of hundreds churned up by the slaughter, dueling archers filling the air with a seemingly unlimited supply of arrows… both sides came prepared.

Something crashing into his back, Ned gritted his teeth as he spun around, just managing to catch the wild swing from the man-at-arms. On the defensive, the stormlander raised his shield too late - Ice hacking through his neck and shoulder, spraying Ned a bright crimson. Only minutes into the battle he was already bathed in blood - some his, most not. Two horses shot by, Ned ducking under the swing of one and spinning. He felt the force of disemboweling the mounted knight in the side.

Drawing the Valyrian blade back, a flash made him jerk. Eyes seeing the man-at-arms' head fall off his body, spear that almost skewered him clattering to the ground. "Lord Stark!" It was Jorah Mormont, sandy blonde features buried underneath gore and grime. He looked fearsome and strong, so likely wasn't wounded. "We can't take more of this!" With a snarl, he kicked up buckets-full of the ankle-deep water charging at a Dondarrion knight.

Another Dondarrion was gunning for Ned - swing missing his head but tip slicing his forehead. Fuck! Hot blood trickling down his face, he lunged. Thrusting only to dig his feet into the ground. Bashing the wolf's head pommel upon the Dondarrion's helm. The knight was tough, but not that tough. He staggered back, disoriented enough for Ned to swing Ice, beheading him. There was no time for the Lord of Winterfell to even catch his breath, swirling to face a Swann soldier.

Rhaegar! Come the fuck in!

Shifting on his saddle, Lord Randyll peered through his spyglass - cursing at the gust of cold wind that chilled his body. "Seven fucking hells, the damn Baratheons went in and we're sitting on our asses."

"My Lord," Ser Jarman Buckwell said, Randyll's current aide as he commanded the loyalist center. "Lord Rykker is attacking."

"What?!" Jaramy Rykker was supposed to support the flank of the Stormlanders, but he saw no banners of the Lord of Duskendale entering the fray. Randyll's heart pounded as he continued to scan the battlefield… only to find the banners of Duskendale… attacking not against the rebel left but across the creek directly into the sunken wagonroad that connected Harrenhal directly to Lord Harroway's Town. "By the Mother… he'll get annihilated!"

His aide winced. "Shall we send a courier to withdraw him.

Looking over his shoulder to where Connington kept his own command tent, no signal coming. Fuck you, Connington. Drawing Heartsbane from its scabbard, he boomed at his herald. "Sound the attack! We move now!"

Eager for vengeance against the Rivermen banners that fluttered among the sunken road, the men of the Crownlands surged. Bringing the specter of death further south as the sun rose higher in the sky.

---

He could only watch in horror as it unfolded before him. A veritable slaughter of men, and not one sided as the first clash only a few miles to the southeast had been. Rhaegar saw his own men dying, chewed up in the pure death that clouded their left and center. Only the right didn't see much fighting… yet. He held no hope in that regard.

The Seven Kingdoms were tearing themselves apart on the altar of his father's madness. Rhaegar shook with such truth… a victim of it himself… he could have stopped it. But he didn't, and now this was the result.

Beside him, the enraged grimace of Rickard Karstark was starting to get to him. "Send us in!" Under the Lord of Karhold's command were the entire northern cavalry reserve, two thousand men of Karstark and Dustin origin waiting for the right moment. "Those are my comrades dyin' over there!"

"Not yet, Karstark," cautioned Alaric Dayne, commanding half the reserve infantry. "We wait for the right moment…"

"The moment's come," Rhaegar announced, drawing the attention of the bickering Lords and Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell, both standing beside him. None of them rode… there wasn't space to maneuver, and there was no chance the Kingsguards would let Rhaegar blast his way through Stormlands armor in a vicious melee. "Look… the Baratheons are coming."

Karstark whistled. "We're goin' in, boys! For the North!" Cheers erupted after him.

Alaric only grimaced himself. "Good luck, your Grace." He dashed for his own command.

"Your Grace." Trotting up on his horse, Alliser Thorne looked grimer than usual. "The Freys still haven't showed - Mace Tyrell has most of his manpower advancin' on our right."

"Fuck." With the carnage ahead of him moving steadily through the farm fields into the creek itself, he was needed to relieve the northerners. "Barristan! Get to the rear and find every last man to reinforce Royce."

The knight hesitated. "A Kingsguard stays with his King…"

"Do as he says, Barry!" Oswell snarled. "I'll stay with him!" Taking a split second to look them both in the eye, he traded places with Thorne on the horse and galloped off, armor gleaming in the midday sun.

Drawing Blackfyre, Rhaegar leveled it at the oncoming Baratheon horde. "They bring the fury, but we bring Fire and Blood."

A better rallying cry there could never be. "FIRE AND BLOOD!"

While the fighting around the creek and adjoining wheatfields near House Stark's position and that of the heavy Manderly and Umber forces, loyalist attacks a few hundred yards south against the Glovers and mountain clans were more successful. Baratheon men-at-arms led by Ser Cortnay brought new vigor to the bloodied first wave, the fresh troops began advancing across the creek and into the west bank, pushing aside Ser Ethan and Ser Robett Glover. The Northmen fought like wildlings, hurling themselves and their blades against the southerners, breaking formations in frenzied countercharges, but Stannis brought up his entire complement of crossbowmen to rain bolts over open sights into the mass. Ser Ethan was caught in the throat, as was Lord Theo Wull, the resulting chaos rallying the Baratheons. The men of Storm's End cut a large gap in Ned Stark's defensive line, teetering it near collapse and a devastating envelopment.

But the whooping horsemen of House Karstark and Dustin arrived just in time. Lighter than their Stormlands counterparts, they still had all the momentum on their side and trampled through packs of men and beasts. Lances, swords, and maces turning men into bloody sacks of meat, crossing the creek and taking the fighting to the eastern wheatfields. In their wake, the Daynes and Targaryens filled the gaps. Patching the lines, King Rhaegar making damn sure to not let Robert's men dislodge him without a fight.

Visor constricting his vision, Rhaegar was used to it. A demon upon the field as he leapt into the creek. He slammed his sword across the small shield of a Penrose footsoldier, Valyrian steel shattering the wood and slicing off the hand. The lad screamed, pitching back. Dancing out of the thrust of a rusty blade, Rhaegar and sliced across the front of another. He suddenly hissed, blade nicking the join between his breastplate and pelvic guard. Spinning to swing downwards, Rhaegar off a leg of the dismounted knight that challenged him. Again and again… so much blood spilling underneath him that the King lost count of how many he felled.

A knight of House Estermont charged at him, green turtle on his shield bathed in blood as he raised his sword. Rhaegar parried the blow and smashed into the shield, smearing his breastplate in more of the crimson liquid but knocking him to the waters - Oswell delivered the killing blow, running the poor knight through the throat and further shrouding the waters in red. It is well that war is so terrible… Axe swinging at him, a man-at-arms shrieked in pain from Blackfyre slicing open his gut. Lest we grow too fond of it…

Too many already do…

"Your Grace!" There was barely any time before Rhaegar hurled himself to the right, hitting the water with a loud splash - waters deep enough to fill his mouth with the noxious chyme of blood, mud, and brain matter. From where he stood a trio of mounted knights in Baratheon colors surged across. Their lances depressed, blasting through the disorganized northmen… and separating him from Oswell.

Spitting out the disgusting water, Rhaegar heard the whoosh through the air and knelt. Presenting his armored forearm to shield his face as arrows peppered the creek. Felling men indiscriminately. A strong arm pulled him up. "Your Grace?" The arm belonged to a young boy with a moose of House Hornwood etched in his gorget. "Come…"

Just as suddenly as he appeared, the boy's face disappeared into a mist. Massive warhammer literally disintegrating it. The hammer swung into a wide arc, coming down right at Rhaegar. Spinning on his feet, fighting to not slip and fall on the fine gravel creekbed, the King clashed Blackfyre twice against the equally gleaming Valyrian steel before the voice of a demon boomed in his ears.

"Rhaegar!"

It clicked in an instant. "Robert!" Rhaegar's eyes narrowed within his helm, grip tightening on Blackfyre. "We face at last!"

Snarling like a rabid dog, much less a stag, the dressed to impress Baratheon charged at Rhaegar. Stormbreaker already aiming for the rubies on the King-claimant's breastplate. "You will die, rapist!" The thick plate that hugged his burly frame and high-antlered helm gave him an almost demonic look, putting his all into the crashing blows directed at Rhaegar's midsection. Gritting his teeth as Rhaegar dodged all of them… if by the skin of his teeth. "Face me, Dragonspawn!"

The man was mad. Consumed with obsession… over Lyanna. My wife. My Queen. Mine! Blackfyre spinning in hand, water kicked up into foam around Rhaegar's ankles as he went on the offensive. "You will never have her!" It hurt to speak, but his blood ran hot. Sight tinged red with the same fury as on the Baratheon sigil, pressing his offensive advantage. Robert raised the hammer, shaft blocking Blackfyre. Rhaegar swinging down hard over and over.

"She is mine!" Roaring, his bulk almost sprung out, pushing Rhaegar back. The resulting swing only missing the King by an inch. "You stole her from me!" His Lyanna, his betrothed, yanked away from him and forced into a marriage. Abused and raped by a man with a wife of his own. He stabbed forward, the spearhead mounting the head of Stormbreaker striking true - Robert's lips contorted into a dark smirk as it hit flesh.

Rhaegar hissed, Valyrian steel piercing the armor of his left abdomen. Shredding flesh and muscle. The pain felt nothing but pressure, hot blood blocking the pain and leaving his mind clear. Before Robert could truly pull it away, Rhaegar grabbed the shaft and yanked Robert forward - warhammer and all. Knocking the smirk off of Baratheon's face. He swung Blackfyre wildly, the sword slicing off the antlers of Robert's helm while redoubling to slash across his chest. Cutting the armor as if it was mail.

Howling from the sting of the cut, he pitched back. Feet kicking up more of the churning creek as he steadied himself. Robert reached for his face and pulled up the visor. Staring at Rhaegar with his own eyes. The azure blue narrowed in hate and concentration. Regarding the mighty dragon before him.

"She loves me," boomed the King. The battle around them seemed far away, an invisible shroud between the two great houses - forged from the same loins centuries before, but having lost their way in the interregnum. Meeting in hate, love, and obsession on the sight of House Targaryen's greatest triumph. "You will never have her Robert, Lyanna loves me." Rhaegar tightened on his blade, waiting for Robert to come at him.

And he did not disappoint. "NEVER!" But unlike the bullheaded stag Rhaegar expected, Robert stayed light on his feet. Jinking from Rhaegar's thrust dead center with the agility of a dancer, Stormbreaker dropping to one hand as his right slammed into the helm of his foe in a jarring right hook. Punches not ceasing, denting the metal with repeated crashes. Over and over and over… A jerk of the wrist sent the Valyrian steel staff crashing into the swinging blade, blocking it as Robert kneed Rhaegar in the chest. Rubies scattering into the water from his shattered sigil.

Staggering, head a mass of ringing and pounding, Rhaegar had no time to lift his sword as Stormbreaker swung at his temple. Only time enough to duck, saving his life in that moment.

But not emerging unscathed.

Glancing against his skull, the legendary warhammer of House Durrandon sent Rhaegar's helm flying clean off. Covered with enough blood and bone to mark the wound Robert delivered upon the King-claimant. Rhaegar faltered, collapsing to his knees and then his back as the world seemed to fade in and out of a white noise or black shroud. Surrounded by the cooling water. Arms weak, body nonresponsive. Eyes clouded - making out only a hulking mass that stood above him.

"Pathetic." Robert's voice boomed as if the manifestation of the seventh hell. "Last Dragon my ass." A faint roar hit Rhaegar's ears as Stormbreaker raised up, ready to deliver the killing blow…

A sense of shame passed through Rhaegar. Two faces dancing before his eyes. Lya… Elia...

 

 

"Nooooo!" The last thing Rhaegar saw before the blackness overpowered him was the glint of Valyrian steel clashing against Robert's warhammer.

---

Ser Bonifer Hasty was a fighter. Born to ride and to swing a sword, the young knight he had dreamed of winning a King's Tourney, gaining the favor of the gods and the crown to establish himself upon the Realm. And yet, the events surrounding his last tourney sundered that dream - turned him to the gods. To serve the Seven, and in being the Warrior's champion in chivalrous fighting would he bring himself glory.

Upon the sunken wagonroad, facing the forces of Randyll Tarly in the great rematch between the Rivermen and their Crownlands brethren, he may have followed the Seven's will but there would be no glory. No chivalrous fighting. Only death and carnage… it was what the Warrior wished, and with sword in hand Ser Bonifer would follow.

"Spearmen, hold firm!" he commanded, greatsword clashing with the mace of Darry soldier. His armor and shield were strong, but Bonifer had the skill of a seasoned warrior. Lunging in a feint, he instead swung his sword and lopped off the man's leg. He howled, falling back into the mass of corpses filling the wagonroad. "Present spears!" Bonifer screamed, falling back behind the mass of Peake bannermen.

The clatter was immense as they depressed their spears, heavy armor proving a powerful anchor in holding the line. Acting as a trench, the wagonroad blunted whatever momentum Randyll Tarly had after smashing across the creek. The Blackfish managed to retreat in good order. There was no order as the Crownlanders impaled themselves upon the Peake spears.

Running through a man with the Tarly huntsman on his gorget, an arrow wooshed past Bonifer's head. Felling a dismounted knight by punching through his chestplate. "Looks' like you can use the help," grinned Ser Bronn, notching another arrow onto his quiver. "Loose!"

Fifty crossbows that Bronn brought from the rear released their payloads. Bolts sailing out with a thwack, adding to the blood soaking the roadbed. Likely sinking it further from the weight of the bodies. No honor in this… only in your actions. Readying his sword, Bonifer readied himself for what the uncompromising Tarly would throw at the rebel center.

His answer came with the near blackening of the sky. "Cover!"

On instinct, Bonifer grabbed a shield dropped by a dead Rosby and covered himself as best he could. Tucking his legs and arms within the cover of the large strip of wood and iron… gritting his teeth at the arrows slamming into it. Many around him weren't as lucky, screams filling his ears. And yet it was interminable to wait, Randyll obviously having plenty of his own sigil to rain arrows upon them.

And as it finally ended, their lines far thinner than before the black rain of House Tarly scythed through the rebel center, the trumpets of heralds sounded another loyalist attack. "What's fun without a little struggle?" Bronn quipped. Bonifer merely tightened his grip on his sword, readying for the charge that was coming.

As the two armies battled in a chaotic slugfest over the center of the line, crickets could still be heard in front of the mass of Mace Tyrell's 'summer knights.' Decked in their finery - polished armor, gleaming weapons, feather-plumed helms signifying their wealth and tourney prowess - the Lord of Highgarden had been the only one to obey Lord Connington's orders. Choosing to remain in position and wait for the explicit command in spite of urgings from Lord Butterwell and Lord Oakheart, two of his top commanders.

Had Baelor Hightower - Mace's goodbrother - pushed him then the attack might have started sooner than the dispatch rider from Connington just as the sun began to rise high into the sky. But Tumbler's Falls had made him timid, unsure of himself. Unwilling to press an advantage. Lord Oakheart breathed a sigh of relief when he was directed to launch the attack.

Elbert Arryn had every right to be fearful - pissing his breeches even. Men exhausted from marching all the way around the God's Eye in a mere two days without rest, he didn't even have enough of them. House Frey and their missing twenty-five hundred bannermen were keenly felt, depriving them of the Peake and Blackmont infantry he sorely needed. True, the creek in this sector was about fifteen yards wide and deeper than the rest, but at waist deep it was eminently fordable by horses and unable to be truly defended by archers due to thick woodland on the west bank.

But Elbert and his frontline commander Bronze Yohn Royce were offered a miracle when Mace hesitated. His attempts to probe a ford elsewhere were shot by either high banks or the walls of Harrenhal, and the inexperienced 'Tourney Lord' wouldn't order his cavalry across the creek until Lord Oakheart could capture a stone bridge and force a place on the west bank.

Oakheart's belated assault on the bridge began hours after the first Baratheon bannerman clashed with the northmen. In spite of heavy archery and crossbow cover, House Corbray's defenders stood firm. Shield wall tightly packed and narrow, avoiding the brunt of the archers and beating back the Oakheart charge. Another attack met the same fate, filling the bridge with packed bodies as desperate attempts to force a fording against Mace's wishes ended in dismounted Royce knights defending the banks expertly.

Connington grew irate watching Mace's lack of progress from his rear command tent. His plan was going well, but it needed the Tyrells to cross the river. "Tell him if it costs half his men, he must go now!" screamed the Hand of the King to the courier.

Narrowing his eyes at the courier half an hour later, Mace addressed his son Willas. "Lord Connington appears to think I am not trying my best to carry this bridge. I follow his orders, ser, and you cannot pin such swill on me." Inside, his heart beat quickly regardless. Praying that Lord Oakheart could have some success so that his own position would be secure.

Deliver his bannerman did. Borrowing the idea from Stannis he lined his crossbowmen upon the east bank, pointing upon the side of the bridge and unleashing a hail of bolts into the unprotected sides of the Corbray shield wall. Vale archers were hurled at the crossbowmen, causing grievous losses but their sacrifice worked. A third charge took the bridge, allowing columns of columns of cavalry to charge across to force the knights of the Vale back. Outnumbered nearly two to one and their own horses close to blown rather than the fresh Reach knights that could maneuver around. Elbert drew his blade, ready to make his last stand…

"Who holds the North?! WHO HOLDS THE NORTH!"

Ser Barristan had found his reinforcements, the tired yet determined hoplites of House Bolton. Quick couriers allowing Elbert and Royce to shift their forces to the flanks of their position upon the fields north of Harrenhal, the Reach knights watched in horror as the terrifying men the house of knives deployed in front of them.

Any breakthrough wouldn't be achieved here as the lances, spears, and blades clashed into each other.

Until the cry came down the line… "The King has fallen!"

---

It didn't seem real to Ned.

Greatsword acting as if of its own accord, Valyrian steel crashing against its comrade in arms with a thundering clatter. Red-tinged foam showering those around them as the two Lords Paramount engaged in the most brutal of clashes. Brother against brother, each out of pure desperation.

Forced back, barely able to keep his footing against Ned's surprise charge, Robert would have recovered his bearings had it not been his friend. His brother… "Ned!" On the cusp of killing the vile rapist, the Lord of Winterfell erupted from the haze of battle and engaged him. Robert was so blindsided he wasn't able to properly swing Stormbreaker - instead using it as one would a staff. "What the fuck…" A swing was parried, Robert jerking forward to shove Ned off of him. "...are you doing!"

Twirling Ice in both of his wrists, Ned stood firm. Eyes pained but determined as he stared down the man he had grown up with. Whom had been more of a brother to him than Bran or Benjen in the scheme of things. "Can't let you do it, Robert." He lunged, only for the Baratheon to leap back in an agility surprising for a man of his musculature.

He stared at Ned in complete shock, ripping his helm from his head and hurling it into the water with a splash - his wild hair flying free as death surrounded him. "But Lyanna…"

"She doesn't love you, Robert," Ned barked, hoping that he could get Robert to withdraw. To truce… though given everything it was a forlorn hope.

Robert was the one that shattered it. "She will!" He readied his warhammer. "After I kill the dragonspawn!" Holding back for Ned's sake, the swing that met Ice would have nevertheless cleaved apart any lesser blade. Ned nearly toppled as he ducked back, fingers tightening around Ice's pommel and countered. Willingly battling his once closest friend to protect his goodbrother.

All across the line, the battle was complete carnage. An orgy of blood and slaughter that would long soak the God's Eye in crimson. In the south, the Boltons withstood charge after charge from the Tyrell horse while Lord Arryn's bannermen tried desperately to push them back. Already, the writhing bodies carpeting the wagonroad were trampled over by waves of Crownlanders under the cover of Tarly arrows as they slowly battered the Rivermen and Holy Hundred in the center. And in the North, Lord Karstark's insane charge had petered out, the Northmen forced to withdraw back to the Manderly and Umber lines. Their inspiring Lord could have rallied them… but one of Stannis Baratheon's crossbowmen ripped through Harrion Karstark's throat and turned Rickard into a torpid wreck… his men dragging him out.

But it was the news of Rhaegar's fall - the King knocked out cold and barely alive - that proved the deciding factor. While Oswell Whent tried to escort him to the rear without incident, the men weren't stupid. When one young soldier saw his King drawn atop a stretcher, it took mere minutes for panic to settle in.

The rebel army was forced to withdraw… either in good order or in a rout, but they would have to retreat.

Robert fought ferociously - the Stag Lord was a master with his hammer, as skilled with it as all but the greatest Kingsguards with their blades. Stance perfect, thrusts filled with brute strength, one could have forgiven anyone who said he was a grizzled warrior of a hundred battles. Spinning around to the side, Ned slammed the sword of his ancestors into the Baratheon steel. Driving Stormbreaker to the ground. Robert was good, but so was he.

Breaths measured and attacks precise, Ned still struggled to match Robert and the occasional Baratheon bannerman trying to protect their lord blow for blow. One found his neck turned into a bloody mess, Ned forced to parry another attack from Robert. I'm not going to last...

With a fury of his own, Robert charged… only for another blade to drive the warhammer back. "Lord Stark!" Jorah Mormont and a dozen Mormont bannermen flooded the creek, engaging Robert and the Stormlanders that rushed to his defense. "The army is retreating! Rhaegar has fallen!"

"Victory, my Lord Hand."

Connington looked at Rhaegar's army crumbling. Falling back slowly but undoubtedly in defeat. Whatever had happened, he had his triumph. My triumph… the day is ours…

Ours…

"Let them retreat."

His aides blinked. "My Lord? We've taken the field."

"And that is enough," the Hand shot back. "If we pursue our supply lines will be stretched out and they can counterattack when Walder Frey… or gods forbid Tywin can annihilate us." Rhaegar and I will never rule if I annihilate his army. "Harrenhal is fallen. The day is ours. We need to rest and digest our victory."

There was silence. No one willing to challenge their orders but unable to deny it was an insane one.

As such, Connington grabbed one of their collars. "Signal to hold!" And the trumpeted command blared over the field, signalling the end to what had been the largest clash of armies since the Dance of Dragons.

One King would smile, while the other clung to life on the barest of threads.

Notes:

One cannot always have a perfect streak. Rhaegar gets bloodied, and only thanks to Ned did he escape his canon fate. His friendship with Ned is the friendship both he and Ned deserved :)

Good thing Connington fucked up, lol.

Next up, the things Jaime does for love.

The more reviews, the quicker the update comes!

Chapter 52: Visions

Notes:

Good news, friends, I'm considering starting another fic. It'll be set during the time of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya, and Maegor the Cruel. It'll be called Dragonshield and tell a story of the Conquerors being more cunning, the Starks being more in the loop, and Maegor changing things greatly by marrying his niece Rhaena instead of Alys Harroway, not to mention a much more robust Faith Militant uprising. Be sure to let me know what you think about it and I'll reveal more details later :)

Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

The first thing Jon Connington noticed were the ravens. Massive flocks of them, squawking at men for the bodies of the dead. Truly the stench of death bothered Connington more, but it was the ravens that surprised him. He hadn't known there were so many wild ones in the entire Seven Kingdoms… let alone the Riverlands.

All over, the scars of the Second Battle of Harrenhal littered the ground. Thousands dead both rebel and loyalist, including those too wounded to escape. Those of theirs that could be patched up were taken back to the maesters, while all rebels and their own mortally wounded were speared where they lay upon Connington's orders. Smallfolk from the fallen keep were already digging the mass graves.

And the men… most had fallen asleep where they stood. There was no way this army could advance further. Perhaps before Connington gave the halt order, but now…

"Connington!"

Groaning, the Lord Hand dismounted. If there was one person who would be exceptionally pissed up to a murderous level, it was the man sidling up right to him. "Yes, Lord Robert?"

Blue eyes blazing, the man looked as if he wanted to kill the Hand. Instead, Robert settled for a beefy finger in his face. "We had em!" Behind him, Lords Oakheart and Tarly, not to mention Stannis, frowned darkly. "We had the fuckin' Dragonspawn dead and you had to stop our advance!"

"Advance?" Connington laughed in his face. "Take a look around, Robert, our men are passed out from exhaustion. There was no way for us to pursue, especially with the Freys…"

"Oh, piss the Freys," Randyll Tarly grunted. "Walder couldn't outrun a snail cause he'd try and figure out where the slug is off to. There was no threat."

"I was just about to kill the rapist Dragonspawn!" Robert screamed, spittle spraying out of his mouth.

Stannis, glowering, crossed his arms. "Methinks you stopped the advance so your precious Rhaegar would get away…"

Connington cut him off with a right hook, sending Stannis sprawling. "Fuck you. Next time, it'll be a hangman's noose for such treason." The suddenness of his actions shocked the other Lords dumb… even Robert, oddly enough. "We can discuss our strategy from here on out in Harrenhal keep. Dismissed." Offering him one last glare, Robert grabbed his brother off the ground - the Reach Lords joining him in heading back to their commands.

"My Lord Hand?"

Looking up, Connington saw it was his own cousin, Ser Ronald Connington. He was battered and drenched in blood, but otherwise unharmed. Thank the gods for small favors this day. He knew not his late uncle's child that well, but the desire to see the Griffin be lost to history was not one Connington wished. "Ser Ronald… cousin." He walked to him, clasping the knight's hand. "Thank the Seven you have emerged alive."

Nodding, Ronald shifted on his feet. "The battle against the Northmen… they fought like savages…"

"Yes, half-wildlings they are," Connington dismissed.

But the knight of Griffin's Roost was still uneasy. "Rhaegar fought among them. Robert's blow struck him down."

This caused Connington to freeze - blood running cold. "What?" No… no, it can't be…

"Eddard Stark stopped the killing blow, but fall Rhaegar did." It was then that the Hand noticed the helm in Ronald's left. A beautifully forged piece of steel, dragon wings ascending on either side but with a noticeable dent, metal split open and covered in blood and hair… no brain matter though.

He does live… "I'll take that. Thank you, cousin - be sure to go and clean yourself up. Fetch some hot food in the keep."

"Of course, my Lord." Bowing, Ser Ronald was off.

Cradling the helm in his hand, a single tear fell from his eye. My silver prince… Gods, what he was doing, it all taxed him greatly. There was nothing Connington wished more than to mount a horse and defect to Rhaegar. Fight alongside him as it was meant to be… but alas, as long as the Stark and the Martell remained his queens then there was no chance of his.

Sorrow and worry soon boiled away, a white hot anger replacing it. Lyanna… Elia… both whore-harpies that bewitched my silver prince. Never did he hate anyone as vibrantly he did them… even Robert or Aerys were mere disgust or anger rather than hate. Renly trapped the whores in Starfall, but as long as the walls held there was no chance…

Looking down at the helm, suddenly it clicked. "That's it…" Mind a cauldron of activity, he made back for his horse, eager to return to his tent and set his newest plan in motion.

One that would deal with the meddlesome Queens once and for all.

---

A great cacophony echoed from the Great Hall. Chandeliers and torches streaming light, the smells of breads, soups, and every variety of roasted meats wafting through the halls. Every highborn had piled into the palace as part of King Aerys II Targaryen's weeklong thanksgiving to celebrate the victory at Harrenhal - cups of wine raised in triumph at every bombastic tirade of how the King's glorious leadership would see the end of the traitorous prince.

Not that the smallfolk would enjoy the same spoils from the granaries or cattle lots. A pittance sure, not enough to improve their views of the man that covered their city in a haze of noxious smoke.

But as the celebration continued late through the night, the hallways of the Red Keep were deserted. Servants drawn to serve the highborn - in more ways than one - one hooded figure used the opportunity to sneak out of Maegor's Holdfast. Passing silently through the corridors, her dark cloak gave her a vital stealth while cutting across the gardens.

Door opened a crack before closing it behind her, Rhaella removed her hood - silver hair glittering in the moonlight. She sighed, looking about her at the copse of tree. Rhaella didn't know what drew her to the Godswood, but now amongst the spiritual place Lyanna always spoke about… slowly stepping towards the heart tree, a surreal wave seemed to pass through her. Hand drifting to where her babe grew inside her.

Wordlessly she knelt, careful of the growing swell in her abdomen. With the new gods having never answered her prayers over years, she felt the gods of her mother and gooddaughter could hear her.

"Old gods… gods of the First Men…" Rhaella closed her eyes, head bent before the oak tree. "Please, I beg of you, let this madness not be the end of House Targaryen." Her voice trembled with the weight of the last many moons. "Bring my son, grandchildren, and gooddaughters safe and whole from the chaos that surrounds them. From those that would do harm to them for the sake of gold or land…"

As she prayed, the calm from before grew. Awash in it, sweat cold on her skin in spite of the chill all around. "Protect Viserys…" Of all who suffered, his perhaps was the worst of it all. Aloof and quiet, the cumulative effect of the atrocities Aerys made him witness were slowly breaking him. Rhaella could see it in his eyes. The light was slowly leaving. "He is innocent, great ones - do not let him suffer so… protect the light of his soul from the darkness that consumes my husband." A prayer for Aerys died on the tip of her tongue - he was beyond saving.

Her mind turned to the bane of her existence… or blessing depending on what part of her looked at it. The one that filled Rhaella's thoughts. "Please let Jaime have peace..." Rhaella felt a tear slip from her mind. "I want him so… I never thought I would ever desire Joanna's son yet I do… and yet I can't have him. Bring the both of us peace and finality, I beg this of you…" Sobbing softly, the emotions of the moment were close to overwhelming.

Passing by, a liberated flagon of Dornish red in his paw, a knight of the crownlands in service to House Targaryen happened to be passing by. He staggered unsteadily, looking for a place to drink his treasures by the waters of the bay - perhaps bring a servant girl here for some 'fun.'

He was just about to belt out an obscene brothel ditty when his drunken brain overheard someone speaking within the godswood. It was a quiet night but the voice was faint - he had to struggle to hear it, curiously leaning against a gap in the wall to witness...

"And please bring my son a swift victory upon the battlefield." Eyes widened. Queen Rhaella... "He is my only hope, great ones. Grant him the crown he so deserves."

A greedy smile formed on his face moments later, wine slowing his thinking. "So the queen is a traitor…" he murmured softly to himself, clicking his tongue. Cowardice may have kept him from serving in Chelsted or Robert's armies, but ambition rooted him firmly in court to serve the King. To smoke out traitors and northern spies out on his behalf. This would be my greatest find of all. The rewards Aerys would give him for discovering treason in Maegor's Holdfast itself would be massive indeed.

He almost simpered with glee, dreams of an impressive castle in the Riverlands filling his mind. "A loyal man that I am," the knight mused aloud as he looked out over the bay once more. His senses were dulled and unable to notice the figure approaching him from behind. "I should always report to the k-" He couldn't finish the sentence, sounds mere gurgles as a knife ran through his neck. Bubbles of blood escaping.

"You should have wandered somewhere else, cunt." Jaime Lannister held the knight's head firmly, twisting the dagger. Holding firm against his struggles as the blade shredded his throat. "For the Queen." Soon, the struggles stopped.

Drawing the dagger back, Jaime let out a satisfied breath watching the man that would threaten his beloved keel over - slumping over the parapet in a heap. Fists clenching in unreleased anger, he grabbed the legs. A heave found the corpse falling off the cliff of Aegon's High Hill down to the black waters below. No trace of him ever existed.

Anyone that threatens Rhaella will join him.

Wiping the blood off his armor with a rag, Jaime hurried just fast enough to see Rhaella leaving the Godswood. The shrouded yet still beautiful Queen racing back to her quarters. "Oh, my Queen…" Jaime murmured to himself, heart clenching at seeing her so scared and alone.

If you wish to kill anyone, kill Aerys.

He felt a cold sweat wash over him. You will die… Not if Rhaegar won. Would Rhaegar want you to become a kingslayer?

Would Rhaella? Conflict consuming him, Jaime looked towards the great hall for what seemed like hours before sighing and instead heading towards the Holdfast.

Knocking at the familiar door… to the chambers where his dreams had come so wonderfully true barely two weeks before… the gentle affirmation brought him inside. Finding Rhaella dressed down in a nightshift and robe - no sign of her dark cloak. Clever girl..."My dearest Queen," Jaime said, bowing.

Eyes glossing over him, the tone of his voice making Rhaella shiver with lust. It was filled with love and caring… few had ever truly cared for her, none of them till Jaime being a lover of hers. Lover… There was the guilt again. "My dearest knight..." Despite herself and her guilt, Rhaella responded with barely veiled desire.

The melodious sound went straight to his crotch, but Jaime suppressed it. Knowing her conflict, he would wait as long as she needed. "Did the gods heed your prayer?"

Rhaella's mouth dropped in shock. "How did…"

"I am your loyal Kingsguard," Jaime chuckled, walking over to kneel before her. Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss on the soft skin. "It is my duty to follow and protect you." And how I did protect you tonight...

The words made her smile. "Thank you." Gesturing for him to sit across from her - Rhaella didn't trust herself if he sat beside her - his question came back. "I hope that they heard, Jaime. I was as sincere as I could be." She sighed. "They are the gods of my mother, yet I know nothing about them… how they could help my son."

"Well, if they are watching over him then even in defeat they are." Jaime watched her knot her brows in confusion. "Apparently Connington refused to pursue Rhaegar's army. It managed to escape to Riverrun."

Now that surprised Rhaella. "Why?" Even someone like her, clueless in military matters, could sense that was a total blunder.

He shrugged. "Still playing both sides, I suppose."

Rhaella snorted, scowling deeply. "After everything he's done, all he can expect from my son is a date with the block." Looking away, she closed her eyes. "If he wins."

"He'll win, I promise you," Jaime whispered.

The Queen wanted nothing more than to latch onto him and never let go - seek out the love he was so clearly dying to offer her - but she needed to be strong. For Joanna… it can never be. "Let's hope the old gods and the new hear us, Jaime." She didn't acknowledge when the knightly title dropped from her address of him. Nor when a chaste pair of arms wrapped around her, letting Rhaella relish in some manner of comfort.

---

Crack!

"Get off him, Ned!" begged Yohn Royce, only to be shoved away by the Lord of Winterfell.

"You fucking coward!" To the gasps… or cheers of the crowd of lords that watched, Eddard Stark slammed his fist for the third time into the face of Ser Stevron Frey. "Where the fuck were you?!" Valeman, Riverlord, and Northman alike were stunned at the 'Quiet Wolf's' expression of pure rage. While the latter found it purely awesome, nearly all looked at the heir to the Twins and felt it was ultimately justified.

"Fuck you!" snarled Stevron, lips curling into a sneer on his weasley face. He tried to get up, only for Ned to uppercut him, sending Stevron toppling once more. Still an heir at age nine and for, in comparison Ned's youthful vigor easily won.

The next blow came instead from Elbert Arryn, blonde hair tousled into a mess as he advanced on the hapless Frey. "Fuck him? Fuck you, you worthless cunt!' With a kick, he slammed into Stevron's gut, the man doubling over with a painful cry. "Your lecherous curr cunt of a father promised his bannermen a fucking moon ago. Where the fuck were they when my men were getting slaughtered?!" Another kick, Ned joining in with a right hook to the jaw before several men darted in to finally pull them apart. "I'm not fucking done yet!" Elbert screeched, though neither Royce nor Lyonel Corbray would let go.

Coughing, trying not to retch from the throbbing in his stomach, Stevron nevertheless had enough of his more infamous father in him to glare at his tormentors. "I shall have you drawn and quartered for this!"

"With what authority?" Jorah Mormont replied, voice dripping with disdain even as he and Greatjon Umber dragged Ned away - in the distance, Willam Dustin and Theo Wull held back a very irate Rickard Karstark, the Lord of Karhold with his knife drawn, eager to seek revenge for the death of his boy on the cowardly Frey. "The House skill of getting one's cock up at seventy namedays to sire children off one twelve and ten?" That drew laughs or snickers from the Lords. Everyone knew Walder Frey's reputation… and that the position upon the Trident and the mountains of silver taken from his decades of toll collecting were all that kept him a going concern.

Stevron went red. "My father is…"

Ser Bronn cut him off. "The Late Walder Frey, I should say." No one held their tongue as they laughed at the rising Stevron, shaky on his feet. "His men were late, and we nearly fuckin' died. I'd punch you myself if I didn't want to stain my leathers with your blood." Fuming, Stevron reddened under the jeers and insults… begun by a Northerner and a jumped-up sellsword no less.

Simply the sight of him made Ned want to strike him again, but the Greatjon shook his head. "Not worth it, lad. Go take a walk and cool off. Most of what needs to be said has been said." Growling under his breath, Ned nevertheless nodded and headed out of the Great Hall of Riverrun. The strategy meeting of the battered army of Rhaegar Targaryen had been almost over when Stevron Frey finally made his entrance after weeks and weeks of delay.

Thousands had fell in the defeat at Harrenhal… and if not for Lord Bolton they would have been all mopped up by a full envelopment of Reach knights. Ned blamed the Freys responsible. Responsible for both the army and for his own goodbrother, trapped in an endless sleep.

Making his way inside the royal chambers, Ned found a rather strange duo standing vigil over the still form of his goodbrother. "A surprising sight," he observed.

Hunched over his King, Septon Meribald offered a wan smile. "There are multiple journeys one can take to get to enlightenment. What man of cloth would I be if I didn't try to understand the others?"

Crossing his arms, Ned looked at Melisandre with a smirk. "And you?"

"In all honesty, Lord Stark, I'm surprised I found one member of the Faith of the Seven not a judgmental hypocrite."

"I shall take that as a compliment, Lady Melisandre," Meribald replied.

Ned's amusement at the apparent contradiction disappeared as his gaze fell upon Rhaegar. A sad complexion taking him over. "Is there any hope for him to come out of it?"

Sighing deeply, Meribald shrugged. "I spoke to the maester of Riverrun, he said in his experience the wound to his Grace's head is minor. That he should have woken… perhaps there is a spiritual component here, which is why the Lady and I are present." Bending down, the rumpled septon placed his forehead upon Rhaegar's - mumbling a prayer to the Stranger to abate his coming for the King.

As for Melisandre, she ran a hand along Rhaegar's arm before gazing at the flames. "The divine wishes something of his Grace. That is why he is still shrouded by sleep and agony."

Stepping towards the Red Priestess, Ned looked her in the eye. "How would you know of this?"

"The Lord of Light speaks to me… sometimes in riddles, sometimes more directly, but always with a higher meaning beyond the specificity of such a vision." Angular face beautiful in the flickering firelight, her red eyes gave away nothing. "There is a special purpose for his Grace. The one born in Salt and Smoke, ordained to bring the Promised Prince into the world."

Ned snorted. "Words. Flowery and with great conviction, but words." A part of him… the one that witnessed the vision in front of the Weirwood of Winterfell, nevertheless didn't completely disbelieve Melisandre. "And there is no other explanation?"

Melisandre cocked her head. "You may ask the maester himself, Lord Stark. He will confirm what he told us."

He waved his hand. "That won't be necessary." While he didn't trust Melisandre, there was no reason Meribald would lie in his opinion. Resting his head upon the mantle of the hearth, Ned closed his eyes for what seemed like minutes. "Leave," he finally spoke.

"My Lord?" asked the Septon.

"I wish to say my peace to his Grace… as his family." Meribald nodded, humbly leaving the Warden of the North to converse with his goodbrother. Melisandre raised an eyebrow, but a stare from Ned saw her leave as well. The lessons of Dragonstone - where the Queen nearly caught her trying to seduce the King - kept her knowing her place. Making certainty not to overstay her welcome.

Alone with Rhaegar, Ned walked to him. Looking over the expressionless face of his sleeping goodbrother, Ned sighed. "Brother… you can't keep yourself like this." He shook his head. "No, you can't leave Lya like this. Not Elia or Rhaenys… not Egg or her Grace the Queen." Ned reached under the thick blanket for Rhaegar's hand. "Not for your unborn babe… he doesn't deserve to live and grow without his father…"

There was no doubt in Ned's mind that he would care for Lya, Elia, and the babes with his life. even raise the child as his own gods' forbid the worst - but that was no option to wish for. The best father for his unborn nephew was his sire. Certainly Ned knew the only proper father for his own seed would be himself and no other.

"I promise, brother, I'll always keep them under my sword and shield… but I beg you, don't let it ever come for that. Fight." After ten minutes passed without incident, a heavy breath passed Ned's lips. Wordlessly he made his exit, passing a young maid and Ser Barristan on his way out.

He would be getting drunk that night.

---

Snow… sprinkling down from the heavens upon the ground in a white blanket. Lyanna immediately felt a calm wash over her. Extending her arms, she bathed in the falling snow - the wonderful memories of her childhood popping in her mind with every chilly prick of the snowflakes.

"Lyanna…"

She perked up, looking around her. "I'm in the godswood." It has been over a year, yet she would never forget the spiritual heart of Winterfell. Every tree, every bush, every rock where her father would sit and wipe his sword - waiting for her younger self to jump on him in a pile of giggles.

"Lyanna… Lyanna…"

Turning her head, she stepped towards the voice. "Hello?" Pushing aside the underbrush, Lyanna came to a strange sight. In the middle of the clearing was the great heart tree, face fierce and leaves blood red. The sap flowed from its face - an even more powerful shade of crimson. It unnerved her greatly.

"Lyanna Stark." While the previous voice was soft and enticing, this one dripped with harsh judgement. "You have betrayed the gods of your ancestors."

She flinched, staring with shocked eyes. "No… I would never," Lyanna stammered.

The voice was unforgiving. "You have laid with someone not your husband. Polluted your marriage bed with the darkest perversion." Materializing around the tree were three figures, ones that made Lyanna gasp.

"Why did you do it, little pup?" her mother asked, sadly.

"Our death was your fault," Brandon shouted.

She fell on her back, tears in her eyes. "No! It wasn't like that!" Eyes found her father. "You know I never…"

"You put everything at risk." Rickard Stark was harsh, every trace of warmth nonexistent. "Our entire House close to extinction because of your lust."

Elia's beautiful face came to mind. Lust and caring in her honey-brown eyes. "No…" They were in love. A family…

Suddenly a black mist swirled around her. "It's not too late." Soothing, seductive.

Lyanna shut her eyes. "Go away!"

"You aren't condemned forever by her."

"She's my love!"

"She uses you." The mist transformed into a spiral, it's head the snout of a fierce dragon, yet sympathetic in the face of the heart tree. "She will kill you. Kill your babe…"

Covering her swell protectively, Lyanna hunched in a ball. "Stop…"

"You know it to be true." The wind picked up around her. "You destroyed yourself… you sully your good name… you desecrate the gods by laying with someone who will betray you…" The gentle snowfall slowly transformed to a gale. "Hurt you… kill your child…"

Screaming, Lyanna's wails were drowned out by the roaring wind as the swirling, blinding snow surrounded her...

Eyes flying open, Lyanna found herself not in the midst of the godswood… the soft sheets of her chambers in Starfall were like a cloud to her aching back and feet, yet such weren't on her mind as she woke.

"Lya?" a soft voice called to her, the drowsiness not entirely masking the concern in the tone. "What's wrong?" Elia's lithe form pressed against her nude back, equally bare to the world.

Lyanna sat up, heart racing. She instinctively covered her bare breasts - having grown along with the swell - and hated herself for it. What did I do? Why did I dream that? Her other hand covered her forehead, trying to ease the pounding.

The voice was still stuck there. Whispering the most toxic things. Inducing the darkest thoughts.

Bed shifting, Elia moved to sit up too - hugging Lyanna from behind. "You were moaning in your sleep, as if fearful." She pressed a kiss to her wife's neck, feeling how she trembled. It broke Elia's heart. "Please talk to me, my love. Is it the babe?"

"You destroyed yourself… you sully your good name… you desecrate the gods by laying with someone who will betray you… hurt you… kill your child…"

Closing her eyes tightly, Lyanna fought the voice. Fought the poison. Elia was her love… She loved Jon more than anything… She loves me…

"Lya, please?"

Turning, Lyanna came face to face with her fellow Queen. The moonlight slipping past the siege lines to cast through the windows. Illuminating her in an ethereal glow, Lyanna could see Elia's slender figure… darker skin… supple mounds… All on her mind, something inside of her snapped.

"Elia," Lyanna gasped, then pulled Elia in for a kiss.

Elia, surprise turned into a sultry moan as her sister-wife's tongue poked at her lips, begging… no, demanding entrance. She didn't even have time to part her mouth, Lyanna forcing her way in - making a thorough exploration with her tongue. Strong arms pushed her flat against the bed. Firmly pinning her, Lya hovered on her knees, ever mindful of their babe while possessing her sister-wife. Oh gods...

Join of her legs rapidly slicking with her desire, Lyanna grinded her hips against Elia's stomach - straddling her. "Need you," she mumbled against her lips. "Need you now, Elia." Needed to prove this real - prove that the beautiful woman beneath her was genuine.

"Please," Elia begged, her voice cracking. "I'm yours." Wherever this came from, she certainly wasn't complaining. Rhaegar or no Rhaegar - and Elia missed him desperately - there was no limit to her lusting for her she-wolf. "Touch me." She bit her lip, trembling with want as Lyanna's hand made its way down her body. Touching her nub, completely exposed to the night air. "Gods, please. Keep going."

Swiping through the wetness, Lyanna hissed as Elia's hands grasped her breasts, squeezing the full mounds gently, enjoying how full they were getting. "Fuck," Lyanna hissed, moving her fingers faster. One prodded Elia's dripping cunt, the Dornish Queen writhing beneath her, pushing her hips forward.

"Lya, I need your fingers, please!" Elia shouted, uncaring of who could hear. Kneading the swollen breasts of Lya's pregnancy. The devious part of her mind knew it would unleash the wolf in her wife.

Eyes darkening, the passion and desperation was too much to hold Lyanna back. The northern beauty wasted no time in inserting a finger inside Elia, joined soon by another. She growled, latching to her neck as the fingers pounded her wife - looking for the spot that would make her scream. Lyanna knew she found it when Elia's moans grew ever louder. Shrill in the shroud of night.

There may have been a siege outside but the Queens didn't seem to know or care.

Elia gripped the bedsheets, toes curling at Lyanna's motions. It wasn't as thick or long as Rhaegar's cock, but the feel of her soft skin and slender body filled with their babe awoke just as powerful a passion. "Lya!" Elia screamed her sister-wife's name.

The moans, the screams, the lust… Lips crashing together, Lyanna curled her fingers, drawing a wail into her mouth. She frantically ground her own core against Elia's leg, feeling a climax not far off. You're mine… I love you… you won't hurt me… I love you…

"Oh gods…" Elia gripped Lyanna's back, fingers digging into the soft skin as the orgasm ripped through her - Lyanna moaning hers into her mouth not much later. Gingerly, they fell on their sides, shivering through the aftershocks. "Mmmm…" Elia's forehead was drenched in sweat but she was quite content. "That was a surprise, but well worth it."

But Lyanna didn't share her contentment, frantically surging again. "I love you," Lyanna murmured before pressing her lips against Elia's again. "Tell me you love me," she pressed desperately. "Please, Elia…"

Halting her movements with a cup on the cheek, Elia stared into Lya's grey eyes. "I love you, never doubt that, Lyanna."

Tears pricking at her eyes, Lyanna believed her. Hugging her close, breathing in the spicy scent of her skin.

"She lies…"

"She deceives…"

Heat rising inside her once more, Lya flipped Elia onto her stomach - yanking her up to her hands and knees. "I'm not done with you." Elia bit her lip as she felt Lyanna's magic tongue swipe through her folds. If Rhaegar was here, I wouldn't want to leave.

"Lyanna… Lyanna…"

---

Struggle.

Drive.

Push.

Such was Rhaegar's existence, as if swimming through a thick, viscous ocean that tired him - drove his muscles to ache in agony. He wrestled through it, kicking and paddling. "For Lya… for Elia… for my children…" He fought and fought, desperate to reach the light he knew laid beyond the horizon. To escape the prison that was his mind…

It seemed like days… weeks… moons. Trapped for eternity in the soup surrounding him. But by the grace of whatever gods laid out there, he found himself transposed into something else. Hovering in mid-air. Splotches of white light flickered before him, showing Rhaegar glimpses of something… be it the future or some kind of nightmare Rhaegar didn't know.

Only that he would never wish to endure it.

A corpse upon a horse, wolf's head sewn to the headless shoulders and dragon wings jutting out from the back. "Targaryen King!" the men clustered around it cheered. "Long may he reign!" Another held up a severed head by its raven hair, violet eyes still wide in pain and terror.

Eyes Rhaegar had seen before.

A young woman, silver hair flowing behind her… yanked back as she cried out in pain. In agony as a huge brawler fucked her violently. The tears and snot flowing down her cheeks and nose clear as to her want of the situation. "Please… you're hurting…"

"No," came the grunt, the man's thick beard and long, braided hair giving up his plains identity. He fucked her ever harder, only making the unknown Targaryen scream even louder.

A hulking man in gleaming armor, antlers jutting out from his helm. A grin could be seen from his pulled-back visor, hefting a massive warhammer in his beefy hands. "You shouldn't have bred, dragonspawn. Now it's time to meet the fury." Letting out a cry, the silver-haired beauty upon the bed couldn't even try to run before the head of the warhammer slammed into her head.

"Muna!" Rhaegar shouted, recognizing his mother among the three, though his heart instinctively ached for each of them.

In an instant, he found himself in what seemed to be the throne room of the Red Keep, but other than the walls and ceiling it was unrecognizable. Blood covered everything, as if a slaughter had occurred here.

"Rhaegar!"

"Kepa!"

His eyes shooting to where it came from, Rhaegar felt his heart stabbed with valyrian steel. A piggish knight was hunched over Rhaenys, manticore on his armor as he plunged a dagger into her little body. Behind him, a giant of a man smashed a babe into the column… gods, was that Egg? "Egg! Rhae!" He tried to rush over but two knights - their black armor shrouding their bodies - grabbed his arms. As much as he struggled, he couldn't get free.

"Now the whore." From the Iron Throne, a black shroud announced its command. Obeying, the giant advanced on a prone woman. Elia! Her cries filled the air as she was defiled. Brutalized, Rhaegar unable to do anything but haplessly watch. "And now the wolf. Burn her!" A sudden explosion of black flames detonated behind him.

"Rhaegar!" Lyanna screamed as the fires consumed her. "Rhaegar, help me!"

"He can't help you," the shroud on the throne rasped. "That weak fool couldn't even save your child."

Roaring, struggling against the grip of the two black knights, Rhaegar's eyes fell on the throne. "I'm going to fucking kill you! Come here, father, and fight like a man!"

But it was not Aerys. Instead a massive black dragon erupted from the shroud. Maw open and engulfing him in a fiery inferno. Rhaegar's vision exploded into a chaos of red-orange, cries of Lyanna, Elia, Rhaenys… even the cries of little Egg piercing into him.

"Rhaegar!"

"Help me!"

"KEPA!"

The screams of his loves… of all those he loved, echoed long in Rhaegar's ears. Scarring his souls with the hottest of dragonfire. Interminable the echoes howled. His eyes shutting tighter as he waited them banished forever.

When they inevitably did, he looked up. Finding the throne room disappeared into an encompassing blackness tinged with red. 'My house colors?' Rhaegar stood, gazing around. Trying to find something, anything in the darkness. "Hello?!" There was no answer. Only a silence that screamed louder than any tortured wretch…

And then he heard it. A faint sound of metal against metal, but it was there. Banishing the silence. Rhaegar searched for it until a glow of red-orange loomed in the distance. He didn't waste time, legs pumping to reach whomever, whatever made that glow.

That turned out to be a man. Quietly seated upon a large stone, he sharpened a sword - the sound Rhaegar heard. And yet it was a blade unlike any other. Bright flames covered the smooth steel, showering sparks each time the whetstone slid over the metal. Rhaegar watched with amazement at his unburnt hands. The man possessed the power of the dragonlords, but his black hair and scruffy beard were not of Old Valyria.

Before Rhaegar could speak, the man preempted him. "She said that it was a blessing for you to come here…" The stone still scraped against the blade. "I disagreed, and even with you here, I still do."

Rhaegar blinked. "Do you know who I am?"

Grunting, he lowered his blade. Looking up to reveal piercing grey eyes. Stark eyes. "You claim to be a King and yet you speak idiocy to me." He eyed Rhaegar in disgust. "Yes, I know who you are, Rhaegar Targaryen. You wear my blade after all."

Strapped to his hip, Rhaegar gestured to Blackfyre. "This blade? The sword of Aegon the Conqueror?"

"Aye, him." Upon closer look, he wore the same padded leather cuirass of a northern warrior. "One of the few that came from my second boy's line that brought me pride." The Stark rolled his eyes. "The tribunal is still debilitating on you, however."

"I've been fighting for my family and my realm," Rhaegar shot back, growing tired of the stranger's insults.

Yawning, the man shrugged. "If you're here then you failed."

"Be generous, nuha jorrelegon." Suddenly a fine mist surrounded Rhaegar, golden in color and pulsing as it spiraled around his armor. "He is the first in so many centuries to be born with the blood." A contented sigh. "I can smell it coursing through him."

Rhaegar tried to step to the side, shake off the most. His efforts were in vain - it left on its own accord, trailing to just beside the northerner. Taking a feminine shape. Solidifying into the graceful form of a Valyrian beauty. Hair shining like moonlight, skin a glowing alabaster… eyes like deep, amethyst pools. "Who… who are you?"

Giggling at his stammered question, the beauty turned to her lover. "You didn't tell him?"

"I had a feeling you desired to," he answered, leaning into her touch. It was as evident as night or day that the two were lovers. "But best not to waste time."

"I agree." She turned to Rhaegar, eyes suddenly firm. "Rhaegar Targaryen, the blood of the dragon rests on your shoulders… the Prince born upon salt and smoke. The one who's line who shall break the curse."

"Not this again, my mother was forced into a marriage against her will because of prophecy…"

"Rhaegar… Rhaegar…" His blood went cold, memory singed into his mind. "Remember your blood… remember your fire…" The voice was that of the maiden. "The fate of the Promised Prince rests in your hands. You've seen the fate that befalls him if you lose."

"If he wins," the man finished.

"My father?"

"It doesn't matter, we have too little time." As is prophetic, a white mist began to materialize around him. "The Prince depends on you, Rhaegar. Remember your blood. Remember your fire."

"I…" but everything grew faint. Dissolving into light.

The maiden's voice was soothing, motherly. "With this sign, you will conquer." Sword twirling, the man cut a large line through the air, flames then drawing two rhomboidal shapes out from it… almost like dragon wings.

Before the whiteness enveloped him, Rhaegar heard one last phrase. Bells ringing in the background.

"Kill the boy… Kill the boy and let the dragon be born…"

Within the royal chambers, the candles that had snuffed out suddenly flickered back to life - yellow-white flames shooting thrice their normal height. The fire in the hearth roared loud, sparks shooting out upon the fireplace mantle. A servant that had just entered, readying to apply a wet compress to the King's forehead yelped. Fleeing in fright to fetch a Lord or Maester… someone, anyone.

Drenched in sweat, Rhaegar's eyes flew open. The purple in them glowing brightly from the dragonblood coursing within him.

Kill the boy…

Let the dragon be born...

Notes:

So we see the first major showings of the spiritual side of the My Father's Son universe. Seems that there are two opposing sides here.

Jaime being ruthless to save Rhaella. Gotta love it!

Ned's a boss here.

The more reviews, the quicker the update comes!

Chapter 53: Danger Signs

Notes:

We're reaching the conclusion of the Rebellion. A mad dash to the finish, stay tuned!

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Arrrrrgh!"

Lord Commander Gerold Hightower's bellow just managed to dwarf the clamor of clashing blades. Immense greatsword in hand, the White Bull charged at Rhaegar, swinging with all his might. Rhaegar leapt back several feet. Gaining time, he just managed to anchor his feet to the ground. Absorbing the powerful blow with Blackfyre - sparks almost shooting out from how hard they clashed.

Gritting his teeth, the aged yet still powerful knight poured all his energy into making Rhaegar break. ''You will die, Dragonspawn." Such was nothing like Ser Gerold, and he didn't do it by choice. But Gerold Hightower was the only man in Rhaegar's circle of trust that matched Robert Baratheon in build and strength - as such, the perfect foe in sparring matches.

I will not lose to that insect again. Grunting, Rhaegar twisted to the right, forcing Gerold to stumble forward - momentum carrying him several paces away. He will never have Lyanna… I will kill him first!

Panting, he and the Lord Commander circled each other in yet another spar - Rhaegar losing count in how many since he had awoken almost a moon ago. They were close contests and often lengthy ones, Rhaegar winning some and Gerold winning others. A state of affairs that would be useless on an actual battlefield.

He attacked first, fire in his eyes as he raised Blackfyre at Gerold. Moving to swing high… only to swing low at his feet. The knight scrambled back, knocked unsteady - Rhaegar took advantage by slamming his shoulder into the White Bull's chest. Earning a punch to the cheek for his trouble, breaking his attack.

Rhaegar shook his head to clear his vision, tasting blood. Heat seeming to roil off him, he launched himself at Ser Gerold. Blackfyre almost flying in a continuous wave of attacks, one handed as he twirled and punched. Slash sending Gerold's greatsword to the side, Rhaegar kneed the White Bull in the stomach - winning the spar and watching the older knight double over in pain.

"By gods, your Grace," Ser Barristan called out.

Breathing quickly, Rhaegar found his wits coming back to him. "Gerold…" He didn't know what came over him. The fire… the power… "Forgive me for that."

But Gerold shook his head. "No, that was well done, your Grace," he groaned, standing up. "You should use that when you face Robert… now just… I need to sit down."

Chuckling, Oswell shook his head. "Oh Gerold., I told you not wearing a codpiece in battle would come to haunt you." Patting Barristan on the back, he motioned for the Kingsguard tent. "Best let him lay down. I'll stay with his Grace." The older knight nodded, letting Gerold lean on his shoulders as he guided him to the tent - Oswell following Rhaegar to his own.

Within, they weren't alone as Rhaegar expected. "Gods, brother," said Ned, shaking his head. "You're gonna kill yourself with all that training."

"Has to be done, Ned."

"What kind of King would he be if he exhausted himself to the point of collapse?"

"One that lives on the battlefield," was his answer.

Sensing this back and forth was going nowhere, Elbert Arryn interjected. "Alright, now can we get back to the discussion at hand, Ned?"

Sighing, Ned nodded. "Howland's scouts came back. Robert is on the move again."

Rhaegar let out several mumbled expletives, moving to the map stretched out on his camp table. "Marching towards us or to Riverrun?"

"To Riverrun. He likely thinks we're still there,"

"I'm not sure why we aren't still there," snorted Elbert. "We had fortifications and good ground. He would have annihilated his force coming at us."

"That isn't a given," Rhaegar replied. "They need to come deeper to us on ground we choose. This war will only be won if we annihilate him." He drew a line with his finger. "Tomorrow we march again, deeper into the southern Riverlands."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "That's almost to the Reach or the Westerlands, brother."

"Well we certainly can't go North. Get the orders out… please." With reluctance, Ned followed Elbert out. Lya… why aren't you here. You can get this pain out of your husband.

Alone at last, Rhaegar moved to where his egg sat in the brazier, watching the charcoal underneath pop and sizzle in the flames. Is this what you want of me? The ethereal figures from his visions… they often called to him in his sleep, but were so fleeting. Nothing of what they said seemed real to him… yet he knew.

"With this, you will conquer."

"Remember your fire… remember your blood…"

"Your Grace," Ser Oswell stated behind Rhaegar, the King not turning at the voice. "The Lady Melisandre is here."

He caressed the scales of the scorching egg, allowing the fire within to calm him. "Good, send her in."

Hair tied back, Melisandre had adapted well to the army being in the field. Her dress was lighter, adapted for riding and marching, a pair of trousers - red as per her style - worn underneath. It made Rhaegar think of Lyanna… his beautiful she-wolf. Such had been her favored style whenever they went on rides. I think Elia adopted it too… His two brides, the missing pieces of his soul. Everything was empty without them.

"You summoned me, my King?" Melisandre asked, hands clasped together.

Rhaegar didn't turn. Head down and back facing Melisandre, he withdrew his hand from the scales. Seeing not a thing dotting his palm aside from steam from his sweat. No burns. "You told me long ago that I had a great destiny."

She smiled, eyes sparkling even though no one could see them. "I did, my King. You will do great things."

His memories… the visions of the past flew through his mind. "There is someone… I have seen them in the flames and what I believe are Dragon Dreams. One of Lyanna's coloring but my eyes. Do you know of this person?"

"One cannot be sure, your Grace, but I do remember this person in the flames. I believe him to be of your seed."

My seed… The child of himself and Lyanna… no, Elia would be his mother too - the child of all of them. "I believe the gods spoke to me, Lady Melisandre. Your… claims no longer look far-fetched to me."

Nodding in triumph, Melisandre's smirk suddenly faded. "But the favor of the gods isn't enough." Such wasn't a question.

"No." He finally turned around, looking at her in the eyes. The flames upon the brazier made his pale skin and silver hair almost glow. "The gods favor those that fight." Chuckling dryly, he looked at the maps spread out over the table. "Robert outnumbers me. Robert outmatches me. He may be a dolt, but his forces are superior than mine in every way."

"The Lord of Light will guide you to victory. I have seen it."

"Of this I have no doubt, which is why we'll need to fight for it. We will need to outthink him into a trap." His eyes found hers again. "Which is why I need you to be my diplomat."

For all her foreknowledge, Melisandre didn't expect that. "Me, your Grace?"

Rhaegar nodded. "Aye. Most can deliver terms, but only you can make the other see the truth… or at least some of it."

That did make sense. Her King was a strategic mind. "Who, may I ask, will I be trying to convince?" At the name he told her, she raised her eyebrow. This would truly be tricky.

---

Quickly as she came, a servant girl brought in a stack of clean linens before darting off on some other task the old midwife of Casterly Rock sent her on. "Alright, my Lady, the babe is coming soon. You're close to the last push."

Sweat coating her forehead, the Light of the West was exhausted after nine hours on the birthing bed. "I can't," Cersei wailed, thrashing her head from side to side.

"Yes you can, child," Genna told her, placing a hand on hers.

"I can't, Aunt Genna… too much pain." Her words were pointless though. Stubborn as a lion and a direwolf, her babe was coming out of her and coming out now.

Genna's lips pursed, determined to rally her niece's spirits in the absence of the babe's father. "You can. You must," she insisted. "You are Cersei of House Lannister. A lioness roars, it doesn't whimper."

Avoiding her hand - he learned the hard way it wasn't a good idea, his left palm still not fully functional yet from where she squeezed it - Tyrion pushed in his two copper stars. "You are far too stubborn to let a direwolf push you around, sister. Keep at it, much like that time I had too much sausage…"

"There is no comparison between your shits and this, Tyrion," Genna snapped at him.

Cersei suddenly squeezed her eyes tightly shut, gasping in agony. "Oh gods… it's happening!" She thought the past was pain. Losing Joffrey was pain, but this? By the seven, it was as if her father's guards were ripping her insides apart.

Lifting her head from her position, the midwife looked Cersei in the eye. "My Lady, they are both right. You have to push. Now."

Gritting her teeth, Cersei did as instructed. Crushing Genna's hand in hers while the other fisted the bed, an immense surge of pain and strength formed in her abdomen as she pushed. "GHHHHH," Cersei ground out between her teeth. Beside her, Tyrion winced at it while her aunt tried not to cry out in pain from her vice grip, but neither could compare to her current plight.

Her face was red with tears and sweat, nose soggy with snot as the veins popped out from her exertions. "Push, Cersei, push," Genna urged. Push she did… and push… and push, a scream nearly scorching her throat as it echoed through the room. Then… the shrill cry of a babe filled the aftermath. It was the most wonderful sound Cersei had ever heard.

"A beautiful, healthy son," the midwife announced happily.

By the seven… Everything ached, but Cersei was already reaching frantically at the midwife. "Give him to me… please!"

"Be patient, Lady Cersei. The cub needs to be cleaned and so do you."

Softly, Genna placed a kiss on her forehead. "You did wonderful, sweetling. Just a little bit longer for you two to recover." The cries grew fainter as the midwife took her babe to the far side of the room, and it tore Cersei apart. My babe… mine…

What had to be the most agonizing time of her life ended just as soon as the pink, swathed bundle was placed in her arms. "My little son…" At the first glimpse of him, Cersei knew her heart fell instantly for the precious babe. "You look just like your father." At first glance, no. The boy even at birth had golden tufts of hair like a Lannister, but Cersei could catch the subtle Stark features. "Oh, my beloved little boy." Holding him close, Cersei never wanted to let him go.

Tyrion placed a hand over his heart. "Finally, someone smaller than I in the family. Little Lancel is growing taller than me and it's embarrassing." Japes aside, the tear trickling down his cheek belied how happy he was.

Clasping her hands together, Genna beamed at the look of unadulterated joy that spread over Cersei's tired face. Holding the little bundle - her own great-nephew - never before had she seen Cersei this… purely happy. Triumphant, yes. Smug, yes. Never happy since Joanna passed, which said much about the state of House Lannister under Tywin. Proud and strong, but cold.

Babe cooing in his mother's arms, perhaps some life could return to Casterly Rock. There were children, but now the main line was fruitful once again.

As if possessing perfect timing, the door swung open to reveal the Lord Paramount himself. "Is it done?" Tywin growled. Lips in a thin line, there wasn't a hint of affection on his face.

Genna smiled regardless. "It is, brother. Come in."

Rolling his eyes, the tall and imposing lion stalked in, staring down at the sleeping babe and awed mother. "So that's my first grandson?"

"I should certainly hope so, father. Else I haven't pulled out quick enough." From his lack of response to Tyrion's ribald jape, perhaps he was in a good mood.

After glaring at her brother, Cersei placed a kiss on her son's soft head. "Aye, father. The golden lionwolf Robb Stark."

He grimaced. "Robb Hill, rather. Damn Reyne name." Tywin muttered the last, knowing just where the first name arose from. Bending down, scrutinizing little Robb as he would a newly forged blade, he snorted. "Looks like a Lannister at least." It would have been difficult to explain Stark features before the time of greatest advantage.

"Would you like to hold him?"

Tywin stood, moving towards the door and ignoring Cersei's request. "See to it that he's fed and clothed. That babe is valuable to our house." With the slam of the door, he was gone.

Huffing, Cersei cuddled Robb closer to her. "As if I would let anyone hurt my precious lionwolf." Sighing happily, she cooed and brushed the babe's cheek, smiling as he turned towards her finger.

"Let that be a lesson for the lot of us," Tyrion chuckled. "Never get between a mama lioness and her cub." His chuckles turned to laughs. "Oh, just to see the face of the great Lion of Casterly Rock at his bastard grandson being born was worth being stuck here."

"He is not a bastard," Cersei hissed. "He is perfect. Conceived of love"

At that moment, the babe began to stir. Squirming softly and whimpering. Genna saw the signs before either her niece and nephew. "Someone needs his first supper. I hope you know what to do here, Cersei."

Cersei rolled her eyes - much her father's daughter in that regard. "Yes, Aunt Genna. I am not completely addled."

"Father would disagree…" Tyrion began, only to change his mind. "Actually, as of now you, I, and Jaime are tied over whom is the stupidest Lannister… ow."

"That's quite enough, nephew," Genna scolded, hand ready to smack his head chidingly again. "Now if you want to see your sister's bare breasts…"

Holding up his hands, Tyrion made his way to the door. "Alright, alright. I know when I should leave. Just don't hog my nephew for too long, sweet sister." A cheeky grin adorned his lips as he ducked out of the room.

"That boy has the worst of your father," Genna mused. "I hope dear Robb earns the best of him and his own father."

Feeling Robb latch to her nipple, quenching his hunger with milk, Cersei closed her eyes. Picturing her love. "I could think of no better man for him to take after than his own father." Gods, Ned. I wish you were here. Robb would be his heir, the future Lord of Winterfell. The thought made her hold little Robb ever tighter.

No matter what, he was hers. And by the gods she would not let him come to harm.

---

Night falling upon the capitol, Lord Varys gazed out the window at the many lights twinkling from the great city. Thousands of candles flickering into the darkness, almost serene under the reign of Aerys II Targaryen. It almost seemed as if there was no war for the throne. That everything was at peace.

But none knew what he did. The whispers of the city, of the alleyways and taverns - people crying out for justice. For their true King, the only one that cared about them. These were Varys' people, and he would fight for them and their interests with all the secrets sung to him. Gold, land… no, secrets are the true currency of power. Varys knew them all, and it made him powerful indeed.

Hence the man just now arriving in his chambers. "My Lord," Jaime Lannister said, Kingsguard armor fully polished and hair perfectly coiffed. "You sent for me."

"Yes, Ser Jaime. I have something very important for you." Offering some wine, he was slightly surprised when Jaime declined. "On duty?"

"Guarding her Grace," Jaime responded.

A smirk. "I'm sure you are, Ser Jaime." Varys declined to sit, keeping at Jaime's level. "Do you know how I operate, young Lannister?"

He shrugged. "You run spies and tell the King what they say."

"If it were only so simple. I operate by making people happy." The confusion on the knight's face, it did amuse him. "Of knowing what makes them happy."

Where is he going with this? "I can't fault you for that."

"Happiness… those birds that are happy sing even the most hard songs to come by." Shaking his head, there was a tiny grin on Varys' face. The spider gave nothing away so this was deliberate. It made Jaime even more suspicious than simply Varys' presence did. "Casterly Rock… it is a place with significant interest to any person that deals in secrets as I." He walked to Jaime's right, not making eye contact. "My suspicions point to your father drawing such interest. Old, jovial Tytos Lannister was never interesting in any way but gossip."

"Your point, Varys? Because you're boring me right now." Jaime added to the effect by yawning, hopefully drawing the eunuch out.

"Whispers out of Casterly Rock point to carnal knowledge that has previously been a hallmark of our dear royal family." Jaime felt his eyes widen in spite of himself. "Young love isn't something I have experienced but nor do I disapprove, but I must ask what you were thinking in regards to yourself and the Lady Cersei?"

Hand going to the hilt of his sword, Jaime glared dangerously at the Master of Whispers. "Watch yourself, eunuch, lest you end up like the Reynes."

Varys looked hurt - sincerity absent. "You wound me, Ser Jaime. There is no threat here." Ruddy eyes twinkling behind soft cheeks, he was the epitome of calm. "I could very well tell his Grace, but he is likely to find it hilarious. You wouldn't be in danger, and your Lord father would perhaps join Rhaegar to reclaim his honor, which we both desire. No, that has no value." And it was now that he sunk the knife in. "Cuckolding his Grace on the other hand…"

Before Varys could continue, Jaime had picked him up and slammed him against the wall. Green eyes filled with an animal fury. "How do you know," he hissed, voice low.

"The Red Keep holds no secrets, Ser Jaime," Varys said, far calmer than the situation called for. "You have a compulsion to love the wrong persons…" He trailed off as Jaime began to squeeze his neck.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you where you stand." Already he had killed one to protect Rhaella - what was another to him? Even if it sent him to the gallows, Jaime would gladly sacrifice himself for her. It went beyond his honor as a kingsguard. "Nothing to say?"

Gasping for breath as Jaime let him go, Varys' face was flushed red. "If you… think… that I would… let my death kill this whisper… you'd be wrong." His smile returned at Jaime's white face. Unlike Tywin, the lad had no subtlety. "But I seek no quarrel with Queen Rhaella nor yourself. The song will not be sung, but only if you complete something that I require done properly."

Jaime's emerald eyes grew just as cold as his father's in that moment. "It won't be anything done against the one true king or my dragon. You may as well take me to the gallows and be done with it."

"Your dragon, hmmm?" Varys' eyes twinkled with amusement, making Jaime want to strike him down. "Oh, this has nothing to do with them. Just a personal errand."

As much as he hated to admit it, Jaime curiosity piqued. "Care to inform me of this personal errand in more detail, Lord Varys?" Curious, but dread built up in his stomach nonetheless.

"An old friend of mine in Pentos, he found himself at the wrong end of something his Grace wanted…" There was an almost wistful expression on his face, mixed with sorrow. "As such, he is no longer among the living."

Jaime prided himself on reading people fairly well, not as good as his brother, father, or sister but he could see that the spider was being honest about this. "I'm sorry for the loss of your friend." It didn't matter to him, but Rhaella did. "And this has to do with something belonging to that friend?"

Varys nodded. "Someone, not something." There was an almost equal danger about Varys - outwardly nonthreatening, but one could find themself with Jon Arryn's fate if they double crossed him. "His family. They needed to be hidden and I brought them here. When the city falls, and it will, they cannot be in it." Eyes bored in on Jaime with a sudden intensity. "You will receive instructions sometime within the next moon. Follow them explicitly and speak this to no one, and her Grace shall be safe and your whispers kept unsaid. Are we clear, Ser Jaime?"

Damn you… Jaime nodded his assent. Damn you, Varys. "Her Grace, the Queen… she's the only pure soul left in this pile of shit called a capitol." He shook his head, smiling out of frustration and love. "All she wants is for her family to live. To protect her children, Rhaegar, Viserys, and the one growing inside her… but the King…" He grew closer to Varys, not slowing even as the eunuch backed up. "The King has her thinking she is broken. Think about that, the beautiful Rhaella Targaryen, Queen Alysanne reborn thinking that there is no hope. That is why I am here, to protect her."

"Ser Jaime," Varys spoke, arms up as his back hit the wall.

"To keep her from harm." His sword left his scabbard, Jaime reaching up to press it to Varys' neck. "I love her, Varys. You may laugh, but I do… Rhaella and my duty to King Rhaegar, that is all that matters to me." For once, true fear formed on Varys' face. "I'll play along to this, but hear me." One could see the same gaze that Tywin wore when he destroyed the Reynes and Tarbecks. "I will slaughter every man, woman, and child in this keep to keep her alive and unharmed, starting with you." The sword came down, Jaime sheathing it. "Are we clear, Lord Varys?"

Straightening his robes, it was Varys' turn to nod. "Seems we have an understanding, Ser Jaime."

The things I do for love.

And for her, I'd do them gladly...

---

Regardless of the moons she had already spent at Winterfell, she would never acclimate to the drafts that howled through the corridors. The castle was built upon natural hot springs that mitigated the freezing cold from the outside, but it was mere small comfort to Lady Catelyn Stark. Especially in her condition… "Oooh…" A hand drifted to her growing belly. Stay still, little one.

"My Lady," the balding maester of Winterfell trotted beside her, chains clinking as he walked. "Perhaps you should get some rest in your room. I'll oversee court for the day."

He was silenced by Catelyn's raised hand. "I am not an invalid, Maester Luwin. I am the Lady of this castle and thus have the duty to my husband." The Mother damn her if she shirked her wifely duties - Brandon was already taken away from her, next target of the Seven's wrath could be her precious babe. No, my handsome son will be born alive and healthy. "The north needs to see that its Warden's seat still remains decisive and powerful even in the Warden's absence."

Luwin nodded, his wrinkled face giving away nothing. "Understood, my Lady. Forgive my imprudence." He was of the south, yet had adapted to Northern custom almost fully… including faith. A line Catelyn would never cross - a master mason from White Harbor and a man of the Seven was already laying down the schematics for a sept adjacent to the ruined old keep. Catelyn could see it now, a place for her and her children to stay connected to the Gods while giving the returning warriors proper work to earn coin and feed their families. Ned will be proud of me, as I'm sure Brandon is.

But the daily matters took precedence. "Mordane, see to it that two of the steers in the livestock pens are slaughtered and the kitchens salt their meat. We're running low in our stores and winter is growing harsher."

"I shall have it done, forthwith, my Lady," the grim Septa stated.

And yet, there was a hesitation there. "Is there a problem?" Septa Mordane had adapted little to the North, nor did she seem to want to. While even Catelyn had taken to Northern dress, she still stubbornly clung to that of the Riverlands faithful. Her spiritual guidance had been essential for Catelyn to get through her mourning and marriage, but it did not help her attempts to earn the respect of the smallfolk or castle staff.

Curling her nose, Mordane looked irritated. "The lead cook… he's a bastard. Marrying a good maiden of the Faith from White Harbor too. She deserves better."

"I understand your concern about him, but fire the cook I will not. He does his duty well and if Ned hears about my efforts there again…" Catelyn trailed off, the consequences unsaid. She had barely earned his amity back after the episode with the bastards moons before. "They will simply have to stay where they are, unfortunately." Mordane nodded with a sigh and went off on her tasks. "Come, Maester. Court won't hold itself."

The maester muttered something under his breath and followed the redhead. Just do your duty… just do your duty.

Court that day was rather sparse. With the bannermen gone south to fight in Rhaegar's quest for the throne, most payment disputes and drunken brawls requiring justice disappeared, while petty crimes requiring pit and gallows dropped precipitously. Before Catelyn to seek dispensation of House Stark were two wives of bannermen requesting grain for their starving children - granted but at reasonable amounts considering the need to conserve their winter stores - and a innkeeper asking for permission to open up a second establishment on the kingsroad which was granted, as long as he paid a proper fee to House Stark for a license.

Catelyn yawned, feeling her stomach growling for a hearty pork stew and onions. Sustenance for the growing heir. "Is that all, maester?"

Peering at the parchment, Luwin looked up. "There is one more requesting audience but I took the privilege of placing him at the last slot."

"Whatever for?"

"He does not come from Winterfell but rather White Harbor, and not with the sanction of Lord Manderly's court."

Frowning, Catelyn gestured to the guard - an older man with grizzled white hair, too aged to fight but well enough to serve in the household guard. "Let the person in. Anyone willing to peaceably seek bread and salt is welcome to speak." It was how her father held court and she would do well to imitate him.

All eyes fell on the man that entered. Catelyn's eyes widened in surprise, for it was not what she expected. "My Lady, Septon Rollard of White Harbor and Archsepton Quirrel of Gulltown," the herald spoke, the tone in which he said 'septon' filled with animus. If the plump, friendly men of the Faith had any quarrel with him they did not show it.

Recovering quickly from her surprise, Catelyn beamed. "Your excellences, welcome to Winterfell." An archsepton's authority was only dwarfed by a member of the Most Devout. One lived in Riverrun given its status as a Paramount seat, but for one to travel all the way from Gulltown in the Vale indicated an important matter. "Would you like guest right?"

"That would be lovely, my Lady," Septon Rollard stated, and the salt and bread was quickly brought out. Now, they were inviolate - much to the discomfort of the northmen. Kill them they would not, but a little tar and goose feathers was different. "I am sure you wish for us to state our business."

"You may stay the night, of course," Catelyn offered. "But you seek formal audience and I would like to hear it."

Clearing his throat, the Archsepton stepped a few paces forward. "My Lady, nothing can bring me more joy than to see your marriage to the Lord Ned Stark. For too long has our continent been isolated and divided from each other. Building ties… it is the most vital of goals. Such is why his Grace, King Rhaegar, was blessed by the Seven."

Smile on her face, Catelyn nodded. "I couldn't agree more."

"Which brings it to the heart of the matter, my Lady." Looking over at the Archsepton and given a nod, Rollard spoke up. His face… uneasy. Unlike the more confident Quirrel, he had lived for many years among northmen. Outside White Harbor itself, his kind were unwanted. "Recently, Lord Quellon Greyjoy brought his people and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms closer together by allowing the Faith access to his lands, while in no way cheapening his own culture," he hastily added. "The Most Devout, through us, would like to request the same be done for the North in the sake of unity."

Before Catelyn could respond, Luwin pulled her aside. "My Lady, I must advise you to decline. This will not be taken well."

Catelyn scoffed silently. "If the Greyjoys allow it then there is no harm."

"Quellon Greyjoy is on his deathbed and his sons will reverse everything he did…"

"You are too worried, Luwin. I will not throw my late goodfather's attempts to broaden the North's reach out of silly prejudice." Rubbing her belly absentmindedly, Catelyn flickered to the Septons before looking back and Luwin. "Rhaegar is supported by the Faith and the North, and this can only bring us closer together." Attention fully to her guests, Catelyn beamed. "Honored Archsepton, I invite you to dine with me tonight to further discuss this matter."

Quirrel bowed. "You are truly a servant of the Mother, Lady Catelyn."

---

He didn't know why he had taken to playing with it. The most priceless possession in House Martell's vaults, taken off the Young Dragon so many decades ago in what even he had to acknowledge was the height of dishonor… Ironic that it was so easy to pilfer. He didn't even have to sneak into the vault, though it didn't hurt that the guard on duty that day had been a longtime lover of his.

That Ellaria asked that he be invited into their bed was only the cherry atop the pastry.

Yes, Oberyn Martell had a wonderful life. A beautiful paramour. Endless mistresses and lovers in their bed. Two wonderful children that made House Martell proud. Another on the way… and yet he couldn't enjoy any of them. Not now, not with the cloud that covered all of Dorne in darkness.

"You're not eating, Oberyn," Qorgyle said through a mouthful of stuffed olives. While their palates weren't the massive helpings of roast meat and potatoes as the rest of Westeros, that didn't mean they couldn't be gluttonous.

"He's just missing his piece of ass," chuckled Ser Ryon Allyrion. "Never thought I'd see the day Oby Martell let someone tie him down. Certainly didn't let my bastard lover tie me down."

A knife hit the table, embedding in the wood with a sharp clatter. "Watch yourself, that is my daughter," Lord Harmen Uller barked. "You may have guest right, but so did Lyonel Tyrell." Ser Ryon gulped, chastised. No one wanted to end up with two hundred scorpions dropped on one's bed.

Oberyn chuckled in spite of his mood. Hellholt was built on an oasis in the middle of the Dornish desert, and as such its people were shady and unpredictable. Half of the Ullers are half-mad, and the other half are worse. An old Dornish proverb that fit Lord Harmen and certainly fit his daughter. Oberyn figured that was why he and Ellaria loved each other so much.

"To answer your question, my friend," he began after a long silence, "No, I don't have much of an appetite at the moment." Fiddling again with the treasure, he shrugged. "And no, this time it isn't due to there not being a delectable being in my bed, but rather the plight of our beautiful land."

The three Lords dining with him at the head table - nowhere near the other diners that at this time also included Harmen Uller's wife and trueborn children - all nodded. "Yes, I understand," Qorgyle replied.

Grimacing, Oberyn clenched his fists. "The whole world laughs at us while our daughter languishes, our armies diddle their thumbs, and Sunspear abrogates its leadership all because of my brother's cockless tactics." Eyes widened, surprised at how open he was about attacking his brother.

"Starfall?"

"The one and only. When have we tolerated a foreign army so listlessly? A Stormlands one on top of it all?" Oberyn still remembered Elia's frantic plea… addressed to him and only him.

Brother… help us. There is nowhere left to turn. No one who can save us but you. Many will rally behind you if you lead them.

I don't know how long we can last. Please hurry.

What sort of man would he be if he didn't act on his sister's impending death at the hands of Renly Baratheon? Not one that deserves life.

"You mean to do something about it?" Lord Harmen asked, though it wasn't really a question.

Eyes narrowed, dangerous as a snake's, Oberyn merely tilted his head. "I do, but I'll need an army."

Regarding what was essentially his goodson, Lord Harmen didn't need to be told twice. "How many men do you need?"

---

Alone in his solar, Doran Martell sipped at a concoction of his own making. Fruit juice and Tyroshi rum, a potent combination. He leaned back in his plush chair and savored the tartness. The heat that washed down his gullet. Of everything in the maester's cupboards that were marked for the treatment of his aching joints, only this provided relief while keeping his thoughts in order.

At least for the moment. Alcohol was alcohol after all.

There was a knock at the door. "Enter."

Areo Hotah strode in, his bulk stretching his uniform close to the seams - lacking the charm those as Oberyn possessed in spades, Doran's sworn sword showed off his physical assets for the ladies of Sunspear… it worked quite well from what he heard. "My Prince." He bowed. "Alone tonight?"

"Aye. Mellario is still frosty with me due to planning Arianne's fostering at Godsgrace once winter breaks." He shrugged. "It is what it is."

"Perhaps you should find someone else to ease your stress."

Doran shook his head. "More problems caused than it would alleviate… though I presume you didn't come to speak about my private life, Areo?"

The Summer Islander nodded. "Lord Yronwood has arrived in Planky Town with two thousand men."

A scowl appeared on Doran's face. "He promised four thousand, that wretch." Ever since Oberyn bedded his father's paramour and then killed his father in a duel with a poisoned spear, the Yronwoods had been a thorn in his side - understandable, but irritating. You're as much of a headache as our sister, brother. "I should wring his neck and give you that keep."

"I doubt I'd make a very good Lord," Hotah grunted. "In any case, he says it is due to your insistence on secrecy. Easier for the Dalts or the Tollands to move troops than him."

There was a point to be had there. Doran ignored it, for he knew Anders Yronwood didn't care about matters as such - had he wished to, he'd have marched four thousand at his Prince's call. "It doesn't matter. We'll make due." Sipping again at his drink, he noticed that Hotah hadn't left. "Anything else?"

"You aren't going to address Prince Oberyn's apparent departure? Or the gatherings of many bannermen at Sandstone?"

Doran chuckled. "The only thing that surprises me is that Oberyn thinks that I didn't know his movements, or that I wouldn't have been able to stop him had I truly wanted to." A shake of the head, followed by a scowl. "Fucking Baratheons, thinking they can invade Dorne and get away with it. Had the Stark whore been absent then I would have marched all of Dorne there myself." Aegon and Rhaenys… they mattered too much in his plans to risk them.

"And yet you didn't?"

A snort. "Hope on my part, that he'd just want Lyanna Stark for Robert's purposes. Seems though he's not attacking on Robert's behalf." Doran sighed. "You're dismissed. Leave me."

In solitude once more, Doran rubbed his aching knees - cursing Mother Rhoyne for afflicting him so. Never in his life did he know peace… not from his body, nor his bride, and certainly not from his damn siblings. All the struggles he put up with, they came close to destroying it all.

He looked at the window. Sister, you truly are a fool, yet you and your children are our only hope. Maron Martell's efforts would come to fruition in King Aegon VI Targaryen, which if Mother Rhoyne was kind would happen quite soon.

"A toast to you, goodbrother," Doran raised his glass, chuckling. "May you achieve victory even in death." Hopefully in death.

---

Leaning up slightly, Ser Benjen Stark just managed to shimmy his trousers past the mattress and to his hips. He was about to grab his shirt when two thin arms wrapped around his chest. "It seems almost perverse to leave this bed," purred a sultry Dornish accent. Followed quickly by a set of warm lips pressed to his shoulder blade.

Benjen chuckled, enjoying the attention of his bedmate. "Last night wasn't enough for you, Ash?"

Ashara merely held him tighter, peppering his shoulder and neck with kisses. "Perhaps I have learned quite quickly why Rhaegar fell so quickly for a Stark." This was not their first assignation, but the passion of their night clearly ranked it among their most ardent.

Tilting his head back, Benjen accepted a kiss from his lover, it quickly becoming passionate. Quite seriously considering sparing an extra few minutes to ravish her again, reluctantly he stood. Duty taking precedence. As such, his breeches almost slid back to the ground - only his reflexes stopped it. Benjen sighed. "Looks like I'm going to have to tie it just a little tighter today."

Frowning, Ashara stood as well, revealing her naked body. While the raven-haired beauty took his breath away as always, Benjen couldn't help but see several ribs visible against her skin as she stretched. Slender figure even thinner than when they first met. Working on her smallclothes, Ashara smiled sadly. "I look hideous, don't I?"

He shook his head. "Never, but I am concerned." The kingsguard certainly dropped much weight, but he had more to lose before things grew dire. "Your father insisted you have extra rations."

"And I gave those rations to Dacey. With her babe…" Her violet eyes were glossy with worry and sadness. "My nephew and goodsister need it more than I do… I'm sorry, Ben."

Benjen quickly hugged her, kissing her forehead comfortingly. "There is no need to apologize, my love. Just take care of yourself." His eyes met hers, cupping her cheek. "Promise me?"

Ashara cracked a tiny smile. "I promise." The two dressed in silence after, sneaking glances at each other every now and again. Only a moon before had Benjen and Ashara accepted the truth as to why her brother threw his arms open for the she-bear - with the world falling apart. With armies literally at the gates… why deny oneself's genuine longing? Benjen showed up at Ashara's door one night and the rest was history.

She helped tie the straps of his armor together, leaving him ready for the world Starfall found itself. "May the gods grant us another day."

"Aye." Dress of a light lavender faded and rather dull - like all of them were - Ashara opened the door to reality. Destroying their moment of escape.

The thwack of an arrow pierced the monotony of the battlements, followed soon after by a responding shaft smacking into the wooden mantlets. Benjen kept himself between Ashara and the outside world, peeking out at it through his vision slits. Long since erecting mantlets of their own, the Reach knights and Brave Companion sellswords were assembled right alongside the banks of the Torrentine all around the keep.

Everyone was sure that Renly Baratheon was up to something back there. A siege could only last as long as the political situation remained in flux - if Rhaegar won, he'd be on the chopping block within a day. "He's going to go bold," Ashara mused, as if reading Benjen's mind.

"If they can get across the Torrentine without massacring themselves, then they will. No doubt." Just how he could was the question that Benjen couldn't solve.

Talking it over with Ash, the two of them were busy in discussions when loud voices echoed out of the door to the royal quarters. "Elia, please don't do this…" Both looked at each other, hearing the Northern Queen's desperate, pleading tone.

"You're not making me change my mind, Lya," replied the Dornish Queen. Benjen knocked quickly and found the door opened by Arthur, a grim look on his face. Behind him, Elia's arms were crossed, face twisted in determination.

While Benjen slipped into the solar without a word - eyes immediately drawn to his despondent sister, tears streaming down her face and onto her swollen belly - Ashara met Arthur's gaze. "What is happening?" she whispered. In the corner sat Dacey, torn between the tension of her friends and caring for little Arthur Snow of House Mormont, a violet-eyed, brown-haired babe the splitting image of his father. Ashara stood by her goodsister, patting her shoulder while waiting for Arthur's answer.

"Elia is trying to convince Lyanna to have her morning ration… for the babe," Arthur murmured, equally distressed about the situation as Dacey was.

"Please, Lya, just eat it," the she-bear cried out, rocking baby Arthur so as not to disturb his nap. "You need to think of the Prince."

Unable to stop her sobs, Lyanna shook her head. "I'm already on double rations, far more than even the remaining bannermen get." Starvation was starting to tighten the defenders in a vice, only ameliorated by Davos Seaworth's blockade runs - and even that a close run thing. The gods were kind that no disease outbreaks had struck them, but lack of food could kill just as much as the vapors.

"It's not enough," Elia spoke. "Just please, Lya… I can't see another of our children dead… not again." She started to tear up herself.

"And what will Rhae and Egg and Jon think when their muna dies?" Lya wailed. She pushed the quarter loaf of black bread to her. "At least have half, my love… please."

Lip quivering, Elia merely nodded, the two women ending up being drawn into a tight hug by the other - Lyanna inhaling the scent of her beloved and Elia's hands resting upon the swell holding Prince Jon. A precious moment between the two lovers that both other pairs in the chambers were content to let them enjoy, turning instead to the other for hugs of their own.

Tension defused, Elia was slowly chewing on her loaf with Lyanna leaning on her shoulder when there was another knock on the door. Appearing was Ser Talan Sand, the commander of the Household Guard. "Arthur, you better come down."

The Sword of the Morning raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"The Baratheon cunt, he wants a parlay with you and… her Grace." His eyes flickered to Elia.

Sucking in a breath, Elia stood, finishing off the last of the bread. Her stomach rumbled with further hunger, but she ignored it. "Let's get on with it then."

She was stopped by Lyanna's arm. "Be careful."

Elia offered her wife a smile. "Always am."

Waiting in front of the drawbridge with two burly guards and the insufferable Vargo Hoat - even doing his Griffin's bidding had its limits on what he could tolerate - Renly Baratheon watched as the two figures of the Sword of the Morning and the Queen-claimant of Westeros walked out of the great fortress. He was fully armored, and to Renly's surprise so was she. A full set, crude undoubtedly, but combined with the red and black of her gown she looked quite Targaryen. A pity.

The letter still lay crumpled in his pocket, Connington's latest correspondence telling him exactly what to do. His Griffin instructed him to burn it, but Renly couldn't… it smelled like Jon. Calmed him on even the most stressful nights.

A tense silence fell as the groups converged, ten paces apart. "Renly, I could smell your foul stench from the battlements."

"Sorry, that's Hoat here… don't think he'd be insulted, he's pretty proud of himself." Vargo grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at the Dornish Queen. "I would like to inform you that the traitor Rhaegar Targaryen was killed upon the field at Harrenhal."

Elia didn't show any emotions, but inside it was like a sledgehammer. "You're lying," she ground out.

"I've brought proof." Smirking, Renly motioned for Hoat to step forward - a large bundle in his hands. "You can be for certain of the traitor's death."

Removing the hood that held it after the foul sellsword handed it to her, Elia couldn't help her gasp at Rhaegar's helm… the same one that he wore when riding out of Starfall all those moons ago. Dented and pierced, dried blood covered it. Even Arthur's eyes widened underneath his helm. "What do you want, Renly?" he spat. "This wasn't a mission to comfort a widow." No… he cannot be dead.

Renly shrugged. "Perhaps not." He motioned to the castle. "You can't hold out for much longer."

She narrowed her eyes. "You'd be surprised at just how much the Dornish can take. Perhaps you should be reminded of the fate of Orys Baratheon." A viper like grin formed on her face as Renly instinctively went for his sword arm.

"Say the word, your Grace," Arthur breathed, causing the men to go for their swords.

"Justhh thry it, Whithhcloak." The ridiculous lisp of Vargo Hoat was dampened by his look of venomous brutality as he made for his battleaxe… joined with a tiny lick of the lips at Elia. There was no doubt as to what he wished his war prize to be.

Gathering himself, Renly attempted to look taller than he was - puffing out his chest. "Lord Connington has instructed me to give you one week to surrender, and there will be pardons all around as long as Rhaegar's children renounce their claim to the throne and the Targaryen name. They can be raised in Winterfell and Sunspear as Starks and Martells."

Struggling to keep her composure, Elia stood straight and simply walked away. Refusing to give Renly an answer.

What could she say at this point?

"Your Grace…" Arthur began in a whisper.

"No one tells Lya," she replied back. "Not while Jon is inside her."

Notes:

So much to unpack!

Robb is here! The eldest of the four new babes: Jon, Dany, and Sansa are the ones left.

The things Jaime does for love... already Varys is putting together something under the surface.

Oberyn is coming, but was that Doran's plan all along? A lot of you were wondering about his plans, so I hope this chapter answered some of your questions (while creating new ones, lol).

Fuck, Connington's plan is coming together. Next chapter will be the first where little Jon Targaryen shows himself, so be sure to review! If I get 35 before Tuesday, I'll update then :D

Chapter 54: Falling Star

Notes:

And it has come! Jon finally is here! Enjoy :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Gritting her teeth, Lyanna regarded the kindly man she had met so long ago - in another life. "So Renly's tightened his grip upon the bay?"

Davos Seaworth nodded. "More catapults guarding the entrance than last time, larger ones too." His hand drifted to the cut on his forehead, nicked after a fleck of projectile hit the deck of his ship. "Didn't think anyone could get them up to those cliffs, but he found a way, I suppose."

Lyanna cursed - she was sick of this. Why… why can't my children know a moment of peace? Her hand drifted too, only hers was to the large swell of her belly. "At least you were able to dock your vessel before it sank."

"Thank the Seven for small favors," Davos chuckled - already, the Dayne guards had integrated his sailors into the defenses as auxiliary archers. The least he could do for his Queen. "Forgive me, your Grace. I know you don't follow the Seven."

Waving him off, Lyanna smiled. "It's alright - the Faith are the majority religion and I would never speak against it." It didn't hurt that Starfall followed the Old Gods though. "I will make sure to compensate you for your ship, Davos."

Smiling, Davos gently took Lyanna's hand and kissed it - the picture of deference and respect. "You, your Grace, are someone with a truly good heart. Queen Elia, yourself, and I do believe his Grace the King are the just women and honorable man that those of us on the bottom have been so desiring since the Conquerors."

Lyanna blushed, a bit overwhelmed at his praise. "You flatter me, Davos, and I hope to one day be worthy of the respect you have for me."

"Oh, there needs none for me. That smile you put on my boy's face was enough." Bowing, Davos made his way towards another part of the keep, resolved to find his men and begin their new tasks in Starfall - all of them now residents for the time being.

Exhaling deeply, Lyanna pressed on through the corridors. Rubbing her belly as Jon was being far more energetic this morning. "Gods, little pup," she chided with a chuckle. "Take it easy on muna, please." The Valyrian word left her lips without much prompting these days. Living close to Rhaenys and Rhaegar had truly changed her - and Lyanna truly didn't mind. Benjen will make sure I don't forget my Stark bloodline.

Guards and servants both bowed and curtseyed as she walked by. "Your Grace," they murmured with half-deference, half-awe. A complete inversion of the dirty stares she received at Sunspear.

Lyanna wouldn't let any of them go by without a kind word, or a hug for the children. Listening to their concerns and offering whatever she could as encouragement. Seeing how their eyes lit up at someone as mighty as the Queen-claimant of Westeros sincerely caring about them. The same way Davos regarded her.

Perhaps we can leave Jon, Rhae, and Egg a better world than we were born into.

Putting her into a good mood, she turned the corner and ran into her brother standing guard in front of the guest solar. "Ben," Lya said excitedly… only for her smile to fall at his expression. "What? What's wrong?" He was… ashen? Lyanna already assumed the worst.

And that's when she heard Ashara from inside. "You have to tell Lyanna about this! However much horseshit it is."

After came her wife. "I don't believe what he said… but if Lyanna knows even what was alleged about Rhaegar's demise, I risk what will happen to our son."

Those words slammed into her like a Bolton knife. Desperately, she moved for the door but was blocked by her brother. "Let me through."

Benjen's face was pained, but he tried to keep Lya from the door. "Sister… think of the babe."

Shooting him a death glare for using Jon to manipulate her, Lyanna shoved Benjen's arm aside and threw open the door. Startling those within - Arthur, Dacey, Ashara, and… "Elia, what were you speaking of?"

For the life of her, Elia had thought Lyanna was in bed - so gravid with child, the northern Queen tired easily, especially with such low rations. "My love… I…"

"No, don't bullshit me, Elia. What's going on?" From the ashen, guarded looks on their faces, nothing good. Oh gods, no… "Ned?" she breathed. "Rhaella?" May the gods help her, for a split second she hoped it was either of those and not…

"Your Grace," Arthur began, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "We were given information that…" He looked over at Elia, who merely nodded. Tears pricking at her lids but feeling Lya did deserve to know. "That his Grace was mortally wounded during battle at Harrenhal."

Lyanna staggered, forced to prop herself up on the bannister. "No…" Her legs wobbled, lungs starting to constrict from the mere thought. "It's not true." She looked at Elia. "Tell me it's not true, Elia." But Elia's eyes betrayed the words forming on her lips - words of comfort and discreditation of Renly's account… only for those eyes to draw Lyanna to the helm. "Oh gods!"

"Lya!" Benjen and Elia screamed at the same time as the northern beauty merely crumpled, legs giving out. But her brother caught her just in time.

Rhaegar… you promised! Her vision was spotty, barely able to see Elia kneel beside her, arms wrapping around her neck… faintly feeling kisses all over her cheek and forehead. Faintly hearing Ashara say something about Renly Baratheon. You promised you'd come back… Rhaegar… Jon…

And suddenly it came. "Ahhhh!" Lyanna screamed.

Elia's guard was up, a split second of worry until she felt it. The telltale sign any mother should know. "Fetch Qyburn!" she shouted at Benjen… Ashara… Dacey… anyone at all. For there was a prominent wet spot soaking Lyanna's dress. "The babe is coming!" she yelled just as the sound of trumpets blared through the windows.

"The fuck?" Arthur stuck his head through the window just as an arrow smacked into the stone wall not a foot away from him. "Seven fucking hells! The castle is under attack!"

Bells began to ring in her ear as Lyanna was carried towards her bedchamber. An immense pain shot through her abdomen - Elia holding her hand, Rhaenys appearing and throwing herself at her muna's side, and men dashing to and fro through the corridors - but her mind was focused on one thing.

Rhaegar…

Jon…

No… it's too soon…

My loves...

---

How the fook did I end up here? A crabber's son and a Flea Bottom two bit smuggler, Davos supposed this was just one of those quirks of fate. Stories he would tell Marya and his boys if he made it out of this alive… that's if Marya didn't kill him for being such a risky idiot.

Manpower in House Dayne at the moment - all truly battle-ready forces north with the heir fighting for Rhaegar - the smuggler found himself in command of the entire gatehouse. Something he would strive not to disappoint these poor lads. "Make ready men!" he ordered.

Before them, thousands of men marched out of the enemy camp. A massive show of force or the few hundred defenders of the castle.

"Nock!" Davos commanded, watching the lines of Reach and Stormlands infantry, the majority carrying the stag of House Baratheon. Armor gleaming in the sun and ready to advance. "Hold! Wait till they get in close…"

Suddenly an older Dayne guardsman, mumbling a curse, let an arrow fly. Hitting one of the more well-dressed knights right in the join of his breastplate and head… ripping through his throat and sending him to the ground in a gurgling mess of frothy blood. An unsteady silence fell over the dusty plains ahead of the Starfall gatehouse when a furious cry rang out from the attackers. Bellows and snarls of hate. Their blood was riled.

Running a hand down his face, Davos was flushed red as he looked at the men under his command - both his own and Lord Dayne's. "Does nock mean loose?!"

"No, Ser," came the reply.

"Does hold mean fuckin' loose?!"

"No Ser!"

Drawing his sword, Ser Gwayne Dunn - commander of the assault force - leveled it right at the walls and the line surged forward. Racing forward covered only by their shields and armor… though noncombatants wheeled mantlets as well.

"Wait till they get close!" Davos wasn't going to waste the only asset House Dayne had in abundance besides walls and the river. "Hold…" Already, the mass was halfway there. "Hold!" Catapults began unloading on the gatehouse. "Hold!" Davos' fingers tightened on the string, starting to ache. "Loose! At will!"

In one sheet the battlements released their deadly payloads upon the attackers. Arrows lancing out to pierce mail, slam through eyes or throats. Emboldened, the archers continued to fire - longbows rapid while the less numerous crossbows traded speed for accuracy in taking out anyone that seemed in command. Countless fell, watering the few plants upon the field with the blood of the Stormlands and Reach, but there were too many. Soon they reached the edge, mantlets setting up for… "Enemy crossbows!"

Managing to duck just in time, Davos was able to survive the counterfire that raked the battlements. Men pitched back dead or wounded, others falling forward down towards the Torrentine below. Brushing himself off of dust, Davos rose again and took aim - arrow striking home on a Baratheon man-at-arms.

"Ladders!" Large siege ladders, equipped with grasping hooks at their ends, toppled towards the walls. Long enough to span the banks of the river, they hit at an angle closer to horizontal than vertical, leading the men to a shallow climb up. "Push them off!" Davos bellowed, joining a Dayne and heaving it away from the battlements - down it fell, taking five men with it to a watery grave.

But more kept coming. Too many for the archers and crossbowmen to take on independently. As such, the guardsmen raced in with sword and spear - a hundred of them to take on many hundreds of warriors. "Present spears!" Protected by their armor plate adorned with the falling star of their house, the Dornish presented a loose hedgehog of spears at the onrushing attackers. Tips thrust forward to stab at them, piercing flesh and splitting armor. Felling dozens yet only increasing the fury among them. The swordsmen soon saw action as many others managed to leap upon the parapet, swords clashing in a chaotic melee.

"Don't let them at the gate!" Quiver long since exhausted, Davos swung at a young Reachman… he was never much of a fighter, but the poor boy was worse. Swing weak, Davos' got him in the neck. He suddenly felt a sharp thud in the back, pitching him on his front. Sword still in hand he rolled to his back only to see a large figure move towards the drawbridge winch. "Stop him!" he screamed. A Dayne guardsman ran him through but it was too late. The lock was disengaged and the winch spun rapidly, drawbridge clattering to the ground with a resonating boom.

A thunderous cry rang out from the Baratheon host. They surged towards the now open gate, Starfall as open to them as a Dornish maiden spreading her legs.

Disaster, this was a disaster. "Oil!" Davos ordered, sword stabbing upward. Catching a Stormlander scrambling over the lip of the battlements through the chin. "WHERE'S THE DAMN OIL!"

Steaming barrels of black sludge - kept in reserve for just this moment - were tipped over, flowing unimpeded through holes in the battlements. It drenched the first wave of attackers, the noxious liquid boiling and roasting the men alive in their armor - the shrieks of those with their flesh literally melting off their bones would feel stuff of nightmares, but the Brave Companions making up the second wave ignored it. Vargo Hoat, personally leading the assault, merely shoved aside any screaming men and was the first to leap into the Starfall courtyard - catching a guardsman in the face with his blade.

The warbling trumpets brought a smug smile to Renly's face. "It's done," he stated confidently. Soon he would have the heads of the Stark whore and Martell bitch to give to his Griffin.

"Don't be so sure, my Lord."

Renly looked up at the grim frown of Will Cole, eyes scrunched in the sun as he stared ahead. "Please. All that's left is spilling blood. They can't hope to stop us."

Cole sighed, a deep exhalation of air of a man accepting a grim reality. "Ever corner a rat?"

"Why would I sully my noble blood in such a manner?"

"Rats prefer to run, to flee. But when you corner them and they have no means of escape… they strike. Vicious and without care."

Digesting what he said, Renly finally scoffed. "They've been cornered for moons and nothing's happened."

A grimace formed on Cole's face. "I know. That's what worries me." Renly had no response to that.

---

"AAAAGGGHHH!"

"Please, Lya…" Elia leaned over and rubbed up and down her back. Trying desperately to calm her wife in spite of the terror in her veins. "You can do it."

"I can't…" came the weak voice. "It's too much… Rhaegar's not here… too soon…" Lyanna's voice trailed off as another scream ripped from her throat, one powerful enough to drown out the chaos of outside.

But the roar of crashing projectiles and clashing steel resonated into the room, causing little Rhaenys to burrow further into Benjen's side. "Uncle, is muna gonna die?" she murmured in a terrified voice. Suddenly something shook the very walls - likely from a trebuchet - Rhaenys screaming and clutching her uncle harder. "Am I gonna die?" she sobbed through the tears.

Close to unbearable for him as well… Ben willed himself to be strong. For he with his niece, Ash with little Egg, and Dacey with young Arthur, they needed to get the new generation - the future of all their houses - through this slaughterhouse. The true meaning of being a Kingsguard. To die on his feet so those cared for and swore to didn't have to live on their knees. A price Ben would pay gladly for those around him.

"No, sweetling," he gently told Rhae. "Not if my blade has anything to say about it." That seemed to mollify her somewhat - she still sobbed, but less frantically.

Maester Qyburn tended to Lyanna, pressing a warm compress against her forehead and instructing Elia to hold it there. "Easy, your Grace," he cautioned, returning to the stool in front of her spread legs. "Your canal is close to ready."

"Gods…" Lya moaned. "How much longer… ah!"

"Might be a quarter-hour. Might be two."

"Two!"

A kiss to her cheek seemed to calm her. "Please, Lya. Stay strong for me. Stay strong for our babes, my love." Worn grey eyes found Elia's, fatigued and heartbroken, but still resolute and filled with love.

Suddenly, Arthur burst into the room, startling all as he went for his helmet. "They've breached the gatehouse." Fixing it to his head, he heard the gasp of his sister and Queen.

"Gods… they'll overwhelm the castle," Ashara murmured.

"Not on my watch." Setting Arthur down in the crib next to Egg. Dacey drew a mace. Unlike the other women, she wore the leather and mail of Bear Island. Ready to fight.

If Arthur didn't want her to risk herself, he didn't say it. "Ash, bolt the door behind us. No matter what happens, do not open it." Smacking Benjen on the shoulder, the northern knight nodded and donned his helmet. "Understood."

Ash nodded. "Yes, brother."

Walking to his son and kissing him on the forehead as if it would be his last time, Arthur then hugged his sister. "I'll kill them all before I let them reach you."

"I know."

With the drawbridge down, hundreds poured into the courtyard of Starfall castle. Wearing the heavy plate of the Reach, plate and mail of the Stormlands, or mixed mail/leather of sellswords, blood followed in their wake as they cut down all Dornish in their way. Davos and his archers poured their fire from the battlements, but there were simply too many.

For Althos Dayne, bedridden and confined to the Lord's Quarters, he could hear the slaughter outside. The clash of steel, groans and screams of men impaled or disemboweled. When he heard the resounding booms of a battering ram against the thick ironwood door to his personal bedchamber, the longtime widower knew it was his time. I'll be with you soon, my love.

"Again!" screamed Ser Gwayne Dunn. "Again!" His bannermen heaved the large block, crashing it into the door. "Again!" Another crash could feel the hinges groaning, bolts snapping and popping off. Fuck you, dragons. This would teach them and the Peake and Dayne lackeys from threatening his hard won keep. "Again!"

With a thunderous blast, the door collapsed, ripped off its hinges and opening the Lord's bedchamber to defilement. A man at arms drew his sword and stepped into the doorway when he fell. Crossbow bolt piercing his left eye.

The next man met a similar fate, revealing Althos Dayne with a crossbow in hand, another discarded on his lap. "For fuck's sake! Kill the old cunt!" Ser Gwayne snarled.

Drawing a pair of knives, Althos' joints burned from the quick moments but he cared little. Determined to go as a former Sword of the Morning should, he tossed the left blade - ripping through a reachman's throat. Another stumbled falling right atop the prone lord.

Hissing in pain, Althos slammed his second dagger into the man's spine. Feeling him go limp. It's on your shoulders now, my children, was his last thought before Gwayne Dunn's sword beheaded him in a single stroke.

Hand trembling upon the pommel of his blade, Benjen willed himself to calm. And yet the clatter of boots upon the stone floors grew ever louder. Guttural battlecries ever closer to the guest chambers. "Fuck…" he breathed.

"Now's not the time, Ben," Dacey hissed at his side, fingers tightly gripping her mace - digits going white. "Need to be strong."

Easy for you to say, Dace. This wasn't her first true clash.

He felt a pat on his shoulder. "Stay strong, Ben," he said, as if reading his mind. "Remember your training - you're a knight of the Kingsguard after all." The Sword of the Morning smiled softly.

The weight of the white cloak often felt like a shroud upon him - the great duty and the ghosts of the white book only seeming daunting for a humble Northerner to match. But now… I am a Kingsguard. From within the chambers, his sister's cry filled him with energy. With fury. I am a Kingsguard!

"If you die Ben, I'll kill you again for leaving my sister." Catching the threat from his brother in white, Benjen shared a smirk with Arthur as the voices echoed from around the corner at the edge of the hall.

Out rushed half a dozen armed Brave Companions. Mismatched chainmail and curved swords of Essos belied their exotic origins - the wild look in the eyes of each of the men belied their noted savagery. The Reachmen and Stormlanders would butcher Lya and Elia… these men would butcher all the women and men, raping their corpses while they did it.

And at the front was Vargo Hoat. "Sthher Arthhhur," he grinned through his lisp. "Stho wonderfuthl to join us." A chain of coins, bearing the minting of cities from Westeros to the Bone Mountains, dangled from his chest. He pointed his misshapen sword directly at him. "I'll be thhhaking Dawn fromthhh youthh."

Arthur snorted. "Many men have tried. None have succeeded." Far from nervous, the three defenders were calm. Arranged in front of the door in the well of the oval-shaped corridor. Wide enough to give each a line of defense - Arthur in the center and the northerners on the flanks.

Pursing his lips, Vargo laughed. "You're a coolthh patron, Serthh Arthhur." He spun his sword. ""I've wanthed to know forth a whilthhe. Why did youthh not go with your King?"

"Our King wanted us here," was the simple reply.

"Ah yesthh, the Queens. I'llth have the Dornish one. The others willthh be butchered."

"You'll die first," Benjen growled.

Hoat regarded him as one would a cockroach. "Althhright, this is getthing annoying." He cracked his neck. "Now it endthhs." He leveled his blade, with his men taking the signal to ready themselves.

Looking once at his brother and again at his love, Arthur frowned. "For you." In one fluid motion, Arthur drew both his blades, tips pointing straight up. Benjen followed, his bastard sword glinting in the sunlight streaming from the windows - Dacey raised her mace, shield up and at the ready.

Smirking, Vargo backed up till he was behind the first ragged line of Brave Companions. "Killth them allth." In a single blurr the Brave Companions charged.

Releasing a breath, Arthur purged the rage and fear from his system and let his mind slow. Plotting each of his moves for a split second before stepping right into the attack of the sellswords. The first man swung his battle axe, deflected easily by Arthur's blade before he slashed Dawn across his throat. Flash of blood in his vision found the Sword of the Morning spinning his arms. Coming at the next sellsword with a parallel slice - Dawn cutting through chainmail and disemboweling the unlucky enemy. A dull flash of Dacey's mace beside him filled the air with bone shards and misty brain matter as he crossed his swords. Catching a third in the neck and ripping the man's head from his body.

Howling like the Direwolf adorning his gorget, Benjen fought like a true Northern swordsman. Shieldless, only the speed of his moves and strength of his blade protecting him. Against a hulking sellsword with a barrel chest and a massive shield it seemed an unfair match. The bruiser swung his sword, a quick duck by Ben bringing his shield in an attempted melee. Ben howled, charging into the melee and burying his bastard sword straight through the sellsword's exposed middle.

If Benjen howled, Dacey roared. Shield painted with the rearing bear of House Mormont, the lithe, powerful form had rapidly re-emerged after Arthur's birth not two moons ago. Her beautiful boy kept flashing in her mind, vaporizing the ice of her home with a vicious fury. They will not take them! Catching an axe-swing with her shield, she swung around. Mace caving the sellsword's ribcage and sending him smacking into the ground like a sack of meat.

"Dace!"

At her love's call, a charging attacker found himself bashed in the chest with the side of her shield… scrambling right into the waiting tip of Dawn, slicing his heart right through the middle.

One small smile shared between the two lovers lasted but a moment, Dacey roaring and leaping in the air. Using the momentum to crumple a sellsword's helmet and turn his brain into mush. Frenzied movement to her left had her screaming. "Arthur!" But seeing Vargo Hoat finally enter the fray and leap over the half a dozen corpses Arthur accumulated to hack and stab at her paramour didn't stop the two attackers coming straight at her. Dacey gritted her teeth and stood her ground.

Fist clenching over the hilt of his blade, Benjen kicked forward. Throwing yet another sellsword off balance - so many were coming but the three were holding their own, four bloody heaps carpeting the well of the corridor before him. His movements quick, Benjen made his teachers proud. Bastard sword quick and agile, an extension of his hand as he attacked from all angles. Furious slashes slowly wore down his opponent until a weak shoulder gave way. He spun his sword and struck, hacking through the sellsword's shoulder and joining his dead comrades..

Arthur was a strapping man, but Hoat had half a head at least two score of weight on him. Each attack left his muscles searing from the force upon them. Fingers ignited as they gripped hard on the bolts of his swords, but still the Sword of the Morning fought. Blades spinning into new ripostes. Forcing Hoat to react to him… slowly, he inched forward. Driving the sellsword back.

Snarling, Hoat lashed out. Kicking Arthur to blunt the knight's momentum, down swung his blade. Arthur recovered quickly and crossed Dawn with the twin blade. Chop blocked, Hoat tried again and again, fury delivering hammer blow after hammer blow… only to exhaust him.

Sensing the monster tiring, Arthur leapt back. Flashes of steel passing through the corridor as he spun. Slashing twin lines of blood across Hoat's chest and sending the gold coins - symbols of his battle prowess, clattering to the floor.

Hissing in pain, Hoat was saved by two of his men barreling past him. Battle axes ready to take on Arthur… take him on and fail, but it gave the Brave Companion a chance to slip away.

Vargo cursed. His chest stung with pain. The wound wasn't serious, but his pride had taken a beating. That shit took my coins! And yet a direct attack even against only three defenders would be a bloodbath for his men. I need to outsmart them. Pushing his head out a window, the maze of crawling vines about the walls of the keep provided the answer.

Sheathing his sword and clenching an extra dagger between his teeth, Vargo leapt onto the windowsill and began the treacherous climb of the vines.

---

"Nock!" Quivers were nearly empty as the archers drew back their bows, preparing another volley from behind the mantlets. "Loose!" The deadly arrows shot towards the battlements, hitting them over open sights and hopefully slaughtering whatever Dayne archers were still among them.

Tapping his fingers against his armor, Renly was feeling impatient. "Why haven't they done it yet?!" he demanded of his sworn sword.

Always ready to proclaim himself the sworn sword of Steffon Baratheon rather than his youngest, most maladjusted child, Will Cole nevertheless kept it to himself. "These things take time, my Lord." A cornered rat never goes down easy. "Shall I throw in the reserves?" One hundred Baratheon guardsmen kept just in case, though by the truth of it Cole was more concerned on his Reach and Sellsword allies turning on them after the battle - especially the sellswords.

"Hmmm… do it," Renly ordered.

But the trumpets that echoed across the dusty ground weren't of the Baratheon host. They were sharper, more numerous, and accompanied by a roaring of hooves. Renly looked around, completely confused. None of my men are mounted. The Brave Companions were committed to the fight and thus their zorses were left behind at the camp.

"My Lord!" Taegyn Sand, face covered in blood, pointed towards the hills. Cole followed the sellsword's finger and his face went ashen. "The rat makes its move," he murmured.

Through the mountain passes rode what had to be several thousand mounted infantry. Spears held at the ready and curved swords twirling, fluttering high were the banners of death itself. The roasting horizon of House Uller, the golden hand of House Allyrion, the scorpions of House Qorgyle… and the sun and spear of House Martell. Thousands of gold-coated and black-armored Dornishmen screaming like banshees as they charged the Baratheons.

Renly nearly pissing himself in both shock and fear, Cole was the first to react. "To arms!" he shouted at the guardsmen. "To arms!" But suddenly a spear skewered him right through the middle, blood flying from his mouth as he collapsed to the ground. The scattered five score of guardsmen didn't stand a chance. Few stood and fought, getting cut down by the vengeful Dornishmen as a result. Many fled… and were still cut down. Some, including the majority of the archers and siege engineers, surrendered. About half were slaughtered where they stood.

Shaking in his boots, several guards and the sellsword commander tried to hustle him towards waiting horses. Hoping to use the chaos to escape back north to Nightsong and safety. But a swift steed blocked them, a graceful warrior jumping from its back and running a spear through one guardsman's neck. "Renly Baratheon, we finally meet," Oberyn Martell said with a smile, his red-scaled armor glinting in the sun.

A guardsman charged, shield up and sword high. Oberyn danced around the flurry of thrusts and slashes, the butt of his spear batting aside the shield before he jabbed forward. Piercing mail and slicing through muscle and intestine. As the guard dropped, Oberyn leapt upon the other man-at-arms, speartip slashing through his neck before he could even react.

Scimitar drawn, Oberyn was faced with an equally agile opponent from his own land. He gave ground, twirling his spear as the sellsword lunged with a slash that he deftly parried. The man was good, but Oberyn was better. Far better. Punching upward in an uppercut, the blow to the jaw disoriented the sellsword and allowed Oberyn to jab the tip into his shin. With a scream, Taegyn Sand collapsed and met a dagger to his eye… just as the Dornish Prince's personal guard rode up.

Heat of battle beginning to fade away, Oberyn deflated. He embedded his spear in the earth, regarding his prisoner with a smug contempt. "Lord Renly, didn't your father teach you not to play the games of adults while still a child?"

Pure hate reflected off Renly's enraged blue eyes. "Dornish cunt! Fucking traitor! Lord Connington will have your head!"

"I highly doubt that," scoffed the Red Viper. "You don't see that fool here, do you?" After more profanities erupted from the young highborn, Oberyn kicked him in the gut. "Tie him and gag him," he told his men. "I'm getting a headache from his voice." Robert was just as irritating but at least his voice didn't grate on one's ear.

All around their Prince, the relief army slammed into the rear of the besiegers. Starfall and hundreds of their trapped Dornish brethren only yards away from being saved. Men dismounted, assaulting the ladders and mantlets with sword and dagger cutting into flesh. Horsemen rode directly across the drawbridge, sun and spear soon speckled with blood as they hacked and stabbed at their traditional enemies. Already in at the death with the Dayne guards and Davos' archers, being hit from the rear disintegrated the ragtag force brought to butcher the rightful Queens of Westeros. Cheering their former Princess' name, the men of Sunspear, Hellholt, Sandstone, and Godsgrace knew they were only moments away from liberating her from her tormentors.

None of them noticed the manic sellsword, beard matted as he scrambled like a gecko across the vines to reach his targets.

"You're just about to crown, your Grace," Maester Qyburn said gently. "The little Prince or Princess will soon be in this world."

"It hurts… I can't…" Lyanna kept muttering, face ashen and exhausted.

Elia kissed her head, squeezing her hand. "You can. You're a strong Northern Queen." She wouldn't let Lyanna lose hope. "Stay strong for our son… for our children."

"The fighting out there is dying down," Ashara exclaimed. "I can't hear as much." It was good news, but nothing would be good until Lya's child was born.

Qyburn stood. "Let me get some towels." Not looking where he was going, a fist came out of nowhere and crashed into his shoulder, knocking him down in a bony heap.

"Tolthh you I'd be here!" Vargo said with a savage grin, sword out and ready to play.

Rhaenys screamed - waking her brother and cousin. Elia shot up from her seat, while Ash made a dash for the door. "ARTHUR! DACEY! BEN!" Just as she managed to reach it did Vargo's sword slam into the door, embedding itself in the wood. She yelped and fell back.

Damn… I was aiming for her heart. "Staythh down." He drew his dagger, making for Lyanna's bedside. "Time to earnthhh my coin."

Screaming at the top of her lungs, Elia jumped him. "You will not take her!" Her shrill battlecries and clawing hands made him stagger. Distracting him enough for Ash to scramble to the door.

Snarling, Vargo smashed his elbow back - catching Elia in the gut. With a cry she fell, doubled over in pain. "Sthhaythh down, whhhore!" he stammered out, eyes furious. "I'llhh be bacthhh for youthhh later!" Spinning his dagger, he held it downward, advancing on the screaming Lyanna.

"Don't touch my muna!" Driven to the breaking point - the nightmares of her grandfather brought to life by the Qohorik sellsword - Rhaenys was every bit the dragon as she launched herself at Vargo and bit his arm. But aside from a grunt, she was easily picked up by the straps of her dress. "Let me go!" she screamed, wriggling like mad.

"Begone, brat!" Not bothering, Vargo simply tossed her away, Rhae hitting the ground on her rear and sliding against the wall, coughing. Beside her, Arthur and Egg wailed their lungs out from their crib. "Let's fucking finish this."

Scream ripping through the air, Lyanna could feel her womb beginning to push as the towering form of Vargo Hoat loomed above her. Teeth bared in a demonic leer and dagger in hand. "No!" she cried, pleading. "Don't kill my babe!"

Vargo chuckled. "A contracthhh's a contracthh, wolthhf bitch. Nothhhing personalthh, but I'm gonna enjoy thhhis." And with that he raised the dagger, moments away from plunging into Lya's abdomen.

Crash!

Howling in pain, Vargo staggered back as his chest ached - to the left, a large shield clattered on the tile. Emblazoned by a rearing bear. "Get away from her, you cunt!" Dacey roared, clutching the mace with both hands. Her armor and parts of her hair were streaked in blood making her look like somewhat of a demon herself.

"Fucthhing bitch!" Vargo lunged, aggressive with his dagger and forcing Dacey back.

Hissing as the blade cut her side, Dacey saw red and charged. Bashing the Qohorik with a surprising strength. Here we Stand! The Mormont words roaring in her mind, with a frenzy Dacey swing her mace. Grinning like the she-bear she was when the head crashed into Vargo's upper arm. Blood flying and bone crunching from the blow.

Something akin to a primal scream left Hoat's mouth, the sellsword stumbling back. Almost slipping upon the floor. "My arm!"

"Soon to be your fucking face," Dacey said darkly, advancing upon him.

Arm broken beyond repair, blood soaking his tunic and jerkin, sword and dagger nowhere close… Hoat knew this was the end. He wasn't stupid. "Youthh won't taktth me, bitch!" Sucking in a breath, he pitched backward out the window for the sparkling blue waters of the Torrentine below. The demon disappearing from Starfall for the first time in many moons.

Racing to the window, Dacey bellowed a roar of anger that she hadn't sated her bloodlust… but it didn't matter as Lya's screams once again filled the room. "Fuck… Qyburn!" The Maester was already on his feet and resuming his vigil.

Dacey reached down to pull up Elia as Ashara was back on her feet and tending to poor Rhae. "That monster…" Elia murmured.

"He's dead," Dacey said firmly. No one could survive that fall.

Elia nodded, but her wife's cry shook her to life. "Lya!"

"The babe is coming," Qyburn called out. "Your Grace, I need you to push."

"AAAAHHHHHH!"

---

Groaning, a swarthy man in Uller colors turned over yet another sellsword corpse. "This one's still alive!"

A flash of steel found whatever shallow breaths the sellsword was taken ended in an instant. "Now he isn't," Ryon Allyrion grunted.

Spear slung over his shoulder, Oberyn clicked his tongue. "Not enough blood for you, Ryon?" The only thing the heir to Godsgrace liked more than fucking was fighting - he was the opposite of Oberyn that way.

"Not nearly enough," Ryon called back, wiping the blood off his blade with a rag torn from a Baratheon guardsman. Oberyn could still see the rearing Stag emblazoned on it, smeared in blood and grime. "Stag fuckers, they deserve this and more."

He couldn't help but chuckle. The only thing Dornishmen hated more than Sellswords or Reachmen killing their countrymen were Stormlanders killing their countrymen. Long-standing hatereds still ran deep. It was more than mutual.

Starfall was nothing like the beautiful garden keep Oberyn remembered it to be. With less disgust than a profound sadness he looked over the scarred landscape, the smell of death overpowering and the stench of decay and shit hidden underneath. They were dying long before Renly attacked the walls. Oberyn knew just a few weeks more could have killed half the defenders from starvation.

But the slip of paper in his pocket proved exactly why Renly didn't wait. The merciless swings of his spear weren't enough. Ryon is right, I am nowhere near sated.

His festering rage reached the breaking point at the body of Althos Dayne, headless corpse arranged with the greatest care by Qorgyle's men. "Who killed him?" Oberyn seethed.

"Body was found in his chambers with four dead Dunns scattered around."

"He truly was a Sword of the Morning." Even old and crippled with rheumatism, House Dayne was deadly. "Where are the Dunns?" His friend pointed them out.

A knightly house of the Reach, even the lowest bannermen of House Dunn were proud and arrogant. Surrounded by angry Dornish just itching to rip their throats out, they were rather close to shitting themselves. At the arrival of an enraged Oberyn, undoubtedly some actually did.

"Alright," the Dornish Prince demanded. "Which one of you cunts killed Althos Dayne?" There was no answer. "Perhaps if I find what I came for, I'll be inclined to let the rest of you escape the gallows."

No less than seven bannermen pointed at one man in particular - clearly a Knight by the looks of him. "You fucking cowards," he snarled.

Oberyn gritted his teeth. "You killed Lord Althos Dayne?!"

The knight stood up, glaring contemptuously at Oberyn. "I, Ser Gwayne Dunn, demand you be ransomed…" He couldn't go further, words turning into a gurgle as Oberyn thrust his spear through the knight's open mouth.

"For Lord Dayne, twice the man you could ever be." Pulling the spear back, he watched as the corpse crumpled to the dusty ground. "Leave him for the vultures," Oberyn ordered his men.

Another voice evaporated whatever anger he felt. "Brother!" Oberyn turned and saw Elia running across the battlements towards him. Her face overjoyed and streaming with tears.

Without wasting a second Oberyn was bounding up the steps. Not stopping until Elia was in his arms - the two of them in a tight embrace. "Thank the gods you're alive, sister."

"You came," she murmured.

"Of course I would," was the reply. "Ash? Arthur? Lyanna?"

Elia sighed, though her expression was relief. "All alive, if tired." She chuckled. "Lya certainly knows the right time to go into labor." Oberyn's lips curled upward and the next moment brother and sister were laughing. Finally letting out the stress of impending death.

"Elia!" Both turned to see Ashara hurrying to them. Seeing her unharmed and still the great beauty he remembered made Oberyn quite happy - though to him it was obvious that she didn't know of her father. "Lyanna, the babe is here."

Disentangling from Oberyn, several different emotions passed over her face - most notably a mix of fear and joy. "Is he…?"

Ashara gave a weak smile. "Everything seems fine… oh Gods…" Eyes flickering down to the courtyard, it was clear that she now knew about her father. "Papa," Ash breathed, covering her mouth and tears welling in her eyes. Beside him, Elia gasped, realizing it as well.

Oberyn quickly put himself between Ash and the still form of Althos Dayne. "I didn't want you to know this way." Ashara nodded and accepted his embrace. "He died killing the enemy."

"As he would have wanted," she finished, trying her best to keep her composure. "Elia, let me show you your son." Oberyn's eye quirked up. Her son? Oh, our brother will not be pleased.

"Are you sure you don't…"

"The time for mourning will be later, when Arthur knows as well." Much as she grieved, Ash would never want to take this moment away from her two friends. "Come on." Elia needed no prodding.

Dacey Mormont kept vigil at the door, looking quite like the female warriors her House was famous for with a chainmail vest and mace in her hand. "The only other Martell I'm glad to see," she said tiredly, wan grin on her lips.

"A great honor from a lovely lady," Oberyn answered with a grin of her own, but Elia cared not for banter, pushing through the door without delay.

What greeted her were the gentle wails of a babe. "Lya!" he was at her wife's side in a split second. "Gods, you're alright."

Looking quite drained, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and eyes drooping with fatigue, Lyanna nevertheless tilted her head towards Elia. "As alright as I can be… given the circumstances." Her eyes flickered around. "Where is he?"

Elia looked just as frantic. "Where's our son?!" Egg still rested in his crib, while Rhaenys stood close to Arthur, but the newborn was nowhere to be seen…

"Calm down, sister. Here he is." Taking the newly cleaned bundle from Qyburn, Benjen made sure to keep his blood-stained armor as far from his newest nephew as he could. "Perfectly healthy and happy, though I think he wants his mamas."

Standing up, Elia went to Benjen. "Please, Ben." And into her arms went the warm, squirming bundle, his wails lowering immediately as he was pressed against Elia's chest. "Oh, my sweet babe." Lya's son - their son - was absolutely precious. He looked like Egg did after his hard childbirth, pink and tiny, but with a tuft of dark hair just like Lya's. Entranced by the beautiful babe, Elia leaned down to kiss his forehead, earning two eyes opening ever so slightly.

He has Rhaegar's eyes. Gods, it was like a dream.

"Give him to me, Elia," begged Lya, her arms out and nearly falling out of the bed. "Give me my son."

How could Elia deny her that? "Here you go, little pup. Here's muna." Handing her son to Lyanna, she sat in her chair beside them watching intently. Not the only pair of eyes riveted to the amazing scene - a light in the middle of all the darkness and death that hung over Starfall after the battle. Martell guards finally relieving Dacey and the two Kingsguards, the former grabbed her son and ran to Arthur, while Benjen embraced Ash in a tight hug. Neither woman cared about the blood on their armor.

All of this was invisible to Lyanna - from the moment her son was in her arms, the only thing that mattered was him… him, Rhae, Egg, and her beautiful Elia. Slowly, she looked over her child, finally out in the open after eight moons nestled in her womb. From once she could only feel him move, now he was exposed to Lyanna in all his glory. "My son, my little pup." Her voice shook.

Chubby cheeked and steamed almost raw from the difficult labor, any discomfort on the newest Targaryen Prince's part seemed to be put off by the proximity of the woman that birthed him. So much so that young Rhae moved from where she stood. Going to her own mother. "Muna?" She tried to jump up onto the bed. "Is my brudder good?"

Elia pulled her onto her lap. "He's just fine, little dragon."

Rhae stared at her newest brother with awe. "He's so little."

Lyanna laughed, unable to contain her joy. "All babes are little, Rhae." She brushed her finger against her son's cheek, watching him instinctively turn towards her. Hand reaching out - Lya put her finger in the tiny palm, and he gripped it. "His eyes are Targaryen," she said, quivering at how wonderful it was. The same eyes of the strapping young man in her dreams.

"And the Stark coloring," Elia added, kissing Lya's cheek before showering her son with love and attention.

Smirking, Oberyn had a feeling this babe would be his nephew when all was said and done. If the Starks call Rhae and Egg theirs, then why not I? His eyes drifted to Arthur, who kissed the cheek of his own son before Dacey took him for a feeding. "Forgive me, but congratulations on the future Sword of the Morning," he told his childhood friend.

Nodding, Arthur smiled to himself. "Yet another one worth fighting for." The dozens of corpses slayed by Dawn piled in the corridor belied how hard he'd fight for those he cared about.

"Was it a problem?" Oberyn asked Arthur, the Kingsguard slumped against the wall in utter exhaustion. "The Brave Companions?"

Arthur snorted. "Got a bit dodgy, though it was nothing we couldn't handle." He gestured to his bloodstained armor. "Everyone made it through in one piece." The Prince averted his eyes - it wasn't his place to tell him of his father.

"Your father would have loved you, my little pup," Lya cooed, tears in her eyes. "You look… look just like him." The tears were of heartbreak now, drawing Elia in - hugging her close, kissing her brow comfortingly.

"What does she mean?" Oberyn was confused.

Glowering, Arthur mumbled several unchivalrous words. "That sick fuck, Renly. He told our sister that Rhaegar died at Harrenhal"

Oberyn pursed his lips, thinking of the various forms of torture he would subject that little bitch to before he turned him over to Rhaegar. But his sister and goodsister mattered more right now. "Lyanna." He stepped forward.

Blinking back tears, Lya looked up at Oberyn. "Goodbrother… thank you for coming here." She offered as wide a smile as she could under the circumstances.

"Family like you, it would be dishonorable not to come to your aid, but it seems that you've been lied to." Both Queens looked up at him expectantly. "His Grace, your husband is alive."

Two pairs of eyes widened. "Really?"

"This better be true…" Elia tried to keep her composure even though she was close to collapse herself. "Please… let it be true."

"If he died, the Mad Dragon would have sent it all over the Realm, but the rebels still fight on. He's alive - I've seen his letters to Doran, begging for our help. It's his writing."

"Oh gods…" Elia felt like crying, the last bit clenching her heart disappearing. "My love?" she looked at Lyanna, who was actually crying - just holding their son closer. Nothing really needed to be said.

It was Rhae that broke the silence. "Muna, what brudder's name?"

Lyanna met her daughter's gaze with sparkling grey eyes. "Jon." A kiss on his cheek. "Prince Jon Targaryen."

With her mother setting her on the bed, Rhae leaned over - careful of Lya - and cupped Jon's cheek. "I love you, baby brudder." Two violet eyes stared at her, curious. "I protect you. Dragon protect dragon."

Jon, unaware of all the chaos and fighting that turned his birthplace and first nameday into a slaughterhouse, yawned. Tiny arms stretching into the air. "I think your brother needs to sleep," Elia said, giggling. Rhae merely kissed his cheek and went to her muna's arms.

Hugging Jon to her bosom, Lyanna pressed her cheek against his. "I love you Jon, my darling boy." All that was missing was Rhaegar.

My love, promise me you'll come back. Your son needs you. We need you.

She hoped he heard her plea.

Promise me.

He had to hear her plea.

Promise me.

Notes:

Completely new context for the famous line. Hope y'all liked :D

So baby Jon Targaryen is here, surrounded by those that love him instead of by death and tragedy. Had so much fun writing this chapter!

Arthur, Dacey, and Benjen make a good team, don't they?

Davos there to protect the Targs and Oberyn arriving just in the nick of time! Everything ended quite well.

Next time, Jaime carries out Varys' request. Be sure to review :D

Chapter 55: Campfires

Notes:

Hope all my American fans had a happy Thanksgiving! :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Lord Stark!" Ned turned his head to see a Vale knight grinning at him. "Give em' hells, Rock of Harrenhal!"

"The Rock!" cheered other knights around him. News of his engaging Robert Baratheon to save the King's life had spread to the entire army. Someone said he stood firm like a rock against the Stormlands, and the name stuck.

Ned truly had mixed feelings about it - he'd risk his own life to protect his goodbrother without hesitation, but even Rhaegar understood that being in at the death with a man once called brother was not something to celebrate.

Among them appeared a smiling Ser Richard Lonmouth… given what Ned did, Rhaegar's old partisans were now quite partial to him. "Ned Stark, come join us! Regale us with how you vanquished Ser Arthur Dayne on the sparring grounds."

Smiling in spite of himself, Ned shook his head - seeing Ser Barristan approaching him.. "Next time, Ser Richard. It appears I owe the King my attention." Hearing the good natured jeers of the knights, he chuckled and turned to the kingsguard. "Ser Barristan, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"His Grace wishes to speak with you, Lord Stark," Barristan replied. While he liked Ned, the knight was almost never informal.

Nodding, Ned followed the knight towards the royal tent. Surrounded by Targaryen guards and the gleaming silver armor of the Kingsguards on duty, Rhaegar was clearly taking no chances at his protection. I cannot blame him. One way or another, the next few weeks would decide the fate of the Seven Kingdoms. Ned could feel it. Don't worry, Lya. After this, come hells or high water I will defeat Renly and rescue you and Elia. He didn't intend to die upon the field.

Taking his position at the entrance - Oswell across from him - Barristan bid Ned entry to the royal tent. Inside the heat of a dozen braziers assaulted him, Ned tugging on his collar. In the center of the room sizzled the dragon egg. He could smell Melisandre's influence even with the Red Woman having departed.

But instead of being immersed in some crazed ritual or meditation, Ned found his goodbrother sitting upon a camp chair, reading a letter in quiet contemplation. "Brother?" Getting closer, he noticed tears streaking down Rhaegar's cheeks. "What's wrong?"

Rhaegar turned to him, but there was a smile on his face. "I have a son," he said, voice reverent. In awe of what Elia's words disclosed to him.

Blinking in confusion, at first Ned was going to point out he did in fact have one with Aegon but then realization dawned on him. "Lya...?" His face lit up.

"Ned, you are the uncle to Prince Jon Targaryen."

Jon... He didn't know why, but hearing the little one's name filled Ned with a surprising warmth beyond that of just any uncle. Ned was certain he would have done anything for the little child. "Congratulations, Rhaegar," he beamed, grasping the King's shoulder. He loved little Rhaenys and Egg would certainly be a delight grown up, but finally his sister had a babe of her womb. Jon..."An... interesting name. Knowing Lya, I would have honestly expected Daeron or Jaehaerys."

Wiping away his tears, Rhaegar chuckled. "Lya... she and Elia seemed to associate that name with me, resulting in this." Hands spreading wide, the King basked in an uncharacteristic happiness. "I have another son!" He threw his arms around Ned in a crushing hug, lifting him up. "You're an uncle now, brother."

"Aye… please… put me down," Ned croaked.

The King laughed and complied. "Sorry about that." As the seconds ticked by, his face started to fall - happiness retreating. "Apparently he was born the day Renly assaulted Starfall."

Ned gulped. "Did any…"

"No. Arthur, Dacey, and Benjen protected the women and children, and our goodbrother Oberyn arrived at the last minute to kill and capture the rest."

Gods keep you, Ben. Already a magnificent Kingsguard, protecting their pack. "Well, that's all good news, isn't it? Why the anger?" He could tell just by the tension roiling within his goodbrother - the dragon was awoken.

Not answering, Rhaegar instead picked up another letter… a stack of letters in fact. "Oberyn sent this to me…" Rhaegar finally spoke through clenched teeth, eyes blazing in fury. "Said he found it on Renly's person."

Three lines down his eyes widened, quickly skimming the other, slightly faded letter in shock… which quickly morphed into an icy fury that rivalled Rhaegar's. "If you don't kill him, allow me the honor."

"No Ned… he shall burn." The fitting punishment is dragonfire. "I trusted the wrong people, Ned… this war began because I was too naive." His shoulders felt heavy with guilt.

Putting away his anger, Ned stepped closer to Rhaegar. "You already have tens of thousands of the living on your shoulders. Don't take up that of the dead as well."

"Don't you see, brother? I've already failed as a husband and father… I wasn't even there to see my son come into the world…" Rhaegar hung his head, ashamed. "Now I have a son that I've never seen, taken away from him because of the father I failed to stop and the traitor I trusted as a friend."

"You are fighting to make a world for Jon, Rhae, and Egg to thrive in peace." There was no doubt in Ned's mind that Rhaegar's victory would grant them that. "Lya and Elia know this, Egg and Rhae know this, and I'm certain Jon will as well - that boy will love you as much as your other two, I'm sure"

Rhaegar closed his eyes for a moment before smiling sadly at Ned. "I hope to be a better father than mine own."

"You always were Rhaegar."

Sharing smiles, Rhaegar offered Ned one of the camp chairs as he poured them each a mug of ale. "I don't know how you like this stuff, but it's cheap and not as sour as Dornish reds." He raised the mug, smirking as Ned savored the taste. "And you'll be a father soon, if I recall correctly?"

Almost sputtering on the fine liquid, Ned felt the mixture of feelings that always flared up at the reminder of his marriage. Happiness at impending fatherhood, nervousness as to the future, and an ever so slight dread. "Yeah.."

"Not excited, brother?" Rhaegar furrowed his brows.

"I am Rhaegar. I love my child already." Ned sighed. "What I'm not looking forward to is my wife and that septa of hers forcing all their traditions down my child's throat."

"Ah, I understand." He leaned back in his seat. "Uncle Duncan told me that he deliberately rejected marrying Celia Tully because of that family's piety. House Targaryen and the Seven simply don't mix… nor do they with the North."

"Catelyn is the mother and deep down, she's a kind soul." Much as this wasn't at all his first choice - the thought of his lioness made Ned's heart ache - he wasn't malicious or spiteful. "But we are Starks. The blood of the First Men course strong through our veins and nothing good can come of denying my child the gods of their ancestors."

"Well, I'm not worried." Ned raised an eyebrow, waiting for Rhaegar to elaborate. "if your child takes after his or her aunt, not even Aegon the Conqueror could take away her Northern instincts." There was a slight silence before the two of them roared in laughter. Lyanna's stubbornness was something they were both familiar with.

Just then, Oswell stepped through the tent flap. "Raven from Harrenhal, your Grace." The two of them instantly frowned. "Bearing Lord Connington's seal." The frowns turned to snarls.

"Give it here," Rhaegar commanded. Leafing through it. "Apparently he wants a parley."

"You're not going to give it to him, right?"

The King thought for a moment. "No… I think I'm going to accept."

---

As a child, Tywin Lannister had adored running around the fountains of the Rock's gardens with his mother, a rare moment of carefree joy for the boy forced to grow quickly into the Lord of the Keep. Often he would return if he wanted a quiet, calm time away from the stresses of life, he'd return. It usually worked.

Not today, for his guest… unsettled him. "I must say, when the Prince informed me that he was sending a representative to treat with me, I did not expect him to send a Red Priestess."

Red eyes twinkling behind a… serene yet intense mask, Melisandre offered a shallow chuckle. "I am not unknowing of my effect on people. Those who I serve often find it an asset rather than a liability."

"Of that I am confident, Lady Melisandre." Hands kept behind his back while hers were clasped out in front, Tywin's eyes studied the woman. Undoubtedly beautiful, yet with a dangerous air to her. One that confirmed to him of just what she was capable of. Rhaegar is very smart… and very foolish to keep her around. Tyanna of the Tower or Lady Misery came to mind from the histories - dangerous mystics associated with Targaryen Kings and Princes. "What is it that you do for Prince Rhaegar, Lady?"

A familiar voice from behind made Tywin close his eyes and grit his teeth. "Well, I can make a guess but that would be rather obscene, right father?"

Tyrion's chuckles grated on Tywin's nerves. "Forgive me for my son's behavior," he said to Melisandre with a glare shot to his son. "He doesn't choose to express the manners I taught him."

Planting a hand on his chest, Tyrion feigned hurt. "Forgive me, father. My heart hurts with regret."

Smirking softly at the look of… irritation on Lord Lannister's face, Melisandre spoke up. "Your son is a small man with a big shadow, Lord Tywin. I wouldn't be so dismissive."

Tywin arched an eyebrow at her, his pale green eyes flecked with gold unable to read her as they did with most people. It unsettled him further. "I doubt it, Lady Melisandre, but back to the subject in hand - what does Rhaegar intend with sending you here?"

"An alliance," Melisandre spoke quickly, eyes shifting to the fountains. "One that would benefit your House as well as the Realm."

I knew it. "I see." The Old Lion held a better read of the politics of the Realm than anyone else apart from perhaps Varys or Doran Martell. "And can you give me a reason as to why I should pledge my House, bannermen, and my legacy for a pretender?"

"A King, not a pretender," Melisandre said firmly. "I could tell you about how the true pretender despises you. How he thinks you are to bring about the Doom of Valyria... but I shan't." Her eyes seemed to glow. "Only that doom will befall your entire House if you don't enter this war."

If Tywin was perturbed, he didn't show it. "With all due respect Lady Melisandre, I single-handedly made this family second only to House Targaryen itself."

"Yes, the mighty House Lannister… if only that greatness came to his children."

"Tyrion, shut it," Tywin seethed, turning back to Melisandre when Tyrion raised his hands, piping down. "I secured our place in history. Don't worry, Lady Melisandre, my legacy will not be destroyed.

"Not if you choose poorly. The Lord of Light's will is foretold."

The mystical and religious… such fools. "How will this war destroy all of it?" he scoffed. Tywin had been approached by septons before demanding that he repent and conform, and his first inclination was to treat Melisandre as he did them.

She wasn't fazed. "Not this war, but the next... and the next after that. Your sons and daughter can save it, but only if you do your duty."

Rolling his eyes, the Lord of Casterly Rock offered a small smile. "Can you give me proof that what you're saying is not pure mummery. I find most mystics to be just that?"

Eyebrow raised, Melisandre may have been detached from most worldly things since donning the mantle of R'hllor, she did have a desire to prove the truths presented to her by her Lord. "Do you have a hearth?"

He was taken aback by the question - confused more than anything else. "Well, of course we have one," Tyrion said with a giggle before Tywin responded,

Melisandre smiled, eyes twinkling. "Let's go." Tywin hesitated, but eventually sighed and conceded the point. With an extended hand, he led his guest towards his own solar, already feeling his head pounding the further he stepped away from the fountains.

Minutes later a hearth was lit, by Tywin's own hands - he wasn't about to let a servant in on what was going on… and he wasn't a pompous old man. Tyrion hung back, resisting the urge to make an inappropriate comment on Tywin Lannister bending over. His father might dismiss him and he did not want to miss this.

As the fire began to catch and grow, Melisandre exhaled at the calming power that it brought to her. "Look at the flames, Lord Tywin," she declared in a silky voice. Murmuring incantations in High Valyrian, she could feel the fires growing hotter. Filling the room with warmth and banishing the cold of winter. "Let the future reveal itself to you."

Tywin was growing more convinced to throw her out, Rhaegar be damned, but felt drawn by the flames nonetheless.

"Do not be afraid, Lord Tywin. They will not burn you, just scorch your soul with the truth."

This is ridiculous… Suddenly he opened his eyes and found himself almost outside of his body.

Falling, he was falling. Pain ripping through his skull as the flames licked at his skin. Images bombarded his mind, the headache of before drowned by the sheer agony of what Tywin was forced to see.

His son Jaime, incinerated in a gout of wildfire while the unearthly cackling of Aerys Targaryen boomed in the background.

Cersei wailing like a madwoman, cuddling the body of a boy no older than thirteen - his neck was torn to bloody gaps and his face a purple tint to it, green-eyed in death.

His grandson getting his throat slit by a man with no skin, further decapitated by a pack of shadows.

To his utter surprise, Tywin also showed Tyrion, mismatched eyes devoid of the sparkling mirth as he was hanged in front of a cheering crowd.

He tore his gaze away as a massive dragon burning an army in Lannister armor in its path.

Next found himself in an all too familiar place - the tower of the hand. Such had been the place that had been his home for so many years, back when Aerys wasn't mad. Steffon was still alive and the three of them were still brothers. Joanna still alive…

But the sudden twag of a crossbow jerked him off his musings. Tywin looked up and saw something that made his blood run cold and his eyes widened in shock.

There he was - Tywin Lannister, the proud Lord of Casterly Rock slumped over the privy. He wore only a loosely tied robe, drenched in blood from a crossbow bolt buried deep in his groin. "You... you shot me" he heard himself grunt, panic and distress clear in his wavering voice.

"You always were quick to grasp a situation, my Lord. That must be why you're the Hand of the King." The voice of his killer. Tywin couldn't identify it for the life of him, the most smug tone to it that it put Aerys' to shame. A dark satisfaction tinged it, as if this figure had waited a long time for this to happen.

He saw himself move his lips to speak but he couldn't comprehend it.

The killer didn't have that problem. "Now that's where you're mistaken, my Lord. Why... I believe I'm you writ small. Do me a kindness now and die quickly, I have a ship to catch." And then Tywin could smell it, as his bowels loosened at the moment of death. It was so putrid that he thought he would faint right there.

And the vision ended as a massive black dragon enveloped everything in a gout of flame stone and rocks collapsing around everything.

Next thing he realized, he was collapsed on the floor, sweat drenching him from head to toe. "Father? What did you see?"

He turned to see his second son staring at him like he just grew a second head, clearly surprised to see the mighty lord of casterly rock in such a state. "Our... deaths, the... destruction of... everything I built" he answered through labored breaths.

Tyrion pursed his lips. "It seems we are all capable of being the Reynes of Castamere"

Melisandre watched the scene unfold with a satisfied smile on her face. You made the correct choice Lord Tywin. "I was told by my King to give you this if you accepted." She hands him a letter. "Plan accordingly."

All the images burned in his brain, in that moment he made a decision. "Tyrion, go find your uncles and Loren. I have ravens to send." Without a further word he stormed out. Tyrion was stunned but did as he was told, racing out as his stunted legs could carry him.

The Red Woman directed a grin to the flames. Don't worry my king, help is on its way.

Walking outside, heading to her guest quarters, Melisandre heard the laughter of a woman and a babe from around the corner. Curious, she walked briskly until spotting a sight that made her smile. There stood the Light of the West, cradling a beautiful little boy in her arms. He was clearly hers, if the curly blond hair and innocent emerald eyes were any indication.

From how she laughed and showered love on her son, Cersei Lannister hadn't noticed Melisandre until she came closer. "Lady Cersei."

The only daughter of Tywin Lannister looked up. Few guests were allowed close to the family's private quarters. "Lady Melisandre." Much as she wanted to go back to mothering Robb, she was… curious. "May I know what you are doing in my keep? Does it have anything to do with the fact that I just saw my imp of a brother run like he was escaping from gods knows what?"

"You'll find out soon enough, my Lady." Cryptic in her answers, Melisandre leaned down - looking directly at Robb. "A charming little boy. He looks like his uncle"

Cersei rolled her eyes. Everyone told her that her son was the spitting image of Jaime at Robb's age, from their maester to Aunt Genna. Which was true, but Robb also looked like his father. "Our family's coloring is strong, Lady Melisandre. Of course he would resemble us."

Melisandre nodded and opened her arms a little. "May I?"

Not truly trusting her, Cersei ended up reasoning that Mel wouldn't try anything in the middle of her father's keep. Gingerly, she handed Robb over to the priestess.

As she nestled the babe in her arms, Robb looked at her and began to laugh as he raised his little chubby fist at her. "He is a beautiful babe. A strong and lively lionwolf you have, Lady Cersei"

Green eyes widened, suddenly fearful. "I beg your pardon?"

"You don't have to fear Lady Cersei, I shall never reveal the identity of Robb Hill's father, on that you have my word."

Cersei sighs, a tear in her eyes. "He must never know... it would kill him." Poor Ned, married to another. From whatever Cersei knew, Catelyn Tully didn't deserve him - no one truly did.

"Do not despair my Lady, the Lord of Light gives his blessing to those of a good heart, and few I encountered poses even half as much as The Quiet Wolf"

Cersei bites her lip and takes Robb back into her arms. The little bit of Ned she will always have.

Melisandre saw the apprehensive look in her eyes and decided to give more reassurance. "Fear not Lady Cersei, for the monster that has haunted your dreams is no more." She left the mother and son where they stood, knowing she had done right by her King and her Lord.

---

Elia's lips curled into the widest smile at the sight before her. Heart clenching in happiness. Quickly, a pair of violet eyes found her. "Muna!"

The Queen staggered slightly as her daughter ran right into her legs. "Rhae, careful with muna," she chuckled.

Rhaenys pouted, innocent eyes wide. "Sorry, muna." But the excitement was back only moments later, the Princess tugging on Elia's hand. "Look at what Jon is doing!"

Sitting on a comfortable chair in their solar, Egg tucked in by her side and a resting yet awake Jon nestled in her arms, she met Elia's gaze with a sparkling joy. "She's spent over an hour fussing over her little brother," she laughed. "I suppose our son has been doing the same." With a free arm, she ruffled Egg's wispy silver locks.

Their son waved his arms. "Muna, muna!"

"Oh, sweetling." Elia leaned down and kissed Egg on the forehead, absolutely overjoyed at his joy before looking at their newborn babe. "So, Rhae - I'm curious as to what Jon is doing. Please show me."

Hair bouncing adorably as she rocked on her heels - Elia and Lyanna shared a look, cause that was something Rhaegar always did - Rhae waved her hand until she caught Jon's attention. "Hi baby brudder," she told him. His own indigo eyes studied her for a moment, as if… inquisitive. Our little Prince is a smart one, like his father. "Look, muna." With a flourish, she pressed her index finger right on Jon's palm. Rhaenys dissolved into a flurry of giggles when Jon's fingers instinctively grasped hers. "He does it all the time!" she shouted with excitement. Which got Egg to giggle as well.

Watching her close-knit family with sheer happiness, Lyanna almost swooned when Jon's lips curled into a tiny smile of his own. Surrounded by those that loved him, he smiled often. "Enough, Rhae," she gently chided, kissing her cheek before tugging Jon tight against her chest. "Your baby brother needs his sleep."

"He not sleepy," Rhaenys replied with a huff."

"Oh? You're not, my little dragonwolf?" Grinning at Elia, she pounced. Blowing raspberries on Jon's belly until the newborn was waving his arms, toothless mouth open in happiness. The sight made both mother and daughter laugh.

But Egg looked a bit jealous. "Muna, up!" he begged, clutching at Lyanna until Elia scooped him up.

"Don't think we didn't forget about you, sweetling." Balancing him in the crook of one arm, the other tickled his feet and midsection."

Egg squirmed and giggled. "Muna, no…" But he seemed to be enjoying himself. They were all enjoying themselves.

And such was how Oberyn found them. Arms crossed and smirking. "When I heard giggling, sister, I expected something much different and… adult-oriented."

Holding her son, Elia flushed red. "Oberyn!" Still seated, Lyanna continued to cradle Jon, but threw her goodbrother a cross look.

Rhaenys was… confused. "I's a big dragon. I wanna do adult stuff!" That seemed to make her mothers only more mortified, while her uncle burst out into laughter. "What? What's funny?"

"We'll tell you when you get older, sweetling," Lyanna told her. "What do you want, Oberyn?" Her voice to him was far less pleasant as to Rhae, much as she was growing to enjoy his company.

"Oh, so tense, Lya. I suppose post-birth is a problem for women, considering what they can't do." He held up his hands in surrender before she could berate him further. "I came to see if I can borrow your wife for a moment."

Elia was close to slapping him down - too enraptured by the day of fun with her beautiful wife and adorable children - when Lya motioned for her to join him. "Are you sure, my love?" she asked.

"Aye, go speak with your brother." Lyanna stood, pressing her lips against Elia's in a chaste kiss. "I have to put Jon to bed for his mid-morning nap anyways. We'll have some… alone time after." She wriggled her eyebrows suggestively, making Elia giggle. Oberyn merely rolled his eyes, though he was the one person who was least able to criticize.

"Seems our Queen has only grown in her feelings since you left Sunspear?" Oberyn asked Elia soon after, the two of them walking along the battlements. "Seems many have found love within these walls, even Ash."

Smirking, Elia glanced out at the Torrentine - beautiful once again, rid of the blight of the battle. "Aye. Apparently Northerners are hard to resist."

"I should really take Ellaria there, see what it's all about… after she gives birth, of course."

Elia laughed, but grew serious. "Why did you call me out here from my family, brother?"

His gaze hardened, but there was worry in his eyes. "I am to head towards the capitol, by ship." Oberyn watched as his sister's lips formed a surprised O. "Our brother… apparently he's been plotting under our very noses." He shook his head. "I can't believe I didn't figure it out, but he's had our entire fleet assemble at Planky Town with an army of fifteen-thousand men."

"To attack King's Landing by sea…" Elia put the pieces together. Cheeks reddening, an anger welled inside her. "And he does this instead of sending them to assist my husband in winning this war?" That Doran wasn't truly neutral didn't matter… it reeked of duplicity, especially in allowing Renly to move on Starfall without doing anything. Wait… did he realize Oberyn would act? It was classic Doran, the cultured Lord persona hiding a mind so filled with plots that would make cobwebs look simple.

"It's cowardly, I know, but he's planning something. Just thought to warn you before our men escort you back north."

Elia sighed. At least he was now fighting for Rhaegar. "It's not our brother I'm truly worried about, Oberyn." He raised his brow. "I think Rhaegar has scorpions in his bed… at least people who could end up scorpions. We already saw it with Connington."

"Should have known that shit was a duplicitous taint. Saw the way he looked at Rhaegar - lust bordering on obsession." He leaned against the wall, looking at Elia. "And you think there are more in Rhaegar's inner circle that are working for Aerys?"

"Not for Aerys, at least I don't think." She pursed her lips. "What's your opinion on Varys?"

Oberyn snorted. "Never trust a man without a cock - someone who can't enjoy the simplest pleasures of life would oft run to plotting. Why? You suspect him of treason?"

She shook her head. "Not treason… self-serving mostly. I have… suspicions. Seen things that raise my defences when it comes to him."

"I trust you… and the implication is a problematic one. Varys controls the largest information network in the Seven Kingdoms. I don't know how he does it, but such is the reality."

Resting her arms atop the parapet, Elia frowned. "Perhaps I should build a network to rival his. Then I could give Rhaegar trustworthy information."

"That's a thought." Sensing she was still morose, Oberyn decided it was time. "Allow me to show you something." He pulled out a small smack from his belt. "A gift for Rhaegar, but I believe you would appreciate it just as much." Without more delay, he took it out to display to her.

Elia was speechless upon the sight. "Brother..."

"Consider it an apology... for being tardy."

She took the crown of Aegon the Conqueror - left in the hands of House Martell since the death of Daeron the Young Dragon - without question. Fingering the brilliant rubies that emblazoned the Valyrian steel finish. Gods how this will look on him. The mere thought of it made her shudder with pleasure. "Apology accepted, brother." She hugged Oberyn tightly before a shit eating grin appeared on her face. "Doran's gonna be so fucking pissed"

"Part of me hopes not to see the look on his face, while the other part does."

"I assure you I do, I can't wait to see him come with his tail between his legs, knowing we won this war without him." Her grin deflated. "I'm sure he will not want to meet his new nephew," Elia said sadly, afterwards.

Oberyn looked sad as well. "We both know that to him any child born of Lyanna will never be his family." Sensing the hurt on his sister's face, Oberyn took her in his arms. "But you can be sure that I see him as my nephew, and I'll make sure my daughters, future children, Ellaria, and Arianne see him as family"

Elia hugs him back. "I can't believe Ellaria's going to be a mother"

"Me neither, but I've been dying to give my girls another sibling, now she will give them one, and hopefully more will come."

In that moment Elia made a decision. "I'll make Rhaegar legitimize Ellaria and your daughters. He won't need to do the future ones since you'll undoubtedly marry."

"You don't have to, Elia."

She pressed her palms over his hand. "For Aegon the Conqueror's crown, I doubt Rhaegar could refuse."

---

Banners of his House fluttering behind him, the King-claimant found his feet pushing harder against the stirrups as the first riders appeared over the crest of the rolling hill. Helmless, he was glad for the cloudy day to shield his face from the sun. Nevertheless, Rhaegar squinted - making out the banners of the opposing party. Griffins on red and white. So he did dare to show up. His frown deepened.

"Are you sure you wish to handle this alone, your Grace?" Ser Gerold asked, speaking for the Kingsguard. All wore worried glances, not liking this at all.

Rhaegar nodded. "If I know Connington…" He refused to use the name of his beloved newborn son when referring to the traitor that was once his friend. "And I do, he won't try and harm me."

A snort came from Bronn, the only man among them not wearing armor plate - merely boiled leather. "Waste of fuckin' time, this is." He swatted away a leaf that the wind blew upon his face. "Just give me an bow and a minute head start and I'll have that cunt bleedin' on the ground with an arrow in his eye… or his throat."

Tempting as that sounded, Rhaegar shook his head. "No… he deserves to watch as all he's longed for and worked for burns around him."

None of the King's retinue begrudged him for the fire in his eyes, the hate in his tone. They knew where it came from. "Looks like he's abiding by the agreement," Barristan mused, watching as a lone figure in red and white trotted atop his mount towards the middle of the field. "Shall we see you off, my King?"

"Aye. If anything happens, Bronn… you know what to do."

"With fuckin' pleasure." At that, Rhaegar urged Moondancer into a trot. The horse neighing as he galloped. Ironic, boy. Your foal was born just as mine was. The recent letter from Lya managed to put a small smile on his face, tempering his anger. Rhaegar would need all his self-control for this.

As he grew closer, Rhaegar made out the form of his once closest friend in more detail. Full mail and plate of the Stormlands gleaming brightly, it was obvious that Jon Connington had dressed in his best. Red hair fully coiffed, beard trimmed, he looked objectively dashing and handsome - as if he were courting an intended wife. I suppose he thinks he is. Rhaegar fought a shudder. Was I always that naive? Elia knew - that he was certain of. His mother too, her successful attempts to push him closer to Arthur now making sense to him.

Jon was always obsessed with me, but… I never thought he'd go this far.

Also without helm, Connington's lips stretched into a beaming smile as Rhaegar got within talking range - stopping at a distance of four yards or so. "My King," he bowed in the saddle, right arm extending out while the left clasped his chest.

Rhaegar cocked his head. "So that refers to me now? Not my father."

The biting tone seemed to rock Connington, but he recovered. "Firstly, it's wonderful to see you, Rhaegar. Secondly, I do not know what you mean? Regardless of what has transpired, my loyalty has been solely to you."

"You've been quite the mummer then, leading his armies against mine in battle… or did tens of thousands simply fail to see you fighting on my side?"

In his mind, Connington had dreamed of this moment for many moons. Where he and Rhaegar would finally join forces and vanquish all that opposed him. Yes, his gambit with Renly failed, but there would be other chances to rid him of the Dornish and Northern whores. Plenty of poisons that leave no trace. And yet… Rhaegar was angry, though he understood.

"I regretted every moment of it, my King, but a necessary mummery in order to put me in a position to hand over the Reach and Stormlands to you when the time came." Connington smiled, gesturing behind him. "They await your command if you just say the word."

"What word?" Rhaegar clenched the reins tighter. "I almost died on that field thanks to your mummery, and you claim to say you were secretly fighting for me?"

It had taken all of his inner resolve not to kill Robert after the battle, thus exposing his true intentions. Connington looked saddened but stayed firm. "I regret that… it was foolish of me to allow Robert to go into battle knowing what he desired, but it was I who stopped the attack. Your forces would have been annihilated if it wasn't for me."

A scoff. "That just proves what a fool you are."

"Rhaegar… please." Somehow, this was getting away from him. "There is no one more loyal to you than I. Under no circumstances would I do you harm."

"Is that a fact?" Unable to control himself anymore, Rhaegar slams one mailed fist onto the other palm, startling Connington at the sudden sound. "Tell me, Jon, when did you first start plotting against me."

He blinked. "I never…"

"Cut the bullshit!" roared the dragon. "I know you've been attempting to slaughter my family for moons now!" He shook his head. "Seducing Renly Baratheon to do your dirty work… I'm disgusted."

Connington's eyes widened. How the fuck does he know about that? "Whatever Lord Renly did was without my knowledge. I know the boy and he's always been eager to get ahead…" He trailed off, going pale when Rhaegar withdrew a tiny scrap of parchment from his saddlebag.

"Let me read your words for you, refresh your memory." Rhaegar cleared his throat, eyes blazing dragonfire. "'My beloved Stag,'" he hissed. "'The time has come for you to be strong. We cannot risk the northern cunt and the Dornish whore continuing to pollute the King's house. Storm Starfall and kill them, along with their half-breed babes aside from Princess Rhaenys - only she to be taken alive!' Would you like to read the rest yourself?!" Crumpling the note in disgust, with a snarl of rage he tossed the balled up parchment at Connington. "You thought I wouldn't find out your treachery?!"

Jaw slack, sweat starting to soak his brow and tunic in spite of the chilly wind, Connington opened his mouth to speak only for many responses to die on his tongue. "Rhaegar… it's…"

"No, don't you dare fucking speak." Hand going to Blackfyre, he didn't unsheath it but made sure Connington saw him. "I should kill you where you stand."

"Please, Rhaegar… I did not betray you…"

"When you betray my brides, you betray me. They are a part of me and I a part of them. My wives, my children." At each word, he could see Connington react as if a knife was put into his gut. For a brief moment, the anger subsided and hurt took its place. "Why, Jon? Why?"

Trembling, pale… Connington ended up rallying for but a moment. "You deserved better… they would have destroyed you, the man I adore."

Closing his eyes, the violet orbs emerged with a dark tint to them. Pure fury behind them… the fury of a dragon. "Next time we see each other, Lord Connington, I will bury Blackfyre into your eye." Not letting another word be said, Rhaegar clicked his tongue and galloped off the field. Only when he was far enough away did he let the tear of a friendship mourned fall down his cheek.

---

Eyes scrunched shut, Rhaella nevertheless winced as the cold metal of the examining instrument brushed against her inner thigh. She dared not to look though. There were many worse things that had happened to her since losing her dear father in the Tragedy of Summerhall, but arguably one of the most humiliating was having her most intimate places 'examined' by someone with the gentleness and care of a drunken Ghiscari sailor.

"Hold still, your Grace," came the blubbering voice of Grand Maester Pycelle from between her legs. "You do not wish for me to slip and hurt the Princess."

"I'll burn you alive if you do, Pycelle." To make matters worse for Rhaella, her husband the King stood not too far from the Grand Maester. Aerys had always been increasingly haggard and slovenly since returning from Duskendale, but by the gods he was the worst he had ever been. Beard unshaven and scraggly, long hair tangled down his shoulders, and robes covered in grime and dust nearly made her stomach roil… disgust was only tempered by the terror she felt every time she saw his eyes - wide and glowing with a wicked mania. He used to only have them when burning someone, but now… it was all the time.

Rhaella yelped as Pycelle moved the instrument to her opening, probing inward. Meeting his gaze, she swore he gave her a slight smirk as he did so.

Aerys wasn't paying attention, still ranting. "And for once, I'm glad it is a girl." Tapping his fingers together with manic energy, he seemed to be speaking to persons not literally present. "A perfect draconic daughter for Viserys to marry. No more weakling sons poisoned by Dornish sluts and Wildling witches." Aerys looked at his sister-wife. "And I will make sure to raise this one myself. She will be the apple of my eye, sweet sister."

Staring at him blankly, Rhaella hated her brother with every bit of her being. I've known true passion, brother. I finally have had what you've never given me. A small comfort, though, as there was no escaping from him unless Rhaegar won his war.

Thankfully for her, Pycelle was finished. "The babe seems in perfect health, your Grace. As does the Queen."

"Good good… now I won't have to burn you." He cackled as the Grand Maester bowed and scurried away. "Get dressed, sister. This isn't a fucking brothel." Without another word, he walked out and slammed the door behind him.

Rising, Rhaella waddled towards the chests and dressers to don a robe and smallclothes to compliment her nightdress, shivering from both the chill of her unheated chambers and the disgust of Pycelle's hands on her. Her hands roamed around her bump. "Daenerys, I love you so dearly… I pray every day that you'll be born into peace."

The knock on the door startled her. "Your Grace, may I enter?"

Her heart skipped a beat, smile forming on her face at the voice. "Yes, Ser Jaime. Enter." As she walked back to the bed, his beautiful, golden face banished away the horrible feeling of her husband. "You look to be in a good mood for once," she chuckled.

Nodding, Jaime suddenly wrinkled his nose. "By the gods, they let you dwell in this chill?" cursing at the lack of kindling, before Rhaella could speak he grabbed a chair and smashed it against the wall, making her yelp. "Forgive me, my Queen, but the cold isn't good for you or the Princess."

Rhaella watched him intently, slowly recovering all the little things that Jaime had done for her since donning the white cloak. Why didn't I notice earlier? It all seemed obvious now.

Am I falling for him?

You truly are. Joanna's boy… gods, Rhaella remembered when her late friend was pregnant with him and his sister. But while that would have turned her off before, Joanna had always been able to put a smile on her face whenever Aerys did something awful to her. In this, he was exactly like her.

He and I can never be. Aerys would destroy them both like Bethany Bracken and her lover.

But I want him… Carnally, certainly, but was it love? I think it is.

"Your Grace?" She almost blushed, seeing his green eyes twinkling at catching her ogling him. "I come bearing good news you will never hear elsewhere. You have become a grandmother again."

It took a moment, but Rhaella eventually beamed. "Lyanna gave birth?"

"Aye. Qu… Princess Lyanna brought Prince Jon Targaryen into the world at Starfall. Prince Oberyn broke the siege and they are safe."

Leaning back, Rhaella let out a relieved breath. "Daenerys… your nephew is alive and well." She kicked and wriggled around in her belly, as if happy herself. Opening her eyes, Rhaella saw Jaime very close to her, beaming as well.

Gods… am I truly powerless to resist him? Once she felt that way for a young knight, but at thirteen she was but a child. Aerys never elicited even the barest bit of passion even in their best moments, yet even as her mind screamed of the likely danger Rhaella couldn't help the feelings Joanna's son elicited from her. "Jaime..." she murmurs softly, biting her lip.

Jaime looked up. Her voice was… different. Hard to place, but he liked it. "Yes, my dragon?"

Rhaella blinked. My dragon? The name made her shiver in delight. And yet… she waved him off. "Me? I'd make a terrible dragon," she chuckled.

Frowning, Jaime knew what she was doing and he hated it. Striding forward, he gently caressed her cheek, hearing her sigh as her eyes fluttered closed. "What did I say about thinking of yourself like that? You're a magnificent dragon…" Her lids opened, revealing the shimmering violet of her eyes. "The Mother of Dragons if you will."

Mother of dragons… Rhaegar… Viserys… and little Daenerys in my womb. It was growing harder and harder as the days passed to put off Jaime - Rhaella honestly hated having to. "You sound just like your mother... she was always an optimist."

"I get that a lot," Jaime laughed, pulling up a chair to sit beside the bed. "Cersei may be the one who got her beauty but I got her gentle touch, outside the training yard, that is."

The image of him training… shirtless… came to her mind unbidden. I would say you have her beauty too. His eyes then widened, only to morph into a grin. It took a moment, but Rhaella blushed a bright red. "Did I say that out loud"

He nodded. "You did, although I shouldn't be surprised since I'm basically Cersei." Confidently talking, it masked how his heart was thumping wildly in his chest. "With a cock as much as she is me with teats, as my brother would say."

Unable to help herself, Rhaella burst into a flurry of giggles. Not the most regal sight, but she didn't care. "Well, I wouldn't know about your sister... but I am familiar with…" Rhaella's voice dropped low. "That part of your anatomy." She felt… daring.

"Oh, you have, my dragon." He felt the aforementioned organ grow at her words. This fierce dragon hidden underneath all the inferiority and meekness Aerys drilled into her.

Sharing matching smirks, Rhaella's soon vanished - the high of finally expressing her inner passion evaporating into reality. "What are we doing?" she bit her lip, suddenly nervous.

With youthful exuberance and the knowledge Varys was - for his own reasons - keeping his secret, Jaime didn't care for anything but not being heard. "I am confessing the love that has been simmering inside me for the longest time."

She blushed, looking away. "How can you love me? It could destroy you, and…" The words of her brother came to mind… everything he called her after each miscarriage. "...and I'm not worth it."

Jaime immediately took her hands into his. "Listen to me. You're worth the world, Rhaella, never doubt that."

A tear fell down her cheek. "You... you've been the first person to truly care for me in that way."

"And I'll never stop, I swear it on all the gods." Even if they could never be, he'd be damned if Rhaella didn't know she was worth loving.

Wordlessly, Rhaella urged him closer - leaning her forehead against his. Savoring the sweet intimacy it provided with grasping, perhaps foolish relish. "Gods forgive me for it, but I do not regret sharing your feelings."

Jaime was stunned, his emerald eyes widening impossibly "Wha..." he could not even complete a word.

She cut him off quickly with a greedy kiss. Bold and selfish, but she couldn't help herself.

Although every part of Jaime wished to embrace her and make love to her until she shattered with his name on her lips, he lightly pushed on her abdomen. Feeling the princess squirm underneath for the briefest of moments. "My Queen…"

Rhaella sighed, but she knew it was right. "What we're doing is dangerous, Jaime"

"I know." A deep breath left his lips before he met her gaze again. "It's not the end of it, though," he assured her. "Rhaegar has gathered his armies near Stony Sept to meet Robert." He reached out, to take her hand, thumb stroking the soft skin. "Rhaegar will win. We just have to wait a little longer."

But was that true? Would Rhaegar win? Rhaella was under no illusions of what would happen to her if Aerys won, or if Rhaegar fell even as he defeated her husband's forces. Lya, Elia, Viserys, Aegon, Rhaenys… Jon… Daenerys… She slowly brought his hand to her lips, kissing it. "Promise me something, Jaime."

"Anything Rhaella." He didn't hesitate.

"If something happens to me... just take Daenerys and go." Her voice grew desperate. "Go to Rhaegar, or to Lya and Elia… or to Ned Stark if all is lost."

Her fear was like a sword to the belly. "Nothing will ever happen to you, and I'll never let anything happen to that little one."

"Just promise me you'll do it, Jaime. Please"

Frowning hard, Jaime nevertheless knelt before his queen - drawing his sword and resting his forehead against the hilt. "Dany will be safe. On that I swear my honor as a knight, a kingsguard, and a man in love with you."

Heart melting at the pure sincerity in Jaime's voice, Rhaella once again felt the stirrings. Needing it - needing to feel the love she was finally granted after so long under Aerys' thumb… it was fitting that Joanna's baby boy gave it to her. "Can you do something for me, before you go?" She looked like a shy maiden when his gaze met hers.

He smiled. "Of course"

"Kiss me."

Without delay he rose and pressed his lips on hers once again, a chaste kiss. Much as he wanted to go deeper, Jaime knew it would make him lose the grip he had on his desires. "You are worth it, Rhaella," he whispered to her.

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "You mean that, don't you?"

"Of course, because it's true." Bowing, he reluctantly bid his leave, closing the door gently behind her.

Watching him leave, Rhaella can't help but tear up. Her arms wrapping around the swell of her daughter. Here she was, finally finding some form of love after the birth of her third grandchild, and there was no chance for her to enjoy it at all. The place of her birth... it felt so much like a cage

Jaime bent his head against the wall, fists clenching. The burden grew by the day, of protecting the man who tormented his love against those that deserved Jaime's loyalty. Looking back longingly at the Queen's chambers, he let out a sigh. Just a little longer my dragon. Not much longer till the King returns.

The true King.

"Ser Jaime." Tiny voice pulling him out of his musings, a surprised Jaime looked down to see a common laundry girl no older than seven namedays looking up at him. Eyes wide and bright. "The spider sends his regards, Ser Jaime." Without further words, she pushed a tiny note into his palm and raced off.

It is time.

Meet the shipment at the green house beside Chataya's in one week's time for the wine run to Pentos. Do not disappoint me, Ser Jaime.

Spider.

Jaime had to bite the inside of his cheek to choke down a curse. You better not make me regret this Varys.

Did he truly have a choice, though?

---

Knife drawn, Rhaegar sat close by the fire. Warding off the cold while he prepared Blackfyre for the coming battle. "You're really trying to carve in Valyrian steel?" Richard Lonmouth stated, jaws slack.

"Aye." Rhaegar looked down at the sleek, rippled metal of the ancestral longsword of House Targaryen. "Can't give the order if I won't follow it personally."

"Many of my men aren't convinced that this is good," Ned Stark added, knocking back a swig of ale. "They don't like the Seven, let alone other faiths… you sure about this?"

Rhaegar nodded. "Don't ask me why. I just do." With this… you shall conquer. Jon born… his brides and children needing him, Rhaegar would use any means possible to get back to them. Thus was his order - with Robert's army only half a day's march from Stony Sept, they were to emblazon the same image of a line bisected by unfurled wings upon their shields or breastplates.

The symbol of the dragon… of Old Valyria.

"Didn't think anyone could marr Valyrian steel," Ned mused.

"Only other Valyrian steel weapons can… which is why this came in handy." Already etching the symbol at the base of Blackfyre, Rhaegar displayed the knife. A large dagger, simply designed with a straight blade and a dragonbone hilt. "My aunt Jenny gave it to me… said it was a nameday gift from my late Uncle Duncan. Never did know how he got it, but I treasure it all the same.

Whistling idly, Ser Richard stood. "Well, I'll make sure Ser Bonifer's men know their King's command. They'll grumble but you won the Trial by Seven." Finishing his mug, he let it drop to the grass as he sauntered off, humming a bawdy melody.

"Unfortunately, I recognize that tune," Ned chuckled. Not just from the irony of that, but the irony that its lyrics were obviously the norm in the Targaryen camp given the proportion of women in their camp followers. "The perils of being an honorable man, the ones we wish to… bond with are thousands of miles away."

Rhaegar noticed he didn't mention 'wife' as a description, but he chose to put it aside. "You don't speak lies, goodbrother. Dare I say I've been spoiled for other women." Elia and Lya… literally no one could compare to either of them. He raised an eyebrow. "Where would you learn that song? Brandon?"

Ned shook his head. "Robert."

"Ah." A frown formed on Rhaegar's face, remembering the hate in the eyes of the Stag Lord. He would have killed me where I stood without batting an eye. "I'd…" he began, trying to keep calm, "I'd rather not dredge up problematic states of mind, but please enlighten me, Ned. Robert Baratheon doesn't seem like someone you would be friends with. How did that happen?"

"I'm sometimes surprised myself." Ned sighed, shaking his head. "I was always shy - only my siblings could ever get me out of my shell, 'Ned Stark, the Quiet Wolf.' I rather prefer 'Rock of Harrenhal.'" They shared a chuckle at that. "When I was fostered in the Vale... I suppose Robert… he took me under his wing. Helped me adapt - with Bran and Ben far away, he was the closest thing I had to a brother."

Violet eyes stared at the flickering flames before turning to Ned. "I understand… reminds me of what I had with Arthur or Jon - though the former turned out far better than the latter."

"Quite right." A look of grief passed Ned's face. "I don't want to face him on the field… nor do I wish him to die."

"Sometimes it has to happen - the worst fact of civil wars."

"Aye, but… I can't give up on a friend, Rhaegar. I know somewhere Robert is still that kind-hearted boy I met at the Eyrie."

Boys grow up… look at my father. But all Rhaegar ended up doing was sigh. "No one wants more death, least of all me." He hunched forward, hand rubbing his face. "We should probably rest. Tomorrow… it will be brutal."

Grim pallor in his grey eyes, Ned nevertheless rose. "Night, brother." He raised his mug of ale. "To being alive this time tomorrow."

Rhaegar was unable not to smile. "I'll drink to that."

Toast complete, soon the King-claimant was left in his solitude. Laying back on the grass, he stared at the stars. Memories flashing before his eyes, of when his mother would hold him close on the fields of Dragonstone and point out the constellations. Of when he and his brides did the same. Old gods… Aegerax, Arrax… Raised among the Seven, Rhaegar nevertheless was drawn to the gods of his ancestors and his bride. Let me return to my children… to see my newborn son. Jon, he deserved to know his father. To know nothing but peace.

"It will come to pass, my dear Rhaegar." Blinking, Rhaegar could have sworn that twisting spiral of sweet-smelling, bright gold smoke began to circle around him. Exactly as seen in his vision… "Remember your fire… remember your blood." The voice was sweet and kind, bringing to mind the beautiful maiden he remembered. "Embrace your heritage, and you will recover the greatness of your ancestors."

"Who are you?" Rhaegar asked the spirit - seeing a dragon head at the front of it. "Please tell me."

An airy laugh. "You will know soon enough, my champion - just do not reject your blood. Remember who you are." And as suddenly as it came, the spirit vanished, leaving nothing remaining of her in the darkness.

Nothing but a glowing golden fire, tongues reaching up for the sky and dancing rhythmically.

Rhaegar stared at it, hand absentmindedly running along the length of Blackfyre… over the rune just carved into its blade. Remember who you are…

Notes:

Rhaegar Targaryen... the champion of the Valyrians. Man, that's badass even though we do not know who made him said champion yet.

The moment between him and Ned was what we deserved.

On Tywin, Melisandre is proving a more devoted servant to Rhaegar than she was to Stannis. The old lion's support could be... vital.

Jon is so cute as a babe, isn't he? Beloved by all and oblivious to all the warfare around him. Just brings so much love to his family just as it should have been.

Rhaella's falling more and more for Jaime.

45 comments and I'll post the next chapter Wednesday. The Battle of the Bells, Rhaegar v. Robert Part II!

Chapter 56: Battle of the Bells

Notes:

And we've come to the moment. The final clash of Rhaegar's Rebellion. It's gonna be epic.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Etched upon the tough bark many millennia in the past, the face of the gods stared down upon the two men that chose to seek solace underneath its gaze. Hands pressed against the smooth surface, the august deities could sense their blood. One an ancient bloodline quite familiar to them - cold as ice, a warrior in their name known for generations going back to the very beginning. Ther other… alien, foreign, but no less ancient. Tinged with fire and smoke, but something… there was an odd familiarity. A drop of blood not felt for thousands of years, one the gods struggled to identify.

As yet, they joined the chorus of thousands beseeching them for the guidance of the divine that morning. Each plea more haunting and desperate than the last, leading up to the two currently before them. Lost souls, begging not for themselves but for their families.

For the most recent among the gods, their pleas began to take root. Perhaps his beloved was right about them all along.

Drawing his forehead back from the bark, Rhaegar stared up at the blood red leaves of the Weirwood. "Strange, isn't it?" His voice was soft, subdued.

Lips mouthing one final prayer for his unborn child, Ned turned to look at his goodbrother. "I know. The town founded by Andal missionaries to spread the Faith to the Westerlands?" It was with great fanfare among the Northmen, Daynes, and Blackwoods in the rebel army to find a godswood west of their camp. Nestled in a copse of trees, already hundreds had prayed here through the night. "Would have thought they'd cut down their weirwood tree long ago."

Rhaegar shrugged. "Only the most zealous would feel comfortable desecrating any religious symbol… though that wasn't what I found strange." Ned raised an eyebrow at him. "Here I am… blood of Old Valyria, and yet whenever I'm before a weirwood I feel…"

"Energized?" Ned always did when in the Godswood - calm yet also invigorated.

"Fulfilled," Rhaegar replied. "As if… all worries washed away."

Smiling softly, the Lord of Winterfell clapped his King on the shoulder. "The Old Gods favor you. Of this I am certain."

"Even with being a Valyrian rather than one of their blood?"

Ned tucked his lips in thought. "Your grandmother was Betha Blackwood. You have the blood of the First Men in you as I do… though Jon has more."

The thought of his newborn son, one he had never seen, filled Rhaegar with resolve. "May your words speak true." Without another word, the two of them departed the holy place for their guards and horses waiting outside. Waiting to whisk them into battle.

A single line, spread out across miles of battlefield with their backs towards a scattered woodland. It was a simple disposition - Valemen and some Northmen in the center, the rest of the Northerners on the right, while the Rivermen held the left. Rhaegar concentrated the archers in the center, for they were going to need them. As he trotted through the lines, out he gazed at the loyalists. Connington's men. Robert's men. Outnumber them, they did… eighty thousand or so to Rhaegar's fifty. Gods… allow her to succeed.

There was a silence in the ranks. A futility, though one filled with resolve and anger - this was the end. Come hells or high water the Rebellion would be decided here. All could feel it, from Rhaegar to the lowliest squire. All resigned to do their duty today.

Letting his horse carry him to the van, Rhaegar turned - looking at all the men arrayed in his name. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing images of his family to come to mind. The ones he loved the most.

His mother, holding him close in the night.

His children, playing with them.

His brides, locked in passionate embraces.

His newborn son, of which he had no memories.

It brought him pain… pain and determination.

"Men of Westeros!" he called out, voice booming over the fields. All along the lines, he could see the shields emblazoned with the symbol of Old Valyria. The simple dragon with raised wings.

With this symbol, you will conquer. The maiden's voice rang true in his head.

"Your leiges brought you here to fight for my claim… but what does that matter to you?" Moondancer trotted up and down the line, Rhaegar looking them in the eyes. The heavy armor of House Peake, the mountain chivalry of House Royce, the wild woodsmen of House Umber - men plucked from all across the realm that Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives forged together. "Will it feed your families? Bring warmth back to the earth? Make the sun rise in the morning and set in the evening. Some might think different if they were in my position but I doubt it." There were chuckles from the assembled troops.

Rhaegar grinned at them. "No, what lies ahead isn't some miracle, though I couldn't blame you if you believed it to be such." He pointed east… towards the enemy but also towards King's Landing. "Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys created this Kingdom! They built the Iron Throne as a symbol of greatness, of a land that could rise out of the earth with the best of what came before it! And in their wake centuries of pettiness and insanity crumbled that dream."

"The Mad King!" someone shouted, in a northern brogue. It was slowly picked up by the rest of the men.

"MAD KING! MAD KING! MAD KING!"

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar searched through his mind for a moment where he and his father knew something other than bitterness or tragedy. With a heavy heart, he admitted to himself that he had none.

"Yes… the man who I call father, the Mad King." He placed a hand on Blackfyre's hilt. "That means I have the duty to see this through, for House Targaryen and for all of you… my subjects. My countrymen. Andal, Rhoynar, First Man, and Valyrian, all forged from great Kingdoms and Empires long past." Out came Blackfyre, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. "This sword was carried by Aegon the Conqueror to lead his men to a future better than the shit one he knew, and now it leads you towards the same. To victory!"

"TO VICTORY!"

"DRAGON KING! DRAGON KING! DRAGON KING!"

Lowering his Myrish spyglass, Connington gazed out at the expanse of the enemy army. Enemy… The mere thought continued to rock him. Never before did he ever think Rhaegar would consider him an enemy - his beautiful silver prince. It had been nearly two weeks since the last close-up glimpse of the Targaryen King-claimant and he still felt numb.

Someone roughly shoved him from where he stood. "The fuck are they doing?!" Squinting, each booming roar from the rebels drove Robert Baratheon further to rage. "Are they cheering for that rapist?!"

"Appears they are," Stannis mused, armor far less grandiose than Robert's hulking monstrosity of stag antlers and fine plate. "They love their King."

"But we outnumber them. I believe that's more important," Ser Jonothor Darry observed. "This could be a trap though. Do we know where their horse is? Randyll?"

Randyll Tarly stroked his chin. "Scouts report nothing on the flanks. Seems all their horses are being held in the rear… without mounts."

Snorting, Lord Mace Tyrell looked amused. "No cavalry. What fools."

Concerned, Jonothor looked back to the assembled rebels while Robert whistled. "You said it, Mace. They're ready to end this, and end this we will." The Master of War looked at each of his commanders. "Get to your commands. We go with the green plan." Five separate plans had been drawn up by Jonothor and Randyll for annihilating the rebel army once and for all - Green was the one favored by Robert… full frontal assault to break the center, sweeping around to envelop the flanks once their army fragmented.

The aggressive cavalrymen and knights supported it wholeheartedly, while the more infantry inclined found their nerves frayed. Jonothor most of all. "Don't you think it's too perfect that he's dismounted his whole army…"

"No, fuck you!" Robert bellowed, grabbing his helm from his new squire. "The dragonspawn escaped my justice at Harrenhal. Not this time." He sheathed his head with the antlered headgear. "Not while I'm still breathin'."

Turning to Connington for support, Jonothor found someone out of his element… as if all the life had fallen from his eyes. "Be on with it," he murmured, voice a shell of what it had once been. You dumb buggerer.

Robert grinned under his helm. "Now that's what I'm speaking of!" He waved over the signallers. "Give the orders. Full attack into the center, all but my men!"

I hope this was worth your love for them, Rhaegar. Connington noticed not the Lords scrambling towards their forces, bringing the spyglass back to find his silver prince. I hope their cunts were worth you destroying yourself and your future.

Already, the tremor that rippled through the ground felt like an earthquake. Through his mount, Rhaegar could feel it all. Not of the earth, but of battle formations.

"Are you ready?" he asked the young man on foot beside him.

Garlan Tyrell trembled, but nodded. "Aye… I think so."

The latest of his squires, Rhaegar had seen all of them turn into accomplished knights. Garlan had the makings of one… he just needed to learn experience. Truth was, battle had a tendency to weed out those unwilling or incapable of learning. "Just remember what I taught you… and avoid your family at all costs." The brand of kinslayer would stick to him for life.

Already, Mace Tyrell had drawn up his entire contingent of heavy cavalry for the center - backed up by the Stormlords behind. Already moving into position, with a loud war cry, the knights broke into a full charge. Hooves kicked up clouds of dirt and clumps of grass, the might of the Reach eager to gain the glory they failed to achieve at the Harrenhal bridge.

Watching as the lances locked downward in a single motion, those of the Vale and North readied themselves for this. Pointed tips, sharp and solid, presented menacingly alongside arrogant war whoops audible over the deafening gallop of the charging beasts. None among the rebels were green as to the heavy cavalry charge, but they trembled nonetheless. Rhaegar didn't begrudge them this. He trembled as well, hand tightening around Blackfyre. "Your Grace," Barristan said, mounted beside him. "No matter what, we stand with you." The King gave his thanks with a tiny smile. Only for the pressing matter to draw his attention again.

"Hold firm!" The lines of Umber warriors bellowed giant cries across the landscape as the crossbowmen of the Targaryen and Arryn guards filled the air with bolts. They tore into the front rank of Tyrell cavalry like a scythe through wheat, but there were far more behind them. Trampling over man and beast in their thunderous charge. Twenty yards became ten yards. Ten became five. Rhaegar's eyes shut for the barest of moments, a silent prayer sent to his guardian spirit before he gave the order. "Present, spears!"

The wall of pikemen dropped their spears into position just as the onrushing horde slammed into them.

Those of both species mashed in a maelstrom of carnage and death - the horses and riders skewered by pikes, men trampled underfoot, lances tearing through blood and bone. Sheer momentum blunted by the hard standing men sent knights flying at the same speed as their horses had charged, breaking in piles of twisted flesh or set upon by the swordsmen in the rear. Blades pierced their armor, taking them out quickly - one of them being Garlan Tyrell, taking his first life as he charged right into the thick of the fight. Praying he wouldn't have to face his father or brother in battle.

As soon as the second line of Tyrell horse had impaled itself into the chaos, Rhaegar kicked Moondancer in the side and spurred him into the fight. Blackfyre hacked at a large knight trying to slash his way through a block of Umber shields. The colored, silk finery underneath his armor grew soaked with blood at the power of Aegon the Conqueror's blade. Rearing on his hind legs, Moondancer made a dramatic show, Rhaegar's Valyrian armor tall and powerful for all to see. Invigorating his men.

But it drew the loyalists like moths to a flame. One knight leveled his lance and galloped directly at him, only for perfect footwork of the great steed allowing Rhaegar to let the knight thunder past him. One swing of Blackfyre beheading him. He looked up to find a knight with a sword attacking, only for a volley of bolts from the crossbowmen felling him. Snarling, Rhaegar spurred Moondancer further. Literally bashing through two dismounted foes before chopping the head clean off of another horse. His rider was trapped beneath the corpse, an easy target for the pikemen.

Cutting down another man, Rhaegar spotted the colors of House Dondarrion. They're sending in more. It was time, no chance of surviving if they didn't fall back. "Retreat! Ten paces!" He galloped towards the rear, finding the young herald pissing himself behind the line. "Signal ten paces!" He brought the trumpet to his lips, blowing out the command.

"Ten paces! Fall back!"

In the freezing winds of the Riverlands winter thundering in from the Sunset Sea, the trodding of tens of thousands upon the plains had kicked up a massive cloud of dust and churned up grass. A terrible ordeal for the advancing Stormlands infantry of two dozen noble or knightly houses. It didn't stop them, but managed to slow them down enough for the rebels to put their plan into action.

Robert's orders were heeded, his manic desire to steamroll over the entire rebel army growing more and more popular at each step to the rear the Valemen and Northmen took. Heartened that the war was close to ending soon - and ending in glory - the disorganized mass of infantry and still mounted knights surged forward. Savaging the retreating rebels, covering the ground in dismembered bodies and further thinning out the lines of pikemen and men-at-arms.

And yet, in pressing so far-forward, their desire to destroy the seemingly collapsing line following the King-Claimant, the forces of Mace Tyrell and Robert Baratheon had ignored the walls of troops that stood steadfast on the flanks of what had now turned into a reversed crescent. Rhaegar's plan was coming to fruition…

That was if the flanks could hold against the furious assaults that were soon to crash into them.

"Shield wall!" Whooping, the front of the Northern line kneeled as one, stabbing their shields deep into the dirt and grass below them.

Flanked by the Cassel brothers, Ned lifted his thick shield of wood and wrought iron - locking it into place atop the first row. Over the top, he could see the mass line of infantry break into a fast jog, thousands of booted feet vibrating through the ground. Banners of half a dozen Reach Houses fluttering behind. Hightower, Florent, Fossoway, Roxton, Tarly… Tarly? The second-in-command of the royalist army was attacking his own command. Ned could have sworn they'd be in the center with the Tyrells.

Didn't matter though. "Shield wall!" he bellowed again, the third rank of men took their own shields and locked them in place above him - one solid row of shields, each emblazoned with the sign of Old Valyria. Of their King. "Hold fast!" he screamed at his men. Loud thuds clapped against the wood, crossbow bolts almost running straight through, but few hit their mark. "We cannot give any ground!"

"Volley!" Flinching instinctively, the pit-pattering of the deadly rain began to shower upon them like a thunderstorm, pierced by the occasional scream of a man hit. But the shield wall held, enemy archers ineffective.

"That's right!" Someone was screaming, probably Willam Dustin by the sounds of him. "Fuck you, flower knights!" As if an infectious vapor, the jeers spread across the line, northerners heaping abuse and obscenity upon the oncoming attackers, excoriating everything from their sisters to the Seven.

Such psychological assaults worked, for the men of the Reach lowered their spears and raised their swords - snarling battlecries of their own and charging right at them. "We give no ground!" Ned snarled, drawing a dagger from his belt. All but a few houses of the North stood beside him, given the important task of anchoring a flank that would not break. Would not falter. "No matter what they throw, we will not break!"

"For Queen Lyanna!" The recognizable voice of Jorah, House Mormont placed to the left of House Stark.

It was even more infectious. "FOR QUEEN LYANNA!"

Ned could see the whites of the Reachmens' eyes. Gods be with me. An image of his golden lioness flashed behind his eyes, strength surging through the Lord of Winterfell just as the thousands of the Reach crashed right against the shield wall.

It was like a stampeding bull had crashed right into Ned. He staggered, only the mass of men behind him keeping the Lord of Winterfell upright. His head spun as Ned dug his feet into the ground. Against the shields the mass of hundreds of Reachmen forced his feet into the earth, but he held firm. "Bring them down!"

Snarling, the Northmen shoved forward in one fluid motion - knocking surprised knights back, their full plate armor making them quite top heavy, more than one toppling to the ground. Swords and spears stabbed out of gaps in their shields with powerful thrusts, running through their enemies with relish at the crimson blood spilled. Arrows flew overhead, their archers finally letting loose and adding their weapons to the fray.

But they needed to be smart. "Three paces to the rear, ho!"

"Hoo! Hoo!"

Slowly, the entire line moved back. A ponderous movement that coincided with their foes resuming the assault. Maces and battleaxes used to bash through the shields, men fell with gurgling shrieks or without sounds at all. The corpses were left where they fell, nothing that could be done while the men retreated towards their next position.

Someone massive slamming against his arm, Ned gritted his teeth and pushed back. Raising his swordarm and thrusting the dagger through the opening - slicing through flesh and eliciting a blood-curdling scream of pain. Only split seconds later, a sword jabbed in response. Only half an inch from Ned's nose. The blade of one of the crouching men took out the threat.

Alongside, Martyn Cassel grinned. "A little lower and he'd 'ave shaved ya!"

Nerves already on edge for what seemed like ages, under assault from the prime of the Reach Martyn's comment served to break the dam of stress. Ned laughed, Rodrik laughed, the men around them laughed hysterically. Letting the jape serve to clear them of the toxic emotions…

The bloody metal of a longsword punched through a gap in the shields. It's sharp finish sliced right through Martyn Cassel's neck, bright red blood squirting all over those adjacent to him - including Ned. "Fuck…" the master-at-arms of Winterfell croaked.

"Martyn!" Rodrik cried, seeing his brother receive a fatal wound… bleeding out right before them as he collapsed to his knees.

Pursing his lips, Ned sheathed his dagger, drawing Ice. "Leave him! He's done!" It pained him to leave such a loyal bannerman, but there was no choice. "Three paces to the rear, ho!"

"Hoo! Hoo!" Stepping over the still corpse of Martyn Cassel, the Stark line retreated three paces, giving enough ground to recover their bearings and tire out the Reachmen further.

Across the battlefield over one mile wide, the same assaults crashed against the Rivermen of Brynden Tully and Tytos Blackwood, their hated Crownlands enemies going at them with righteous fury. A bloody melee ensued, but the Rivermen held just as they had at bloody lane outside Harrenhal. Scores fell, but the shield wall only budged several paces - any man lucky enough to break through was cut down mercilessly by the Rivermen.

Refusing to break, the effect was simultaneous on both flanks. Simultaneously, the Quiet Wolf and the Blackfish had their quickest men - the Boltons of the Dreadfort and the Freys of the Twins, bend inward. Moving diagonally, both lines creating a concave surface in line with the retreating bannermen under their King's direct command. Acting as a sort of funnel that drew the Royalists in like water down a sewer drain.

Horse, light infantry, crossbowmen, they all followed the direction of the funnel. Attacking into the center, desperate to end this battle just as the defenders were. "The center!" came the cry. "They're bending in the center!" Hope was in the air, smelt among the blood and bile spilled upon the grass.

But Randyll Tarly and Jaremy Rykker didn't fall for this. Rallying their best men - ponderous, heavy knights dismounted - they anchored the flanks. Engaging with the northmen and rivermen. Not letting them complete the double envelopment Rhaegar was so counting on. A plan potentially becoming a disaster.

Breaking ranks, Ned slashed ahead. Ice's weight felt like his wrist was ripping in two but struck true. Bashing a Hightower knight in the skull - cleaving his helm. "Forward! Two paces!"

"Hoo! Hoo!" For the first time that day, the Starks marched ahead. Reclaiming the ground their brothers and comrades bled over as the sun continued to set.

"Hold!" Through the gaps, he could see the Hightowers in front of them were being reinforced by the bow-armed huntsman of House Tarly. Reforming into a shield wall of their own - their shields were ornate and inlaid with the finest craftsmanship, but no one that had gone through this day would call them mere tourney knights anymore.

A sword was raised, Ned recognizing the gleam of Valyrian Steel. "Trust in the Seven!" its wielder bellowed.

"TRUST IN THE SEVEN!" The shield wall advanced.

Ned and the northmen had their own battlecry. "FOR QUEEN LYANNA!"

Slamming his fist on his palm, Robert's eyes blazed with the fury of his House's words. "Fuck it all. I'll do it myself!" Pushing Connington aside, he waved at Ser Cortnay and Meryn - grabbing Stormbreaker from the squire turned knight.

"Robert, please…" Stannis moved quickly, desperately pleading to his brother. "Renly is as good as dead, and I have a bad feeling about this. Our bannermen are the last reserve in case the dragon launches some mummer's trick…"

He was cut off as Robert lifted him by his neck, not squeezing but an almost mad rage burning in his expression. "Rhaegar dies today," the Stag Lord ground out slowly. "Even if our men all die upon this field, I will kill the dragonspawn for what he's done to my wife." Tossing Stannis away, Robert mounted his horse. "To arms!" he bellowed, holding up Stormbreaker for all to see. "We ride to victory!"

The knights around him cheered, unknowing of the sheer hells they were about to thrust themselves into.

Releasing the bowstring, Bronn watched as the Riverman on the porch of an inn across the street topple - shaft slamming through his left eye.

"Bronn! Need fuckin' help here!" Him and six other men - all hedge knights now in service of the Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms - had donned Baratheon colors and snuck through the lines. In the middle of the town was the large Stony Sept that gave the settlement its name, one that the seven fighters were now barricaded in. Ladders pulled up and holed up in the bell tower.

Running in a crouch, Bronn nocked another arrow and let it loose, hitting a man-at-arms in the heart as he tried to move a ladder of their own to the trapdoor of the tower. "How many?" he hissed.

"Dozen… maybe more." The knight was winding up a crossbow. "Got two when they tried to rush us… wounded another I think. Darry men from the looks of em."

Shadows passed over Bronn's head. Immediately ducking behind the lip of the railing, had they been arrows the reflex would have undoubtedly saved his life. But all that followed wasn't the smack of arrowheads against the wood but rather gentle clinks against the stone blocks. Looking up, his eyes widened. "Grappling hooks!" He stood in a crouch, keeping his head ducked under. "Knock them off!"

One man tried to do just that, springing up and swinging his sword to chop the rope clean off. It worked… only his man to take a crossbow to the chest. Blood frothed at his mouth in a gurgling scream. "Help… help me…"

Another of the knights dashed to grab him, but another arrow ripped through his throat. Blood fountained over the walls and wood floor before he collapsed over the side. Hitting the ground with a thud.

"Fuck me blind," Bronn cursed, not making a move to touch the other grappling hooks. "You two, keep lookout on the latch!" Falling onto his back, he bashed his feet against the stone. "Rest of you! Take out those fucking archers." Again and again he kicked at the railing, finally managing to budge the stone. A few more times and it toppled over the edge, panicked cries following. "Take that, cunts!"

"They're comin' over the top!" A cry of pain followed, Bronn spinning around to see a man-at-arms in Darry colors removing an axe from the man's skull. He charged at Bronn, but the former sellsword dodged the swing and staggered the knight with a jab into the jaw - teeth fountaining out. Dagger in hand, Bronn stabbed deep in the man's gut through the gap in the mail.

Instead of letting go, he propelled the corpse forward. "Cover me!" Thwacks of his own crossbows fired from behind the columns of the sept. He pitched forward with the corpse as a shield, three bolts hitting the dead lump of flesh in quick succession. Giving him enough time to slice through the rope, three more men sent sprawling to the ground.

With a smack of his palm against the stone, the lookout drew Bronn's attention as the former sellsword tossed the corpse to the side. "On the way!'

Bronn blinked. "You sure?"

"Aye, I can see the fuckin' cunt shittin' gold from all the way here!"

Whistling, Bronn gunned for the large set of bells adorning the inside of the stone tower - the one large building not to have been ripped down by Harren the Black to build his vanity keep. "They're gonna hear this in King's Fuckin' Landing." Heaving on the ropes, they refused to budge. "Fuck, get over here! If we don't do this we all die!"

Two other knights joined him, yanking the ropes down with all their might until the bells groaned - moving from side to side as the gongs slammed against the brass sides.

RING-RING! RING-RING! RING-RING!

"Gods, I hope the cunts don't turn on us." Bronn wasn't keen on dying.

The bells of the Stony Sept echoed far across the battlefield.

"No retreat!" With the setting sun blasting a visual cacophony of vibrant colors upon the field, it illuminated Rhaegar like some sort of Valyrian demon. Dragon wings upon his helm glowed a dark red. Purples and oranges glinted off Blackfyre, the sword cutting through the air as he rode Moondancer across the slaughterhouse. Striking fear into the hearts of those who dared to oppose him.

A man in Rowan colors swung at him, but with the grace of an expert jouster Rhaegar dodged - letting the knight gallop past. Redoubling his blade, he leaned down in the saddle. The newly enchanted steel cut across a dismounted Rowan knight, shearing through mail as if it were parchment and saving a beleaguered Umber spearman.

All around him the center of the rebel line slowly gave ground. Planned and coordinated at first, the constant assault of the loyalist bowmen and frontline crossbows were taking their toll. Every new wave the Tyrells threw at them weakened their defenses. Each new century of the thick plated men-at-arms wearing them down. Only Northern stubbornness and the indomitable courage of their King kept them strong, but it was a close run thing.

Already the ground lay carpeted with what seemed to be more dead than at Harrenhal. What spring growth that would eventually come...the writings of Septon Meribald would describe its lushness as watered with the blood of the innocent and guilty alike. A tragedy borne between a desperate conflict of one man's love, one man's madness, and the lusts of two others.

Struggling to keep up with Rhaegar, the Kingsguards worked as a well-greased cog. Gerold and Barristan in the van, their swords already slick with the blood of their countrymen. Many charged, eager for the everlasting glory of taking down such legendary warriors. None succeeded, the two cleaving skulls and ripping open necks with abandon.

A swing from Barristan's bastard sword missed one man from Oldtown, only for the trailing Oswell to behead him cleanly.

Out erupted an Oakheart knight with a surprisingly unbroken lance, gunning straight for the son of Hightower. Gerold braced himself, only for Moondancer to crash into its side. Horse toppling to the ground in a tangle of broken limbs, knight crushed underneath.

The King has little time to celebrate his triumph. "Get ready!" he pointed to the east.

"Seven fucking hells," Oswell murmured under his breath.

Thundering across the grassy plains was a fluid wave of thousands of Baratheon bannermen. Two solid lines of heavy knights, orange sunlight bathing them in an unearthly glow, with what seemed like every footsoldier in the Stormlands behind them. Madly dashing for the center, it represented every last uncommitted man in Robert's arsenal.

A gamble, but with the state of the battered line one that had a strong chance of breaking their back.

Rhaegar wasted no time. "Get the Daynes!" he screamed at Gerold, the Lord Commander immediately galloping to the rear. Barristan and Oswell close behind, the King rode the breadth of the line - his sheer presence drawing men like flies to a light. "Spears and shields! Spears and shields! Six deep, swordsmen in the rear!" Disciplined and bloodied, the mountain boys of the Vale embedded the shafts of their pikes into the ground and their dragon-emblazoned shields up in a ragged hedgehog while the Umber, Karstark, and Manderly warriors waited behind to plug any gaps. "Get ready! Fire and blood!"

So strong was his pull, even the children of the far north roared the Targaryen words defiantly as the stormlanders were only paces away. "FIRE AND BLOOD!"

Fresh and enthusiastic, the Baratheon cavalry crashed into the rebel line with the force of a thousand of their Liege Lord's warhammers. Cracking bones and piercing cries of agony serenaded the vicious slaughter. Lances tipping through flesh and bone, pikes punching through armor and impaling horses, showering the ground with yet more fountains of blood. Men were crushed, others trampled - bodies hung limp off snapped spears, while swords grew thirsty for the lifeblood of youth.

Several gaps were ripped in the rebel line, even though the Baratheon horse had to carpet the ground with their own dead to achieve it. Just in time for the foot, some pinning the still intact wall of Vale and Northmen while others followed the horse into the rear. Only yards away from the Targaryen camp… so far had the rebels fallen back. Robert's gamble seemed to work. The center hadn't held.

Only for wild shrieks from the west to bring death to this.

Whatever was left of House Dayne, hearts brimming with fury over their keep and backed by the irregular Crannogmen and Holy Hundred, raced towards the gaps. Light Dornish armor sacrificed protection for speed as they met their ancient enemies. Longswords clashing with scimitars in a bloody melee, enduring the battle still very much in the balance.

Chest heaving, Robert swung at his tormentors, the thick Valyrian steel of his warhammer piercing armor and crushing bone. His horse reared in terror, lashing out with its front hooves and impaling a Dornishman's skull while Stormbreaker disappeared another's shoulder in a puff of red mist. "Come at me, you cunts!" Robert bellowed, laughing manically. "Come meet the fury!"

"My Lord!" Before he could claim another life, Robert's attack stopped mid-swing at the sight of the conspicuous crossed quills of House Penrose. "There's something coming to us!"

"Aye, Cortnay!" Robert looked every inch his ancestor the great Argilac Durrandon, a burly warrior King vanquishing all that stood before him. "Victory! Justice!" Around him the dismounted Baratheon men-at-arms were pushing back the Dayne spear wall, surrounding their Lord in a protective screen. "The day is soon ours!"

But the knight of Parchments held the wide eyes of one with a terrible secret. "No… something's coming from the north…"

In an instant, Robert's vision narrowed. His attention focused upon one thing and one thing only in the distance… teeth clenching and armored fingers tightening around Stormbreaker's shaft. Dragonspawn!

Leaping over the splintered skeleton of a catapult, Moondancer trampled upon a poor Stormlander. The stunned companion was quickly cut down by Blackfyre, the legendary sword of Aegon the Conqueror slicing through mail, flesh, and bone with ease in Rhaegar's hands. Twirling it in one hand, he pulled on the reins with the other, slowing Moondancer to a halt just in time to rip through the neck of a mounted knight. His mace toppled, body limply hanging from the stirrups as the panicked horse bolted madly through the field.

And then he saw him. Rhaegar's eyes drawn to the massive bulk of his rival two score yards away from him. The stag horns and rearing beast in black over a yellow tunic needed not for identification… Rhaegar knew exactly who this was. His grip on blackfyre almost cleaving his fingers.

"RHAEGAR!"

Pushing Ser Cortnay away, Robert urged his steed into a frenzied gallop. His eyes turned red, focused only on the dragonspawn now charging just as fast. With a furious bellow he swung Stormbreaker - aiming right for the ruby three-headed dragon of his breastplate.

Wind slamming into him, Rhaegar squeezed Moondancer's side with his legs. Steadying himself as he stood tall in the saddle. Blackfyre reared back, ready to slash. Erupting right at Robert Baratheon's neck…

The clash of the titans… steel only thirsty for the other's blood as the battle raged around them - the bells ringing in the distance.

Notes:

Sorry for the cliffhanger... there was too much to be put into one chapter.

Everyone committing themselves. Ned, Robert, Rhaegar, Garlan, Randyll Tarly... the cream of the crop.

Next time, the dragon wakes. The more reviews, the sooner I'll update :)

Chapter 57: The Sunrise Dragon

Notes:

Thanks for being patient for this chapter. Worked a lot on it!

Enjoy and please comment :D

Blood matting his face and soaking his leather cuirass, Ned slammed his sword across the shield of a Hightower knight. Wood gave way to the Valyrian steel, Ice continuing its journey through the arm and to the breastplate, the heavy blade punching right through it and cutting deep into the chest. Screaming, the foe went down in a heap, Ned finishing him off with a thrust through the sword.

"Come on!" yelled Jorah Mormont, cutting a man across the face with Longclaw. "Hold the line!"

"Shield wall!" Ned ordered, but the response was half-hearted. With the mad attack spearheaded by House Tarly, apart from the still beleaguered Bolton phalanx the northern shield wall had descended into a brutal melee. A brawl over who could take the most blood. Normally a fight the Northmen could win, but with their archers badly outnumbered by the Reach crossbows, it was getting dodgy.

Parrying the thrust of a Merryweather knight, Ned slashed diagonally across his shoulder, kicking him down with spurts of blood joining the rest staining Ned's leathers. Another came at him, only for Ned to dodge the attacking sword and bury his blade through the back of another. His efforts aside, it was clear the Northmen needed a miracle or else they'd be overwhelmed.

A trumpet blared in the distance.

Drawing out his blade from a flower knight, Ned looked up. His eyes spotting movement far off erupting out of the woodlands to the north.

More trumpets, their collective noise overwhelming the bells of Stony Sept and the intense clash of the two armies crashing against each other. What in the… Eyes tracking to the North, Jon Connington's blood ran cold. Trembling as he saw what had to be the most terrifying sight in his entire life.

Hoofbeats pounding at the grass below them, thousands of armored horses thundered into the plains of the western Riverlands. Mounted knights dropping their lances or drawing maces and swords from their belts. One continuous sheet over a quarter mile wide, three lines deep before behind them charged equally heavy infantry. Shields almost as tall as they were, they and the red-gold of their armor exposed exactly who they were. All who stood before them spotting the golden lion on red whipping from their charge.

House Lannister had arrived… and they fought for King Rhaegar I Targaryen.

Moreso than most for reasons obvious to few, the sight of the golden lion filled Ned's exhausted body with a new vigor. "FULL ATTACK!" he screamed, racing forward to bash a dismounted Tarly knight with his shoulder. Ice swinging down to cleave his skull apart. "BREAK THEIR FLANK!"

"FOR QUEEN LYANNA!" With a furious roar the Northmen rallied. Their steadfast Lords were in the van, from Roose Bolton leading his phalanx in rolling over all that opposed it, Rickard Karstark in a manic haze cutting down all enemies without mercy, to Jorah Mormont taking on four men at a time with his trusty Valyrian steel blade, Longclaw. No man could resist the pull of their lieges. Could resist the victory that they could so taste. Axes swinging, swords thrusting, maces smashing, where once they gave ground now they took it without anything stopping them.

It didn't take long for the Marcher Lords of the Reach to break, and break they did. Pursued by the Northmen not east towards the city, but north towards the loyalist center.

And the awaiting lances of House Lannister.

Atop a hill only a mile away, Lord Tywin leaned to the side on his steed - watching the battlefield commence in full dress armor. He looked a mighty conqueror on the scene of his moist glorious triumph, which perhaps this was. Lips curling in satisfaction as the first of three waves led by Loren Payne crashed into the Crownlands forces on the loyalist right. "Aerys you fool…" he chuckled, watching his brother Kevan swing the second wave around to complete the envelopment. "You know I always have the last laugh."

"Careful, Lord Tywin," came the seductive, foreign voice of his companion. "Hubris is disfavored by the Lord."

He took his eyes off the triumph unfolding before him, casting the Red Woman a raised eyebrow. "Are you trying to deny me my victory, Lady Melisandre? Or your King's, if he planned with my arrival accordingly?"

Witnessing the meeting of destiny with her own eyes, Melisandre's smile was cryptic as it was serene. "You mistake me, Lord Tywin. Your victory here is complete, but it is not over yet." She looked back at the fighting, bells still echoing over the battlefield as the fight turned into a slaughter. "There is still one clash that needs to be won. R'hllor has ordained it."

Turning away from the Red Woman, Tywin muttered under his breath. Not taking this from me. Already, the infantry had joined the fight, nothing stopping them. His smile returned. Fuck you, Aerys.

Nothing was stopping the Northmen, a haggard defense turning into a scythe upon the Reach. Ned swung hard, catching a crossbowman in the neck as he gurgled and fell to his knees.

"Eddard Stark!" Out of nowhere charged a Tarly knight with sword held high, armor dotted with various icons of the Faith. Ned dug his feet into the ground, eyes narrowing as he readied Ice. The downward chop was blocked by the Valyrian steel, Ned shoving forward and tripping up the top heavy knight. A blow of his own crashed against the knight's shield. The more nimble Ned managed to dodge away from a swing, while the knight wasn't as lucky when the Quiet wolf bashed Ice's hilt into his helm - felling him.

When his foe tried to bring up the sword, Ned pressed his boot against the knight's wrist, coaxing a groan. Blinking, Ned looked at the sword. Rippled steel, dark and without even a chip along the blade. Valyrian steel… Heartsbane? He looked at the knight. Tarly… Reaching down to remove the helm, Ned was greeted with the Lord of Horn Hill in the flesh. "Randyll Tarly!"

All around, the bulk of the Tarly bannermen stilled their fighting - as did the Northerners.

"I claim thee as my prisoner. Now surrender your men or watch them die."

Randyll, sighing as the strength left him, nodded. "Weapons down, men. It's over."

In the center, the streaming, panicked hordes of Crownlands men-at-arms had drawn Stannis' notice, the second son paling at the immense wall of Westermen bearing down on top of them. Having lost his horse in desperately trying to break through the Corbray frontline, his legs pumped towards the heralds. He knew just as Randyll Tarly did that it was over. The choice not victory or defeat but rather capitulation or slaughter. "Sound the surrender!" he bellowed.

"But Lord Robert…"

A punch fell the lead herald, others staring at Stannis in fear. "Robert's not fucking here! Sound the surrender!"

It still didn't truly sink in… How… how… Jon Connington was too numb to feel his insides twist in on themselves. Only moons ago he was on the vanguard of bringing House Targaryen to its redemption - the most glorious moment in the sun. Now, at the lance of Tywin Lannister all those dreams had collapsed.

Already the trumpets of surrender were resonating across the field. "Rhaegar," he murmured, almost a gasp. "Rhaegar… why?"

Horse racing at a fast gallop, Ser Jonothor thundered right in front of the Lord Hand - blood drenched his armor, as it did the two dozen men that accompanied him. "Lord Hand! The battle is lost!"

The words seemed to snap him out of his haze. "No… what about reserves? We can send them in…"

Slap!

Darry's hand stung from how hard he struck Connington. "There are no more fucking reserves! It's hopeless… Randyll and Stannis have already surrendered." Connington's eyes widened in understanding. "If we don't leave now we'll all die!"

He didn't wait for an answer before grabbing the reins of the Hand's mount and leading him away, the other knights following in the long trek back to King's Landing.

Away from the gallows that ultimately would await them from the rebel commanders.

Decisive couldn't begin to describe the victory for the forces of King-Claimant Rhaegar I Targaryen. The steadfast strength of the main army allowed for the new arriving Westermen to complete the double envelopment, Stannis Baratheon's surrender announcement preventing an utter slaughter by following the flight of Lord Connington. In one fell swoop, the outcome of the Rebellion was decided. Only time and distance blocking the victors from the Iron Throne itself.

But sundered from the arrival of House Lannister to the field was the most crucial portion of the battle. The one that would not only decide the fate of the current war, but set the fate of the known world behind it.

---

Before the first blow could be delivered, both Rhaegar and Robert were tossed off their mounts. Kicking with his front hooves, Moondancer's jerks nearly snapped Rhaegar's spine - only his expert riding skills allowed him to steer into the jerking and roll off, hitting the ground with a sharp ache in his chest and limbs. Ears ringing from where his helm thudded on the grass.

Robert's horse had the worse of it, a well placed kick to the right front leg crippling it. Neighs turned to actual screams as the horse collapsed, Moondancer in a panic trying to trample all over it. So intent on killing Rhaegar with his hammerblow that Robert paid little attention to his posture, and ironically it saved his life. Legs loose on the stirrups were jostled off and it sent him to the ground. The Stag Lord was nimble for his bulk and rolled out of the way as his mount crashed dying, leaping to his feet and snatching Stormbreaker.

Fury burned hot in his veins. It masked any pain he may have felt. "Come to me, Dragonspawn!" Robert didn't even wait for a response to lunge, armor-piercing spike aimed directly for Rhaegar's face.

The King-Claimant, by the grace of whatever gods were in his favor, found Blackfyre laying on the ground only a foot away from him. Hearing the guttural war cry charging at him, he grabbed the sword of his ancestors and scrambled upright. Rhaegar dodged the swing, leaning back and launching his own attack - the duel continuing on foot where it started on horseback.

All around them the battle raged, but none noticed nor cared. As if by magic or evil vapors the knights and men-at-arms on both sides gave the dueling highborns a wide berth - a fight worthy of the greatest histories, a battle between the descendents of those that forged the Targaryen monarchy. Truly a tragedy if one could think about it, but in rage and desperation respectively, Robert and Rhaegar threw themselves at each other in a flurry of frenzied attacks.

Rhaegar chopped diagonally, knocking Robert's hammer down to the right. Blackfyre far more maneuverable than the heavier Stormbreaker, he aimed for Robert's thick thighs, hoping to cripple the Stag early on. Cutting through flesh with ease, the distance was too long and the cut was shallow.

Blue eyes dark with hate, Robert's warhammer thundered into the ground. Bashing through the grass and dirt where Rhaegar had once stood only moments before. The King evaded the strike, only for a surprising speed bringing the top spike to cut across Rhaegar's shoulder - drawing blood. The man had strength unparalleled, and would not go down easily.

But Rhaegar was faster, armor light and longsword quick. Footwork fluid, he danced out of the arc of the swings and chops, not allowing Robert the same chance he had at Harrenhal to hit him close in. He darted a thrust at Robert's knee, but the Stag rallied quickly into a defensive stance and bashed Blackfyre aside with the staff. Clang of metal ringing through the air.

Leaning back, Rhaegar kept his balance by swinging his shoulders. Hurling Blackfyre up to knock Stormbreaker to the side, quickly twirling it into a double back and making a quick slash at Robert's face. He kicked in quick succession, sending Robert stumbling with a grunt.

A blur to his left drew Rhaegar's attention, just enough time to spin Blackfyre around and catch the bastard sword of Ser Cortnay Penrose. The bald knight, helm lost in the fighting and armor dented and cracked, nevertheless threw himself into the fight beside his Liege Lord. Fast swings battering Rhaegar - forcing him back while Robert redoubled.

I can't face both of them. Drenched in sweat and his cuts and wounds stinging, Rhaegar shoved Ser Cortnay back and drew Catspaw - Blackfyre facing the onrushing might of Robert, blade parrying a straight thrust with the sharp head. Cortnay lunged as well. Staggering atop the grass almost towards his own tent, Rhaegar just managed to deflect the swings. His dagger was powerful but short, a great disadvantage.

Suddenly Ser Cortnay howled in pain, both Targaryen and Baratheon halting in place as bright crimson blood gushed from a stump where his swordarm had been. The flash of a greatsword ended the pain with a clean beheading, the knight of Parchments falling like a sack of meat to the ground. "Back away from the King!" Gerold Hightower bellowed, the Old Bull strong and imposing as ever - as tall and fearsome as Robert on his best day.

If Robert showed any sign he trembled at being outnumbered, that was put to bed quickly as he charged. Aggression unbothered with his furious swing, trying to gut both King and kingsguard in one mighty blow of his warhammer. "You don't scare me, old man!" he snarled, gripping stormbreaker as a staff and batting aside Gerold's thrust… only for Blackfyre to cut across his side. "Fuck!" He managed to leap back, only for Gerold to slice upward and gouge a large cut in the faceplate of his helm.

Time stood still, the orange glow of the sun casting the field as if engulfed in flame. Rhaegar glanced at Ser Gerold, the Old Bull nodding to the latest in a line of Targaryen Kings he served faithfully against even his own family. Both waiting for Robert as the Stag Lord removed his helm, rugged face and flowing brown locks plastered in the hate he felt for his cousin. "Leave Bull, lest you die with the Dragonspawn."

"I can think of many worse fates, Lord Robert," Gerold replied evenly.

"So be it then."

Each lunged at the same time. Blow after blow traded with clanging steel and strained muscles, Rhaegar looking for an opening to end this while Gerold guarded his flank. Countering Robert's nimble parries and wide arcs. "Pin him!" yelled Rhaegar, wrist starting to twinge but still twirling Blackfyre from defense to attack. "Hold him," he ordered Gerold, needing some sort of opportunity to break through the Stag's ferocity.

But hours upon hours of fighting were starting to take their toll on the Old Bull. The repeated impact of Stormbreaker to his blade began to tire his arm. Veteran of many fights and wars, against someone of equal strength and with the vitality of youth, he was at a disadvantage.

It was this that Robert noticed - shifting his strategy in a split-second. Thrusting at Rhaegar to force him back, his legs propelled him forward - charging right into Gerold's center mass. In mid-swing, his greatsword fell from his hand. The Old Bull, wind knocked out of him, fell to the ground in a heap of aches and coughs.

Weak link neutralized, Robert turned back to Rhaegar - a manic grin of triumph on his face. felt the drawings on his skin burn and gave a roar, swatting the hammer to the side. He narrowly missed the space under Robert's helmet, stabbed at him again and almost hit his armpit.

His foe swinging high, Rhaegar managed to duck under the warhammer - head clipping off the dragon wings off his helm. He took the opening, gripping Blackfyre in both hands and thrusting. The Valyrian Steel longsword missed Robert, but the Stag Lord was thrown off balance. Faster and lighter, Rhaegar charged, beating back two parries to swipe low. Blade slicing through a gap in the breastplate at Robert's side just above his kidneys.

Feeling the hot blood soaking his tunic and trousers, a bellow akin to a charging bull stag erupted from Robert. He charged, little consequence to his defenses… the gamble worked, Rhaegar forced to give ground to escape the powerful assaults. Rhaegar's heart slammed against his breastbone, pumping so hard that it almost hurt. A swing was barely dodged, while a dual grip on Blackfyre parried two others - just.

Voiding his stomach all over the bloody grass, Gerold shook the stars from his head. Finding his King in a bad way - his eyes widened as he took in the scene. You will not take his Grace…

He could not seem to get his footing. Vision blurring, unable to focus, only instinct kept Blackfyre parrying blows. But Robert wasn't keen on using just Stormbreaker. Each moment brought another furious fist against his chest and shoulder, bruising and cracking ribs even through his armor. Pitching back in a daze, his mind suddenly erupted into focus… crying out in agony as the warhammer head crashed directly to his side. Helm flying off. Forcing him to his knees. Blinking beneath his helm, teeth clenched in pain - Rhaegar felt the cruel irony of history repeating itself as the warhammer's spike swung to him – right upon the ruby sigil upon his breastplate.

Steel sheared, followed by the slap of pierced flesh and the crunch of broken bone… but Rhaegar felt none of it. Only a grunt of pain. A moment later he understood. "NO!" In front of him, Robert was just as shocked even in his bloodlust.

A flash to some, the three involved saw it in slow motion… as if the gods intended they see every instant. The warhammer thundering through the air, a hand pushing the King back with all force imaginable, the thick bulk of Ser Gerold Hightower stepping in between the spike and his King. Eyes closed, he felt the thud against his chest, mercifully free of pain as he collapsed to the ground. He gasped in his last breaths as blood gushed out of the hole in his heart. Stormbreaker's spike having punched clean through his breastplate - giving his life for his King. As was the oath, but a tremendous sacrifice that many wouldn't bother to do. My King is safe... The last of his strength tilting his head to the side, Gerold gave Rhaegar a weak smile before the light left the White Bull's eyes for the last time.

Rhaegar had no chance to mourn his dead friend and comrade in arms. Full of rage and caring not of the bugles and trumpets heralding the arrival of the Westermen, Robert yanked the Targaryen King by his breastplate and slammed his fist into his cheek. Only just keeping hold of his blade, Rhaegar stumbled back through the flap of his own tent, only then falling back to his knees. Robert kicked his hip. Expression revelling in the hiss of pain from his enemy, he raised his warhammer and brought it down with a mighty swing. Foolish Ned isn't here to save yo…

Recovering, Rhaegar brought Blackfyre up. Levelling horizontally to catch the join of Stormbreaker's shaft. He thrust his left arm up, palm pressing against the cold metal of his blade, muscles clenching hard to hold back the continued fury of the Stag Lord as the head of the warhammer drew closer to its target.

Teeth clenched, Robert pushed harder. His hand pressed right at the head of his warhammer. Forcing it against the length of Blackfyre, the sharp blade slowly approached Rhaegar's neck. Ever closer to ending the life of his enemy. "Give up, dragonspawn!" he bellowed, spit flying onto Rhaegar's face. "You are beaten."

His arms burned, bones stretched to the breaking point - but Rhaegar wouldn't give in. "Fuck… you…" Lungs throbbed with agony as it was hard to even breath with the might of the Stag Lord assaulting him. "I fight for my family."

Robert lashed out, smashing a fist into Rhaegar's side before the hand joined his other. Desperate to overcome the surprising strength of the more nimble Targaryen. "Fuckin' rapist!" he hissed. "You will pay for what you did!" The tip of Stormbreaker touched Rhaegar's forehead, splitting the skin even as the King pushed harder on his blade, though seemingly in vain as Robert laughed. "You're a fuckin' failure. Two brides and you fail the both of them."

Pain searing through his head, yet again his life flashed through his shut eyes. Playing with his mother, being knighted by Ser Barristan, marrying Elia, holding his babes, seeing Lya for the first time, learning she was pregnant with Jon… No. You can't let them down… you have to live. But every second brought him closer to collapsing - closer to Stormbreaker cleaving in his skull.

Images assaulted him. "Fight, Rhaegar!" The voice of the warrior in his visions. "Fight, you fucking cunt!"

The feminine tone of the gorgeous maiden followed. "You are the dragon. Remember your fire… remember your blood…"

A twisted grin stretched on Robert's face. "You deserve neither, dragonspawn!" He laughed. "Perhaps I'll take them both after I kill you."

Something snapped inside him. "Rhaegar… Rhaegar…"

About to go for the killing blow, suddenly Rhaegar's eyes flew open. A violet so bright as to glow, streaks of red-orange dancing within - as if staring into the eyes of a demon. Robert found himself being pushed back, the dragon miraculously charging like a cornered rat in a sudden burst of strength. "Why won't you fucking die!" he bellowed, though his heart pounded with a sudden fear.

Gripping Blackfyre so hard that he could crush any lesser form of steel, Rhaegar's fingers dug into the sharp blade. Skin nicked and blood trickling down the fine surface, but he didn't notice. A heat welled inside the Targaryen King, one pumping his veins with an overpowering energy. A glorious energy… one not seen since the Rogue Prince made his sacrifice.

"My Prince Daemon… I am blessed to have you…" Lya...

"I've never said this enough… I love you, Rhaegar…" Elia…

The streaks of blood reached the carved runes atop Blackfyre's blade. In an instant, the etched lines began to glow white hot, the symbol of Old Valyria coming alive.

"I'm a dragon, kepa!" Rhae…

"Kepa… kepa…" Somehow he knew it was Egg.

"Fortune is on your side, my love. It's in your blood." Muna…

And one last… "Higher, boy, higher! I'm doing it, kepa!"

Already, the blood seemed to evaporate off Blackfyre, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror almost glowing a bright white as Rhaegar slowly pushed Stormbreaker back.

The feminine voice roared with an intensity never heard before. "You are a dragon!"

Promise me...

I am a dragon!

Promise me...

"I AM A DRAGON!"

Roaring, the fire in his veins brought Rhaegar an almost superhuman strength. He angled his arms and pushed forward with his left, throwing the head of Stormbreaker aside. Surging forward, his forehead connected with Robert's chin. With a howl the Stag Lord pitched back. Enough for Rhaegar to leap to his feet. Eyes still glowing a bright violet.

Recovering his footing, Robert readied his warhammer. "Why won't you fucking die?!"

"You will not have them!" came the dragon roar, Rhaegar charging. Rage and fire overtook him as his vision turned red - Blackfyre crashed into the shaft of Stormbreaker, beating aside every jerk and swing. Doubling back to assault on his own accord. An extension of the fury that burned with the power of the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria. "THEY!" He clanged against Robert's weapon. "ARE!" Clang! "NOT!" Clang! "YOURS!"

Terror finally found the blue eyes of Robert Baratheon. Brute strength was always his advantage, but here the Targaryen was fighting with the power of ten men. He struggled, balancing saving himself from the unearthly glow of Blackfyre to searching frantically for an opening… none of which was forthcoming. Bringing Stormbreaker back to swing, he was caught unprepared as Rhaegar's fist crashed into his chest, ribs bruising as he was forced back.

His entire soul filled with dread as Rhaegar twirled Blackfyre, ready to deliver the killing blow that only moments before had been Robert's to lose, the Stag Lord out of desperation and panic swung blindly… knocking over a brazier filled with hot oil onto the ground. Eyes widening in realization as the fiery liquid spread over the grass. I'll have you yet, Dragonspawn!

Instinct and reflex were overpowering, Rhaegar jumping back with his hand shielding his face. Blackfyre unable to block the wild swing of Stormbreaker that knocked over another brazier, and another and another. Spilling burning oil and crackling coals everywhere - spreading flame, the flames licked up the sides of the tent. It carved through a path of destruction as if a raging inferno.

The last thing Rhaegar saw of Robert was a wicked grin upon his face as he ducked out the tent flap, fire racing high behind him.

Heart pounding… the fire starting to catch upon his trousers, Rhaegar raced for the exit… only for the inferno to roar ever higher. And there it was. Rhaegar was trapped, no hope of escaping the flames. Sweat began to drench him, mixing with blood and grime into a potent mix that quickly evaporated in the growing heat. He gripped Blackfyre. Perhaps if he cut through one of the sides…

"Rhaegar… Rhaegar…"

Stilling, the King looked to his left. Finding the precious sphere resting about the ground… smoldering. The beautiful green egg, calling out to him. Easing his pounding heart and calming his fear.

"You are a dragon," it whispered, voice soft and elegant. "You are fire and blood, and neither should faze you."

Already the flames were roaring - consuming everything around Rhaegar. Any other man would be screaming as the pain began, but for him, nothing. No pain, no agony, no burns. Even as Rhaegar stripped off his gauntlets and tossed them about the ground.

"Come, Rhaegar Targaryen, claim your destiny."

Breathing the superheated air into his lungs, it invigorated him. Filled him with a powerful energy. Rhaegar sat upon the ground, Blackfyre placed upon his lap. Without a word he pulled the egg into his arms and cradled it close - as if it were his newborn babe. It was searing hot, yet his palm remained unblemished with the fires engulfing the entire tent.

"Fire and blood. Fire and blood. Fire and blood."

"Fire and blood," he whispered, caressing the smooth scales. "Iksan se ānogar hen uēpa Valyria." The words simply came to him, the flames now assaulting his tunic and trousers. "Ñuhon iksis se lentor hen zaldrīzes." Rhaella Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen, Jon Targaryen… Rhaegar Targaryen. All of the House of the Dragon, the blood roaring hot within their veins.

Eyes closed, Rhaegar could have sworn he heard a cracking in the midst of the roaring inferno.

---

Blood.

Pain.

Sorrow.

Death.

A surreal quiet had descended over the battlefield, haze settling upon the ground as the fighting petered out. Sullen troops of both sides collapsed onto the ground, tending aches and wounds long ignored or simply sleeping out their exhaustion upon the churned soil - fully armored Westermen milling about. Ensuring compliance. The sun was just straddling the western horizon and the evening star taking its place in the night's sky. Serene, gentle…

But reality was anything but.

Ice hung limply at Ned Stark's side, grime and brain matter staining the fine Valyrian steel from hours of brutal combat. The Lord of Winterfell trudged through the carnage. His hair was matted from a cut to his forehead, dried blood affixing the light brown cowlicks to the curve of his skull. Eyes sunken, he stared at all before him - the horrors. The atrocities.

The agony of a war between the very Kingdoms that formed one country.

A father and son pair, the latter having moved from the Stormlands to around Riverrun years before. In the midst of the fighting, they found each other - discarding their weapons onto the ground and embracing tearfully.

Lord Oakheart and Lord Piper, each having married a daughter of the same Lord, sharing a wineskin provided by their goodbrother, Lord Lefford of the Westerlands.

In the midst of a bloody patch of ground, Ned spotted the fat figure of Mace Tyrell, hunched over with tears streaming down his cheeks. On his knees in front of the Lord of Highgarden was young Garlan, the boy bawling his eyes out as he clutched desperately at a still body… gods, is that young Ser Willas? It was, slain upon the field by an unnamed man-at-arms clean off his horse. At least the boy's face was undamaged, a closed interment not needed.

There are no victors this day… no glory on this field.

Suddenly two stretcher bearers passed him, followed by a troop of horsemen carrying the banner of the rearing lion. House Lannister. Finally sheathing Ice in its scabbard, he jogged after the Westermen, their banners filling his heart with longing.

"Is this him, my Lord?"

Closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, Tywin nodded. "Aye, that's Ser Loren Payne." A crossbow bolt had pierced his throat, instant kill… one of the few casualties his bannermen had taken in their decisive victory upon the field of battle. He fought to kill the tears that welled in his eyes, the mighty Old Lion of Casterly Rock not keen on exposing his emotions to the outside world. "Have him taken back to the Rock, and clean him up… he deserves better than those over there." Tywin pointed to the mass grave of corpses the noncombatants were already filling.

"Of course, my Lord. It shall be done."

Slumping in his saddle, Tywin buried his face in his hand. Wishing he were anywhere but here. "Your bannerman is in a better place, Lord Tywin," Melisandre told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He served the will of the Lord of Light, and now will be rewarded for it."

Looking up at her, the dull green eyes nevertheless had a sparkle of hope. "Against my better judgement, I seek comfort in what you're telling me." A better fate for his only friend than an endless sleep, life torn from this world far too early.

At that moment Ser Gregor Clegane strode forward, his massive bulk intercepting an unknown arrival. "Leave Lord Tywin's presence," he ground out in his halting speech. The Mountain that Rode wasn't known for his sharp tongue.

But Melisandre quickly noticed who had come. "Lord Stark." A tiny smile came to her face. So he has survived.

"Lord Stark?" Tywin's brow rose. "Gregor, aside. Let him to me." Ground shaking as he stepped aside, the Mountain made way for Ned to approach the Lord of Casterly Rock. "Eddard Stark," Tywin stated flatly at the father of his bastard grandson - not that Ned needed to know that fact as of now. That comes later. "I would congratulate you on your new title, but given the circumstances I won't."

Considering how Cersei acted the first few times they met, there was no doubt as to her parentage. "Lord Tywin." He bowed respectfully. "Thank you for coming to our aid… I do not suspect we would have survived without the might of the Westerlands." Ned noticed the woman sitting upon the steed beside him. "Lady Melisandre."

"I am heartened by your survival, Lord Stark. The Lord of Light has more in store for you, I can tell."

Nodding, Tywin motioned to his goodbrother. "Emmon, give him your horse. It's time I find the King." He turned his head, glaring at the man his father forced on his beloved sister. "Give him your horse. Do I have to tell you again?" Without delay he scrambled off his horse, handing the reins to Ned.

Surrounded by the red-gold armored guards, Ned turned to Tywin. "I would ask you why you chose to side with us, but I take it was due to Lady Melisandre's… particular talents."

"You do not know the half of it, Lord Stark," was Tywin's cryptic reply.

Ned pursed his lips - Cersei's father was a hard man to hold a conversation with. "How is your daughter?" He wanted to smack his own face. Smooth, Ned. Very smooth.

A neutral look was tossed his way, scowl on Tywin's lips. "I don't see why my daughter would be your business, Stark." A lie. Tywin knew exactly why, but the game had to be played for another had been bound to Ned in matrimony. Someone with a child in her womb. "Frankly, aside from a single dance at their Graces' wedding I don't think you've even met."

Explicit memories flashing in his mind of locked lips and tangled limbs, Ned tried to hide his flush. "I met her before the wedding… at the Tourney of Harrenhal. We formed a cordial companionship." He bit his lip. "I'm worried for her"

You missed your chance, it seems. How unfortunate for the Lord of Winterfell. "Don't worry about her. She's safe with her true family. Worry about your own wife, Lord Stark." That seemed to shut him up, Ned withdrawing into his own brooding silence. Above, a blood red comet appeared just below the orb of the moon. Many men gawked at the miraculous sight, though mostly out of curiosity than auspicious mysticism. Hmmm… that's odd.

Something did end up perking Ned from his brooding… and it wasn't the comet. Instead, a raging orange-yellow fire that had consumed one of the tents in the camp… not just any tent. "Myles!" Ned yelled, catching the attention of the solemn knight of Maidenpool. "Is that…"

He didn't need to finish, for Ser Myles nodded. "Aye, the royal tent." Heart pounding, Ned spurred his mount forward. Rushing to the scene.

It was a scene of controlled chaos. The flames rose high, at least the height of five men as it engulfed the massive royal quarters - now just a pyre. Gathered around were dozens of knights and Lords from all armies, weapons lowered and gazing at the fire with sunken, resolved looks… apart from Lord Robert Baratheon. Watched over by a grim Alliser Thorne, his eyes danced with a greedy mirth, the most satisfied of smirks on his lips. "Ah, Ned!" he called out as he spotted his friend and brother. "Come here and enjoy the show!"

Ned didn't hear him. He slowly dismounted, feeling as if his consciousness was split from his body while approaching the fires. "Lord Stark." It was Ser Oswell, his face hard and expression grieving. Devoid of his helm, Ser Barristan's was the same, while the unseeing gaze of the prone Lord Commander Gerold would never give off emotion again. Another casualty of the war.

A thousand different emotions crossed Ned's face… all ones of pain and grief. "Is he…"

"Aye," Barristan spoke. "He is."

"Oh hells," Tywin muttered, shaking his head. "What a waste." Melisandre said nothing, her red eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

Jaw trembling, eyes glassing over at the sight of the blazing tent, Ned suddenly lunged toward the fire. Blocked by both Kingsguards. "No… let me go! Let me the fuck go!"

"Ned, stop… it's too late," Oswell ground out, struggling to keep composed as it was.

"Rhaegar! You promised her!" he screamed, arms reaching out in vain to drag the King out of the tent and towards safety. But with Barristan and Oswell holding him back, he merely collapsed to his knees, blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "No…" His sister was a widow, his niece and nephews orphans… Yet more loss for the House of the Dragon and House of the Direwolf. I am sorry, Lya. I'm so sorry. Burying his face in his hands, Ned felt as if the world ended. Rhaegar was dead, body cooked alive by the sheer conflagration consuming his own tent.

A sharp laughter caught his attention - breaking through the agony. "Get up, Ned. Celebrate the justice given to us by the gods!"

His trembling morphed into something far from pain. Slowly Ned stood, eyes narrowed as he stalked towards Robert. "You?"

Robert scoffed. "Think anyone else could kill a dragonspawn?" Defeated and a prisoner, the Stag Lord nevertheless felt triumphant. "Lyanna's honor has been avenged, brother."

Vein trembling in his temple, without a second thought Ned's fist flew out. Smacking into Robert's jaw with an audible crunch. "You cunt!" he hissed, grabbing his childhood friend by the scruff of his tunic. "You godsdamn fucking bastard!" Blow after blow rained on Robert's face and shoulder, blood spraying on the ground as the stunned Baratheon swing his arms, catching Ned in his ribs. The wolf cared little.

"Lord Stark, stop!" Ser Alliser cried, joining with Richard Lonmouth in trying to pull him off of Robert, but Ned shrugged them off.

"You left my nephew an orphan!" Snarling like the direwolf he was, a bloody fist raised up, ready to deliver another blow…

Only for an inhuman screech to echo across the battlefield.

The fist stilled, Ned's hate rapidly defusing into a stunned curiosity. Dropping Robert as he rose to his feet. Lord Tywin stepped off his horse, armor clinking as he walked towards the tent, blinking at yet another screech that pierced the din. "What in the hells?" he murmured…

Melisandre was on the ground as well, lips curling into a wild grin as her red hair billowed in the gentle breeze. The fires were slowly dying, but still burned hot - roaring within her as she felt the inner flame surge with a mystic energy… something she hadn't felt in nearly two centuries. You have done it, your Grace…. You fulfilled your destiny.

Beams collapsing in a cacophony of groaning death, it served as the greatest shock when a black shadow slowly plodded from out of the entrance to the tent. The cloth was burned into smoke and ash and only the wooden frame remained, but out the figure did walk. Covered in ash, hair streaked with greasy-black soot, King Rhaegar Targaryen nevertheless walked out with a purpose. His shoulders heavy and form dripping exhaustion, but the ancient blade Blackfyre tightly held in his grasp.

Armor smoldering from the searing heat and undertunic and breeches long since burned away, he seemed not to be close to death. In fact, underneath the ash and soot the King looked free of injury. Not a single burn on his body. Without delay, Melisandre fell to her knee, bending her head before her King.

No other moved. No other breathed. Simply staring at the Targaryen that was trapped in an inferno and emerged unscathed. "The fuck is this?' Robert asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur. He scrambled to his feet, rubbing his eyes as if he was seeing things "This… this is impossible. He can't be alive, you'd have to be, a… a…"

"A Targaryen," Ned finished for him.

EEEEEAAAAAAARRRRRRRCCCCCCHHHHH!

But even this sight could be topped, all words torn from Ned's tongue at what came next.

The smoldering armor moved. Shifting and squirming atop Rhaegar's body… no, it wasn't the armor. A tiny creature gingerly hooked itself to the little bumps and ridges on the chestplate, scrambling up towards Rhaegar's neck and shoulder. Its long, elongated neck poked out from its perch on the Targaryen King, a pair of amber eyes suddenly visible against the glowing tongues of the dying fire.

It was a sight that hadn't been seen since the doldrums of Aegon III, but there was little doubt to those that watched as to what it was.

"Gods…" breathed Barristan.

"By the Seven," murmured Yohn Royce.

"How…" babbled Robert.

"I can't believe it," Alliser Thorne trembled.

"Brother?" Ned wondered, awe filling his face.

"Is that…?" asked Myles Mooton.

"A fucking dragon," Tywin finished, the Lord of Casterly Rock for once struck completely gobsmacked.

Claws hauling itself atop Rhaegar's shoulder, the dragon chirped, nuzzling the warm skin of the Targaryen to whom it was born in the embrace of. Its scales were a mottled green, a mix of light and dark patterns unaffected by the flames. No bigger than a cat, the hatchling still radiated the power of Old Valyria as much as that of Balerion the Black Dread.

His breaths even, in and out, Rhaegar reached up with the hand not holding Blackfyre to stroke his dragon's head. Feeling it curl into his touch, comforting him even as he shook from the ordeal of it all. As much a part of him as his own children. So this is what the dragonlords felt? Gods, it brought him such knowledge of his family.

"Remember your blood… remember your fire…"

"You are the dragon, Rhaegar Targaryen."

Jaw dropped, curled in a gentle smile, Ned slowly lowered himself. Bending the knee for his King. He was followed not long after by Tywin Lannister, brought to his knees by sheer reverence. Barristan and Oswell came next, joined by Alliser Thorne and dozens of others to bend the knee for the King - the King that returned dragons to the world. Even Robert Baratheon, terror and awe forcing him to humble himself.

Word spread like wildlfire through the armies, of the Targaryen King hatching a dragon. Drawing thousands and then tens of thousands to their knees, under the red light of the comet as if proclaimed by the gods.

Knees shaking from exhaustion, Rhaegar nevertheless stood tall. Letting the power of Old Valyria burn through his blood. Atop his shoulder, the first dragon in centuries spread out his wings. Screeching to the heavens.

No longer did House Targaryen answer to men or gods.

Notes:

The dragons have returned to the world.

Not much else I can say, lol.

The more reviews, the sooner I'll update :)

Chapter 58: Settling Accounts

Notes:

Happy New Year! This was gonna come sooner, but I got sick over the holidays and it got delayed. Feel 100% better so here we are :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

Lurching backward, the panicked cry of the goldcloak were muffled by a gloved hand clamped over his mouth. The frantic writhing ended quickly as Jaime brought up his dagger and slit the man's throat. Corpse slumping in his hand, the knight dumped it in a dark corner of the street and sighed. Thankful there was no blood on his tunic.

There was no honor in this, but Jaime cared little. For you, my beautiful dragon. There were more important things in the world than honor, and Rhaella Targaryen was one of them.

"Coast is clear," he whispered, motioning to the dark alleyway. Out emerged a slight figure in a cloak, though it did little to hide her feminine curves. "We need to get moving."

"How much longer?" came a whining voice - male, but rather high-pitched. One of a boy rather than a man. Behind his mother was a boy of six namedays or so. Oddly, he possessed the same silver thatch of hair, but shaven close. "Tell me, lion," he demanded with the same haughtiness as any spoiled highborn brat, only without the gilt that showed off the wealth.

"My little one," his mother - who introduced herself as simply 'Sarra' when Jaime showed up at the house next to Chataya's - cooed at him. "You need to be quiet, or else the bad ones will find us."

"See!" Unlike her brother, the smaller girl, far younger - about Princess Rhaenys' age - said as she emerged from the alley, trailed by another boy, holding an infant in his arms. Sarra held another, one large, innocent family that Varys seemed to think so vital to protect that he sent a knight of the Kingsguard to sneak them to a boat in the harbor. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Reminds me of Cersei at that age.

Except for the bright silver hair that tumbled about her head - or the violet eyes set deep in her eyes. Every single one of them had some combination of the Valyrian traits, including the raven-haired Sarra with her purple eyes. From Lys, no doubt. Varys was a native of the city, so perhaps of his family.

Jaime truly didn't care. All that mattered to him was protecting Rhaella - if dancing to Varys' tune was needed for that, he didn't ask questions. "Follow me. The docks are close."

The city was deserted, a curfew imposed by Jon Connington immediately upon returning from Stony Sept. All information about the "Battle of the Bells" was banned from conversation on penalty of death - Aerys' rages already led to fifteen seperate immolations of anyone that looked at him in a quirky manner - but the word got out anyway. Discontent was rising, even if Commander of the City Watch Manly Stokeworth and Willam Darry kept a tight lid.

Passing across a large street, the lack of foot traffic benefitted Jaime and his charges. They guided back into a smelly alley - it was narrow and winding, but dark.

Boisterous laughter rang out ahead of them, causing Jaime to hold his hand up. "Wait." He tilted his head, trying to listen. Hearing the jingle of mail armor above the laughter. Goldcloaks… Under Manly Stokeworth and various bribe payments, they were some of the few still loyal to King Aerys. "Stay here," he whispered. "And quiet." Too many voices for him to take on.

While Sarra and her daughter seemed just as keen to listen as he did, the oldest boy started to whine. "I'm cold…"

"Shut it."

"You can't tell me…"

"Shut it," the girl hissed, kicking her older brother in the shin. Yes, exactly like Cersei.

But even the hushed tones, there was a reason Jaime shushed them. "Who's there?!" Everyone froze as the sound of swords drawn filled the air. "Show yourself, in the name of King Aerys!" Slowly, the glow of lanterns approached the alley.

Jaime acted fast. "Children, stay." Before the boy could complain, the girl clasped her hand over his mouth. Smart. "Drop the babe," he told Sarra, who nodded.

"I'm not going to ask again! Show yourself!"

Quickly, Jaime unlaced his tunic and loosened his breeches, glad Sarra didn't say anything when he suddenly rumpled her hair and dress. "Apologies," he murmured genuinely before adopting a cocky grin more suited to a Lannister than not. Without another word, he stepped out into the light. "Alright, alright… I'm coming out. No need to be rude."

Before him were three men, various coinpurses dangling from their rusting armor. Only the best and most noble for the institution of Daemon Targaryen. "Ser Jaime," their leader said, lowering his blade. "Forgive me, but I didn't expect you to be here."

"I didn't expect to be… here myself, but urges are urges."

Of course, Manly Stokeworth didn't choose the brightest of torches to serve as Aerys' glorified thugs. "What do you mean? Explain yourself."

"Innuendo doesn't register, does it?" No response. "Of course… Wylla, come out." Sarra on the other hand had the possession of a keen mind, apparently, and immediately emerged. In a state of dishevelment, combined with Jaime's appearance there was no doubt as to what they were likely partaking in within the alley. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Jaime grinned. "As I said, urges."

Recognition dawned on the lead Goldcloak. "Ah… well, you have good taste, Ser Jaime… but why not go to Chataya's? Why stay…" he looked at the alley in disgust. "Here?"

Jaime scoffed. "My father is the one who shits gold from his puckered arse. Do you honestly think he'd want me to spend his coin on expensive whores? As if."

Each of the goldcloaks laughed uproariously at that. "I can't disagree." Shaking his head, the leader smirked. "Carry on, Ser Jaime. Enjoy yourself." Making an exaggerated motion with his hips mimicking frantic fornication, he burst out in laughter, trotting off with his men to parts unknown. Likely to find a whore of their own to enjoy.

As soon as their laughs had dissipated into the distance, Jaime deflated. Letting go of Sarra's waist. "That was close… forgiveness again, my Lady." He wished never to dishonor a woman, and frankly… Rhaella was the only woman he desired.

Her own chest throbbing from apprehension, Sarra pressed her hand against her heart. "No… it's fine. Thank you."

"You called my muna a whore?" The eldest boy hissed, face red with anger as he held his squirming infant brother. "How dare you, lion scum!"

A sharp kick slammed in his shin. "Stop being a goo-mind," snarled his little sister, fire in her violet eyes. "Stupid stupid stipid!" The girl had a dragon temper, almost a less delightful version of the Princess Rhaenys. Behind, the smaller boy came out, clutching the other infant tightly.

Running a hand through his hair, Jaime redid the ties of his breeches and motioned for them to follow. "Not long to the docks. Let's go."

The things I do for love.

---

"Dracarys." A pair of amber eyes blinked at Rhaegar, flickering between his heavily bandaged and bruised form and the little chunk of chicken the King had the Lannister quartermaster deliver for the lot of them. He shook his head, amused at the young dragon. "You're just like Rhae, always stubborn. Dracarys." Unfortunately nothing happened.

Several paces away, Ned Stark watched the scene in both confusion and awe. "What are you possibly doing?"

Looking back at his goodbrother, Rhaegar laughed. "I'm trying to get him to eat, but the little guy is too stubborn for his own good."

"Seems to be a Targaryen trait," Tywin Lannister huffed. Out of everyone, he seemed to be taking the matter of the dragons returning to Westeros the best… meant he picked the winning side in the game of thrones. "In this case, I suppose such fortitude will lead to greatness."

"It will lead to greatness, Lord Tywin." Ser Barristan looked exhausted, barely hiding his grief at the loss of Ser Gerold behind his wan smile - they would hold a ceremony for the White Bull that evening… before the Hightowers would take his body back to Oldtown. Like Oswell, the kingsguard chose to bury himself in his duty.

Ned, meanwhile, was far more concerned about his living goodbrother than the dead. "And what are you saying to him?"

"The Valyrian command for generating fire. Dragons can't eat raw flesh."

"So why not just burn the meat and feed it to him?"

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, both at Ned and the dragon that had so clearly bonded to him. "And have him dependent on me for everything? A dragon is a partner, not a pet… all the ancient tomes and family lore taught me that." One last time… "Dracarys."

Finally, it worked. The dragon started letting out tiny coughs that belched out puffs of smoke… until one puff ignited and bathed the chunk of chicken in a flash of dragonfire. One that made the Lords jump and Rhaegar beam. Chirping at the praise of his father, the dragon summarily dug into his now charred meat, the picture of contentment.

Leaving him to his meal, Rhaegar stood and motioned the men over to a group of camp chairs positioned around the map table. "Well, that was enlightening," he chuckled.

"Indeed, brother." Ned simply couldn't believe everything that happened. Some northmen in his army were calling Rhaegar some kind of god. "If I may ask, what is his name? If you consider him akin to your son, then he must have a name."

Such had made Rhaegar twist and turn on his sickbed for hours in contemplation, but he grinned as the perfect name filled his head. "Aegerax, god of all creatures that walk, run, swim or fly. Creator of the first dragon." He looked at the magnificent creature, adorable as the size of a cat but promising to be something far greater in only a few years time. "No more fitting name."

"They are calling him the Sunrise Dragon," Tywin added, sitting straight with his fingers drumming the table. "Most of my men are also calling you that… I would ask you how, but I presume you don't rightly know yourself."

There was no wonder Tywin Lannister was underestimated at one's own peril. He was whip smart and observant. "Anyways, my Lords." Rhaegar leaned forward. "My apologies in the delay, but where were we?"

Barristan sighed. "We were discussing what to do with the prisoners, your Grace."

Any amusement or joy that Rhaegar held from Aegarax was dashed by the knight's words - opening up a kettle of worms he really didn't wish to deal with. "You mean whether I should execute them or pardon them for their treason."

"It is not so simple, my King," Tywin noted - out of all of them, he had the most experience with such rebellious lords. "The smallfolk warriors are illiterate nothings. They'll follow anyone who feeds them, so let them go in dribs and drabs…"

"Done," Rhaegar decreed. "But do not allow them their combat weapons. Only when their Lords prove loyal will we return them." Tywin nodded, rather impressed by the young King. He will go far. "Now the highborns… most knights are likely fighting for glory or land, so the lesser ones will get what they desire if they bend the knee to me."

"It's not the knights you need to worry about, though that is aside from the ones that escaped with Lord Connington and Jonothor Darry ahead of capture." Rhaegar's face darkened. Tywin didn't care - it wasn't professional or kingly to let grudges cloud one's judgement. "You need to make an example of the rebellious Lords. Unlike the Knights or smallfolk, they bear direct responsibility."

But Ned shook his head. "No, spare them, Rhaegar." He seemed insistent. "They've committed no atrocities."

Tywin scoffed. "Rebelling against one's King is an atrocity in and of itself. I would think you of all people would know what atrocity they are complicit in."

Shoulders heavy, Ned knew more than anyone… but what sort of son would he be if he abandoned everything his father and foster father taught him out of pure vengeance. "Aerys should and will pay, as will those responsible for the burnings, but massacring half the lords of the Realm solves nothing except seeding the next war."

"Not if you place loyal lords in their place." Tywin rolled his eyes. "You just want your old friend spared…"

"Enough!" Rhaegar was getting a headache from all of this. "Ser Barristan. You've been quiet."

Withdrawn from the discussion, Barristan only entered back in at the request of his King. "Your Grace, a King must be firm and cognizant of his own best interests, such is the lesson of your Grandfather." Depriving himself of Bloodraven, his most able councilor, had likely ruined Aegon V. "But a King must also answer injustice with justice, as is the lesson of your father."

Thinking hard, it took several moments for Rhaegar to heed such advice. "I will pardon all Lords that fought against me but who didn't commit atrocities." Before Tywin could protest, he raised his hand. "But, they will be my prisoners until I ascend the throne, and they will need to pay tribute to the depleted Crown treasury if they are to win their freedom." He looked at each of his impromptu councilors. "As for the others… they will die and their holdings attained."

"Your Grace…"

"I've made my decision. You're dismissed." Tywin and Barristan nodded, accepting of the King's decree. Soon, only Ned was left. "Thank you… for sparing him," the Lord of Winterfell said as Rhaegar moved back to Aegarax.

A sigh of frustration left Rhaegar's lips. "My father acts solely out of vengeance, not I… but I certainly wish to bury Blackfyre into Robert's neck." Letting the sated dragon cuddle into his arms like a babe. "I saw the hate in his eyes… he wished to kill me. To take both Lya and Elia for his own…" His voice took a dark tinge to it.

Ned closed his eyes, willing himself to be calm. "I am sure Oswell or Barristan told you of my reaction to it… but that wasn't the Robert I grew up with. Perhaps this will be the kick in the ass he needs."

"Perhaps." Lya will not be pleased. Thinking of his northern bride - holding Aegarax as such - it brought Rhaegar's mind to a forlorn place. "Brother… your wife is due to give birth any time now, correct?"

Face falling, Ned nodded. "Aye. Catelyn's letters said she is about one moon away… according to Luwin."

"You still have a chance to get there to see your newborn… I haven't even seen little Jon. Over a moon old and he's still never known his father." Decades of wariness filled his gaze. "For that I blame myself."

"We've discussed this before. It wasn't your fault. I don't find it that way, and I'm damn sure my sister and goodsister don't blame you."

Rhaegar offered a wan smile. "Let's hope Rhae, Egg, and Jon don't see it that way."

At that moment, Ser Oswell entered. "Your Grace, there are two men requesting your audience."

"Who?"

"Ser Lewyn." Rhaegar's eyes widened. "And Lord Lucerys Velaryon." The surviving brother of the Kingsguard fighting for Aerys… Jonothor was clearly with Connington, while he figured Jaime was protecting his mother - that left Lewyn, and better he join Rhaegar now than too late. But Lord Lucerys was different, a member of Aerys' small council.

Smells like conniving. But House Velaryon was powerful. "Let them in."

Lewyn looked worn but powerful in his Kingsguard armor, swarthy and handsome. Lucerys had the Valyrian beauty as most of his House, long the close ally of House Targaryen, but his skin was pale - the man nervous. "Your… your Grace," he stammered for the both of them.

Deprived of their swords, both ended in simply bending the knee. "From this day," both said, voices firm yet an undercurrent of nervousness filling them. "Until I die, I recognize no King but Rhaegar Targaryen."

Scrutinizing both, Rhaegar's expression softened. "Rise." He walked forward and clasped the kingsguard's arm. "Ser Lewyn, it heartens me to see you here."

"I would have come sooner, but matters weren't safe." The uncle to the Queen grew worried. "Is Elia…"

"She is well, as are her children and Lyanna." One matter was never in doubt, the loyalty of the Prince turned Kingsguard to his niece - such allowed Rhaegar the latitude to trust him. "Oswell, return to him his blade. He is a sworn brother, after all." Rhaegar turned to Lord Lucerys. "Now, what should keep me from throwing you in the traitors' pens, Lord Velaryon."

Lucerys gulped. "I… you understand what happened to Lord Celtigar, no? I couldn't let the Driftmark be so gutted by your father."

"You speak true, which is why I won't kill you now that you're here." Rhaegar rather enjoyed the craven man's shaking. "But twenty thousand gold dragons to the Crown as restitution, and you lose your position on the Small Council." Lucerys bowed his head in resignation, knowing it was but a small price to pay to escape the likely fate of most of the Crownlands lords. "But I will need a larger token of your loyalty."

That seemed to perk him up. "The Velaryon fleet is mustering. Combined with the Dornish we shall blockade King's Landing and prevent any escape."

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "Dornish?"

"Your Grace," Lewyn interjected. "My nephews sail from Dorne with fifteen thousand spears at your command." Looking at Ned, in all honesty Rhaegar didn't know what to feel.

Welcome to the game of thrones. As Crown Prince it was crippling, but as King he knew what fate awaited him if he lost.

---

Willam Darry pounded a fist atop the table. "Seven Hells, you are being a fucking fool, Connington."

"You dare speak to the Hand in that manner, Darry?" he shot back at the Red Keep Master-at-Arms.

Scoffing, Symun "Silveraxe" Fell crossed his arms. "Considering you're the Hand of a madman who controls nothing outside the walls of the city, then I wouldn't think you have any weight to throw around." Whispers were everywhere in the keep, but it was clear the gathered knights of the Realm didn't care anymore.

Ser Jonothor Darry made it quite clear as to why. "It's over, Connington. Rhaegar is going to march for the city and take it, for there's no army left to defend it." The last member of the Kingsguard who wasn't loyal to the King-claimant, he didn't know why he was approaching the broken Hand of the King, but something told him that they'd need his strategic mind in the future. "We're leaving the capitol. Ser Jaramy," he gestured to the heir to Duskendale, "Has procured a ship flying the colors of the Sealord of Braavos. We can leave tonight."

"I am not leaving while there's still a chance…"

Lifting him up by his collar, Ser Jonothor slammed Connington against a column. "Open your eyes, you fucking fool! The King is deluded, Rossart is running the entire keep, and Rhaegar is bent on killing us all!" There was no doubt in that - no matter how deep Connington's fantasies were, all of them had committed more atrocities than could be counted. "It's either between our exile or our deaths, so are you in or not?"

"We…"

"No, the Dornish are set to blockade us with the Velaryons. Make up your mind! In or out?!"

A long, deep breath fled Connington's lungs. Easy to read, a sign of resignation and acceptance in the reality he now found himself in. "Well?" Jonothor demanded. "Are you coming with us or do you want Blackfyre to take your neck?"

"Leave me, I need a moment before we flee."

"Gods damn it, Connington," Silveraxe began to snarl.

He was cut off by Ser Jonothor. "You have a quarter hour, otherwise we leave without you and you can face Rhaegar's wrath." His white cloak unfurled as he spun around and marched for the door. Behind, Fell, Rykker, and Ser Willam followed - each shooting contemptuous looks at the fallen Lord of Griffin's Roost.

Jumping slightly as the Ironwood doors slammed shut, Connington's knees buckled. Forced to prop himself against a column to keep from collapsing. He heaved, hand clutching his stomach. The urge to vomit was strong and it took all his self-control not to. Gods… what had happened? How had all of this happened?

Ripping the Hand of the King pin from his breast, he flung it across the room.

Staggering against the large map table, the kingdoms of Westeros stared back at him as if mockingly. The Westerlands, Tywin and his war machine annihilating all his plans. Dorne, home of the frail slut that begun tearing Rhaegar from him. The North, a frozen wasteland from which the wildling whore charged out of to finish the job that Dorne started. You took Rhaegar from me… you destroyed everything I fought to build.

From his gambeson, he pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. One that had been in the chest of his most priceless possessions, but he had taken to carrying it on his person since arriving from the disaster at Stony Sept. A letter from Rhaegar, one before the betrothals and the chaos, when things were normal. When all was possible, the restoration of Targaryen greatness something the two of them would accomplish together.

Slowly he walked to a brazier. It wasn't to be… perhaps it never was, doomed to failure as soon as the Mad King chose to spite Tywin by betrothing Rhaegar to Elia Martell rather than Cersei Lannister. Cersei… that harpy would have been so much easier to deal with. Wallflower she seemed, Elia was a snake just like all the Martells, and once Lyanna Stark was in the mix all hope was lost.

Hope lost… Free hand curling around the hilt of the dagger strapped to his waist, Connington came close to plunging it in his stomach. Ending it all. But a feeling came to him. One soothing, seductive, if dark.

"You will still achieve greatness. Leave, Jon. Leave and return the right hand of them that shall rule all."

His hand left the hilt of the blade. Turning towards the flames, the fingers holding the letter trembled. For the briefest moment, Connington could see black swirls within… but it lasted but a moment.

Tears trailing down his cheeks, Connington pitched the scroll into the brazier. Boots clicking on the Pentosi marble lining the floor, he didn't look back to watch the parchment inscribed with his Silver Prince's words combust in a bright orange-red glow. Taking all his once vibrant hopes and dreams up in smoke with it.

---

Alone, as the soaked rags passed over the cuts and bruises of his upper body, Rhaegar didn't hold back the winces and groans as his skin stung and ached. Among the loyal and trustworthy - at least those proven trustworthy even recently - he didn't need to put on the stoic airs necessary for those less trustworthy. That didn't mean he wasn't impatient. "Can you hurry this up?"

Chuckling, Melisandre clicked her tongue disapprovingly. The Red Priestess reverently washed his chest wounds with the wine-soaked rag. "Concern yourself with the great miracles, your Grace." Aegarax poked his head up from the cushion in which he was sleeping, as if sensing he was being talked about - it wasn't long before he tucked back into a curl and fell asleep again. "The King that brought the dragons back shouldn't bother himself over common wound treatment."

"I wouldn't, if it didn't hurt like… seven hells," he hissed at another sting. "Perhaps I should get a maester?"

"Should I be insulted, your Grace?" Septon Meribald, growing belly jostling with mirth, tightly wrapped the linen bandages around Rhaegar's upper arm. "I may have studied elsewhere in Oldtown, but I have far more practical healing experience than those stuffy fools."

Curling his fingers and tightening his biceps, Rhaegar admitted that Meribald knew what he was doing. Not too tight yet not loose either. "No insult, Septon." The kindly, barefoot man of the Faith grew popular on both sides, tending to the wounded and handing out rations to the prisoners all day. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed from exhaustion. "Where will you go from here, if I may ask?"

The septon pursed his lips in thought. "Was thinking of going back to Oldtown, but methinks his Grace will need some spiritual guidance in the near future… if he bids me well?"

"You may accompany me." Meribald bowed and took his leave, bandages all redressed where needed. "I hope to trust him, but the Faith was never loyal to dragonriders."

"I do not get along with the Faith," Melisandre concurred. "But Meribald is trustworthy, I believe. Make him High Septon."

"There is already a High Septon." As she pulled away, he reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head.

Melisandre smirked darkly. "You are the Sunrise Dragon. Does the Starry Sept stop you?" A word of advice she left him to ponder.

Garlan entered the tent next - the once eager and adventurous young highborn of the Reach had aged overnight into a tough young warrior. Face hard, back ramrod straight, the loss of his older brother and the realities of combat destroyed all ideals and joys out of knighthood for him. Rhaegar despaired it, but was glad the boy had become a man. "How is your father, Garlan?"

Already helping Rhaegar donning his armor - the last task of his squire duties before Rhaegar would knight him as Ser Garlan Tyrell - Garlan sighed. "Not well, though your paroling him to escort Willas' body to Highgarden is helping."

"I made the promise to your grandmother. She did… pay his ransom fee and more beforehand." Eyes flickered to Aegarax, who continued to sleep peacefully.

The dragon seemed to perk Garlan up a bit. "Still seems impossible."

Fully dressed, armor polished and fitting as magnificently as any of his past Tourneys, Rhaegar walked over to his dragon and scooped him up. Earning a surprised squawking for his trouble. "You're telling me. One and a half centuries since the last dragon, and here one is. By the grace of the gods, I have the chance to restore House Targaryen to greatness." Aegarax chirped and scrambled on his shoulder, as if the picture of joy.

"You'll have my undying loyalty, your Grace."

"Thank you, Garlan. I couldn't ask for a better Warden of the South… at least in the future."

Clipping Blackfyre to his waist, the rightful King made his way out of the tent. Outside waited Moondancer, the mounted figures of Ned, Tywin, Melisandre, Ser Barristan, and Ser Oswell patiently standing still for him to arrive. Hooking his boot into the stirrup, Rhaegar closed his eyes and thought of his beloved brides. I love you… soon we'll be back together.

"Ready, your Grace?" Ned asked from beside him.

"As I'll ever be, goodbrother." Cracking the reins, Moondancer lurched forward, leading the procession of Lords and knights towards the thousands of awaiting troops.

He rode on to the middle of the camp, past hundreds of knights and thousands of men-at-arms gathered to see the King off. All were quiet, gaping at awe at the first dragon in centuries and the great Targaryen King that brought him from the stone. Even the prisoners fenced off from the victors stared at Aegarax - cowed and amazed by the greatness of Rhaegar I Targaryen. From Randyll Tarly to Baelor Hightower, all knew they would soon need to bend the knee formally before the great Targaryen King.

Tuckered into a corner, Robert Baratheon glowered. Unknowing of what to do or how to proceed… I hope the Mad King kills you, dragonspawn.

Assembled before them were twenty thousand Westermen, their armor clean and bodies well-rested. Unlike the rest of the savaged armies of the Sunrise Dragon, they were ready to march and confront the Mad King within the Red Keep - to prove their loyalty and the loyalty of their liege Lord in this brave new world. "Gods save the Sunrise Dragon!" someone called out.

"Long may he reign!"

"LONG MAY HE REIGN!"

Rhaegar took a steady breath and wheeled the horse around, letting the army catch a glimpse of him and Aegarax. Wanting it over, but knowing this moment would be one where his words were needed.

"Men of House Targaryen!" he boomed, putting an end to the last of the whispers and binding all under the three-headed dragon. ''Long ago, Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys Targaryen forged the greatest empire the world has ever seen under the shadow of their dragons. Behind them were the combined armies of this land, fighting against the siren song of the past in favor of the glory of the future. A future where Andal, Rhoynar, and First Man surpassed the greatness of the Valyrians past."

Letting Aegarax pull up his head at full height, Rhaegar knew he had their attention. "The gods speak to me." Best not tell which gods just yet. From her smirk, Melisandre knew. "They charge me with restoring the Conquerors' peace and greatness to this land that little men tore down for the sake of personal greed. In this, they gifted me with the beast of fire and blood. The dragons returned to the sunrise of Westeros after so long in the dark.''

Reaching out, he grabbed Ned's hand in one and Tywin's hand in the other. "Stark! Lannister! Tyrell and Tully! Martell and Baratheon and Arryn! All behind House Targaryen to bestow the light of dead dreams back to our land and our people. Do you accept this call?!"

"AYE!"

"Do you accept this mantle?!"

"AYE!"

He drew Blackfyre from its scabbard, holding it high just as Aegon the Conqueror did centuries before. ''For House Targaryen! For Westeros, forged with Fire and Blood!''

"FIRE AND BLOOD!"

---

It was called the Tower of Joy.

A round tower somewhere between the Torrentine and the Prince's pass, the songs had it that Maekar Targaryen met his bride Dyanna Dayne within its walls - the only time the dour man had any happiness in his adult life, hence the name. No one knew who dubbed it such, but the legend stuck.

Walking up the winding staircase, only the bundle in her arms prevented Elia from wistfully brushing against the sandstone brick that formed the edge. This tower had fond memories for her as well, of a respite she and Rhaegar held upon a royal progress to Dorne once Rhaenys was old enough to travel. I believe we conceived Egg on that trip. A memory not then appreciated, though in the hindsight of it all Elia gave it its due.

In her arms, little Jon began to squirm. A large yawn threatening to split his head in two. "Oh, little pup." Elia leaned down to nuzzle his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to it - she had taken to call him by Lya's nickname. "I never realized it for so long, but I love your father dearly." Two violet orbs found her, staring in familiar awe. "I don't care what people say, you look exactly like him."

Jon seemed to enjoy that, for he smiled. Arms raising as if begging to be held closer.

"Now that, you get from your muna." As with his muna, Elia could not refuse.

It didn't take long to put him to bed… Jon out like a lantern as his head hit the pillow of his bassinet. After pressing loving kisses to the sleeping forms of Rhae and Egg in their nursery - just one floor below the main chamber at the top - Elia made her way slowly up the stairs. Gods, she was eager to slip into her bed next to her wife.

Apparently, Lyanna had the same idea. Soft candlelight filled the bedchamber, Elia gasping softly. Stopping as she took the sight on the bed. "I was starting to worry at how long you were taking, my Queen," the Northern beauty grinning, clad in nothing but a silk shift that barely made it to her knees. "It's cold here without you."

Opening her mouth to say something, the words died on her tongue. Taking in her throaty chuckle, the way the wild northerner rubbed her legs together expectantly, Elia's hands went automatically to the ties of her robe. Letting it drop, followed quickly by her nightdress.

Lyanna bit her lip, admiring the view. "I do like this. I like this a lot." Once her wife was fully nude, she patted the side of the bed. "Now come here, your Queen demands it." She played this game with Rhaegar plenty of times, and it was equally as sensual and naughty when done on Elia.

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Elia found her voice. "And who are you to make demands of me?"

Oh… From the sopping mess between her legs, Lyanna quite enjoyed where Elia was taking this. "Forgive me, your Grace," she said meekly, though quickly peeling the shift off of her. "Allow me to make up for my insolence." Only now did Maester Qyburn proclaim her body sufficiently recovered from Jon's birth, and her core burned for attention from the ones she loved. "Please, my Queen?"

Her pleading moved her. "If you insist."

Slowly crawling upon the bed, she drew it out. Enjoying how her direwolf squirmed as she hovered over her - breasts just out of reach of her mouth. Elia planted a soft kiss on Lya, sucking gently on her bottom lip. Spurred by the moans, she started to place a whole trail of kisses across her cheek. Her tongue licked the shell of her ear, then went behind it and down the soft skin of her neck.

It was delicious and excruciating at the same time. "Elia, please," Lyanna moaned as the other woman continued kissing down her body. "Don't tease me."

"Why would I tease you?" She settled between Lyanna's legs and playfully nipped the skin of her inner thighs.

"Because you would do that... ah!" Lyanna was cut off by the feeling of Elia's tongue swiping through her folds. Her hands weaved into silky, dark hair. "Don't you stop."

"Never, my love."

Lyanna curled her toes into the sheets as Elia's fingers started to tease her entrance, the wetness continuing to pool.

"Elia, please!" she begged. "I need you."

Grinning, she continued, flicking her nub and shoving two digits past her pussy lips. Delighting in the filthy sounds escaping Lya's mouth - her direwolf was loud in bed and she loved it. Elia pounded into her. Fingers curling and tongue drawing her nub between her lips to suck. Making Lya buck, trying to take her deeper just as she did with Rhaegar's cock. "Do it," Elia ordered, putting a heavy Dornish accent in her voice. She watched as Lya's eyes darkened at it as she knew it would. "Cum on my face and fingers, my dirty wolf."

Moaning loud, Lyanna arched her back as she released just as Elia had demanded. It felt positively sacreligious, as if the High Septon would descend from the Starry Sept to condemn her in that very moment - the Queen would tell him to pound snow, her desire only growing from the release rather than quenched from it. "Get over here," she snarled.

Yelping, Elia found herself yanked by her shoulder. A warm set of lips melding to hers and insistent fingers working between her legs. Mmmmm… pleasure me, my wolf...

Deep in slumber a pleasurable yet exhausting two hours later, smiles dotted the faces of the two Queens - huddled close in their shared embrace. But for one, the dark force found a perfect mark. One with a mind ripe for exploitation. Just as the other, one that could factor into his new plans rather well.

He delighted in the pain of the House that destroyed his greatest triumph.

A giggle left Elia's lips, lifting young Egg into the air. He had grown so much, into a copy of his father with flowing locks of silver hair and a perfect face - one that promised to break many a maiden's heart in the future. "I love you, Egg," she murmured, kissing him on the cheek.

His eyes were suddenly captivated by something in the distance. "Muna! Throne!" Out of her arms, he started running for the Iron Throne - the one he would sit in.

"Egg!" Elia called out, more worried than scared. "Be careful…"

Her words were interrupted as a flash of white bounded into view. Before she could even speak, Elia watched as a massive white direwolf set upon her baby boy. With a growl, his massive jaws ripped out Aegon's throat, splattering blood everywhere.

"No!" Elia was at her boy's side in a flash. "My beloved son…" She cradled the body in her arms, weeping softly.

"This is a warning," a soft, seductive voice whispered in Elia's ear. "Remember the blood seeping through your fingers." A fine black mist swirled around her. Around Egg's lifeless body. "Remember who gains…"

Suddenly, the wolf from before trotted by. Smoke puffed out of its nostrils as two large wings poked from outside its back. She gazed at it with pure hate, but Elia's jaw dropped as another figure stepped beside it. There was Lyanna, dressed in immaculate Northern armor… fierce and beautiful, but an evil grin on her lips. "Go, my love." She ruffled the bloodstained white fur. "Take what's now yours."

Howling, the direwolf bounded up the steps until it reached the Iron Throne. Sitting on its haunches upon it and howling again. A piercing, malevolent cry that was soon joined by a puff of fire from its mouth… wings spread out in triumph. "There…" The voice was honey-sweet in her ear. "The bane of your son shall take it all from your dear Egg."

Lucidity seemed to gloss over Elia's eyes. "No… not… not Jon." There was only one that the winged wolf could be, and she refused to believe it. Even as the spectral Lyanna only grinned wider. An evil curve of the lips as she watched her victory.

"The mother of a monster."

"No! I don't believe you…"

"Usurper… she is a usurper. She'll take everything from you."

"No!"

"Elia…" Her eyes fluttered open, a sheen of sweat covering her nude body even with the cooling breeze blowing through the open window. Pressed against Elia, Lyanna gently stroked her slender back. "Are you alright?"

The Dornish Queen blinked her eyes, trying to overcome the confusion in her mind. "Huh?"

"The mother of a monster…"

"The bane of your son…"

"Usurper…"

"Usurper…"

A pair of lips pressed against her brow. "You were moaning in your sleep. I was worried."

What was Elia doing? Thinking these things, letting these words and dreams affect her… with a simple kiss and tight hold, Lyanna showered her with the dearest form of love only Rhaegar could match. "It was nothing… just worried for our husband." Elia lied, though it wasn't complete - she did worry for Rhaegar… every day.

Lyanna held her closer, burying her face in the crook of Elia's neck. "I know. Gods, I know." A tear fell from her eyes and onto Elia's skin - it burned hot. "He'll come back to us. I know he will."

Wordlessly, Elia just snuggled deeper into the embrace. Imagining that Rhaegar was among them, pressing against her back. Letting Lya's love calm her.

But the voice still echoed in her mind.

Usurper…

Usurper...

Notes:

And Rhaegar marches into the thick of it... only his father left between him and the Iron Throne. Praise R'hllor and pass the Valyrian steel.

Aegarax is of the Valyrian pantheon of gods, and I thought such would be a perfect name for the alt-Rhaegar.

Jaime... what could Varys possibly be doing with you? Who are those people? Speculation is welcome.

Elia already loves Jon as her own, and he's an adorable little babe. Much better times in the Tower of Joy (actual joy) than in canon, but her dreams are ominous, no?

Next up, the final confrontation with Aerys.

The more reviews, the sooner I'll update :)

Chapter 59: Long Live the King

Notes:

Hello everyone. Happy MLK day weekend. I bet everyone was itching to read this chapter :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

The history of House Targaryen and the Principality of Dorne had never been one of ease and joy - blood and pain was more apt. Three failed invasions, two occupations, and dozens of immolations had all ended with the double marriage alliance during Daeron II's rule… but the gap remained. Hopes that he and Elia's marriage would soften relations abounded within court when Aerys announced it five years before, but from the glares and guarded looks shot his way from the lines of mustard-swathed spearmen under the banner of Sun and Spear, Rhaegar knew such hopes had been dashed even in the aftermath of his boundless love for his Dornish bride. "Unfortunately I doubt they appreciate my presence," Ned whispered in his ear as the mounted column approached the awning housing the Martells.

"Given the past, I highly doubt that, Ned." Rhaegar was heartened to see Oberyn, and once he dismounted the man pulled him into a tight hug. "Thank you, goodbrother," he whispered.

"It was my honor to serve the Sunrise Dragon." He eyed Aegarax with awe and a sort of pride. "Come, we have much to discuss." The King drew a breath, holding Aegarax and coming face to face with Doran Martell.

Never once had Rhaegar seen his elder goodbrother dressed for the cold. Swathed in the colors of his house, yet of warm wool and cottons - unlike the fur-lined cloaks and boots supplied by the Northmen, a slight shiver hit Doran nonetheless. "Your Grace." Stiff and wooden from the early ravages of gout, he wore a small smile as if everything was perfect between them.

Fire flowing in his veins and dragon resting atop his forearm, Rhaegar was in no mood to deal with Doran's duplicity. But diplomacy was diplomacy, and he'd need the support of Sunspear to seek peace once his father fell. "Greetings, Prince Doran. It is always a pleasure to see family once more." The five of them took their seats - each noticed that Oberyn sat slightly closer to Rhaegar and Ned rather than his own blood brother. Tywin sat equally between the two sides, eyes observant but face otherwise blank.

A flash of ire crossed Doran's eyes before the genial mask resumed. "My brother informed me of the birth of a new direwolf from the Lady Lyanna's womb." An attendant draped a thick blanket over his knees. "You have my congratulations.

Anger burned in Rhaegar over yet another insult directed at his Queen - as close as Doran could come to outright calling his son a Stark bastard. But it was Ned who responded. "Jon Targaryen is a Prince of greater rank than yourself… and so in Queen Lyanna. It would do wise to show some respect, Prince Doran."

The Prince of Sunspear raised his brow. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

It was clear that he did know, but the putdown was necessary - a power play. "This is Eddard Stark, brother." Oberyn played along, attempting to keep the peace while Tywin merely watched. "Lord of Winterfell."

"Ah, the Rock of Harrenhal in the flesh." Doran regarded him up and down with his eyes. "They also call you the Quiet Wolf if I recall correctly. That seemed to be a more apt name for you before this whole mess since there weren't many stories of you as your brother."

Ned narrowed his eyes. "A quiet life was all I wanted, but a direwolf bares teeth and claw to those that threaten his family." Rhaegar resisted the urge to knot his eyebrows together. Ned had a better mind for subtle politicking than he thought. Impressive.

Nevertheless, it was counterproductive. "Prince Doran, I am heartened to see Dorne finally responding to my summons, but considering the need of my claim and that of the lives of my family the delay was unacceptable of someone professing fealty.."

"Forgive me," Doran shrugged. "The planning of war from an inherently peaceful people… it is a long run matter."

"Long run? The forces of the Vale were ready to march in a matter of weeks," Ned countered, clenching his fists. Only a side glance from Rhaegar managed to calm him down.

"By the time we were ready, it was too late to advance through the heart of enemy territory. My goal shifted to ensuring King Aerys failed to escape from the capitol." He sighed. "If you wished for my coordination in this regard, then I offer my apologies."

Rhaegar pursed his lips. "Forgive me if we do not see eye to eye on that characterization of events." There was silence at the challenge. "I appreciate your support currently, but with my brides trapped in Starfall, on Dornish territory, your support was more than vital."

Leaning back in his chair, Doran was nonplussed. "Lord Tywin took his sweet time in deciding to join the conflict while I was preparing a strike at the heart of Aerys' domain, and yet he sits as an honored member of your council - i see that as odd."

Quiet the whole time, Doran raised Tywin's ire. "Issues of succession are usually quite… complicated, Prince Doran. Invasions of the lands of your sworn bannermen are not. Had Aerys' army crossed into the Westerlands, they would have met our spears far earlier."

"That is a good characterization, Lord Tywin, yet one that doesn't take into account all the facts." Doran smiled at his King. "Lord Allyrion and Qorgyle had my orders to march their bannermen to Starfall once Renly's line of retreat was cut off by Lord Wyl - my brother's zeal to protect Queen Elia managed to include Lord Uller in the relief force as well."

No one missed the surprise on Oberyn's face. As if Doran's words had shocked him. "Is this true, Prince Oberyn?" Ned asked, skeptical.

He gulped. "I knew not of it."

Doran's smile widened. "If I had truly wished to stop you, brother, I would have. Elia and Aegon's lives matter greatly to me."

Arms crossed, Rhaegar noticed he didn't mention Rhaenys. The slight on Lyanna and Jon was obvious, but not of his blood niece. I don't believe him. But if a lie, it was a good one. Did anyone expect the Dornish Lords to go against their Prince? Did he expect Oberyn to betray his brother so publically. Well played. "We can finish this blame game at another time. Can you inform me of how the seige is going? Did any of my father's forces escape or surrender?"

"Unfortunately, my sources in the capitol indicate that Lord Connington, Ser Jonothor Darry, and several other knights have managed to escape King's Landing before the blockade of Lord Velaryon and I could surround the harbor."

That was truly unfortunate. "Is my father still there?"

Doran nodded. "He is." In the distance, far-off thunderclaps boomed. "As is a storm, apparently."

"Good, we attack this evening."

Ned blinked. "Brother…"

"The men need rest," Tywin stated flatly.

Rhaegar knew his men were exhausted, but any longer this war continued was a moment too far. "They can rest when the Red Keep is ours. "We attack tonight."

---

The storm of the century brewing… or at least such was what the septons were calling it. A manifestation of the gods anger at the clashing of the royal family or some other such nonsense. Jaime Lannister inherited his father's contempt for the spiritual, the Lannisters being a far more practical House than the rest of the Great Houses… perhaps House Martell joined them though Tywin would deny it. Regardless of the cause, whatever sunlight bearing down upon King's Landing was being swallowed up by a vast expanse of ugly black clouds.

Ominous, if he thought of it.

Nevertheless, he found Rhaella staring out at the churning waters of Blackwater Bay. Silent and pensive, her dress didn't even try to hide her pregnant belly. "Jaime," she said to him without looking.

Jaime bowed. "My Queen." Outwardly neutral, but a love and longing filled his tone.

Rhaella happened to notice, looking back and smiling sweetly. "I'm glad for the company… especially you."

Her words elated him… hells, she always elated him. "I am honored." Jaime strode beside her, the two of them staring out at the sea. "Not a good sign, do you think?"

"No, the end is drawing near." She sighed. "For the first time since this all started, all of my children are once again close to me." Rhaella placed a hand on her stomach, feeling Daenerys quite active within. "I yearn to see them. Rhaegar safe, Daenerys born, and Viserys free from his father's poison."

"You as well…" Alone with her, Jaime took her wrist, bringing her hand up for a sweet kiss upon the soft skin. "There is no one more deserving than you of happiness, my Queen."

A tiny blush crept on her cheek, but Rhaella pulled her hand away. Eyes downcast as she bit her lip. "Lord Varys spoke to me." Jaime stiffened. No… he can't have told her… "He's planning something… for Rhaegar. He didn't tell me specifics, only that the true King will win." Turning back to him, her eyes watered. "I'm afraid, Jaime… I can't lose my son…" It didn't take but a moment for the knight to take his Queen into his arms.

A half-hour later, this conversation was still on his mind as he escorted the young Prince Viserys into the throne room. Empty apart from the King… and Wisdom Rossart, the two of them whispering loudly at each other from the Iron Throne.

"Your Grace." Flickering his eyes away from Rossart, the King deigned to look over both his son and Ser Jaime. "May I present Crown Prince Viserys of House Targaryen."

Studying Viserys and he with narrowed eyes, finally Aerys nodded. "Go see it done, Rossart," he told the Pyromancer turned Hand of the King - the last person Aerys trusted since Connington's flight. "Now, before I have you killed." Rossart didn't need to be told twice, clogs clapping against the stone floor as he made his exit. "Lannister, get over here. I need a guard… Jenny's spies are everywhere."

"Of course." Insane monster. Jaime kept those thoughts to himself, merely counting down the minutes until Rhaegar would arrive.

Even as Jaime took his place guarding the King, Aerys ignored him. "Viserys, my son. Do you know why we're here?" A smile curved on his face - more of a half-leer, half-grimace rather.

Willing himself not to tremble or stutter, the heir to Aerys Targaryen cleared his throat. "The… the true dragons shall not abandon our nest to the whims of wolves, lions, and vipers?"

"Very good. I'll make a proper dragon from you yet." The King tapped his fingers against each other, rising from the Iron Throne. "But that is only part of it. Our destiny is upon us, my son. The false dragon threatens to take everything from House Targaryen… your so-called older brother and his half-breeds in service of such." His eyes narrowed, stabbing his finger at his second surviving child. "Never fall for his seductive words, or the words of the whores he married."

"I… I shall not disappoint you, kepa." Viserys' voice was that of a man far older and more weathered than the seven nameday child he truly was.

"But it shall be over tonight," the King said ominously. "True dragons need not be afraid of what is to come, so stay in your rooms and do not come out until I inform you otherwise. Understood?"

Viserys seemed confused, but knew what he had to say. "Yes, kepa."

Aerys smiled. "Good, now get out of my sight." Viserys wisely retreated, racing back towards Maegor's Holdfast. Plopping back atop the Iron Throne, Aerys hissed as the blades forged long ago before the Field of Fire scraped at his arm - drawing pinpricks of blood. Proving his lack of worth, though truly notice he did not. "Tell me, Jaime… where do your loyalties lie?"

Underneath his helm and armor, Jaime bristled. "I serve the rightful King of House Targaryen." Not a lie. Rhaegar is my King. "I serve House Targaryen to my dying breath." I would die for Rhaella.

"Good, good." Aerys fiddled with a sausage of lint clinging to his robe. "And tell me once more, who leads the army gathering outside the walls of this very city? The one my ancestors built from the savage wilderness?"

"I believe the armies fight for the… disgraced Prince Rhaegar." The words tasted like ash coming from his tongue, but he spoke them nonetheless. "Ones supplied by Eddard Stark, Doran Martell, and… Tywin Lannister."

"So my old friend the lion was involved in the Doom after all." Chuckling darkly, Aerys leaned back - his violet eyes wild with energy. Quite shocking since the King rarely ate much these days. "I know you looked up to my traitor of a son, so if I told you to bring me the heads of both him and your cunt of a father, would you do so?" It was less a question than a challenge upon him. Jaime's very life on the line based on how he responded.

I should bring them your head. Not a day passed where he failed to imagine cleaving the King's neck in two for harming his beloved dragon, but whether by honor or by cowardice Jaime demurred. "I shall carry my King's orders without hesitation."

Throwing back his head, Aerys Targaryen cackled in laughter at the same moment as a jagged spear of lightning assaulted the ground. So close as to have the thunderclap be almost simultaneous with it. "You, Jaime… you're the proper lion. A weak cub that doesn't bite back… I've beaten you down long enough to spite your father, and it's worked."

"Yes… your Grace."

Wiping a tear from his eye, Aerys hunched to his side. "But do not worry. It shall not be you that has to get his hands dirty. All I need from you is watch my destiny emerge." With the winds howling around the throne room, Jaime slowly girded himself for the onrushing cyclone that the gods saw fit to form the finale of this rebellion.

---

"Tortoise, form up!"

"Hoo! Hoo!" In one fluid motion, the five hundred men of House Crakehall slammed their shields together. Boars and lions emblazoned on their shields as well as the ever-present symbol of Old Valyria, their once quick march changing into a slow, plodding advance. In the rear, two Targaryen dragon banners waved proudly. They heralded the presence of their King in the tortoise formation, though no one knew where.

Rhaegar felt the rumble of the thunder resonate through the ground. Above, the skies were a swirling maelstrom of dark clouds, wind howling as it slammed into the tortoise. The gods are angry with us… not a good omen. Atop his shoulder, Aegarax chirped apprehensively, the King well in tune with his dragon's emotions. It's alright, my son. Go back in your pouch and wait. But the dragon was stubborn, not willing to part himself from the action.

He was too much like Rhaegar for his own good.

Dragon hissing at anyone that got too close to Rhaegar not named Ned, Oswell, or Barristan, those within knew exactly where their king was. "That fucking thing better not breathe fire on me, Targaryen," snarled a scarred man in heavy plate.

"Do not speak to his Grace in that manner, Clegane!" the five-and-ten Ser Lyle Crakehal shot back, the man as bulky as the nickname "Strongboar" suggested.

"Fuck the King," Sandor Clegane hissed back. "If he can get me out of this mess in one piece, then I'll gladly kiss his arse.

Shield tight against the others in the second-most line of the attacking force, Rhaegar tore his gaze from the rapidly approaching Gate of the Gods. Sharing a chuckle with his goodbrother at the profane treason of the scarred man-at-arms. "That won't be necessary, Sandor," Rhaegar told the man over the roar of the advancing men. "I could knight you for this if you prove yourself."

Sandor spat, causing Aegarax to hiss at him. Laughs came all around at how he flinched, which only pissed him off more. "Stuff your knighthood, King Dragon. My brother's a knight and is a right cunt." He slammed his fist against his shield. "Get this fucker moving! I gotta kill some assholes!"

Looking back at Ned, the Lord of Winterfell shrugged. "I like him."

"Gates opening!" Oswell shouted, drawing attention to scores of Household guards marching out of the city itself. Their swords and axes glinted in the white shards of lightning that erupted from the angry sky, forming up tightly in front of the Gate of the Gods to challenge the advancing Westermen.

A large arrow suddenly thwacked against one of the shields… followed by dozens more as the archers atop the walls assailed them with the deadly projectiles. Most were blocked by the shields, yet enough wet slaps and pained grunts belied some hitting their mark.

"Hold steady!" the Strongboar commanded. A particularly intense gust of wind crashed against them all, staggering the formation. "Hold fucking steady!"

"Traitors!" Screamed out from the line of guardsmen, several score of goldcloaks reinforcing them. "Gutless Traitors!"

"You're the fucking traitors!" Oswell bellowed. "Fire and blood comes for you!"

"Fire and blood!"

A drop of rain splattered on Rhaegar's shield, another falling through a gap and plopping on Aegarax's head. He shrieked in surprise, beating his wings and clawing around. "In the sack, boy!" Rhaegar ordered, the dragon chirping and complying, disappearing into the burlap pouch across Rhaegar's back.

In an instant, the drizzle became a deluge that assaulted them with the fury of the heavens, soaking the soldiers to their very bones. But Rhaegar was undaunted. "Fire and blood!"

"FIRE AND BLOOD!" In one fluid motion the entire formation charged. Staying remarkably in formation for the final dozen yards between them and the line of guardsmen. Shields crashed together, the sheet of rain masking hundreds of war cries as the two sides clashed.

Rhaegar pushed one man back with his shield, drawing Blackfyre expertly and stabbing forward. The man toppled with a shriek, only for another to take his place, pushing back against the Westermen. "Traitor!"

"Murderer!" Ice cut down another, while Lyle Crakehall ran through a goldcloak with his Valyrian steel blade Tusk. Sandor Clegane merely reached out and grabbed a guardsmen, tearing open his neck with his bare hands. "I'll rape the corpse of any man with a clean sword!" he snarled at the Crakehall men.

"If he doesn't, I fucking will!" Oswell added.

The loyalists were outnumbered two to one, but with their backs hemmed in by the gate and with the arrows from above they held a defensive advantage - savaging the attacking Westermen… until the agents of Varys unleashed their planned coup for Rhaegar. Drawing their swords and slaughtering the other goldcloaks manning the gatehouse.

With a groan, the massive gate began to open inward.

"Forward!" Anchor denied them, the loyalists were being pushed back, Crakehalls signalling for the troops gathered in the deluge behind them. Spear held high in the air, Oberyn Martell sallied forth with the Martell infantry. Ready to retake King's Landing in the name of Queen Elia.

Whatever organization among the few that remained in support of Aerys II Targaryen collapsed as the levies of Sunspear marched through the Gate of the Gods - now "open as the spread legs of a Lysene whore" as Oberyn Martell put it succinctly. Ser Manly Stokeworth and the loyalists in the City Watch and Targaryen guard tried to rally their men in a fighting retreat towards the Red Keep itself, only for the attacking rebels to rout them again and again with the assistance of a surprising source.

The smallfolk of King's Landing, sated on stories of the kind Prince Rhaegar and his beautiful brides actually caring about them and their families, had reached the breaking point. Moons of the stench of wildfire and charred bodies suddenly ignited as the rebel army finally breached the city. Thousands rose from their houses and shacks. They screamed obscenities at the Aerys loyalists, pelting them with rocks and dung - many brandishing knives and hammers in mad charges towards their tormentors.

Few died, however. Most Goldcloaks and guardsmen joined the mob, shouts of "RHAEGAR!" and "DRAGON KING!" echoing out of every single neighborhood of the capitol. Everywhere the Westermen and Dornish marched they received cheers, and most were on their best behavior as ordered by their Lords and their King.

Raising Blackfyre in the air from the top of Visenya's hill, the Great Sept of Baelor looming large behind him, Rhaegar felt the rain splatter atop his armor. His leathers soaked and hair matted, in the crackle of the lightning he roared. Aegarax on his shoulder and screeching just as loudly. "FORWARD!"

"DRAGON KING!"

Ahead was Aegon's High Hill. Resting atop it was the Red Keep, the seat of House Targaryen. A place he hadn't seen in nine moons, and within its walls waited the final confrontation he would have with his father the King.

Soon, all would be over, for good or for ill.

And the thought terrified him.

---

Built with majesty in mind, in the chaotic maelstrom of wind and rain howling across the entire city it exposed something far different about the Red Keep. Ned could feel it scorching his very skin. Kicking an errant goldcloak trying to stop his goodbrother, Ned barely noticed Ice swinging - sharp Valyrian steel disemboweling his foe. It all seemed too surreal in the home of the Targaryen Kings, once something of grandeur… only now to represent only death to him.

Maegor Targaryen, building the keep only to massacre the builders so that only he would know its secrets.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, beset by rioters of the Faith as the entire city burned.

Daeron Targaryen, beset with the result of his father's whoring tearing the Realm apart.

Aerys Targaryen, murdering his grandchild and setting his goodfamily to wildfire.

Yet one kept him going. The red-cloaked figure to his right, teeth set in a snarl as nothing could stop him. Rhaegar was the salvation of his House, the great King that the Realm needed. The friend and brother Ned had never known he was missing. For he and the family Rhaegar gave him, Ned would fight to the death.

A twisted, jagged line of lightning assaulted the ground from the heavens, bathing the cavernous halls with an eerie white light. Casting a sort of life among the statues and icons of past kings, warriors, heroes… the immense thunderclap that shook in a furious echo seemed to be their cries of agony. Stern, joyless faces suddenly gazing upon the trio racing towards the throne room, as if beseeching them to end their suffering. Finish what the Mad King had started.

The immense double doors to the throne room loomed before them, guarded by its very own trio. Two goldcloaks clutching their spears in trembling arms, while a green-clad Kingsguard waited in his thick plate. "Prince Rhaegar…" he stammered.

"That's King Rhaegar to you," Barristan ground out, twirling his longsword. The sight of the legendary Barristan the bold nearly made the city watchmen shit their pants.

Rhaegar, to his credit, was calmer. "You're of House Tyrell, no?" The Kingsguard nodded. "My father had no authority to give you your white cloak, so you're of your family still. Lord Mace bent the knee, so go. Take off your cloak and just go back to Highgarden as Rolland Storm did." All hesitated, so Rhaegar displayed the might of Blackfyre, blood dripping off the rippled steel. "Go!"

Sheathing his sword, the knight did, hustling away with the goldcloaks not far behind.

Sighing, Rhaegar drew out the sack hanging from his shoulder. Inside, Aegarax cooed from his gentle strokes. Stay calm, boy. He hooted in response. "Ready?" Rhaegar looked at Ned, eyes soft and worn from all he endured - all they endured.

Ned's gaze filled with an icy resolve. "Let's finish this." Without further delay, the three of them pushed open the great doors to reveal the Iron Throne… and its occupant.

Every torch and chandelier in the massive antechamber were lit, flames casting an orange-red glow in all corners. The heads of the great dragons of the past glowered menacingly upon their creations, lightning covering them in a blinding white. As a child, Rhaegar always enjoyed running past them, naming them as he went. Now, he found himself whispering the names - calming himself in the familiarity. Balerion, Caraxes, Meleys, Vhagar, Syrax, Dreamfyre, Quicksilver, Vermithor…

From the sack, Aegarax chirped fearfully, sensing the tension. It's alright, boy… all will be over soon.

Halting at the well of the Iron Throne, the three of them glanced upward to the second trio of figures waiting there. Once vibrant, filled with courtiers and penitents, the sorry state of his father's position became apparent in the few that stood in the court of Aerys II Targaryen. Jaime, looking like he wished to be anywhere else. Wisdom Rossart, the oily skeleton of an pyromancer - the glint of the Hand of the King pin rested just below his grinning visage. Rhaegar's blood boiled at the insult to what Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya built.

Lastly, seated upon the throne of Balerion the Dread, was his father. "Ah, my dearest son!" he said with a crazed smile. His empire collapsing around him, reduced to just this strip of marbled floor, and he was smiling. "Bend the knee to your father and I shan't have you killed." Rhaegar knew his father was truly lost.

That didn't mean he wouldn't try to save him. However many atrocities he inflicted upon the world and his own family, Aerys was still his father. "I shall not bend, father," he said evenly. Beside him, Rhaegar heard Ned breath harder - hands tightening around Ice. "Your armies are beaten and walls have fallen. Surrender the crown to me."

The smile turned to a snarl. "You insolent wretch!" Robe rumpled and stained, body almost skin and bones, the King's fury still burned brightly. Violet eyes alight with flame. "How dare you defy me?!"

"How dare you kill your goodfamily?!" Ned thundered, having thought for many moons what he would say to the Mad King in this moment. "Your own grandchild, unborn and innocent?! How dare you bring them harm!"

At the howl of the wolf… the mad dragon cackled in laughter. "You must be Rickard's brat. Think he'll piss himself before I burn him?" Aerys asked Rossart.

"We can only see, your Grace," the Pyromancer repeated. Jaime said nothing, each moment adding to his agony.

"Probably. His brother and father did… cowards."

Before Ned could ascend the steps and kill Aerys with his bare hands, Barristan stopped him with an outstretched hand. "The City Watch has surrendered, Aerys," the kingsguard ground out, remembering the young knight that he fought alongside in the Stepstones. "Our armies have the capitol. You cannot hope to win."

"That is where you're wrong, Barristan. I shall win this war yet."

Slowly removing his helm, Rhaegar let it clatter about the floor. "Enough, father!" he thundered, silver locks falling wild over his shoulders - every inch a Valyrian dragonlord as Aegon the Conqueror. As Daemon the Rogue Prince. "You will surrender the throne to me!"

Aerys snorted. "Or what? You'll kill me?" He spat on the ground. "You couldn't even fucking kill Ser Jaime if I ordered him to attack you… you're such a spineless wyrm." The tiny flicker of doubt and hurt on Rhaegar's face made Aerys chuckle darkly.

"Burn them all…" whispered the voice. "Burn the false dragon."

In due time. Aerys was enjoying himself. "Pathetic." The wind howled against the walls, lights flickering about in a malevolent dance. "You can't even kill me. It's no wonder you couldn't protect your wives. No wonder your brat couldn't survive."

Ned's eyes widened, knowing he referred to poor Visenya.

"Your Grace, perhaps we should…" Rossart began.

Aerys waved him off with a snarl. "Viserys can be saved, as can his sister, but you are a lost cause." Each word pained him more than a thousand blows from Robert's warhammer. "You don't deserve to even touch Blackfyre, my spineless, worthless son!"

"No!" a voice roared, drawing attention to the rear entrance. Both Rhaegar and Jaime looked in horror at the heavily pregnant Rhaella waddling in. Putting herself in danger, but tall and proud as any woman of House Targaryen. "You will not speak of him in that way!" A life of cowering, of meekness, it evaporated, Rhaella feeling the fire of her blood burning in her veins as she walked into the well of the throne room between Rhaegar and Aerys. "I will not allow his reign to begin in the blood of our family in his hands - surrender the throne!"

Fists clenching, Aerys stood. "Insolent bitch! You will not speak to me that way!" Jaime found his hand going for his sword…

A screech shattered the din just as a thunderclap rocked Aegon's High Hill.

Ripping himself from the sack, Aegarax scrambled about Rhaegar's shoulders. Sensing his father in danger, he spread his wings. Hissing at Aerys at the top of his tiny lungs. Rhaegar watched as Aerys, Ser Jaime, Rossart, and his mother stared in complete shock. The rumors hadn't reached the capitol, apparently.

Jaw slack, it took moments before Aerys recovered enough to speak. "What… what is that?"

He smirked in spite of himself. "This is Aegarax - he is the sunrise dragon, and one day I shall be his rider," Rhaegar proclaimed proudly.

"No… that is impossible!" Aerys saw all his dreams - all his plans dissolve. "I am the last dragon! That beast should be mine!"

Staring at the dragon, it's head pointed at her for a moment before turning back to Aerys, suddenly Rhaella laughed. A dark chuckle, tinged with real amusement. "The last dragon, brother? You have got to be japing me." Gods, she was proud of her son. "Our father tried to bring the dragons back to the world, and it was our son to fulfill his dream. Our son, not you!" Each word found her grin growing.

While she grinned, he burned - rage boiling inside of him. "Shut it! Shut it, you cunt!" Shards pounded at his skull, the voice telling him over and over to burn them all. "Father was a fucking fool, burning himself alive like the weak shit he was! Duncan the same! Rhaegar the same!" Ripping the heavy crown of Aegon the Unworthy from his head, he shrieked as he threw it across the chamber. Hearing it crack against the columns of the throne room. "You will not steal my destiny from me!"

"They lie to you… deceive you with their tricks. Only you can bring the true dragons alive… burn them all and it shall be yours."

"It's over, father. Please, don't make me do this," Rhaegar pleaded as Aegarax stared daggers at Aerys. Hooting, suddenly breathing a puff of fire out to announce his hatred.

The sight of dragonfire focused Aerys - focused his rage. "You... You're not a dragon! You're just a traitor who by some extraordinary mummery got a wyvern who could breath fire!" Aerys moved to another side of the Iron Throne. "So this is what it's come to - my own family dishonors me. Consorts with whores and witches! Everybody lied to me, even that red bitch! All of my children and everyone around me are nothing but vile, faithless bastards!

That was one step too far for Jaime. He could see just how it affected Rhaegar - see the pain evident on Rhaella's face. "Your Grace, I can't accept that the men who bled for you-"

Aerys slapped his face, the suddenness of the blow staggering him. "Shut up! You call yourselves dragons because you spent years at this castle, but you only sucked off of my generosity! For years everyone has tried to undermine me, resisting every attempt that I have done to save my house from the Doom! All of you are cowards! Traitors! Failures!"

"Father, you are saying but lies to deceive yourself," Rhaegar was also reaching his limit.

"Burn them all!"

"Burn them all!"

"BURN THEM ALL!"

Yes, I shall! "My father fucked me! Jenny doomed us all! Tywin betrayed us all! My own family is unworthy!" Spittle shot out from his lips as he screamed, the voice consuming the last bit of his soul. "I would have done well years ago to execute all of those here for treason! I alone tried to rule, but everyone sought to usurp me!" But his smile turned sick, as if his skin became shallow from how horrid his thoughts had become. "But all these traitors will pay. They will pay with their own blood! They will burn, with fire!"

Rhaella's blood turned cold. "What have you done?"

"Back away, Rhaegar," Ned demanded, advancing with Ice.

Aerys laughed darkly. "This whole city, packed with wildfire." He delighted in how his family and guards all gasped in horror. "Starting with this chamber! One spark and all will die!"

Aegarax screeching madly, Rhaegar drew Blackfyre. Steeling himself for what he would need to do. Forgive me, father, but you have left me no choice.

"This is madness, brother!"

"Rossart! Do it!" Out of nowhere, the pyromancer drew out a flint, heading for the rear of the throne room. "Soon, all will die! This wretched city consumed in flame and the true dragons joining me in emerging from the ashes!" Aerys' eyes burned brightly. "I am the true dragon! I am Aegon the Conqueror's legacy…!"

With a thud, Rossert's decapitated head rolled across the floor past Aerys' feet. "The Master Pyromancer is dead, your Grace," Jaime said, looking straight at Rhaegar. Seeing Rhaella smile lovingly at him… it was worth it.

Aerys' face turned red with fury. "You traitor!" Somehow, he still was surprised by the treason around him. "I should have sent your severed parts to your father long ago!"

"I should have killed you for what you did to the Queen long ago." Frowning hard, Jaime kicked at Aerys' legs. Sending the king to his knees with a howl of pain. "I should have buried my sword in your back the first time you struck her Grace. She deserves better than you." As he spoke, Rhaella walked to stand beside him. Softly smiling at his defense of her.

Rhaegar ascended the steps, crisis averted. "It's over, father. There is nothing left for you."

"Just kill me," Aerys demanded. "Kill your father like the cowardly traitor you are!"

The rain roared even louder than before, the storm reaching full intensity. "No. I will not."

"You must end this… end the false dragon."

Clasping his father at the shoulder, Rhaegar looked into his eyes. Braving the madness and hate that swam inside them, even if it broke his heart. "Father… Surrender the crown. I beg you to end this." He didn't notice the King's hand going for something in the folds of his robe… though one did.

Shutting his eyes, Aerys felt the cold steel of the dagger as his bony fingers curled around it. "Kill him," the voice bellowed. "Kill the traitor!"

A sickly grin spread across his face. "All the power in the world… and you're still weak." Out came the blade as Aegarax screamed a warning, ready to plunge into his son's stomach.

"No!" yelled Ned, drawing Barristan's attention as well as a sharp blade pierced through flesh with a wet slap, followed by a gasp of surprise.

Beside him, Jaime felt his scabbard empty - he hadn't noticed the bloody blade drawn again. Only a split second passed before all the blood drained from his face, seeing exactly what had happened.

For a moment, how his father pitched towards him, Rhaegar knew he was dead. Killed at the last possible moment of the rebellion, by his own father no less. But the hot blood that splattered on his armor wasn't his. The dagger in his father's hand clattering to the ground. The gasp not from his throat. Before him, a horrific sight in and of itself, was the pointy end of a sword plunged right through Aerys' middle. Behind, hands gripped tightly on the hilt, was his mother. Face ashen yet determined as Rhaella had plunged the sword of her love into her husband. Her brother.

All to save her son.

With a gurgling groan, Aerys pitched face first to the throne, blade leaving his body as Rhaella kept a tight grip on it. The Queen trembled from the sheer audacity of what she had done. Wordlessly, in shock himself, Jaime slowly reached to her. Working the sword gingerly from her grip. "My Queen, please."

Shaking, her grip lessened. The sword parted from her hand and into Jaime's. One word rang in her ears. Kinslayer… kinslayer… Unable to stand - Daenerys kicking up a storm as powerful as the one raging outside - her knees gave way. "Jaime…" Rhaella murmured.

"Rhaella," he whispered back, free arm wrapping around her chest. Holding her up and letting her lean on him. She killed the King, her brother. Never existed someone more mistrusted than a kinslayer, and Jaime's soul ached at what now stood in Rhaella's fate… regardless of the righteousness of her actions.

Everything happened so fast for Rhaegar… at the moment he couldn't comprehend. He vaguely heard Ned speak to him, Barristan speak to him, his mother sobbing, but it was only the hoots and screeches of Aegarax that drew him out of the morass he found himself in. "Father!" Battered, bruised, brutalized that he was, still the loving son existed. Tried to kill him in akin to an embrace, and yet Rhaegar still knelt by his father and turned him to his back. Not letting him die alone.

But what looked back at him drew his everlasting surprise.

Blood seeped from Aerys' wound, slowly draining him as his skin grew ever paler. Strength fading away… and yet the voice was gone, and with it the hate. The anger and bitterness that drove him. Having to struggle further for every breath, every movement, Aerys' thoughts were freer than any time since his youth. Looking up, he saw the form of his son kneeling above him. "Rhae…" Aerys rasped. "Rhaegar…"

Gasping softly, Rhaegar saw his father's eyes no longer with the manic glow or fiery rage that tinged it ever since he could remember. They were normal, a soft violet filled with something he only found in his mother. Love? "Yes, Kepa?" he said.

Light fading away, Aerys nevertheless mustered his strength. Pushing his arm up Rhaegar's to his shoulder… and then to his cheek, feeling the warmth there. The last he would ever feel as the life slipped away from Aerys II Targaryen. "My son…"

The words were a murmur, barely audible, but Rhaegar heard them. His father's last words. Ones undoubtedly of love. Knelt on the floor, blood soaking his trousers and armor as he held his father, tears clouded Rhaegar's eyes as he laid Aerys upon the floor - granting him the peace in death that he had never known in life. Aegarax, sensing his father's agony, gently nuzzled his cheek. It brought Rhaegar a needed comfort. "Goodbye, kepa. Gods be with you."

A gentle hand pressed to his shoulder, that of his goodbrother. Regardless of all that had happened, he gave his empathy to Rhaegar nonetheless.

"Ahhhhh!" All eyes turned to Rhaella, a scream ripping from her. "Dany… too soon," she ground out, liquid breaking through her womb. "It's too soon…"

"Jaime!" Rhaegar called to the Kingsguard. "Get the midwife."

"Yes, your Grace." But he suddenly heard the loud voices and scuffled footfalls echoing through the halls even over Rhaella's screams. No… they'll find her crime... Jaime acted fast. "Get her Grace to her chambers," he barked at Barristan, the senior knight too engulfed by the magnitude of it all to do nothing but obey.

"No!" Rhaella cried through gritted teeth. "Jaime…" Trapped in agony, she realized it was he that she wanted by her side.

But his insistence was overpowering. Barristan's hold replacing his own as the Kingsguard led the Queen - now Queen Dowager - towards the exit. Rhaella's eyes shifted from Jaime to her son and then back to Jaime, stabs of rolling agony forcing her to scream out in pain at every jolt and movement.

Squeezing the lifeless hand of his sire one last time, Rhaegar stood just as Lord Tywin made his way into the Throne Room. Surrounding him were a dozen men, notably his brother Kevan, Emmon Frey, Roland Crakehall, and the towering form of Ser Gregor Clegane. Elbowing aside the guards that protected him, Tywin stared at the scene before him. "By the Seven, what has happened?" There was much talk of deposing Aerys… but not this.

Ned standing beside him with a grim expression, Rhaegar straightened his back. Suppressing the grief that coated his face and eyes. Mourning would be saved for later. "Lord Tywin…"

"The King is dead," Jaime interrupted brazenly, brushing past his King. Bloody sword in hand, his voice boomed through the throne room. Heard by even Queen Rhaella.

His voice reaching her, Rhaella bid Barristan to stop. "Your grace, we must…"

"No, wait…" Her teeth clenched, but still listened for her lion knight.

Green eyes flickering to Aerys' corpse, Tywin only felt irritation at his son's recitation of the obvious. "Indeed."

"I killed him."

Rhaegar's eyes widened, completely blindsided. Beside him, Ned also looked at the Kingsguard with shock - both wondered the same thing. Why would he take the blame…? But Rhaella's reaction… "No! No!" Jaime… you can't… Her contractions ripped into her, however, Daenerys not seeming to care that her mother's love had just confessed to being a kingslayer. "Let me… go…" Rhaella demanded weakly.

"We must get the midwife," Barristan breathed, amazed at Ser Jaime's declaration but the Queen's condition predominating. He pulled her out faster.

"No…" The pain was too much, words unable to form as Barristan shepherded her from the Throne Room. Screams drowned out by the booming thunder.

The Queen's cries were noticed but largely ignored by the gathered crowd, all staring at Jaime in shock. "You?" Lord Crakehall said incredulously.

"Yes." Jaime didn't have a shred of remorse. "It had to be done."

"I will slaughter every man, woman, and child in this keep to keep her alive and unharmed."

In that, Jaime now found his own honor as one he would kill for her. He couldn't bring himself to feel any regret for it.

One of the Westermen approached Jaime with his blade drawn. "Shall I place him under arrest, your Grace?" he asked Rhaegar, likely trying to curry favor.

Rhaegar snapped out of his haze. "No, you will not touch him." Regardless over who had done it - and that was something he would address later - his father had to die… It was something that needed to transpire or else… He'd have destroyed us all. "Ned, take his sword."

Approaching the now disgraced Kingsguard, Ned scanned Jaime with astonished eyes. This brother of Cersei that he knew not of… nothing beyond what she told him, and this. "Your sword, Ser Jaime." Wordlessly, Jaime handed it over.

Gazing at the dragon heads, feeling their stares upon him, slowly Rhaegar ascended the steps. Finding the Iron Throne empty before him, a chair of swords that so many had fought and bled and died over. With a loud thunderclap bellowing outside, Rhaegar sat upon it. Its blades not cutting him once.

While the consequences of this would reverberate for his family, Tywin found himself in that moment staring at the still corpse of Aerys II Targaryen. His old friend was so pale, and yet in the expression a sort of peace existed. One Aerys had never known in his life. "The King is dead," he said over the roar of the rain splattering against the walls of the Red Keep.

Climbing atop Rhaegar's shoulder, Aegarax shrieked and flapped his wings. Taking off unsteadily into the large vault above. Rhaegar's eyes tracked his dragon, the weight of it all finally striking him with an unbelievable fatigue. "Aye."

Tywin nodded. His next words were just as simple. "Long live the King."

Outside, the storm continued to rage, an apt serenade to the events that transpired within it's torment.

Notes:

Long live the King!

I hope y'all liked how Jaime got his "Kingslayer" name this time around.

The more reviews, the sooner I'll update :)

Chapter 60: From the Cradle

Notes:

Hi everyone. Glad y'all are here for another exciting installment :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Come on, muna!" The darkness that enveloped Rhaella exploded into a vivid color, blinding sunlight forcing her to blink frantically. An insistent grip tugged her forward. "Something the matter? You're always eager to fly with me." The voice was young, feminine, but Rhaella couldn't see who it was as her eyes still adjusted to the bright light.

"At least you can ride with her," another young woman said from behind them, making Rhaella's mind whirr. She sounded just like Jaime… only a female version. "Mine is still too young."

A merry laugh. "Enjoy those times when they last, sister. Right, muna?"

Finally Rhaella caught a glimpse of the insistent young woman. A short, graceful girl, pale Valyrian beauty more than evident in her sparkling violet eyes and silver curls. Her outfit was that of a horseman, but well-tailored and in the red and black of House Targaryen. "Yes…" Deep in her heart, she knew this was her daughter. "Daenerys. You are right."

"I suppose I shall be patient." The other was slightly taller than the first, but even more graceful - almost a wisp of a thing, her blonde locks framed a familiar face. Jaime's cheekbones and nose, only softer. But inlaid in her face were two lavender eyes - pure Targaryen. Rhaella's mind spun.

"They're here!" Suddenly Rhaella realized she was in the dragonpit, the ruined structure restored to its former glory… covered in a great shadow that descended towards them with an immense roar. One that filled her with strength and fire…

"Muna… muna!"

Sheen of sweat covering her forehead, Rhaella's eyes opened with a flutter. Gone was the magnificent vision of a dragonpit drenched in color and majesty. Gone were her beautiful daughters… instead was the gentle firelight of her chambers. The weight of several thick blankets draped atop her comfortingly, while standing beside her bedside with his hands holding hers… "Rhaegar!" She tried to rise, only for a dull ache in her stomach to send her toppling back.

Rhaegar was easing her gently back atop the pillows. "Gods, muna. Don't try to move too much while you rest."

She nodded, but opened her arms. "My son." Even the mighty Rhaegar Targaryen couldn't resist his mother's embrace, falling into it with a tremble. Tears pricked at Rhaella's eyes. "My boy… my handsome dragon. I was so worried."

The weight of moons of war and stress evaporated in his mother's arms. A feeling he sometimes felt embarrassed in still succumbing to, but one Rhaegar would never give up if he could help it. "I wish I could tell you your worries were unfounded, but I can't." Reluctantly, he pulled back, still squeezing her hand. "But yes, I'm alive and unharmed."

Staring at her perfect Targaryen King of a son, memories began flooding back to Rhaella. "You really hatched a dragon? Truly?"

Rhaegar chuckled, motioning to a table where the tiny creature - Aegarax - slumbered. "Not much to look at, but the might of House Targaryen returned."

"I'm so proud of you, Rhaegar." She reached up to cup his cheek. "A mother couldn't ask for a better son." A moment passed before her eyes widened, heart starting to beat out of her chest in a sudden apprehension. "Rhaegar… where is…?" She couldn't finish. "Is she…?"

Rising from his seat, Rhaegar padded over to a… was that a bassinet in her chambers. Out of it he scooped a tiny, wriggling bundle, and in an instant warmth truly returned to Rhaella's world. "Here she is." He brushed a gentle finger against his newborn sister's cheek, incredibly small in his large arms. "A perfectly healthy dragon princess."

The tears were unavoidable, Rhaella sniffling among soft sobs as Rhaegar slowly deposited the little babe in her hold. "Daenerys…" She ignored the aches in her abdomen, cuddling the beautiful babe to her chest and pressing her cheek against the tufts of silver hair that crowned her flushed face. "You're perfect. My perfect little hatchling." Already Rhaella knew this was the first of the girls from her dream, and already she would give her life to protect her.

Watching with a heartfelt smile of his own, Rhaegar chuckled. "Daenerys?"

Rhaella nodded, her heart bursting with love for her daughter. "After the Old King's first, the most beloved of his children, a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dark world." She pressed a kiss to Daenerys' cheek, drawing a coo from the infant Princess. "But she won't share the same fate. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Nor I."

Looking up, Rhaella's eyes sparkled. "And I have a new grandson as well." The gods had seen fit to reward her with such wonder. "They'll grow up together." Somehow it all felt right.

In giving his life, her brother had allowed happiness to rise from the ashes as would a phoenix.

There was a knock on the door. "Your Grace." The voice was unfamiliar to Rhaella. "Ser Jaime Lannister wishes to speak with the Queen."

Rhaegar's brows furrowed. "The Queen is recovering from her childbirth, Thorne," he shouted back, voice authoritative. "Tell Ser Jaime that he can visit her later…"

"Let him in, Rhaegar."

Cut off mid-sentence, Rhaegar looked to his mother in surprise. "You truly wish to see him, muna?" Surely there were more important things for his mother to deal with than the perplexing headache of what Jaime 'the Kingslayer' had done - can someone be more foolish or more honorable than he?

Biting her lip, Rhaella gently rocked Daenerys as she tried to find the plausible words - it wasn't the time or place to tell her son the King of her… indiscretions. But her heart yearned to see Jaime's face. "I need to know why he chose to protect my reputation, my son. Please." She noticed the dark circles under his eyes. "You need rest as well."

Sighing at his mother's… well, motherliness, Rhaegar leaned down to kiss the crown of her head - and the same to Daenerys. "I'll see you on the morrow, muna." Scooping the still sleeping Aegarax in his arms, the dragon sleepily nuzzled his bicep as he made his way out. "Ser Jaime," Rhaella heard him say.

"Your Grace."

There was a tense silence that drew Rhaella's worry. "Thank you," she finally sighed in relief at her son's answer. "For protecting her."

"It was my oath. I'd die for the Queen." Rhaella's heart skipped a beat - an altogether different affection for Jaime than for Daenerys filling her. Soon after, the door closed behind the Lannister knight as he entered. He was dressed down in a tunic and breeches, but still wore his heavy boots and sword. No words passed as they stared at one another. He looks so handsome. Not just that, though. "Is that the Princess?" he finally broke the silence.

Rhaella nodded, gently setting Daenerys in the crook of her arm. "Jaime."

The single plea was enough to break him, and in an instant he was kneeling by the bedside, arms thrown around her much as Rhaegar had. Except unlike her son, Rhaella felt his mouth search out hers. Lips tangled together in a mutual kiss. For the first time since this all started, not a trickle of shame at her greedy claiming of this knight came from her.

Daenerys' whimpers broke the kiss, Jaime snickering sheepishly while Rhaella reached back for her daughter. Calming her with a close hold. "Why did you do it, Jaime?" The question she had wished to ask since seeing him. "Why… how could you destroy yourself like this?" It sounded angry, but inside Rhaella's heart broke. Agony for how Jaime had thrown so much away.

He, however, merely shrugged. "I would think it obvious, Rhaella."

Rhaella… Her name sounded so wonderful coming from him. Said as if the name of a goddess. "You gave up your honor, your standing as a knight." She reached out for him. "Your oath was to protect the King."

"Rhaegar is my King," was the reply.

"Be serious, Jaime. I killed Aerys. It is I that deserves the consequence."

But he shook his head. "Not while I still breathe will I let anyone harm you, Rhaella. If I have to slaughter all of the Red Keep to protect you, I will." He cupped her cheeks, relishing in the intimacy. "I love you, my Queen."

There it was again. The gentle confession of Joanna's son, professing not lust but undying affection. Everlasting adoration. Things Rhaella had never known in her life in such a sense, but after all that befell the Queen dowager… a sudden fire filled her. A passion to claim what she wanted, damn all the consequences.

And she wanted Jaime. "I love you too, my protector. My lion."

Never before did she ever see him as happy as he looked in that moment. Careful of the sleeping babe, Jaime kissed her again, this one slow and loving.

Eventually it broke, the two of them resting their foreheads on the other. "This will be hard, Jaime," she breathed.

"Aye," he replied. "I'd rather not face his Grace's wrath just yet."

"There's so much going against us."

"If Arthur and Dacey worked it out, we should too."

She snorted. "I doubt such is a similar situation."

"True… Dacey can swing a mace."

Frowning wryly, Rhaella shook his head. "You're just like your mother. The Lady of Snark - Tywin never japed but she couldn't help herself."

He grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Rolling her eyes, Rhaella glanced back down at Daenerys. Kissing her brow, never feeling as blessed as this moment. Perhaps House Targaryen would finally know peace.

---

"Still surreal… you on this throne," Ned mused, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "Never thought my goodbrother would be the fucking King."

Rhaegar sighed. "Been raised as the Crown Prince all my life and I still can't believe it." Blackfyre out, he gently cleaned it, gazing out at the cavernous hall. "This does truly calm a person."

Ned nodded. "I know you love your harp, but if you play that you'll just attract more women… and I do not think my sister would like that."

"Your sister would be too entranced by me on the Iron Throne, I believe." From the appreciative glint in his eye, it was obvious what Rhaegar spoke of.

"Please… that is not something I wish to speak of in regards to Lya." He shuddered, eager to change the subject. "I have news from Winterfell. I'm the father of a healthy baby girl."

Looking up, Rhaegar thumped his shoulder. "Congratulations, brother. Name?"

He couldn't help the soft smile on his face. "Not sure yet… have to see her first." He hadn't even met his daughter and she already was the joy of his life… same as all of his kids were for Rhaegar.

"Good choice. I hope for her, Jon, and Daenerys to be close growing up."

"Agreed."

An echo rang out as the side doors opened, Ser Lewyn entering along with a smaller figure. "Your Grace, Prince Viserys as you requested."

"I'll be off, then. Good luck," Ned told him, walking out along with Ser Lewyn. Just leaving Rhaegar and his younger brother in the Throne Room.

Staring at each other, neither said a word. Viserys averted his gaze for the longest time, while Rhaegar studied him in return… his heart breaking at what he was seeing. Once lively and sweet, all had bled out of Viserys. In its wake was a quiet, sullen child with a perpetual glower. An inner rage practically simmering underneath his skin.

He reminded Rhaegar of their father just as the paranoia began to take over him, and such made the Sunrise Dragon's heart clench in agony. "Brother," he called out. "Come here… I'm glad you're unharmed…"

"Kepa made me heir."

Rhaegar blinked. "What?"

Finally, the Prince's eyes met Rhaegar's. A dark, fiery glint in them. "You declared your intent to usurp him as Daemon Blackfyre did to his brother, and therefore he made me the heir." Viserys pointed at the throne. "It belongs to me. Get off."

Rising, Rhaegar proceeded down half the steps before easing himself to sit. Patting the side for Viserys to join him - and to his surprise he did. "Vis… our kepa suffered from demons in his mind. It drove him to atrocity, but that didn't mean he didn't love us. However, the people around him used his demons to try and destroy everything I ever cared about. I had no choice and for muna's sake I hope you understand…"

"Don't bring muna up! You were gone! You didn't see how she suffered." He was shaking. "How could you betray our family!" Viserys shot up, trembling with the sudden anger unable for many moons to be expressed. "Gods… father needed your loyalty and you betrayed him! You took up arms against him!"

Rhaegar stood as well, looking down on his young brother… searching for something of the innocent boy that he had been before. "Kepa left me no choice, Viserys. When you have a family of your own you'll understand." He placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, only for it to be wrenched away - that hurt, but he continued. "A dragon protects its clutch, and its mates."

Viserys' violet eyes blazed fury, something once seen in Aerys… it made Rhaegar pitch back a step from the shock of it. "And there it is, brother," spat the young Prince. "They were more important than your House. Than kepa! A Direwolf and a Viper over the dragon that needed you! Kepa collapsed into torment because of you!"

"Brother, that's not true…"

But Viserys didn't stop, unleashing the urge to scream at his brother. To unload the vilest things that he had ever heard or thought. "At least I know the cunt of a Dornish bitch and a Northern slut is more important to you than muna or kepa or I ever were."

Before he could stop himself, Rhaegar's arm shot out, backhanding his brother right in the cheek. Trembling himself with the sudden ire at his brother, patience broken. But the sight of Viserys, a flash of helplessness in his eyes, calmed Rhaegar down. "Brother… I'm sorry." The fear disappeared, anger returning. "Let me…" He extended his hand.

Only for Viserys to slap it away. "I don't need your fucking help! Traitor!" All he endured from Aerys' collapse into madness… had Rhaegar not risen up, their family could have been whole. Free of the conniving of Martells and Starks and Lannisters determined to tear the House of the Dragon apart.

Breathing deeply, Rhaegar pressed a frown. "Regardless of what you think, I am the King now. My brides are the Queens, and you are a Prince behind the line of succession of your nephews. It is time you accept that reality or else the only one that will suffer is yourself… and mother." He reached down and yanked Viserys to his feet, uncaring of his discomfort. "I expect you in muna's chambers for dinner. You are to meet your sister Daenerys, and if you aren't on your best behavior I will lock you in your room for the week." He stormed out of the Great Hall, muttering curses in High Valyrian.

Left alone in the cavernous chamber built by Maegor the Cruel, Viserys screamed at the top of his lungs. Kicking at the marble steps… ignoring how they made his toes throb in agony. "This is mine! I was loyal!" he screeched. "I loved kepa and muna more than that traitor!" He kicked it again, only now feeling the ache with a wince.

Staring up at the Iron Throne with a sudden clarity, Viserys rose up the steps. He ran his hands along the throne of swords… a throne of so many great Targaryen Kings before him, ending in the reign of his father, betrayed by so many. Why Rhaegar… we could have been a strong family… we could have saved father from the backstabbers.

But he betrayed their house.

Their father made him the heir. By all rights it should be him on the Iron Throne.

Deciding to try it out, Viserys sat upon it. He gazed out at the majesty of the hall, imagining making his father proud… until an ancient blade off the field of fire pricked his hand.

---

"Please spare Jaime."

Rhaegar sighed. "Many are demanding his head for breaking his oath… or at least that's how Ser Jaime made it out to be."

Reaching out to take her son's hand, Rhaella pleaded with her gaze. "My son… Jaime was… is protecting me. He did this for me, I can't let him suffer for my sins."

"They weren't your sins. You were saving me from father's madness." The entire ordeal still seemed like a blur to the King, speaking to his mother privately about it for the first time. Considering what was about to be done, no time was better than the present as they descended the steps beyond the gardens. "But I gather he didn't wish you to be known as a Kinslayer… Lord Tywin offered to take him back to the Westerlands to be his heir. Perhaps that…"

She shook her head. "There is no one more honorable than Jaime Lannister." It may have been selfish, but Rhaella wanted him beside her. She loved him, and he her. "I cannot think of a better Kingsguard that I would trust with my life."

Heeding his mother's please, Rhaegar nodded. "I'll think about it." Gods, if it hadn't been for his mother in the chaos of the last few weeks since the death of his father… Targaryens past had suffered neglecting their Queens. Relegating them to mere broodmares as Robert would have done Lyanna. His mother was smart, decisive in her new form… Rhaegar wanted her on his council and to do with his brides what Aerys failed to do with his. Once they return… I'll tell them.

The beach below Aegon's High Hill was deserted this time of night. No patrols, no smallfolk braving the King's private domain to fish the waters and bring fresh food to their families. Just the haunting sliver of the crescent moon, casting whatever small amount of light it could. Joined with the torches and lanterns to illuminate the four Kingsguards preparing the modest pyre on the sand.

"Are you alright with this, muna?" Rhaegar asked, ever dutiful and caring.

Rhaella bit her lip, but nodded nonetheless. "Aye, he was my brother and all I had left of your grandparents… and the sweet boy I grew up with was there at the end." Looking at Ser Lewyn and Ser Oswell gently lower the stretcher holding Aerys Targaryen's body upon the pyre, an errant tear welled in her eye.

Rhaegar noticed, sweeping her in a gentle embrace. "I know. Gods, I know…"

"What if that was really him, Rhaegar?" She rested her cheek on her son's strong shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"The visions you've had, the dreams I've had… Aegarax…" The dragon's head poked up from the other shoulder at the mention of his name, only to chirp and fly down to the beach. "The gods are active, Rhaegar, so what if your father… had darkness consume him?"

Rhaegar blinked, pulling back to look at his mother. "You mean the gods caused his madness?" It didn't sound implausible, and created many implications that broke his heart. "Stranger things have happened, muna."

"He was my sweet brother underneath it all… he was…" She sobbed softly, seeking the embrace of her son. They simply held each other atop the stairs, swaying softly in the breeze wafting off the bay.

A true Targaryen Queen, Rhaella's tears didn't last long before she recovered her composure. With her son's arm round her shoulder, the two of them walked slowly down the stairs till their boots pressed against the sand - easing their way towards the pyre. At their approach the Kingsguards all stood still, legs spread and hands behind their back. Viserys stood off to the side, Aegarax climbing over his chest. He seemed… calmer, offering Rhaegar only a silent stare but his mother the tiniest of smiles that eased the torment of her soul.

When her eyes met Jaime's, the love in his greens filled her with warmth. It took all of the Dowager Queen not to rush to him - lock their lips together. It was still so new and they hadn't laid together since that one night, but gods did she want to.

"Is everything ready?" the King asked, bringing his mother out of her prurient thoughts - for the briefest of moments, Jaime had drawn her out of her grief and she loved him for it.

Ser Barristan nodded. "Aye, your Grace. We've spread the pitch and tar around the body as requested." It would cause a quicker burn.

Rhaegar nodded. "Good." He looked to Viserys. "Brother, wish to say something?" Wide eyes staring at him, Viserys merely stepped towards their father, whispering something inaudible as if confiding in the late King. Rhaegar gave him his moment, then turned to Rhaella when Viserys stepped back. "Muna?"

Steeling herself, Rhaella approached the body of her brother. Dreadfully pale, but face serene in death. The same look as he held as the gentle child that would sneak pastries for her from the kitchens, not the monster that brutalized her. "Take care, brother," she finally murmured. "I shall strive to remember the good man that you were deep down." The gentle hand of Rhaegar on her shoulder brought her back, reaching out to hold Viserys to her side.

Which only left Rhaegar, gazing down at his father. "I tried… to be a dutiful son. Perhaps had… had the darkness not destroyed it all, things would have been different." Reaching down, he squeezed the stiff, cold hand. "Goodbye father - in spite of it all, I did love you and know you loved me." Landing atop his shoulder, Aegarax peered at his kepa. "Dracarys."

Out of Aegarax's maw released a solid jet of flame. Enough to catch the pitch-soaked wood in proper flames, spreading rapidly across the entire pyre and engulfing Aerys II Targaryen's body. Rhaegar eased back next to his mother, the two of them standing tall and letting the heat of the fire bathe them. Viserys shivered, burying his face in his mother's dress, while the Kingsguards removed their helms.

Tongues of fire reaching out into the dark night, it paled in comparison to the great pyres of King Aegon I or Jaehaerys I that stabbed at the sky the height of the largest of buildings. No mourning throngs of people tens of thousands in number. But The funeral of a Valyrian dragonlord nonetheless, mourned by those that cared for him.

The dark spirit watched from the cliff face, tendrils of black smoke hidden in the shadows. Aerys was far too weak to achieve his purpose… "Perhaps I need to destroy her champion from within."

---

Visenya's Square, overlooked by the bulk of the Great Sept of Baelor - a monument to some and a monstrosity to others - had been the site for the most amazing of events. The Wedding of Daeron II and Myriah Martell. The coronation of Aegon V. The Wedding of Rhaegar Targaryen and both Elia Martell and Lyanna Stark at different times. Only now, such wonderful occasions were sundered by the solemnity of what had to be done.

The execution of the traitors, all condemned by the King's justice in the matter of one day. Standing there in his armored finery, Aegarax upon his shoulder as was the norm, Rhaegar had wished for the coronation first - but it had to happen now. "Best get it over with," both Ned and Tywin advised. It was smart he had to say, the agreement of his mother being the one that set him over the top on the decision.

As such, two platforms were hastily erected along with a dias for the royal observers - one set higher than the other. Below, he could see his mother leave her wheelhouse, holding Daenerys in her arms and with the sullen Viserys trailing. Behind were Doran and Oberyn Martell, rounding off the observers he allowed on his dias. "Mother," Rhaegar greeted, kissing her cheek. "Dany." He smiled softly, kissing the tiny cheek. "Viserys." The boy just stared at him, eyes hard.

Hands clasped together, hidden under the sleeves of her maroon cloak, the Lady Melisandre gingerly stepped atop the smaller platform - separated by a waist's length from the pyres. She slowly removed the cowl over her head, showing off the fire-red hair. She looked otherworldly, which was part of her mystique. Emblazoned on the back of her cloak were the black lines of Old Valyria. The same symbol that brought victory upon the fields of Stony Sept. The new call of her Lord, and of her King.

"My Lady," said Alliser Thorne, approaching her. "Everything is ready."

She nodded, the tiny ghost of a smile on her perfect lips not leaving. "Bring them out, then." Thorne nodded, gesturing in the distance.

At the edge of the courtyard rested dozens of prisoner wagons, each containing six condemned. Targaryen household guards marched with them, swords drawn and at the ready while crossbowmen watched from hastily erected guardtowers. Unlike the defected goldcloaks there for crowd control, the Sunrise Dragon made no risk here.

"How did you select them?" Rhaella asked her son, gently rocking Daenerys in her arms - hoping she'd stay asleep.

"Was decided long ago," the Lord of Casterly Rock answered. "The mere military commanders will be pardoned after paying a ransom price, while those that committed… atrocities against innocent parties will be given the King's Justice."

Rhaegar exhaled, frosty as he watched a line of goldcloaks stripped of their ranks and sentenced to death march slowly towards their ultimate fate. "Rapists, murderers, thieves. Anyone who obeyed the vile orders of Connington or my father."

Holding tight to Dany, Rhaella surreptitiously squeezed one of Rhaegar's fingers, giving him as much comfort as she could. "Is House Stark happy?"

"Happy?" Ned asked the Dowager Queen. "Happy is having my brother and father alive… but I am content."

"Honest answer, Lord Eddard." She bounced Dany gently. "Your sister comes from good stock."

"We are proud of our line… and now it shall include dragonlords. My father is probably content as well, wherever he may be within the afterlife."

Slowly did the men walk up to the first platform, resigned to their fates as more Household Guards pressed them with their spears. Melisandre watched with her piercing red eyes. They were… greatly unsettling even to Thorne, though he had time to get used to her. Everyone in Rhaegar's army knew of the Red Priestess, spiritual advisor to the Sunrise Dragon.

The most pious of the Faithful didn't like it, but no one doubted Rhaegar's connection to the magic of the gods. Something truly unseen since the demise of the dragons.

Looking up at the dias where her King waited, at Rhaegar's nod Melisandre held up her hands. "People of King's Landing." Whatever hushed murmurs or whispers that rippled through the crowd all ended as the Priestess spoke. "By the will of the divine, victory has passed for Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of His Name. Not only has he earned the throne of his ancestors, but through the power of his blood and his will he has hatched dragons from the stone. He is the Sunrise Dragon, and as his first act as your King he shall proclaim justice against the evildoers."

"Burning?" Rhaella observed.

A snort from Oberyn. "How ironic. They served the burner, and yet their deaths shall be in fire."

It should be Connington that burns. But he, the Darry brothers, and many other knights had already fled. The justice today would only be partial.

As the prisoners had their hands and feet bound to the staves by the guardsmen, the doors to the Great Sept of Baelor opened with a groaning flourish that echoed through the quiet winter's air. Out emerged the rotund form of the High Septon in his ceremonial robes and clear crystal crown, folds of fat jostling as he proceeded down the steps of the Holy Temple towards Visenya's Square. Around him were representatives of the Most Devout in their finery, cloth-of-silver robes and crystal coronets of all colors radiating majesty. They surrounded themselves by an oval of septons and Silent Sisters dressed far more modestly - the former swinging decanters of smoking incense and singing holy chants while the latter had their heads bowed and their grey cowls shrouding their faces.

For the onlookers lining the steps close to the statue of Baelor the Blessed, they bowed as the procession journeyed towards the executioner's platform. Granting their holy men the deference normally only fit for a King.

Ned curled his lips in distaste. "Did you invite them here?" he asked his goodbrother.

"No," Rhaegar replied, Aegarax hissing quietly atop his shoulder - sensing his father's discomfort. "I specifically told them their services wouldn't be required today."

Doran snorted, leaning harder on his cane. "Such open defiance… not a good omen for one's reign being so young. Especially since your victory at the Trial of Seven."

Such did puzzle Rhaegar, but his mother leaned to him. "They defy you because of your dragon." Glancing back at the procession, Rhaegar studied them. While the High Septon basked in the adoration of the crowd and the Silent Sisters said nothing, the septons often sent wary glances in his direction - the Most Devout, cunning as they were, couldn't hold back their contemptuous looks. "They sought the destruction of our House… with our power restored, they may try again."

Narrowing his eyes, Rhaegar felt the anger burning through him. He spared the city grief by burning his father privately, while the Most Devout turned the execution of rapists and murderers into a show of piety and forgiveness. At that moment he understood the ruthlessness of Maegor I.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, the High Septon caught his breath - smoothing the silk robe over his corpulent frame. Gold and jewel-bound copy of the Seven Pointed Star in hand, he looked among the crowd. "Children of the Seven!" He caught their attention with a breathless silence. "Look upon these poor souls and…"

"Stop!" Wordless gasps filled the crowd, while the High Septon sputtered in mid-sentence. Eyes of even the Silent Sisters shifted to the King. Dragon leaping off his shoulder to the railing with an angry shriek, the violet eyes of Rhaegar Targaryen burned just as brightly. "What are you doing?!"

"We…" The High Septon seemed at a loss for words. "We come to bless the souls… of these poor sinners. Place them in the hands of the Stranger with the holy book of Hugor of the Hill and the holy motherland of Andalos."

"Put the holy book back in its place!" commanded the King. "You disgrace the memory of Andalos by corrupting their icons with these… filth." He gestured contemptuously at the prisoners. "I did not invite you here nor do I want you. Begone!"

This shocked the High Septon to his core. As such, it was a young member of the Most Devout - recently promoted from Riverrun to the Starry Sept - that replied. "Have you lost all respect?" he spat, "For the Seven Who Are One?! Do you reclaim the crimes and blasphemies of your ancestors?!" Another shriek from Aegarax, the dragon's tiny maw glowing, shut him up.

Within his head, blasting through the wall of rage and fire that Rhaegar felt at the direct challenge… in wafted the gentle voice of his guardian maiden. Remember who you are, Rhaegar Targaryen… remember your line. You are the descendent of dragons, of conquerors… answer not to gods or men.

What did he, a dragonlord of Old Valyria, have to answer for with the religious leadership of the Andals? He needed not defend himself… Rhaegar needed not prostrate before the Most Devout. "It may be that I have more respect for the Seven Who Are One. That I the Sunrise Dragon was granted their favor in a Trial under their auspices. You lesser men spit in their faces as you do the entire realm!"

Through the clouds, the sun seemed to poke through and shine upon Rhaegar… perhaps a coincidence, but one that drew the wonderment of the crowd. But the King cared not, pointing at the condemned. "These sinners! I will execute them for their evil thoughts and evil deeds! Their repentance will be lies, and I therefore will not sully the Seven with them." Aegarax… dracarys! Hooting, the emerald dragon vaulted into the air, circling around like a small demon. "Let the Stranger take them to the deepest of the Seven Hells!"

Timed perfectly, Aegarax carried out his order. Much larger puffs of flame than he had ignited before lanced towards each of the pyres of wood. Dragonfire catching the dried kindling powerfully, spreading fast to engulf the condemned goldcloaks in the King's Justice. Screams filling Visenya's Square, the crowd flinching while the Most Devout traced the seven-sided star upon their chests in piety.

Melisandre instead curled her lips into a smile, raising her hands out in proclamation. "The night is dark and full of terrors! Let the light of the Lord's chosen dragon banish it for eternity!"

Though the screams of the dying still echoed across Visenya's square, already the guards brought forth the next batch of prisoners… twelve of them, trudging up the wooden steps to the shorter platform. Twelve blocks rested at knee height, and at Thorne's command they were shoved at their knees - heads face down. Without a sound marched a line of men carrying axes to each condemned. Each raised their axe at the same time.

At the loud thunk, the High Septon blanched, pale from shock and squeamishness. "Get his Eminence inside," commanded one of the Most Devout.

"The bodies… send the Silent Sisters…" he mumbled as three septons began hauling him back into the sept, passing the line of hooded servants of the Seven that attempted to walk down the steps towards the headless corpses… only to be stopped by the guards.

"Let them pass," hissed a septon.

Rhaegar heard. "Those monsters do not deserve the touch of the gods. Let them rot." Slowly, reluctantly did the Silent Sisters pull back as another group headed for the blocks - this one of highborns. Glancing at his mother, Rhaegar saw the Dowager Queen more concerned for Dany than unsettled, she was rather calm. Viserys, however, looked… angry. "What bothers you, brother?"

The boy bordering on eight namedays looked up, eyes narrowed and scowling petulantly. "Would you yourself kill these men, who only served loyally for their King?"

A small chuckle came from the throat of Doran Martell. "If a King cannot kill a traitor, then is he truly a strong King? As your northerners say, Lord Stark 'He who passes the sentence must swing the sword.'"

"Quiet, Prince Doran," Rhaella hissed before turning to her second son. "Do not say things you do not understand, Viserys."

"Stop, muna. He's nothing like father. He's weak." The boy was defiant. "Weak and disloyal."

Something snapped in Rhaegar. Stiffening, he grabbed Viserys by the collar of his cloak and dragged him off the dias. Earning little more than a quiet yelp from Rhaella as Ned and Ser Barristan followed their King towards the execution platform.

Almost shoving Viserys down onto the cobblestones of the courtyard, Rhaegar glared at his brother. "Stay there until it's over. It's time you see what a real dragon is." I tried to be patient, but Viserys needs to know what happens to true traitors and sadists. "Keep him here," he ordered Ser Barristan.

"Yes, your Grace."

Ascending the steps without a second thought, the guards bowed, giving him a wide berth. "Sire?" Alliser Thorne asked, his real question not needing to be said.

Rhaegar didn't answer yet, calmly removing his gloves even as his lips were set in a rather frightening scowl. He tossed them at his young brother below the platform, Viserys catching them while staring dumbly. Above on the higher platform, the fires were just dying out - revealing charred bodies that gave off wisps of acrid smoke. Rhaegar ignored them. "He who passes the sentence must swing the sword, Ser Alliser."

He nodded. "Step aside for the King!" Thorne ordered the other executioners, who were more than glad to comply - awed by the Sunrise Dragon.

"Let your sword be the instrument of R'hllor," Melisandre told him, murmuring some other incantation under her breath in High Valyrian that Rhaegar didn't catch. "The King shall invoke his justice personally," she announced to the crowd. "With great mercy comes grievous punishment if one betrays he ordained by the divine."

Drawing Blackfyre from its sheath, Rhaegar let the fine steel shine in the sunlight. All in the crowd catching a glimpse of the sword of Aegon the Conqueror. The sword that brought justice to the Warrior's Sons in Maegor's Trial of Seven. The sword that helped bring dragons back into the world. Twirling it into a two-handed position, Rhaegar readied it on the first Highborn condemned. "Lord Darry," he remarked dryly.

The defeated Lord - once a faithful supporter - looked up at him, completely resigned to his fate.

In one move, Rhaegar raised Blackfyre and brought it shrieking down upon Lord Darry's neck.

Aegarax hooted loudly from his perch. Some in the crowd cheered at the head rolling on the wood, while others flinched - most staring blankly. The Most Devout again made the sign of the Seven, while Rhaella watched in pride of her son. Ned looked on in approval as well. No northman would deny Rhaegar's greatness after this day.

Sandwiched between Barristan and Ned, a splatter of crimson sprinkled on his face. In his open mouth. Even witnessing so many burnings, so much torture at the command of his father, seeing his brother - the Sunrise Dragon - actually decapitate someone not feet away from him overcame Viserys. He pitched over, voiding his stomach upon the cobblestones. Throat on fire and hot flecks of vomit on his lips and chin. He shivered in the cold, Barristan's tight grip making sure he couldn't run away.

One by one, Rhaegar walked down the gathered prisoners. Some were stoic and quiet such as Manly Stokeworth or Symond Staunton, while both Lord Merryweather and Grand Maester Pycelle blubbered like children - begging their King for mercy. Rhaegar had none for these savages. Blackfyre swung again and again, dispatching heads from bodies in quick succession, the executioners watching calmly from behind the prisoners. And through all of it, Rhaegar felt nothing but contempt… and fire.

The last of the gathered dozen was a special prisoner. Delivered from Dorne, he was far younger - barely old enough to shave. His face and shoulders were covered in the bruises of mistreatment, but one look at his face told Rhaegar it was fully deserved. "Renly Baratheon."

Blue eyes found Rhaegar, defiance still bright. Out of all of them, Renly still had some spirit left. "Cousin," he hissed.

Nevertheless, Rhaegar only saw him as a pathetic victim. It wasn't the young stag he wished in this place. "I know you were manipulated by Connington," he spat out the last. Oberyn told him exactly what Connington did to Renly and it made him all the angrier. "Repent and seek mercy, and I may just give it to you."

No chance. "Robert was right about you." The passions of youth still filled him with fire. "My only regret is that I didn't carve out your hellspawn child from your whore's belly." With that, he closed his eyes, having sealed his fate.

Sucking in a breath, Rhaegar didn't hesitate to raise Blackfyre. With an almost inhuman roar, his arm thundered down - blade an extension of his arm. So enraged was the King, that the blade missed the neck and slammed into Renly's upper body. A sloppy hit, but Valyrian steel so sharp that it still sliced straight through. Knocking off limbs and cleaving through the heart. Showering the King and everything around him in a warm spray of fresh blood.

Viserys vomited again, dry heaves tearing through his abdomen.

---

Alone.

Fire crackling beneath him, Rhaegar leaned against the mantle of the fireplace. He watched the flames dance and flicker. Blood of the Sunrise Dragon hot in his veins, they calmed him. Eased his heart from the stresses of the day. Aerys was dead, his family was safe, his mother finally happy and the realm finally secure… but threats still remained.

Scores of Lords attained and executed, dozens of keeps empty.

The High Septon affronted and Most Devout alienated even with his victory in the Trial of Seven, fearful of his dragon.

The lack of a Grand Maester, relations with the Citadel not the best.

His brother, hurt and antagonistic… no longer the happy child he had once been.

Angling his head, Rhaegar gazed at Aegarax, curled up atop his desk and resting after the long day. Gently did the green dragon's chest expand and contract with rhythmic breathing. It seemed mad that such a tiny creature would grow into a beast that would make entire Kingdoms tremble, but such was House Targaryen's gift. The source of its power.

A reward from the gods for their greatness. He bent his head again, silently praying to the same goddess that gave him such victory. The one who saved his House and his family. See us through these trials and tribulations, I beg you.

Hearing the click of the latch, Rhaegar expected Ser Oswell to enter with some odd bit of news. But it wasn't Oswell. "Arthur!"

Not having laid eyes on each other for moons, Ser Arthur Dayne bowed. "King Rhaegar, First of His Name," he said formally.

Rhaegar snorted. "Enough of that." Stepping forward, he took Arthur's arm in a tight clasp. Squeezing his forearm while Arthur returned the gesture. "Gods, it's good to see you back, and a father no less," he laughed.

"The gods have blessed me, your Grace," the kingsguard replied. "As they have you, my King."

Squeezing the clasped hand one more time, Rhaegar's gaze became firm. "Where's my family, Arthur?" If he had to wait even another moment…

The patter of racing feet preempted Arthur's answer - the Sword of the Morning casting Rhaegar a hopeful look just as Princess Rhaenys scrambled through the open doorway, hair billowing behind her from her frantic efforts. They paid off at seeing her father. "Kepa!"

Rhaegar pulled almost violently away from Arthur as he fell to one knee. Arms closing around his daughter as she leapt into his embrace. "My sweetling." He rose, cradling Rhaenys as close as he could.

Her small frame shook with sobs. "I missed you, kepa." Rhaenys held him tighter. "Never leave again."

"Never, I promise." Kissing the crown of her head, he looked down at her wet cheeks. "You've grown so much, little dragon." Watching her smile softly, he laughed bittersweetly and pressed his cheek on her jet-black hair.

In the corner of his eye, a goddess took that moment to make her entry - honey-brown eyes sparkling with a sudden joy at finally getting a glimpse of Rhaegar, and he of her. Elia looked divine, more beautiful than she had when they departed in the warm gown of dark gold that nevertheless hugged her slender frame.

But the first words came from the grasping babe squirming in her arms. "Ke..pa, ke..pa!" he babbled, reaching out for him. Even so young, Egg could never forget his father.

Without delay Rhaegar covered the distance between himself and his Dornish bride, holding Rhaenys with one arm as he drew Elia in. Hugging her flush against him. "My love," he gasped out, voice hoarse. The familiar scent of lavender and Dornish apple eased his aching spirit

"Rhaegar…" Gods, how had she existed without his hold? His presence? The hole in Elia's heart was finally filled, reunited with her powerful dragon. "You kept your promise to us," she could only choke out, searching out his lips while Rhae and Egg clung desperately to him. The kiss grew passionate quite quickly, tongues tangling as the lovers reacquainted fully with each other.

Had their children not been present, clothes would have been shed that instant. Hanging back, Arthur knew this, hence him rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Breathlessly, Rhaegar pulled back. Lovingly kissing Elia's brow once more with - drawing a contented purr from her - before pressing his cheek against Egg's wispy silver hair. A thought came to mind. "Where's Lya?" He noticed Elia's eyes twinkle and a smile spread on her lips. "Where's… Jon?" Rhaegar allowed the name of his yet unseen son pass his lips.

The click of shoes against the tile floors made Elia's smile widen. "See for yourself, Rhaegar."

Everything seemed to slow for the King, a snow goddess appearing in the doorway to join the sun goddess that he held currently in his arms. His mouth dried, taking in the sight. Lyanna was dressed in a northern gown, grey with blue swirls decorating the skirt. Black cloak draped over her shoulders, there was a new glow about her, one that took his breath away. Beautiful. Stunning. Radiant.

Their eyes met - grey on violet - and the biggest of smiles spread on Lyanna's face. "Husband." After so many moons, her Prince Daemon had returned to her. Promise me…

"Go," beamed Elia, gently nudging her husband. Trying not to let the happy moment be spoiled by her lustful thoughts of what would undoubtedly come that night.

Rhaegar kissed Elia on the lips once more before hesitantly approaching Lyanna. Slowly reaching up to push aside a lock of chestnut hair, cupping her cheek with reverence. Lyanna sighed and leaned into the touch, kissing the warm palm.

"You're here," Rhaegar breathed, himself smiling gingerly, everything surreal to him. Unwilling to wait, he leaned forth and joined their mouths in a sweet, languid kiss. One that took both of their breaths away. "Gods… now warmth has returned to my world."

Lyanna swooned at his words. "Not just I that is here, my love." As if by timing, something began to softly squirm in her arms. "He's awake." She watched Rhaegar's beautiful violets widen in understanding. "Meet your son, Rhaegar. Prince Jon Targaryen."

"He a dragon, kepa!" Rhaenys chirped, having been set to the ground. The little girl bounced about in excitement.

Normally that would have provoked a laugh from the King, but Rhaegar's stare was transfixed on the bundle that he hadn't noticed till now. "Jon…" Little Jon yawned, awoken from his slumber as he stretched in Lya's arms. "My son…" Thatch of dark hair on his head the same color as Lya's, he was perfect. Just perfect.

"Hold him, husband," Elia chided, walking behind him. Gently nudging his shoulder.

Rhaegar reached out, scooping the tiny babe from Lya's arms and into his own. "Jon." He really didn't know what to say - what could he say? He was a stranger to this boy. When Jon's eyes fluttered open to reveal the purest of indigo, a tear pricked at Rhaegar's lids.

Lyanna blinked back tears as well, though with a bright smile. "He looks just like you." She took in her husband's trembling form as he stared at their babe. "Talk to him, Rhaegar. You're his kepa."

His son simply gazed up at him, wide and curious at this new face. Never before had he seen such silver hair and Jon couldn't place it with familiarity. As for Rhaegar, he cleared his throat - words to say to his son forming and dying on his tongue. "Greetings, my son," he finally croaked. "It's kepa." Slowly, he bent his head to draw closer. "I know I wasn't there with your munas when you came to this world, but it wasn't of my choice, hatchling." Jon just kept looking at him. "I love you so much, Jon," he said through watery eyes. "You'll have me always, I promise you."

Staring at the silver-haired King holding him, violet eyes raked up and down of the unfamiliar man. Jon had never seen someone like this, but instinct pointed to someone as dear as one of his munas. He raised his chubby hand, as if to reach up. Rhaegar bent down further, heartened by this development... only for his son's fingers to grab some of his hair and pull at it, coaxing out a tiny wince of pain.

The sounds of his kepa brought Jon into a fit of giggles. Squeals of joy echoed out, his hands waving around happily. Infectious, Rhaegar laughed with his son and lifted him up high. "My son!" Bringing the laughing babe down, he kissed Jon's cheek with a loud smack, never having been happier. "I am complete now!" he proclaimed to all.

Standing beside Elia, arm around her waist, the wonderment filled Lyanna as well. "Just as I dreamed, Lya." Her wife kissed her neck. "This place can finally know joy."

Lyanna looked at Rhaegar, who now held Egg in one arm and Jon in the crook of another, Rhaenys clutched to his leg. "Yes, it's perfect."

A sudden screech broke the moment into something… far more shocking. Having watched the heartwarming scene with a tiny smile the whole time, Arthur hadn't noticed Aegarax waking until he chirped and let a tiny puff of fire at him, making the knight jump. Drawn from his moment with his children, Rhaegar frowned. "Aegarax, no! Bad dragon, not Arthur." For his part, Aegarax had the decency to hang his head.

Both Queen's eyes nearly popped out of their eyes. "A dragon…" Lya breathed. Elia just gaped at the sight unseen by most eyes for centuries.

Someone else handled it far differently. "DRAGON!"

Rhaegar was frantic. "Rhaenys, don't…"

But it was too late. The Princess was already picking up Aegarax in her arms. Cuddling and tickling the dragon's belly and lower jaw with gusto… and Aegarax's chirps belied him loving the attention of the girl with the good scent. "You brought me a dragon! I love you, kepa! Love love love!"

Unable not to laugh at his daughter, Rhaegar walked behind his brides. "Surprised?"

"How…?" Elia looked up at him with amazement. "You hatched a dragon."

"I am the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, my love," he replied, grinning.

Sharing a look with Elia, Lyanna knew they couldn't wait to get their husband alone. A dragonrider? Gods, it filled them with desire. But for now, Lya wrapped her arms around Rhaegar, resting her head on his chest beside Egg. "I love you."

"As do I," Elia whispered too, taking the other side by the still giggling Jon.

House Targaryen truly whole for the first time since the Tragedy of Summerhall.

"Direwolf next, kepa!" Everyone laughed merrily.

---

The two moon-old Prince was in a good mood ever since meeting his kepa. Staring at everything around the Red Keep in an intense curiosity, as soon as his muna put him in the arms of his uncle Ned, the smiles and giggles returned as he tried to smack the Lord of Winterfell's nose - which he seemed to find hilarious. "A feisty little pup, this one is," Ned laughed, gently tickling the babe's tummy and eliciting more giggles. "Reminds me of his mother."

Scowling crossly, Lyanna smacked her brother's arm. "Shut it. You're worse than Benjen." The reunion between her and her brother had been filled with tight embraces and terrible sobs - embraces soon joined by Benjen as the entire Stark pack finally allowed themselves to mourn their father and Bran in each other's arms… Rhaegar and Elia had left the trio to find solace together, while Ash took Benjen to rest in their new quarters.

Such brought both direwolves to the nursery to allow cute little Jon Targaryen to nurse their wounds - once Elia managed to pull Rhaenys away from her uncle Ned, of course. He didn't mind the love of his niece in the slightest.

A rare grin spreading across the dour face of Ned Stark, he leaned down and kissed his newborn nephew on the head. The latest in a long line of persons that wanted to get a bit of time with the adorable Targaryen Prince. "Seriously, Lya, he does look just like you." He sighed. "Father and Bran would have loved him."

She hung her head, wiping a single tear from her eye - so many had been shed for their loss. "I know they would have too. His first grandchild and Bran's first nephew."

"A great son of the North, direwolf through and through…"

"Do not forget dragon," she replied, gingerly taking her son from her brother. Cooing softly at him. "He's Rhaegar's son above all, violet eyes and Targaryen fire… the perfect Prince." She kissed his nose, making him squeal softly.

"So dragonwolf, if you will."

Lyanna looked up at him with a smirk. The idea perking her up from her melancholy as she placed Jon in the intricately carved crib that rested against the wall in the middle of the nursery. "Dragonwolf? I like that a lot."

"It's a perfect description." Ned didn't miss how Lya's eyes lit up as Elia strode into the room, looking quite harried. "Well… Rhaenys and Egg certainly are excited to be back with their kepa. Jumping up and down and all that."

"Oh, Elia," Lyanna murmured sympathetically, touching her arm rather intimately - also not unnoticed by Ned, who uncomfortably shifted his feet. "How hard was it to put them to bed?"

She sighed deeply. "Almost had a servant fetch some milk of the poppy, but both ended up crashing." They shared a tired smile, Elia remembering and Lyanna imagining the two adorable little dragons all tuckered out. "I need to retire for the night with you, but I couldn't let my baby boy go without a kiss from his muna." The Dornish Queen bent over the side of the crib, leaning in to pepper Jon with sweet kisses and tickles.

Crossing his arms, Ned chuckled. "Careful, sister," he mused. "Enough stimulation and it'll be quite the struggle to get my nephew to sleep."

"Don't you worry, goodbrother," Elia replied, rising. "Babes that young can sleep even if there's a war raging outside." Walking towards Lyanna, she pressed a kiss against her lips. Letting her tired body seek out the powerful, slim figure of her wife.

Moaning softly into the kiss, Lyanna enjoyed the soft touches quite well. But when her gaze flickered to her brother, she found him with his eyes averted. Cheeks reddened slightly. "I think we may be making my brother uncomfortable," she told Elia with a giggle.

"The Dornish girls would love him, I'm sure," Elia grinned. "So innocent and honorable. They'd be on him like a cat on a mouse." Ash certainly claimed Benjen rather quickly.

Ned's awkward blush grew darker. "Rhaegar told me of this, and if with anyone I'm glad it's Elia, but knowing of it and witnessing it are two different things."

Kissing Elia once more, Lya walked to Ned and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Relax brother, we are just reviving the traditions of House Targaryen."

"Not traditions in the North, so it's a bit shocking to see."

She furrowed her brows. "Not true. You forget Alaya the washerwoman? She was that way… well, fully that way with the stablemaster's daughter."

This was a surprise to Ned. "Alaya? No, impossible."

"We both saw them in the grainery that one time, giggling together," Lya laughed.

"That? I thought they were wrestling… oh gods…" His blush deepened even further.

Lyanna shook her head. "Sometimes Ned is incorrigible, no? I can't believe you got Catelyn Tully with child."

"I know my way around the bedchamber, Lya," he replied, irritated.

"I'm pretty sure that's true," Elia replied. "You had to have learned from those books Lya told me you hide under your bed. The ones Elbert gave you." Both Queens giggled as he sputtered in humiliation.

"Lya! I told you that in confidence… and it was Robert that gave them to me."

"Why am I not surprised?" Lyanna rolled her eyes, glowering at the mention of him... at least until the wailing of an infant began to echo through the halls. "Who's that? Dacey and Arthur?"

But it wasn't, instead Rhaella staggering in - her face twisted in worry and agony as she cradled the bundle of her despondent daughter. "Goodmother," Elia said. "Is that Princess Daenerys?" Jon had been introduced to the proud grandmother hours before, holding and singing to him in high Valyrian, but they hadn't yet seen the newborn Princess.

Rhaella nodded, despondent. "Aye, and she hasn't stopped screaming for over an hour." The babe had a set of lungs like the dragon she was, wailing and thrashing about in discomfort. "Please, little one. Please don't cry." Rhaella set Daenerys down in her own crib, positioned several yards away from Jon's. Both were so young, no need to be given separate chambers.

"What's the matter with her?" Lyanna asked, slightly worried. Her experiences with babes was limited to Egg and Jon, and both were sweet and never unduly difficult. Poor Dacey and Arthur had it different with little Arthur, and apparently Rhaella had the same issue with Daenerys. "Is it the winds?"

"I burped her earlier, that's not it." Rhaella felt like sobbing herself. "Please, Dany. You're dry, fed, played with… please calm down." Her plea didn't work on Daenerys, who still cried her little lungs out as if a screeching dragon. There was no denying her fire.

Unable to think of any solution himself, Ned turned away to see if Jon was discomforted by the noise… only to see something else. "Lya, Elia?" he called to them.

"What, Ned?" Elia replied harridly, not looking back as she helped tend to the screaming Princess.

"Look at Jon." The three women giving quick glances in Jon's direction, those quick glances turned into curious looks at seeing what he was doing. Somehow he had wriggled against the side of the crib, chubby arms extended out and reaching in Dany's direction - as if desperate to pull his aunt towards him. "I think he wants to help."

Watching her grandson, then her daughter, then her grandson again, Rhaella had an idea. "Pull the cribs together. Let's see what my grandson wants to do."

Quirking her eyebrow up at her goodmother, Lyanna nevertheless nodded. Curious herself at her son's antics. "Ned, help me roll over the crib." It didn't take long for Jon's crib to rest directly adjacent to Dany's, the Prince's frantic efforts tapering off as he got a good look at his aunt. Eyes wide as he stared at her, mouth open in wonder. "Gods… we won't have to worry about Jon sharing his room with her," Lya mused, smiling.

Still wailing, suddenly Dany seemed to trail off - her thrashing arms began to slow. Her scrunched eyes behind the puffy cheeks managed to open and look around - finding Jon staring at her from the side. Reaching out again, only successful as his small palm brushed his aunt's smaller cheek. Toothlessly, Jon smiled, while Dany just watched him. Completely silent and serene, all hints of discomfort vanishing.

"I'll be damned," Elia murmured.

Rhaella looked at the both of them with amazement. "Looks like they were meant to be close." All four gazing at nephew and aunt slowly drifting to sleep, gods help any man or beast that tried to separate the two dragons in the future.

Notes:

Squee! Little Jon and little Dany are finally together, this time from the cradle :D

Much torment for Rhaegar to put things together, but he has his family by his side once again. His mother, beautiful brides, adorable children, and tiny little sister... and Viserys, though he's going through a crisis of his own.

Loyal Ned Stark, a man finally with a friend true to him.

Lots of stuff coming up. If I can get thirty-five comments, I shall update on Friday :D

Chapter 61: Coronation

Notes:

Hi all. The response to the last chapter was so amazing. Here's the new one :D

Just wanted to say something: I received an anonymous flame review a few days ago for the last chapter. Now, I am willing to speak to people that leave critical reviews in good faith, but this one went beyond the pale by using racial slurs directed at me for writing a story that they happen to dislike. Being called brown... excrement because of my ethnicity is something that truly offends me as an educated professional, a writer, and a person and I sincerely hope that this troll can end up rethinking his/her life and accept goodness into his/her heart.

Rant over. Sorry guys, but I think it needed to be said.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Ethereal beams of light dancing and flickering in the large hearth, a toasty heat spread through the royal bedchamber. While such was nothing new, it was the first time in moons that a true warmth, true joy dwelled here. Babes put to sleep, pressing business taken care of, the King and his Queens wasted no time in fleeing to the privacy of their chambers. Clothes did not last long - it was a true miracle that none had ripped in the frantic hunger for bare skin.

Obscene moans echoed out from the Dornish beauty, sweat dripping down her face and legs as she threw her head back. "Oh gods… don't stop…" she husked filthily, grinding down hard. The pungent air was strong with the smell of sex, but Elia Targaryen didn't care. "Rhaegar… keep going." Her husband was finally returned to her, and it didn't take long for her to mount his face and ride his tongue.

Suddenly, he grunted into her wet cunt, licks growing harder. Biting her lip to hold back the scream, Elia threw her hair to the side and gazed behind - growing wetter at the sight.

Lyanna's lips wrapped around their King's leaking girth. Each bob up and down took him deeper into her throat, mouth frothing with saliva as she resisted gagging, desperate to feel close to her husband. Rhaegar tried to reach for her hair, but she was too far away - instead cupping Elia's breasts. Squeezing the nipples to her gasps of pleasurable pain.

"Yes, my love," Elia urged her. "Take the dragon cock."

Releasing with a pop, Lya licked and caressed his thick shaft with reverence. A delicious mix of love and lust that shrouded even the most depraved act with love. She wrapped her lips around his head, lapping up the weeping liquid before pressing a loving kiss upon the tip. "I fucking missed this so much," she meweled in a thick, northern accent.

Rhaegar was silent, never letting out a single sound as he pleasured Elia - only partly from the beautiful Dornishwoman he was thoroughly plundering. But as Lyanna grasped his cock, she noticed the tremble of his beautiful body. The way his pale skin flushed with heat and desire.

"I know you want to be inside me, my dragon," she said throatily. "And by the gods, so do I." Lyanna crawled astride him, but purposefully past his crotch. Rubbing her sopping heat on his stomach while licking a stripe up Elia's neck - snaking her hands beneath Rhaegar's to take over. "You seem to be enjoying this, wife," she chuckled. "Just like I did?"

"Oh… yes…" A deep moan ripped from her mouth as a pinch of Lya's fingers and a swipe of Rhaegar's tongue made Elia's toes curl.

The Most Devout would condemn their utterly filthy actions, but fuck them - it was too good.

Smirking, Lyanna pressed a single kiss on Elia's neck and eased back - lowering her hips onto the rock hard length slick with her saliva. Already drenched, she groaned as she felt his cock penetrate her easily. Mmmmm… it had been too long since she'd had a cock in her. The only cock she'd ever want again.

Rhaegar's eyes widened at the impact, pulling back from Elia's cunt and gritting his teeth. "Ride me, my wolf. Fucking ride me," he begged before diving back in.

Triumphant and hungry, Lyanna was only eager to comply. Ride him she did, leaning forward and pulling Elia into a savage kiss as she raised herself off of his cock and then dropped right back down. Hips swiveling, taking him deeper. Feeling his thrusts try and split her hips open. Her mind grew hazy, only concentrating on the act of frantic coupling with her husband - finally returned to their family and their bed. Letting his massive cock fulfill her thirst for the man she married.

The man who saved her. Rhaegar breaking her composure, Lyanna's climax ripped through her in a hurry. She bit Elia's neck, riding it out until she could do no more. Pulling out with a wince, Lya collapsed to the side, eyes clouded and a dazed smile on her face.

So aroused that it boarded on pain, Rhaegar grabbed his Dornish Queen. Rolling her underneath him before she could even yelp, lips connecting to hers as he lined up his cock. "Fuck her… fuck her hard!" Lyanna literally begged, watching and playing with herself. It was enough for him to growl in Elia's mouth and sheath his entire cock inside of her in one thrust.

She screamed, biting his bottom lip and clawing at his muscular back. Pulling him flush on top of her. Elia loved the weight of this strong, virile dragon King, chest scraping her nipples with every powerful thrust. More… more… more...

Each thrust he pounded into Elia's cunt was met by her hips, allowing Rhaegar deeper and deeper inside her. Tip rubbing the sweet spot that made her speechless. For the King, he could only stare at her face in wonder once air became of issue. Sheen of sweat on her forehead, Elia's olive skin had grown darker - more exotic. Full lips slightly parted, she writhed in the throes of passion, begging for him.

Lyanna screamed another climax, the sight of her lovers causing it. Smiling contentedly, she rolled on her side and nudged Rhaegar, making him push up on his hands while still fucking Elia hard. "You're close, I can tell." Purring, she leaned down and rubbed her cheeks on Elia's tanned breasts - enjoying how they bounced with his feverish fucking. "My, my, this cannot wait any longer to have our husband's seed inside you." Hands roaming up and down her trim side and his sculpted chest, at a whimper from her and a grunt from him she took a nipple into her mouth and sucked hard.

"Fuck! Lya!" It was more than enough, Elia throwing her head back on the pillows and screaming. Likely waking half of Maegor's Holdfast as her climax triggered Rhaegar's, a groan cut off by Lyanna's tongue down his throat, hand replacing her lips on Elia's breast. Missed for so long, their passion lasted almost a minute… and when they collapsed they collapsed hard. Rhaegar only had the strength to roll over and pull his brides against his side.

Body still tingling from the climax that had ripped through her like an ocean gale, Lyanna buried her face in her husband's neck. Soothed by the heat that seemed to radiate from his skin. "Mmmm…" she moaned, stroking the fine planes of his chest, playing with the little curls of silver hair sprinkled upon it. "You're much warmer now."

"Oh?" Normally such an excursion would tire him, but for Rhaegar he was wide awake. Not wanting to miss one moment of holding his brides after so long. There was still plenty he had a mind to do once his heart tempered. "I didn't realize I was warm to you."

"You would have been much appreciated on the cold nights of a Northern blizzard," Lyanna murmured, snuggling closer to him, greedy for his heat.

On the other side of their husband, Elia chuckled and kissed his neck - drawing a sigh of contentment from Rhaegar's throat. "I think his hatching the dragon has brought the fire back in his blood." The thought of it made her well-worn nethers tingle, reaching out for Lya and draping closer over Rhaegar's body. The night wouldn't end soon, nor did Elia wish it to.

"The death of me, the two of you will be," Rhaegar replied.

"But what a way to go, husband." Elia leaned up to roll his earlobe betwixt her teeth. Grinning at his moan, only for her emotions to get the better of her. "We were lost without you, Rhaegar," she murmured, joining Lya in melding her olive skin against his alabaster.

Rhaegar kissed the crown of her head. "You had each other, of which I thank the gods."

Against his neck, Lyanna shook his head. "Very true, but it's not the same unless we're all together." Delightfully warm against her cheek and chest, Rhaegar was alive. Lya curled a leg around his, never letting him go. "But now our lives are whole again."

"Aye, they are." Rhaegar kissed their foreheads. "The mothers of my babes and the loves of my life." Sometimes he couldn't believe his good fortune. "Now I am complete, my family returned and mine eyes bearing witness to Jon." Gods… the moment he held his son in his arms…

Lyanna didn't know she could love him more than in that moment. "He's real, and he's ours, my loves."

"I still cannot believe you actually named him after my… alias."

"You disapprove?" Elia raised an eyebrow.

Rhaegar shook his head. "No, I never said that." He cuddled them closer. "But I think he will need a Targaryen name."

Blinking, Lyanna's eyes soon sparkled. "I wouldn't mind such… as long as we have leave to call him Jon amongst us." At Rhaegar's nod, she looked at Elia. "I still sometimes think this is a dream."

"I know what you mean, love." Elia reached over to cup Lyanna's cheek. "You seem the most excited of all of us, so I believe it's fair for you to choose the name." At Rhaegar's nod, she knit her brows in thought.

A minute seemed to tick by before her entire face lit up. "Baelon."

"Baelon?"

"Aye, after Prince Baelon, the Spring Prince." Viserys wrote extensively of his grandfather in her prized book… besides Daemon, Lyanna had imagined Baelon as the perfect representation of House Targaryen. "Our beautiful son, our future dragonrider."

Elia beamed. "Baelon, yes. I love it."

"Egg and Jon, Aemon and Baelon reborn - the proud Crown Prince and his loving brother setting the realm to rights." They would not share the same fate.

"So Baelon it is, then." Rhaegar laughed… then sighed. "I'm afraid such joyous decisions will be few and far between - the hardest work comes now. Battles are simple compared to the doldrums of peace." Words of wisdom his Uncle Aemon provided.

The surviving members of Aerys' council - now Rhaegar's council - came to Elia's mind. The doubts she held for all of them pertinent. "You spared some. Uncle Lewyn I am supremely glad for, but Lord Lucerys and… Varys?"

"House Velaryon is a close ally and Lucerys is a competent lord that committed no atrocities. He will be stripped of his title as Master of Ships but keep Driftmark. As for Varys… he is of our side."

"Can we be sure of that?"

Rhaegar peered down at her, eyebrow raised. "Do you have reason to suspect otherwise?"

Sighing, Elia shook her head - shimmying down till her cheek rested on his sculpted chest. "Nothing definitive, just… a mistrust for any of your father's confidants." She wouldn't sabotage his council if Varys was innocent of any disloyalty.

"I understand, my Dornish beauty." He smiled as Elia pressed a kiss to his heart. "Lya? You're quiet."

Breathing hotly against Rhaegar's already superheated skin, Lyanna's eyes met his. "I just can't believe your father is dead. Killed by Rhaella…" He couldn't spare them the truth of the matter - the only others that knew being Ned, Barristan, and whichever Kingsguards he let privy to the secret. "Jaime really took the blame?"

Rhaegar nodded. "Seems I underestimated his honor and loyalty - the apple did fall far from the tree there." In his chuckle, the King missed the knowing looks his Queens shared, both far more perceptive about such matters than he. "I will spare him and retain his services under the white cloak."

"Good decision, and I'm heartened your mother found peace after all of this."

"Aye." He tightened his hold on them. "I know my father was a monster that wronged you both, but… you didn't see him at the end. It was as if all the madness was gone from him." Lya and Elia could feel their husband's sorrow and held him tighter. Aerys was dead, having paid the price for his cruelty and transgressions, but the pain Rhaegar felt was still too real. "My only regret… is that Connington escaped." His fists clenched.

"He deserved to burn," Lyanna breathed. "As did those you executed, and Robert." A silence from her husband, which drew her attention. "What?"

Elia stiffened. "Rhaegar, don't tell me…"

"I will pardon him, as I will all others who fought and surrendered at Stony Sept."

A harsh silence scorched the royal bedchamber before Lyanna let out a screech. "What is wrong with you?!" Her inner direwolf was out in force, tearing away from her husband and sitting up with a murderous glare. "After all that vile pig has done, you're to pardon him as if nothing has happened?"

"Do I have a choice, Lyanna?" Rhaegar defended himself. Lyanna looked absolutely breathtaking in her rage, chest bare and fire in her gaze. It took the king much effort to resist his prurient impulses.

"Yes!" Her breasts bounced as she hissed. "Kill him as you did all the other traitors!"

"At least make him pay a proper ransom price. Take hostages," Elia cut in, also sitting up with the sheet falling from her body.

"The ransom price is levied, but I will not take hostages. There's too much death and devastation for me to add on more while I'm trying to repair the Seven Kingdoms." While his brides weren't convinced - Lyanna most so - he could see their anger waning. "I've put to death those responsible for carrying out my father's madness. It is time to move on and heal as Aegon the Conqueror did following his victories." Still no answer. "Please, my loves…"

It was Elia that answered. "It wasn't your sole decision to make, Rhaegar… at least it shouldn't have been."

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"We're your brides, we love you. You should consult us, especially since many of the condemned committed crimes upon Lya and I."

Rhaegar said nothing for a moment. "Lya? Do you feel the same?"

She looked at him, crossing her arms and hiding her ample cleavage. "You promised long ago that I wouldn't be in chains. A 'proper lady' as most in Westeros would say." Looking into Rhaegar's eyes, her tone softened, but she averted her gaze. "You put us on the small council. You should have consulted with us, Rhaegar."

Sighing, he leaned up himself - running a hand down their bare backs. "Forgive me, my Queens… I just wanted it over. To make sure everyone knew that the dragon had awoken… not to mention to spare you the gruesome sight of it all. You deserve sugar and gold, not blood."

"Rhaegar…" Elia leaned forth, hugging him. "You need not spare us the horrors of the world. We're wise beyond our years in the art of atrocity, much as it pains me to say." Lyanna was a little more stubborn, refusing to give in but her facade cracking.

"I know, as I discussed with my mother. She's been my chief advisor since it all happened, my father a fool for not accepting her counsel. Which is why I plan on having you crowned alongside me at the coronation." Lya's head jerked around while Elia pulled back, both with wide eyes. "You'll have the powers given to Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen, authority to govern unchallenged by anyone aside from my direct order, even the Hand of the King. It's what I feel my mother and all the Queens before were deserved and…"

The King was cut off as the Queens tackled him to the bed, hunger and adoration in their eyes. "I love you," Lya breathed, happy tears hot in her eyes as she regarded the dragon she married. "You're perfect… my dragon."

"The only man we will ever love," Elia murmured into his ear, licking the shell as she grabbed his cock. Feeling it harden for her.

A smile formed on his face as Rhaegar tilted his head up, drawing Lya's breast into his mouth and coaxing out a sultry moan. "Lucky, lucky me."

Once again, the royal bedchamber filled with the sounds of a quite happy reunion.

---

Holding a round token in their hand, both Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy pressed them upon the bier were the motionless corpse of Lord Commander Gerold Hightower rested. "Father Above," began Arthur, his head bent and a firm sorrow over his face. "Judge Ser Gerold justly. Let him have peace in his journey to the afterlife, no more honorable and chivalrous knight than he."

Behind him, Barristan, Oswell Whent, Benjen Stark, and Jaime Lannister joined Arthur in kneeling before the body of their Lord Commander… the greatest gesture of respect. "He gave his life to protect his King." Barristan rose. "May the old gods and the new grant him joy as he journeys to the afterlife." One by one, the knights bowed their heads. Prayers complete, they made their way out of the hall of the white sword tower, entering the conference chamber of the Kingsguard.

For the five of them, a pallor of sorrowful silence hung over the chamber from the ceremony just performed. Losing a brother in white to battle was tragic enough, let alone a living legend as Gerold Hightower. Gods, for some, he had been the only Lord Commander they had ever known. Finally, Oswell Whent broke the silence. "The Old Bull died as he lived, stubborn and dutiful."

"Gods, we all aspire to such a death," Barristan mused. "The White Book will sing of his sacrifice for the rest of history."

"I don't intend to die before my time," Benjen spoke up, but his voice held reverence. "What will happen to his body? Send it back to his brother in Oldtown?"

Arthur shook his head. "He'll be buried with the other Kingsguards in the crypt. A fate he deserves… though some down there aren't worth the sarcophagus that they are interred in." Reprobates, disgraced knights, traitors like Criston Cole… or Jonothor Darry if they ever got their hands on him… "But Gerold would want us to move on. To survive as a noble entity, which means advising his Grace in selecting new brothers."

"Not to mention dealing with the greatest change to our order," Barristan said, now the oldest and most senior of all the surviving Kingsguard. "Two of our brothers have taken paramours."

Oswell crossed his arms. "True Paramours, not mistresses. One has even sired a child." Benjen rolled his eyes while Arthur had a blank expression. Jaime, unlike the others, had said nothing the entire night and seemed to continue his decision.

"I don't see how this is any of our business," Benjen replied, arms crossed. "Dacey and Ashara are ladies in waiting to their Graces, and absolutely loyal. Additionally, Arthur's son would bear the Mormont name when Rhaegar legitimizes him, so there is no sundering of our oaths there."

"I am not in favor of finding loopholes in the oath we all took, Ben," Barristan sighed. "This opens a jar of worms that will only lead to a very bad place."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I do not like your implication, Barristan. My son and my beloved do not conflict with my oath. Dacey fights alongside me to protect her Grace." He peered incredulously at the older knight. "You were the one who advised me as such."

Barristan met his stare. "You weren't the first Kingsguard to conduct a dalliance - you cannot imagine the depravity I've pulled Lewyn or Oswell out of on occasion."

"Hey, I've always pulled out," Oswell complained. "And I have more respect for our oaths than to forge bonds with someone that could create disloyal ties."

"Call Ashara a 'disloyal tie' one more time," Benjen growled. "You won't like the result." That drew Oswell's ire, fists tightening...

The flat of Barristan's hand slammed on the table. "Enough! We are not squabbling children." He took a calming breath. "Under no circumstances am I denying the legitimate feelings either Arthur or Benjen hold for their paramours, nor am I alleging that they are in any manner dishonoring themselves by holding such feelings. It isn't about that, it's about the honor and loyalty of our order. Ours is an order dating back three centuries, one tasked with one of the most important tasks in the Realm. Especially now with such vulnerability for the crown and the dragons returning creating so many enemies, we need to be vigilant. And with two of our sworn brothers…"

"Three."

Four pairs of eyes found Ser Jaime. "Excuse me?"

Looking up, the Lannister knight's green eyes shone with a hidden steel. "Three have taken paramours. Arthur, Benjen… and myself."

It wasn't too shocking to the others. Jaime was young and handsome - maidens would throw themselves at him if he was willing. "Who is it?" Arthur asked, curiosity piqued. "What fortunate maiden has seduced the heart of the Lion of Lannister?"

Breathing deeply, Jaime steeled himself. "Her Grace, Queen Rhaella," he murmured, voice audible only to the others. Now that was truly shocking, putting his four comrades into a stunned silence. It made him a bit bolder. "Queen Rhaella is my paramour, and by the old gods and the new I regret none of it."

Barristan covered his face, groaning. "How can I make sense of this?" Arthur and Benjen falling for highborn maidens was one thing, but this…? "A sworn brother cuckolding the King he supposedly served…"

"My King is Rhaegar, now and always," Jaime replied. "Aerys didn't deserve any of our loyalty and I gave him none of it."

"How long has this been going on?" Oswell demanded. "Is Princess Daenerys your bastard?"

Jaime's eyes narrowed. "She is not, and I resent your implication."

"The way I see it," Barristan ground out. "You lost your right to trade insults when you seduced her Grace." He had seen first hand Jaime's sacrifice, taking the blame for the death of Aerys - even with Rhaegar's pardon, the apparent dishonor would destroy his reputation. But this… it overwhelmed his reason. "We all know how much her Grace suffers. Did you take advantage of her in a vulnerable state?"

"No!" Jaime's eyes widened in ire. "Absolutely not."

"How can we be sure of that?"

"Ask her!"

"Barristan…" Arthur spoke. "I do not think Ser Jaime would admit to kingslaying if her Grace was a mere conquest of his." He looked at Jaime. "You truly love her?"

He nodded. "Beyond my oath, all that matters to me Queen Rhaella…" All present could hear how reverent her name was on his lips. "She is guilty of only seeking out love after a life of misery. I cannot fathom why she chose me, but I will be forever grateful that she did."

Arthur breathed, not a question. It finally made sense. "That's why you took it upon yourself… By the Father above. You did it for her."

"Aye." He averted his gaze. "She suffered so much - she couldn't suffer being labeled a kinslayer. If I must forever be known as the Kingslayer in the White Book, the epithet of every whisper for my lifetime, then it is worth it to spare her that pain."

Looking at each other, the four of Jaime's brothers couldn't help but feel a bit in awe of Jaime's sacrifice. Done out of the deepest love, but in that being of the greatest honor. "The oath," began Barristan, speaking to all of them. "Was created from the ancient oath of the Night's Watch to create an order absolutely loyal to the King, without earthly ties to distract them. Over the history of the Realm… not everyone lived up to it." He sighed. "Perhaps our three brothers have settled on something truly extraordinary."

"What do you mean?" asked Oswell.

He smiled softly. "The love they hold for their family led Ben and Arthur to fight ever harder at Starfall, saving their Graces and the Princes and Princess. Jaime engages in the greatest of honorable deeds out of loyalty to the one he loves…" He still couldn't believe that the dear Princess Rhaella, whom he had known since she was but a child, was the one who Jaime gave his heart to and her to him. The more he thought about it, the more he supported it. "Their love enhances their duties."

"Speaking for myself," Benjen said. "And I presume for Arthur and Jaime, but I still would die to protect the royal family, my family, just as Ser Gerold did."

"As would I," added the Sword of the Morning.

"Same," finished Jaime. "I only hope that his Grace doesn't catch wind of this until Rhaella can tell him…"

He was cut off by Oswell, who chuckled. "We'll watch your back, Jaime. We stick together." They all shared amused smiles.

It didn't take long after for them to decide what had to be done…

Each of the five knights rose and gathered in the well of the White Sword Tower, Arthur looked at his white cloak brothers. "We have no Lord Commander, so I suggest that Ser Barristan as the senior brother present deliver this oath." Barristan nodded - with Rhaegar undecided between him and Arthur for Lord Commander, the acclimation of Arthur's statement effectively selected the older knight as their consensus choice. It was quite heavy a decision.

Sucking in a breath, Barristan drew his blade, resting it straight against his breast. The others did the same, those representing five of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros virtually forging a new beginning for the Kingsguard. "We, the proud knights of the Order of the Kingsguard, so swear this oath before the old gods and the new. I, Ser Barristan Selmy…"

"I, Ser Arthur Dayne…"

"I, Ser Oswell Whent…"

"I, Ser Jaime Lannister…"

"I, Ser Benjen Stark…" rounded off the most junior member so far.

Barristan continued, "Together, we swear that we shall always protect the royal family of House Targaryen against all threats." The greatest shift in their duties was coming. "Even from themselves…" Three simple words, but an earthquake in reality. "We swear to always stay true to the honor of our white cloaks, and for those that seek out paramours to love and cherish them in the true tradition of chivalry - to ensure that our loyalty to them enhance our loyalty to House Targaryen. So we swear."

"So we swear." In one fluid motion, the five Kingsguards depressed their blades - tips smacking against each other in a metallic clang. Joined together, brothers in white, by honor as well as duty.

---

Gently walking through the open door of the nursery, Queen Elia Targaryen beamed at the beautiful sight before her. There was her husband and love, cradling their baby boy in his arms as he gently rocked him beside the crib. "The palace painter needs to make a portrait of this," she said, disturbing the scene.

Rhaegar looked up and met her smile with one of his own - purple eyes sparkling. "Come'ere." Elia rushed over, but slower than normal. Steps easy from soreness. It made his grin widen. "Something wrong?" he asked innocently.

"I believe you know, your Grace," she replied with a sultry smirk of her own. Kissing him. An entire night of passion left both her and Lya barely able to walk… and they loved it. "Gods, he is a beautiful babe. Just as his father, mother, and siblings." She kissed Baelon's… Jon's brow, his own violet eyes sparkling as they found her. "When shall he be anointed with his name?"

"At the coronation. Might as well kill two birds with one stone." He raised an eyebrow. "While I'm glad to have you here, what brought this joy?"

Pulling back, Elia withdrew something from the folds of her golden dress of a modest Dornish cut, watching his eyes widen. "Recognize the crown of Aegon the Conqueror?"

"How did you find that? It's been lost for centuries."

"Apparently my House kept it in their vaults. Oberyn gave it to me to give to you… a token of their loyalty." She raised the crown atop his silver curls. "This will be done at the coronation, but I simply had to do this once myself." It fit perfectly on the head of the Targaryen King. "Beautiful… handsome… gorgeous." If it wasn't for Jon in his arms, she'd have pinned him to the ground and ridden him.

As for Jon, he seemed to be entranced by the glittering rubies. Arms flailing as they reached for it. "A true dragon, this one is." The two of them laughed in joy.

"Your Grace." Ser Lewyn interrupted the happy moment, clearing his throat. "Prince Doran requests an audience with you, niece. Alone." Raising an eyebrow, Elia pressed a kiss to each of her dragons and proceeded out.

Being the goodbrother to the King and uncle of the Crown Prince, Doran Martell was afforded his own bannermen to guard his chamber - a privilege afforded to no other but Oberyn and Ned Stark. Both bowing to Elia as she approached, one of the guards opened the door. Neither were those she recognized. Deliberate? Elia was inclined to think so, but it could just be paranoia.

"I'll wait out here for you, niece." Lewyn leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Just remember," he whispered. "I'm loyal to you, and the Crown."

Elia smiled at him, her uncle truly the best of their House. "I know, uncle. And I appreciate it." Kissing his cheek - not as a Queen but as a niece - Elia steeled herself and stepped through the door. "Good morning, brother."

Doran was seated next to the crackling hearth, blanket draped over his legs and nursing a glass of mulled wine. "Sister, please forgive me for not standing, but my legs…" he groaned, likely for effect, though accepted Elia's offered cheek with a gentle kiss - close-cropped beard scraping against her skin. Elia vastly preferred a clean-shaven man. "The gout doesn't improve in the cold weather, quite the opposite in fact."

"Understandable, Doran, now what is it you wish of me? As the Queen, I am very busy." She took a seat across from him. It was quite toasty this close to the flames, but she did enjoy it. Her Dornish constitution didn't like the cold either. Gods help me when Lya takes our family to Winterfell. "I don't see Oberyn here, so this isn't the familial harmony that you seemed not to worry about following mother's death."

He leaned back, a small scowl on his lips. "Fair enough, Elia. I shan't put on airs with you, so best we clear them." Both sets of fingertips pressed against each other in a splayed pattern. "There are many whispers of a sense of… disfavor directed at Dorne by those that fought for your husband the King in the Rebellion. Naturally, House Dayne and Blackmont are immune of this, while Oberyn is much liked by the Northerners and you yourself have been exalted by those same houses."

This information caused Elia to raise an eyebrow. It… heartened her that Lya's countrymen had accepted her. "That is a disturbing thought, brother," she addressed of his other news. "But our home has been disparaged for centuries. Believe me, it isn't unique to us."

"I'm not stupid, Elia, I know this." His words weren't angry, but quite dismissive and scolding of her. Elia forced herself to remain calm. "But this affects us greatly. The North and the Riverlands can afford to let bygones be bygones with the Stormlands or Reach - they were defeated and humbled. But for those they perceive as disloyal backstabbers…"

"Well, you caused this, Doran," she said with conviction. "Why didn't you march with Rhaegar at the start of it? Why not send forces to protect me and our family at Starfall?"

Smiling tightly, it was clear the Prince of Sunspear was trying to reign in his ire. Normally it seemed easier for him. "Our forces would have been destroyed by the Reach. Piecemeal, and Oberyn marched for Starfall at my orders."

"He says differently."

"It wasn't he I gave my orders to."

Blinking, Elia couldn't prove it was a lie as she felt. So she moved on. "Alright, brother. Let us stipulate for the sake of argument that you did act out of loyalty to me and Rhaegar." He visibly relaxed. "What would you like me to do about it that I'm not already doing? I can't just go to my goodbrother, Ned Stark and tell him to reign in his bannermen. It is my knowledge that both our armies are on the best of behavior."

Sipping at the warm brew, Doran sighed as the heat spread through his body - easing the ache of his joints. "My concern isn't of specific incidents, but more a general perception of our House and land that royal action can forestall. Namely, one that you can forestall."

"Excuse me?"

He smiled. "I do not know how you convinced your husband to crown you alongside himself…"

She interrupted him. "Both I and Lya. Side by side with Rhaegar as Visenya and Rhaenys were to Aegon I."

Doran's tight expression returned. "Quite…" He took a long sip of wine. "Nevertheless, it was a brilliant move by you, and this gives you the power to ensure the favoritism that his Grace has showered upon… Lady Lyanna recedes and that you return to favor as I intended by choosing this match."

Having poured her own glass of cider - intending to keep her wits about her - Elia slammed the goblet on the end table beside her chair. "We are both equal, Doran. Rhaegar favors both of us, and we are loyal to him and to each other. Get that through your thick skull." Perhaps it was the Targaryen rubbing off on her, or Lya's passionate personality, but Elia was not about to play weak and sickly anymore.

His chuckle regarded her as a misbehaving child. "Oh Elia, this has no bearing on whatever reality your husband blinds you with. All that matters is perception and power, and right now the North holds all of it. Their position only happened because of one of Aerys' delusions, and such is obscene to me." Doran allowed a flash of disgust on his face. "Therefore, I will need you to have Lyanna's child…"

"Baelon," she interrupted. "His proper name is Baelon, which you will address him as."

"Fine, make sure to have Baelon excluded from the line of succession."

Her eyes widened, jaw slack. "You… you're really going back to this again? Do…" she paused to ease her rage, but her attempts failed. "Do you have the fucking gall?" Unlike her dragon and wolf lovers, her anger was a quiet, dangerous one.

"Egg must be King, and considering your rotted womb he is our only chance to succeed where our ancestors failed with Myriah and Baelor Breakspear." His hands tightened at the power that their House had in their grasp but lost. "I have come to accept that… woman as a bride of Rhaegar's, but her existence both weakens us and weakens Egg's hold on the realm."

Elia shook her head, laughing softly. "You really don't know your nephew… or any of the family I found here." It truly hurt like a knife to the gut that he brought up her barrenness, but Elia wasn't truly surprised.

"I honestly don't care. Lyanna Stark has brought the Faith close to open defiance. Emphasizing your marriage as the only one that will sire heirs can serve to repair that."

"No matter what we do," she countered. "The Most Devout will hate our marriage, and they can die in a fiery blaze from Rhaegar's dragon as far as I care."

Sighing, Doran reached out to touch her knee - an intimate gesture from brother to sister. Elia didn't bother to believe it as genuine. "That is not my main concern. My main concern is of you… namely the threat Lyanna, her fertile womb, and her brood pose to Aegon and Rhaenys."

"Lyanna loves Rhae and Egg, and they love her and their young brother."

Doran continued to pat her knee as if she was a lovable fool. "And I can likely find somewhere in the histories a moment of kindness and affection between Daeron II and Daemon Blackfyre. And yet, one tried to usurp and kill the other. Don't get me started on Rhaenyra and Alicent, which is what I believe is most akin to our situation."

Elia trembled with anger at this. "They had separate mothers, Doran. Egg and Jon have the same two mothers, and we love them with all our hearts."

He sighed again, leaning back. Looking at her with a patronizing sorrow. "You are unbearably naive, sister."

Snapping, Elia stood from her seat. Even in the golden, alluring dress, she looked the descendent of Princess Nymeria. "Even after I survived a war and rule a Kingdom, you still consider me the same ill girl from our youths?"

"You are the sole legitimate Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and daughter of House Martell," Doran ground out, letting his voice rise in the face of hers. "I expect you to act like it."

"Oh, brother, that is where you're wrong." While she would always be loyal to House Martell, others drew her foremost loyalty now. "I am the Queen, first and foremost. My house is now Targaryen, and I will not see this house divided as Alicent or Aegon IV simply to dance to your ambitions." Without another word, Elia turned and stormed out the door.

"You are making a mistake, sister!" she heard Doran shout behind her. "Lyanna will betray you in favor of her bastard brats!" Elia slammed the door to his room.

Lewyn was by her side. "Are you alright, niece?"

She nodded. "Yes… I'll be fine. Please, let me go find my fellow Queen." Needing to see Lyanna and fall into her embrace, Elia followed Lewyn down the halls.

"Go, my love… Take what's now yours."

"Usurper… she is a usurper. She'll take everything from you."

Stilling in the hallway, Elia pressed her hand on her heart and willed the vile images away.

They're not true… they're not true...

---

Settled down to a simple evening meal of auroch and porridge, Stannis much disliked the interruption of anyone. Let alone his brother's cunt of a squire. But disturbed he was, slamming his fork down on the plate in irritation. "What do you want, Trant?" he ground out. "Can't you see I'm eating?"

Even after the grievous defeat and humiliating surrender at Stony Sept - even after the confinement to the manse once owned by Lord Chelsted before the entire house was attained, Trant hadn't let go of his cocky brutishness. Now, though, he was white as a sheet. "My Lord, someone at the gate is demanding Lord Robert's presence."

"Unless he's from the Small Council then tell him to bugger off." Stannis resumed devouring his auroch steak.

"It's the Queen Lyanna, my Lord."

Stannis almost spat out the cud of flesh, and only a guzzle of watered wine kept him from choking. "What?!" He shot up. "Why wasn't my brother notified?" This was bad… He had nightmares of executions much like this.

Trant stammered. "Um… um… he is still sleeping off his own supper in his room."

A liquid supper no doubt. Gods save me from such fools. Why did Will Cole or Ser Cortnay have to get themselves killed? "Well wake him, now!" He didn't wait for Trant to scurry off before almost sprinting out of the dining hall.

The receiving antechamber of the manse was gaudy as it was massive - only the finest gilt for the supreme bootlicker and former Master of War. Undoubtedly someone thought it would be the perfect fit for the disgraced House Baratheon, and no doubt the Stag banners did look rather fitting as replacements for the mace of House Chelsted. Slender chest heaving from the sprint, Stannis had no time to catch his breath before bending the knee before his guests. "Your Grace… I am honored… at your presence…"

The Queen and sister of Robert's beloved friend Eddard Stark looked a fierce lady of the north with pulled back chestnut hair and stormy grey eyes. But her outfit was purely of her husband's House. Dragonscale armor leading down to a black leather dress, red sash and red cloak completing the Targaryen colors. "Lord Stannis," she said firmly, voice devoid of pleasant emotion. Behind her, both Arthur Dayne and Dacey Mormont watched over her. "Where is your brother?"

"Your Grace… I assure you that our household is attempting to raise the coin to pay our ransom price. Given my younger brother's… unfortunate perfidy and treason, our treasury is low for the moment." He'd get a huge uproar among the smallfolk for collecting the taxes early - perhaps selling off the majority of the Connington lands to the highest bidder would raise the funds.

"I couldn't care less about your ransom price, Lord Stannis," Lyanna snorted. "I need to speak to Lord Robert." Stannis noticed that moment that she was armed as well.

"And he better not try anything foolish," the Sword of the Morning ground out. "I refuse to speak ill of our King, but Robert belonged next to Renly on the block."

Gulping, Stannis rose from his knee but kept his eyes downcast. Renly made his own mad gamble because of his predilections - damn buggerer almost destroyed us all. "His Grace's mercy and kindness will always be appreciated by House Baratheon, loyal servants from the days of the Conqueror." If only their father and mother survived, but Stannis knew not to leap into that abyss. I'll need to make sure Robert doesn't make a fool of himself.

"Stannis!" Oh, who was he kidding. "Why the fuck did you interrupt my slumber…" Emerging from the living quarters, Robert looked like he had woken up in a kennel. Run down, rumpled, and reeking of stale wine. Luckily he didn't look drunk, but squinted from a deep hangover.

Lyanna fought the urge to roll her eyes, crossing her arms. Why am I not surprised? He was still broad-shouldered and bulky, the pinnacle of brute strength. But beneath the looks that some women found irresistible, Lyanna could see the complete lack of propriety and good sense. The entitled churlishness that so disgusted her. She glanced over at Dacey, who's scowl deepened. Hand tightening around her mace.

"Fuck, I need more wine," he barked at a servant. "My head is killing me…" To Stannis' horror, the Lord of Storm's End's eyes widened, then softened in a look of longing directed at the Queen. "Lya…?" Robert's lips curled in a hopeful smile.

"Lord Baratheon," Lyanna replied coldly. "Lord Stannis, you may leave us. Now."

Bowing once more, Stannis didn't waste time bidding his exit. Resolved to write Ser Corlen that very moment to begin the auctioning off of half the Connington lands… and perhaps some plots of theirs to raise the ransom price. The sooner I can get Robert out of here and back home, the better.

Currently, the antechamber was empty of people aside from Lyanna and her guards… and Lord Baratheon - who currently looked like a child caught in the cookie jar. "Lyanna, I knew you couldn't stay away," he grinned. "Motherhood suits you." The idea of her bearing that dragonspawn's rape bastard made his blood boil, but for Lya he'd deal with it. As she was still silent, he continued. "Come with me, we'll talk in my solar." He strode towards her...

Only for Arthur Dayne to stop him, barely holding back his anger. "Bend the knee before your Queen," the Sword of the Morning demanded.

But the Stag Lord was having none of it. "No one asked your opinion, Dayne! Go run off and be the dragonspawn's lapdog and leave the babysitting to someone less of a prick."

Growling, Dacey took a step forward. "You of all people have no authority to call someone a prick."

Robert eyed her over as one would a stupid maiden butting into somewhere she didn't belong. "Didn't your father teach you to not speak unless spoken to, Lady Mormont? Bugger off."

"You fucking little cunt…"

A raised hand stopped Arthur from avenging his paramour's honor. "It's alright, Arthur, Dacey. I can speak for myself." Lyanna interrupted. "You will address me, Robert."

"Of course, my Queen." Lust invaded his features. "As beautiful as a summer's sky to frolic under, you make a perfect Queen," he gushed as he rushed to her.

But Lyanna shifted to the side, revealing the sword strapped to her waist to Robert. "That's far enough."

He skidded to a stop, looking like a beaten puppy from the harsh tone of the Direwolf Queen. "Please Lya, don't be like that." Only then did he truly notice the color of her outfit, and beneath the longing and desire, the bitter anger began to simmer.

Lyanna's anger was on the surface, however - but she tempered it with the ice of her homeland. "Do not call me, Lya," she said evenly, hand on the hilt of her blade for emphasis. "You shall address me as 'Your Grace.' Do you understand?"

He bellowed in laughter as a response. "Why would I do that? There's no need to be formal around each other. I don't go calling Ned, 'Lord Stark.'" He continued to chortle at the idea of his youthful bosom companion and he being so stuffy and old like a pair of Flower Knights. The fact that Ned hadn't visited him before he went back to Winterfell did hurt, but he figured the new babe shot his priorities out of whack. "Come on, darlin'." He resumed his approach to her. "Let's talk privately…"

Abruptly he stopped, the sword tip drawn and at his neck. Lyanna's eyes were dark as night, the icy facade gone and replaced with a howling winter's storm of anger. "To answer your earlier question," she hissed, "You should do that because I have the authority to kill you and have nothing done to me."

To make matters worse, Robert huffed patronizingly. "Put that blade down, Lya - before you hurt someone." He chuckled, though voice low from the blade to his throat. "Believe me, if that bitch dragonspawn couldn't kill me, what makes you think a little woman can?" With a derisive leer, he smacked the sword away.

But Lyanna was one step ahead of him. Without assistance from Arthur or Dacey she twirled around and smashed the hilt into Robert's face. She smirked herself at watching him go down with a broken nose. "Good blow, your Grace." Beside the she-bear, Arthur had a ghost of a smile.

"Thank you, Dacey." Lyanna slowly walked towards the now prone Robert, top-heavy body knocked to the ground.

"Seven fucking hells… you broke my nose!" he howled.

His complaints meaning nothing to her, Lyanna kneeled down and pressed the blade against his throat - flat against it this time. "Listen and listen closely you shit," she snarled, wolf having come out to play with her prey. "You will NEVER look at me or speak to me like that again. I'm your fucking queen and you will treat me as such."

Tasting the metallic tint of blood dripping down his mouth, Robert's snort made him wince. "This is not how proper ladies…"

"Proper lady?!" Lyanna's anger turned into a raging blizzard. "I am no lady. I am Queen Lyanna Targaryen of the Seven Kingdoms, wife of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Targaryen, daughter of Rickard Stark. You do not scare me, as I can rip your gut open without breaking a sweat." She drew a dagger, setting the tip on his crotch. "Or should I make a Varys out of you?"

Robert's eyes finally widened in fear. "No! Please…" Before him is a direwolf with the heart of a dragon.

"Then listen to me well, Robert." She pressed harder with the sword, nicking a tiny cut in the Stag's neck. "Everyone might think you're cowed, that you're humbled by Rhaegar's victory, but I know you will never change. So if you ever threaten my family, I will hunt you down like the direwolf that I am and I will kill you. Do you understand?"

"You know me too well," he said through his hands, still holding his broken nose.

"She means it, cunt," Arthur said, flatly. "I'd suggest you accept her Grace's offer."

"This is no idle threat, Robert…" Lyanna stood. "I suggest you keep it." Sheathing her blade, Lyanna headed back towards her companions.

"Lyanna!" She stilled. "This is madness. I loved you from the moment we met! You know for a fact we were destined to be husband and wife if not for that damned dragonspawn, King of mine or not."

Allowing him that one last word, Lyanna couldn't help the evil grin spreading on her face. "Robert, why would I want you and your drink and your whores, when the most beautiful man and woman from Mossovy to the Wall await me in my bed?" She moaned. "The things they do to me, you could never compare. I would rather pierce my own breast with this dagger than let your hands anywhere near me." with a flourish, she draped the hood over her head. "Never deign to speak to me again." Followed by the glaring Arthur and Dacey, she was gone.

Hearing the servants starting to rush to him, Robert hauled himself into a sitting position. All he could feel was his arousal rushing through his body. "Seven hells, what a woman." By the old gods and the new, our destiny will happen, Lya. If he had to wait two years or twenty, Robert Baratheon would see his fate transpire.

---

Bells rang all across the city. Cheers from the throats of over a hundred thousand people did their best to overcome the booming chimes. Feast and merriment was in the air as all of King's Landing took advantage of the warm spell and cloudless skies to take to the streets. Eat at the many taverns, shop amongst the many stores and peddler carts, dance to the tune of hundreds of street musicians, and delight in the performance of mummers, animal shows, and puppeteers alike.

For today was the coronation of the Sunrise Dragon, She-Wolf of Winterfell, and Sun Princess. Beloved by all, a mighty roar escaped the crowd as they dismounted from their wheelhouse, the subjects of King's Landing given a glimpse of who would soon be their King and Queens. Roaring, the dragon Aegarax flying high above the Sept to even greater adulation and awe.

The exotic grace of Elia Martell, clad in a modest Dornish gown of orange burnt as sunset. Gold and amber adornments across her neck, wrists, and fingers, long black curls let fall freely across her shoulders.

The wild beauty of Lyanna Stark, wearing an ice blue Northern dress that nonetheless hugged her shapely figure. Hair in a simple braid, yet with sparkling sapphires and silver sewn into the dress as if a blizzard of snow and ice.

The formidable magnificence of Rhaegar Targaryen, Blackfyre strapped to his hip and Valyrian armor tight over his chest and shoulders. His silver hair was also free, combining with his pale skin to give him the otherworldly beauty of his House. He truly looked the mighty conqueror.

Behind walked the Queen Dowager in a dress of red and black, holding in her arms the ever observant Prince Baelon. Prince Viserys sullenly stuck to his mother's side, holding a squirming Princess Daenerys on her first outing - often trying to reach out for her mother, brother, niece, or goodsisters. Rhaenys trotted by, absolutely eating up the adoration of the crowd, while the Lady Ashara carried Prince Aegon. The royal brood drew even more love from the crowd.

"LONG LIVE THE KING!"

"LONG LIVE THE QUEENS!

"LONG LIVE THE PRINCESS AND PRINCES!"

Without delay, the royals made their way into the Sept of Baelor, bells ringing madly from the towers. Inside waited the Lords of Westeros, arranged with the Northmen and Dornish in the front, Westermen, Valemen, and Rivermen in the middle, and in the rear the Stormlanders and Reachmen. Lyanna could feel Robert's lustful gaze directed at her and ignored him, instead watching the smiles from Ned and Benjen.

Leaving his mother and family with their Kingsguards, Rhaegar took Lya and Elia's hands and led them to the altar - Dacey and Ashara following, as did Garlan Tyrell. Waiting at the top were Melisandre and Septon Meribald, conducting the ceremony in the place of the Most Devout at the order of the King. Punishment for their defiance. Wordlessly, he pulled out Blackfyre and knelt, joined by his Queens on either side.

"Lords of Westeros," Meribald stated. "Today, we gather to consecrate the newest rulers of Westeros. Ones that have brought the blessings and powers of the gods themselves upon this land."

Lightly clearing her throat, Melisandre looked down at the kneeling Rhaegar - a King in all but name and the restorer of the dragons. The one who would raise the Promised Prince. "Rhaegar of House Targaryen," she began, her voice firm and even. "Do you accept the crown of your ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, and the solemn responsibility to serve as King? To protect and defend your subjects till your dying breath, and carry on the legacy of Old Valyria and the Sunset Kingdoms of Westeros old?"

"Till my dying breath," came Rhaegar's reply, almost roaring out of his mouth.

Nodding, she motioned for young Garlan Tyrell - his last act as squire for his King, soon to be knighted under the shadow of Blackfyre for his loyal service - who stepped forward holding the great crown upon a simple pillow. Melisandre took it in her hands, showing off the simple ringlet of Valyrian steel adorned with the rubies of the fourteen flames. Passed down from the great Valyrian house of Belaerys to the house it married into upon the Doom, it served as the symbol of Targaryen Lords of Dragonstone until Aegon the Conqueror turned it into the diadem of the Seven Kingdoms itself.

And now with the simple lowering of her arms, it returned to rest upon the silver locks of a mighty Targaryen King.

"I now proclaim Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Melisandre bowed as Rhaegar rose, sheathing Blackfyre in his scabbard. Her words echoed loud enough for all Lords of the Seven Kingdoms to hear. "Long may he reign!"

"LONG MAY HE REIGN!"

And now, still kneeling, it came time for the ladies of two of Westeros' most august houses to receive their crowns. To be inducted with a title truly unused since Rhaenyra, First of her Name. Wordlessly, Melisandre walked to face Lyanna while Meribald did the same for Elia, both the symbol of penitence and respect before the gods and their subjects.

Resting in the pillow carried in Ashara Dayne's extended palms was the new circlet that would adorn the head of the Direwolf Queen. Freshly forged from the finest silver, it bore the runes of the First Men and the nine black iron spikes sticking upward… one the gathered Northmen - apart from Roose Bolton - had to struggle not to cheer. It held the same style as the crown of the Kings of Winter of old, but sapphires lined the silver finish. Glowing a firm ice blue, they reflected the light of the sun and emphasized the three headed dragon that rested on the front.

Dacey Mormont, her palms extended, approached the Shining Sun of Dorne with the third crown of the royal trio. Unlike the other two, it wasn't a simple circle but instead a twisted zig-zag ring of brilliant gold in the Rhoynish custom. Bejeweled with rubies along the edge and eight further gold chains that crossed together across the center of the ring. A mix of the crown of Queen Rhaenys Targaryen and Princess Nymeria Martell, three-headed dragon resting on the front as was Lyanna's.

Two crowns, each reflecting both the homeland of the Queens and the house they now belonged two - carried by the Lady in Waiting of their wife.

Truly the unity of the two ends of Westeros, long alone, with the Crown that ruled over them all.

"With this crown of silver, forged in the land of your birth," began Melisandre. "Lyanna of House Targaryen, formerly of House Stark, do you so swear your eternal loyalty to your realm and subjects. To be the guiding light of your people and the honored companion of your King to defend these Seven Kingdoms from all that may ail them?"

Lyanna replied as loud as Rhaegar, a wild wolf howl. "Till my dying breath."

Across from his Grace, Meribald now began his part of this ceremony. "With this crown of gold, forged in the traditions of your birth, Elia of House Targaryen, formerly of House Martell, do you so swear your eternal loyalty to your realm and subjects. To be the guiding light of your people and the honored companion of your King to defend these Seven Kingdoms from all that may ail them?"

Elia may not have had the warrior's heart of her husband and wife, but her voice was just as loud and firm. "Till my dying breath."

His voice scratchy, such an honor bestowed upon a simple wandering septon making his heart thump against his chest, Meribald nevertheless rose to the occasion. Words loud as he spoke not just to the Lords but to the crowd gathered outside the Sept of Baelor - the solemnity and malevolence of executions now washed away with the glory of a new dawn for Westeros. "I now proclaim Elia of House Targaryen and Lyanna of House Targaryen, Queens of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms and Protectrixes of the Realm! Long may they reign!"

"LONG MAY THEY REIGN!" Both Queens could swear they heard their brothers cheer the loudest.

And as they rose, the jewels of their crowns sparkling in the light, both Elia and Lyanna beamed when Rhaegar took their hands in his own. Gazing into his purple eyes with adoration. "Long may they reign," he murmured, words only audible to them. Mimicking Lyanna's whispered words from the hall of Starfall… seemed like a lifetime ago.

Where Rhaella clapped proudly, joined by the beaming Rhaenys and the rather active trio of babes in an unknowing joy, Aegarax hooted and took flight. Flapping around the rafters of the house of the Seven, as if defying their judgement in favor of his kepa. Returning a sense of pride House Targaryen hadn't held since Aegon the Conqueror.

But the ceremony was not over. "Your Holiness, may I present my son to be anointed before the gods."

"You may, your Grace."

Rhaegar looked at his mother. "The Prince, please." Rhaella smiled triumphantly and walked to Rhaegar, allowing him to take Jon in his arms. Jon began to squirm, eyes ever inquisitive. "Still, little pup. Be still for kepa," he cooed. Staring back up at him, Jon complied, smiling a toothless smile. I love you, pup. Rhaegar kissed his forehead before presenting him to the High Septon.

Coating his fingers in the holy oil, the High Septon drew a crude seven-pointed star on his forehead. "In the name of the Seven who are One, I proclaim thee Prince Baelon of House Targaryen, blessed with the wisdom of the Father, the strength of the Warrior, and the strength of the Smith. Gods save Prince Baelon."

"Gods save Prince Baelon!" Rhaella shouted, drawing cheers from the sept… which soon roared among the crowd outside.

Eddard Stark, clasping his hand against his armored chest, shouted to the heavens. "Gods save the King and Queens!"

They allowed themselves to bathe in the glory. "GODS SAVE THE KING AND QUEENS!

Notes:

And now the Sunrise Dragon begins his reign.

On Jon's Targaryen name, many have been saying that he needs one and I've come around to their thinking. Most stories that do this use one of the four names: Jaehaerys, Aegon, Daeron, or Aemon. I wanted to try something different, and Rhaegar would also be mindful that after Aerys he wouldn't want to highlight certain Targaryens until passions die down - Baelon the Spring Prince is well regarded, so there we go.

I'll be using Jon and Baelon interchangeably based on the context. His official name is Baelon, but his blood can call him Jon as a nickname.

Of course the three royals were gonna have smutfest ;)

Elia told off Doran and Lyanna told off Robert. Unfortunately, they won't be deterred.

The new Kingsguard is born.

Let me know what you think of Jon's Targaryen name. Till next time :)

Chapter 62: Wolfsbane

Notes:

Greetings all. Life is giving me some kicks in the bottom, so a little writing can calm me down :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

The tightest hug that the little Princess could give was nearly crippling his leg. "Don't go, uncle Ned," Rhaenys cried, finding physical pain in being parted again from her dear uncle.

Ned couldn't be mad at her for the pain - she was his family as much as Jon - to him, Baelon would be Jon, Lya told him, for he was family - was. "Oh, my dear. It is what it is, but I'll be with you right in here." He tapped her heart. "Besides," Ned's voice dropped to a whisper. "I need you to take care of your siblings for me, and watch over your mother, alright?"

Nodding, Rhaenys looked quite determined for her age. "I promise, uncle Ned." With one final squeeze, Ned watched as she bounded back to her parents.

Following her, Ned clasped Rhaegar's hand. "Goodbye brother," the King remarked, formality done away with for such a private moment. "Good luck - I'm going to rest easy knowing you are my Warden of the North."

Ned smiled, accepting a hug from Elia not long after. "You and Lya…" he whispered in her ear. "You have my blessing, just don't hurt her." Hiding her surprise, Elia merely grinned softly and shook her head while her goodbrother kissed Egg on the forehead. Meeting the gaze of his youngest sibling, Ned hugged him lightly before leaning over to kiss Ashara on the cheek. "My blessings to you as well, and I only wish father and Bran were alive to welcome you into the family, Ash." The Lord of Winterfell knew her to be a perfect match for Ben - had things been different, perhaps for him as well, but his heart fell for another long before.

Last but not least, a tight embrace for his beloved sister. "Give your new daughter a kiss from her Aunt Lya," she whispered into his ear, shaking from emotion. They had separated before, but by the Gods with all their losses, it felt heart-wrenching for the pack to split up yet again. "I can't wait for her cousins to meet her."

"Nor I." He kissed his sister on the forehead before turning to Jon. While he seemed distracted before, two violet eyes found Ned's rather quickly. "Till next time, nephew. Perhaps then, I can show you where your wolf side came from." Jon did nothing but giggle toothlessly, a sound that warmed Ned's heart greatly.

"Open the gate! The Lord has returned!"

Blinking, Ned Stark found himself transported from the memories of his family to the light snowfall that currently fell from the grey sky. Truly an irony from the gods, the comfort of his home so sundered from his family.

The prospect of his daughter loomed large for him, easing his melancholy. In that moment, he knew what Rhaegar must have felt waiting to see Jon after so long.

With a groan, the metal-lined ironwood gates of the great castle of Winterfell swung open before the procession of horses and banners stretching hundreds of feet along the Kingsroad. Having already passed through the throngs of cheering smallfolk within Wintertown, the last thoughts of his family in King's Landing comforting him until finally reaching the gates of his castle. To finally see his child.

Assembled atop the snowy grounds, the entire household roared as his horse passed from underneath the gatehouse and back into his home. "Huzzah!" they bellowed. "Huzzah!"

"The Quiet Wolf returns!" beamed Maester Luwin, bowing as Ned dismounted from his horse, the Lord pulling him out of it and clasping his hand. "Welcome back, my Lord. You do not know how proud we are for Winterfell's favorite son."

"Rock of Harrenhal!" someone cheered, which rapidly spread until most of the household were cheering it. Ned blushed a muted crimson, not used to the praise of those he grew up under… The last remnants of my childhood left to me. Bran was dead. Father and mother were dead. Jon Arryn was dead. Lya and Benjen were in their new lives in the capitol… all he had were the servants that cared for him since he was still in swaddling clothes. Their presence… it did calm him.

Finally, his eyes landed on his waiting bride. Red locks killing the dream of the only woman he would ever love, but at Catelyn Tully… no, Catelyn Stark's dutiful face welled guilt within him. I will always love you, Cersei, but I'm sorry. Walking towards his bride, Ned realized he would just need to accept reality - hopefully, they could learn to love each other. "Husband," Catelyn said simply, but yipped inaudibly when Ned pulled her into an embrace.

"Lady wife," he murmured, noticing her tensing up, so kissing her on the cheek instead of the lips. Slowly, she relaxed. "You are as beautiful as the day we married." It was true. She looked radiant. "Where is our daughter?" Truly, Ned couldn't wait any longer.

A genuine smile stretched over her face. "Follow me, my Lord."

Some of the only servants not gathered in the courtyard were the wetnurses, and they immediately bowed as Ned walked into the nursery with a nervous glint in his eyes. "Ain't gonna make me stand, mi'Lord," Old Nan grumbled, coaxing a chuckle from Ned, easing his nerves. "It's good to see you, little pup." That was what she called all his brothers and sisters… plus his father as well if Ned remembered correctly. "I suppose you want to see your own little pup."

He nodded, slowly stepping forward. "Aye, Nan. Is she…"

"Sleeping peacefully, she is. Just make sure you don't wake her - took a while for me to git her to sleep."

Approaching the crib, Ned was greeted with a tiny bundle swathed in a blue blanket. Gingerly. He picked it up to reveal the round, pink face dozing quietly. Not noticing his presence just yet. "My daughter," he murmured in awe, already feeling as deep a love for this babe as he had seen Lya give Jon, Rhae, and Egg. Tiny wisps of fire-red hair dotted her scalp - as classically Tully as anything. "Gods, does she have a name?" he asked Catelyn.

She looked at her husband and precious babe, the only warmth the frozen north had ever allotted her. Dead Brandon was, but this girl was the most precious thing to Catelyn, and by the Seven she thanked Ned for making the little one possible. "I've called her Celia, but it is up to you as to what the name is, my Lord."

Celia Stark…? No, far too southern for his tastes. Not for his first daughter… his heir. Seeing how strong Lya was, how smart Elia was, there was no compunction for him to not hand over his Lordship to this babe if it came to that. "Sansa." The name came to him. "Sansa Stark, the old tongue word for 'grace.'" A gentle finger brushed against her cheek. "My dear Sansa."

At that moment, the babe squirmed in his hold. Reaching her arms up in a stretch, Sansa yawned and opened her eyes. Two beautiful greys, the same shade as Lyanna's. Watching Ned as if enraptured by him.

Ned laughed gently and kissed her cheek. "Oh Sansa, you're a direwolf after all." The one moon old babe murmured and snuggled closer into her father.

Hours later, the early nightfall had blanketed the wolfswood in its comforting blanket, only torches and candles banishing it away for the residents of Winterfell. Ned, used to the cold, walked towards the large bed in his private chambers. Bare from the waist up, wearing only a pair of loose breeches, he found Catelyn sitting on the bed - covers drawn tightly around her and her hair loose. "Wife," he said gently.

"Husband," she said in return.

The Lord of Winterfell slid in beside her. "Thank you, for such a beautiful daughter."

"She looks like my mother," Catelyn whispered. "But has your eyes." There was nothing in her tone that indicated whether she was happy or upset at the fact. "I love her more than anything, Lord Stark."

He smiled at that, feeling a warmth in his heart at the motherly love she displayed. "Aye, I love her too. Only a single day do I know her and I would die for our dear Sansa." A silence spilled out, neither of them knowing what to say after that. "She shall be my heir. I have no desire to treat Sansa any different because of her sex."

Catelyn looked at him, seemingly grateful. "I do hope to give you an heir, my Lord…"

"Ned," he corrected her.

She smiled, lovingly. "Ned." Slowly, she inched herself towards him. "I did miss you, husband."

He nodded, "As did I." It wasn't a lie. He wanted to believe it wasn't a lie. "Come'ere." After so long without a woman's touch, their lips met and Ned eased her flat underneath the furs - losing himself inside the beautiful redhead. Clothes peeled off, bare flesh rubbing against each other. Lovingly joining together.

But by the gods themselves, all Ned could see when he closed his eyes - his bride biting back quiet moans underneath him - was golden hair and a pair of twinkling emerald eyes.

---

Striding into the Small Council chamber past the doors opened by the guards, Rhaegar Targaryen was dressed down, considerably down. A red cloak hurriedly thrown over a simple tunic and breeches, he looked quite soaked with sweat - a trait he shared with Ser Arthur behind him. The two's sparring session had gone longer than expected, and while his Grace would have wished to collapse in his bed or in a boiling hot bath for several hours, the duty of kingship took precedence.

All present stood as their king entered, bowing or curtsying respectively. "Rise," he waved absentmindedly, heading for his perch at the head of the table. Detouring to greet a particular someone. "Muna," he said, kissing her cheeks.

Queen Dowager Rhaella Targaryen wore a sea-green gown, her hair styled in a simple bun that nevertheless looked beautiful. "You're late, my son," she chided, returning the kisses and squeezing his forearms. "But I suppose the King needs to keep his figure, lest…" she looked to her side, "Others complain."

He groaned softly as two sets of lips stifled giggles. "Yes, Muna. I know that very well." Leaving his mother, the head of the table was flanked on either side by the most beautiful women in the Realm. "My loves." Rhaegar's greeting was followed with a quick, sweet kiss - unlike past Kings, he cared not for propriety here. He loved his queens too much for that.

Lyanna sighed into her kiss. "Husband."

Elia placed her hand upon his trouser-clad leg. "You should come here like this more often," she murmured, eyes twinkling. Rhaegar knew that look, and quite enjoyed it.

Perhaps after, he'd indulge. "Shall we begin?" Aside from his ladies, the small council was in flux with the regime change so abruptly foisted on the Realm. As such, today would finally serve to rectify it - at least for now. Took Jaehaerys the Conciliator many years to create the Small Council suited to him… hopefully I won't take that long. "Alright, first thing's first, I have discussed much with Prince Oberyn - he has agreed to accept the position of Hand of the King for the time being."

Surprised, Elia looked at her brother. "Oberyn, is this true?"

"Don't look shocked, sister," he smiled softly. It had surprised him that he seriously considered it, but when Rhaegar asked, Oberyn couldn't decline. Given the arrival of Prince Jon into the mix, a Dornish Hand of the King would do well to calm tensions. "His Grace and I have determined a tentative list for councillors. Their Graces the Queens shall be appointed as advisers to the council, while Lord Titus Peake is to become the Master of Laws."

The aforementioned Lord Peake, one of the few that hadn't left the capitol, bowed in his seat. "I am honored, my King."

Nodding, Rhaegar reflected on the rest of the list. Many Kings before him had plenty of Lords from the Crownlands to choose for his council, but the attainders he had issued stripped almost all of them of their lands and titles. Until he could assess further, there were so few he could trust in the positions. "While I originally was to strip Lord Lucerys of his position of Master of Ships, I have decided to reverse course… provided he be sure where his loyalties lie."

"I serve the rightful King of the Realm, Rhaegar I Targaryen," he replied, wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow in relief. "The Royal Fleet survived the great storm and is anchored in Driftmark at your command, your Grace."

"Good." One councillor of his father who wasn't incompetent… if a bootlicker. "Lastly, Ser Richard Lonmouth as the new Lord of Rosby will take over as Master of War, while Lord Wyman Manderly - who has graciously relented from traveling to his home in the North - has accepted the position of Master of Coin." Both his former squire and the loyal bannerman of his goodbrother acknowledged the appointments with a nod. "The Grand Maester shall be someone absolutely loyal to the Royal Family, and for him I personally choose Maester Qyburn personal physician to my Queens during Lyanna's pregnancy." Of this, he had discussed it with both of them and came to the decision.

Worried looks came over the councilors. "Your grace," cautioned Ser Richard. "The Citadel appoints the Grand Maester…"

"I have no respect for their choices," the King snorted, slamming his fist on the table. "I had Pycelle's correspondence audited following his imprisonment, and they were confirmed by interrogations. He's been paid by unknown parties to poison my mother for years to ensure she not fall pregnant!" There was a hushed silence, while the Queen Dowager maintained a stoic appearance - she had cried enough in her life. "Any Grand Maester shall be chosen by the King from now on, that is my decree."

"The Citadel will not appreciate it, your Grace. Of this I simply warn you to use caution." Lord Varys was as cryptic as ever, but his advice was still honest. "May I suggest a sum from the treasury to placate them. Enough to finish the renovations they are currently partaking of for their library."

Rhaegar didn't retain Varys as Master of Whisperers on a whim. "Do it." The eunuch nodded. "Alright, now that that is out of the way. We move on to the issue of the depletions to the Royal Household and various keeps across the Realm. Those that committed atrocities or fled with Jon Connington and the brothers Darry to Essos must be replaced, lest anarchy reign."

Quiet, taking in the various topics for the starting moments, Lyanna took that moment to speak up. "I believe the Kingsguard must be addressed first, husband." Rhaegar tilted his head to meet her gaze, granting her the floor. "With the tragic demise of Lord Commander Gerold, I nominate Ser Barristan to take his place."

"Seconded," said Elia not a second after.

Raising an eyebrow, Rhaegar hid a grin. Wonder if you decided this on your lonesome. "Ser Arthur?" he addressed his loyal friend. "Do you concur."

Arthur paused, if trying to find the right words. "Barristan is the senior-most of us, and an honorable and skilled knight. It would be my honor to serve under him."

That was enough for his Grace. "Ser Barristan it is, then. For the other seats, it's time that the Vale and the Reach have proper representation on the Kingsguard. Have Lord Mace or Lord Elbert sent their recommendations?"

"Not yet, your Grace," answered Oberyn. "But I sent the ravens to Highgarden and the Eyrie, so they should be replied to forthwith." The new Lord Hand cleared his throat - with Ellaria only a moon away from giving birth, she was both restless and insatiable. He barely slept, not that Oberyn minded much. "There exists the matter of the attained lands. I believe that the awards Lord Tully approved for Ser Myles Mooton to receive Darry and for Harrenhal to pass under royal stewardship shall be ratified?"

"Aye, Lord Hand," Rhaegar replied. "In exchange for Ser Brynden Tully to receive Stokeworth as his personal keep." He didn't have objections to that - the Blackfish was an able commander and deserved reward.

Eyes fixed on Lord Lucerys as he raised his hand to speak. "Your Grace, may you elaborate on Harrenhal? You're placing it under royal stewardship?"

"Yes, my Lord," said Rhaella in her son's stead. "The curse of Harrenhal is superstition, but too many families have been given the responsibility to the greatest castle in the realm and have allowed it to bring them to ruin. My son believes and I agree with him that a keep so large and strong should be home to a royal Targaryen line."

"That could unsettle the Riverlands, your Grace."

"And yet House Tully is bound by marriage to the family of her Grace, Queen Lyanna," Varys observed. "They have been loyal for centuries and I do not foresee them turning on the House that made them what they are." It remained unsaid that House Tully had little power over the Riverlands. House Bracken, House Blackwood, and whomever controlled Harrenhal had more men, and with the Targaryens controlling Harrenhal directly and House Blackwood allied to them, the Riverlands would be a playground for the Crown - and the council knew it.

Few knew that Rhaegar had it in mind for one of his children to inherit, but that would be disclosed later. Let them be children for the time being.

The following hour had seen quite a lot of tension between the councilors - the rather polyglot membership between royal family members, loyal friends, and political appointments and their greenness in properly working together was sorely exposed. Headaches predominated and heated words were banded about like arrows on a battlefield, but eventually progress was made.

In the Reach, Longtable was taken from the executed Owen Merryweather and given to Lord Seneschal Garth Tyrell, Mace's uncle and a stooge of Lady Olenna - one effort of his to please her and secure the Reach's loyalty. Griffin's Roost in the Stormlands, the seat of the now attained Jon Connington, was to be held under royal stewardship until a Lord could be found among the Stormlords, while Summerhall received royal assent for being rebuilt.

Of the dozens of keeps that dotted the Crownlands, the various hedge knights and ambitious young warriors that gave their sword to King Rhaegar during the rebellion received their reward. Ser Alliser Thorne obtained Duskendale as the highest honor, while the seat of House Thorne passed to a young hedge knight by the name of Osmund Kettleblack. Ser Bonifer Hasty - a name that brought surprise to Rhaella's ear as she heard it again - received Sweetport Sound for his loyal service, while his comrade in arms Ser Bronn took the prize of Rook's Rest from the attained House Staunton. With his success at the Battle of the Bells as it was called, he had adopted the stylings of "Lord Bronn Bell." From what Rhaegar heard, he was in negotiations with Lord Jonos Bracken for one of his daughters to marry.

Among the list of scores that seemed even partially worthy of reward, the Queens were insistent on one name. "Davos Seaworth?" Rhaegar asked, not recognizing the name. "Please refresh my memory, Lya."

"The smuggler who ran food and supplies into Starfall past the Redwyne blockade." Lyanna wasn't shocked that Rhaegar forgot. The charming Davos was a modest person, more concerned with ensuring his young family was secure and fed well than with brownnosing at court… which was why he needed a title. "I hope you see the wisdom of apportioning him a keep somewhere for his loyal service…"

"Or at the very least a plot of land for him to build his own keep," Elia added, just as eager to see their provider while under siege rewarded. "Her Grace and I…" she bit her lip. "We can personally assist you in finding a suitable tract of land, if your Grace is amenable."

Eyebrow quirked up, Rhaegar looked from Elia's twinkling honey-brown gaze, to Lyanna's stormy grey eyes, and back to Elia. The Sunrise Dragon zeroed in on their intent rather quickly. "This Davos sounds like someone I must meet and thank personally - land is the least I can do for someone who risked so much for my beloved brides." He didn't stand, but motioned for the others to. "All but the Queens are dismissed."

Quickly rising, the small council bid their exit… even Ser Arthur. Oberyn bowed to Rhaegar with a smirk at the edge of his lips. "Your Grace. Good luck on your… discussions." Perhaps I shall partake in similar discussions with Ellaria right now. As he left with a spring in his step, Rhaella was the last to rise, bidding her son a silent farewell while smiling the faintest of smiles.

Outside the Small Council chambers waited Ser Jaime Lannister and - Rhaella observed happily - no one else. Perfect timing for her to break propriety and throw her arms around him, kissing her lion's lips rather unabashedly. Gods… Rhaella couldn't wait to bed him properly.

Once air became an issue, Jaime pulled back with a rather quieted expression. "I shan't ever complain of that, your Grace."

"I should hope not, Ser Jaime." Hands taking ahold of his arm, she gave the exposed parts an appreciative squeeze. "An escort to my chambers?"

He nodded. "Of course, your Grace." A quizzical glance cast at the large doors to the Small Council chambers. "Is His Grace still occupied?" Jaime sounded slightly nervous, not wanting Rhaegar to emerge just as he was in an intimate position with the Queen Mother.

Hearing a rather sultry giggle echo from the chambers, followed by a different feminine moan, he smiled and shook her head. "I suppose he is." Rhaella giggled herself at the mortified expression on Jaime's face. Perhaps I shall welcome another grandchild into the world in nine moons.

---

Something about a beautiful woman - no, the most beautiful woman - curled up beside you underneath the softest of sheets… it was the truest of all magic. As such, Benjen Stark was completely entranced as his raven-haired lover stared at him. "Come here and kiss me, my wolf," Ashara Dayne purred, first rays of sunlight already cast through the windows of her Lady in Waiting chambers. Her hair was tousled with sleep, eyes half-lidded, and she was irresistible with that sultry smirk of hers.

Benjen didn't know how he had gotten her in his bed, but wasn't about to disobey. Just having escaped slumber, he pulled her flush against him and crashed their lips together - both nude to the world from last night's… activities. As they kissed, she reached for his cock and began to stroke it gently. He groaned in ecstasy at her expert touch, deepening the kiss and plundering her mouth.

They were each other's firsts, but both knew that this was simply amazing.

She broke the kiss, only to gasp as he kissed down her slender neck. "Ben," she murmured into his ear, posessively biting his earlobe. "Inside me… I want you to fuck me hard." Looking at him, Ashara could spot his dutiful side taking over and preempted it. "We have time. Their Graces are likely… currently engaged at the moment."

Blocking out unwanted images of his sister being pleasured by her two spouses, the feel of Ashara's delicious body against his - core wet as she grinded against his abdomen - a smile stretched across his face. "As my Lady commands."

Squealing, Ashara found herself flipped on her back, Benjen between her legs and devouring her breasts. She groaned and wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him inside her while meeting their mouths once again - kissing hungrily, hurried and sloppy from the sudden burst of desire. "Now," she begged against his lips. "Please." Ashara's legs tightened around him, almost shoving him into her greedy entrance. He kissed her harder as he slowly slid inside of her warm, wet channel, making her scream against his mouth. Yes… yes… Gods, Elia was right about Northern lovers… they were perfect.

Kiss broken, the Dornish beauty watched as Ben looked deep into her in the eyes. Rocking slowly and reverently. Ashara silently gasped at each thrust into the wet heat of her core. His cock hit places inside her that made the young maiden see stars, a natural talent was her wolf...

However, she needed more. Tightening her legs wrapped around him, Benjen pushed a little faster but nowhere near what she truly desired. Ben… please... He treated her as a priceless gem, and she adored it most of the time… but she wasn't a delicate maiden. She was proud Dornishwoman, not delicate in the slightest even if a slender beauty. Ashara wanted to be fucked hard, and she wasn't about to leave it up to chance.

Keeping them fused together, with a strength oft hidden Ashara rolled them over. Watching with amusement the surprise on his face now that she was on top of him. A sultry smirk crossed her face. "Ben, I want the wolf to come out to play."

Gripping her hips, Benjen groaned as she lifted herself slowly up until only his tip remained. "Ash…"

She silenced him by plunging right down, both moaning at the same time. "No… fuck me hard." Yet another up and down motion, this one far faster, Ashara biting her lip as her cunt swallowed him whole. "Please, Ben… I need this." She took his hands and placed one on each of her breasts, draping her soft hands on top of them to force him to roughly cup and squeeze them. "Don't be gentle. Bring out the wolf."

Watching him groan below her, his calloused fingers palming her large breasts all on their own, Ashara grinned in satisfaction as she picked up the pace. Before long she was riding him hard and fast. Hips bounced against his without mercy, cock twitching inside to cause waves of pleasure to wash over her. "Fuck…" he grunted. "Ash… I love you… gods."

Even in the heat of passion, Ben could still make her melt. "Love… you… too…" Each of her words was punctuated by a powerful plunge, Ashara impaling herself upon him. "Fuck… you're cock is amazing…" Suddenly he sat up as she rode him and grabbed her, yanking them both down as his thrusts took over. Up and into her greedy cunt, making her scream against the skin of his neck - which she hungrily attacked with open mouthed kisses, continuing to roll her hips.

"Ash… you're beautiful," he said, thrusting all the way. "I… don't deserve… you…"

"Yes… you… do…" she gasped back, doubling her movements to prove it to him. "You're my… wolf knight… I adore you…" Ashara would tell him until he believed it, the third son leaving his siblings' shadows and emerging as a powerful force in his own right. One worthy of the Beauty of Starfall.

"Gods, Ash... I'm about to…"

Music to her ears. "Yes, Ben." She smiled and pulled him down for a kiss, wrapping her arms around him and bottoming her hips so he couldn't pull out. "Give me your seed. I fucking want it!" That was all they needed. After a few more thrusts, the muscles of her cunt tightened around him, milking his seed deep into her womb as they both moaned into their kiss.

She collapsed on top of him, riding the pleasurable aftershocks. "Mmmmmm…" Ashara placed her head on his sweaty chest. His heartbeat was so calming. "That was amazing." A smile curled as she felt the delightful soreness between her legs.

"Yes," her paramour declared. "It certainly was." Benjen chuckled. "Lya was right about Dornish lovers."

She raised her eyebrow, grinning at him. "Funny, as was Elia about northerners." Ashara pressed flush against him again, this time in the crook of his neck. "I hope your seed takes root inside me, Ben." Feeling him stiffen slightly, she looked back up to him. "What's wrong? Do you not want a child?" The idea made her heart ache.

Sighing, Benjen kissed her forehead. "I love you, Ash… it's just… gods." Such had filled his mind for many moons, ones he suppressed for the sake of his sister and his oath, but there they were. "I'm a third son, lined to take the Black before Lya married Rhaegar and brought me here. What future could I give a child?"

His words only made her cling to him tighter. "The honor of being the child of a renowned Kingsguard… the bravest man I've ever known."

"I would think your brother fits that title."

"No, Ben, it was always you." Ashara kissed his neck lovingly, making him sigh in pleasure. "You're not just a spare, my love. You've forged your own destiny and made me fall in love with you." Her eyes met his. "There's nothing I want more than to bear your child." He said nothing in return, only rolling her over and pressing their lips together once more.

Within the throne room, no trace of their morning exertions remained on Benjen's person - he was as immaculate as the other Kingsguards lining the steps to the Iron Throne. Three to either side, hands clasped behind their backs, watching as their brother in white ascended towards the King resting upon the seat of Aegon the Conqueror. Seeing his sister seated at the ornate chair beside the throne, he did swell with pride at how high House Stark had come.

Drawing the mighty Blackfyre, Rhaegar clasped it to the polished Valyrian steel armor he wore for just this occasion. "Ser Barristan Selmy," he addressed the kneeled kingsguard. "Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves? To protect all women and children? To obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king? To fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

"I so swear, your Grace," An oath he had taken before, but now for something greater than any honor he had previously bequeathed to him.

Gently, Rhaegar lowered Blackfyre upon his shoulder. "In the name of Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of his Name, I proclaim Barristan of House Selmy Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

Fists slamming against his breastplate, the other sworn brothers heralded their new Lord Commander as the gathered courtiers clapped. Benjen's eyes locked with Ashara while doing it. She was radiant in a dark purple gown, otherwise plainly decked out in simple gold and amethyst jewelry from her perch behind Queen Elia. Her eyes met his, and smiled softly - lovingly.

He was a lucky man. Perhaps she's right… A little girl with Ash's beauty and the wolfsblood, suddenly he so desired for such to happen.

Benjen's musings were interrupted as two young knights ascended the steps as Barristan joined the other brothers. Nominated by the liege Lords of the Reach and Vale - or by Olenna Tyrell in the case of the Reach - Arys Oakheart was dark and beefy, while Lyn Corbray was toned and thin. The former looked affable while a little naive, while the latter's scowl could have split his head open. Benjen had a bad feeling about them both, but kept it to himself.

"Lyn Corbray, Arys Oakheart," Rhaegar began. "Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves? To protect all women and children? To obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king? To fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

"I so swear, your Grace," both stated in unison, eyes downcast.

Blackfyre touched Oakheart's shoulder first, followed by Corbray's. "In the name of Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of his Name, I proclaim Ser Arys of House Oakheart and Ser Lyn of House Corbray, sworn brothers of the Kingsguard." Benjen slammed his fist on his breastplate, though not as enthusiastic as with Barristan.

---

"Are you certain?" Given the leave to speak, Elia didn't give off any surprise in her gaze much as she was inclined to if they had been alone. Beside her on the Iron Throne, Rhaegar held the same emotionless look, while Lyanna only showed a momentary wide-eyed expression - she was learning well. "That it was a suicide?"

Lord Peake nodded, a bit ashen-faced. "Aye, your Grace. They discovered Lord Mace in his bath, wrists slit and words scrawled upon a slip of parchment."

Lyanna's eyes flickered to her husband and wife before returning to Lord Titus. "And the contents of the note?"

"Mostly going on about how he couldn't live with the guilt of his eldest son dying upon the field of battle - that's all that Lady Olenna would tell me…" As her new goodson, Peake had been who she'd written first of this news. "My wife is quite distraught over the loss of her brother."

Hearing Rhaegar mutter under his breath, Elia agreed with the sentiment. Fucking coward. "That will be all, Lord Peake. You may have leave to travel to Highgarden for the funeral." Bowing, their Master of Laws quickly left the Throne Room. Most likely, he had already made arrangements to travel and was simply awaiting royal assent. As the doors closed behind him, Elia sighed. "If anyone were to take the coward's way out, it's Mace Tyrell. The man was always weak."

"And now poor Garlan's stuck as Lord before he's come of age…" Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Queen of Thorns is the true ruler of Highgarden and the Reach."

"She was already that before," Lyanna added. "And was so inclined to support us that she gave Rhaegar a dragon egg." Aegarax, the first dragon born in centuries, currently was growing like a weed - almost the size of a large dog as he gorged on his meals and grew even more. Seemed they would need to rebuild the dragonpit far sooner than expected. "I don't see how this doesn't help us in the Reach."

Leaning back, Elia drummed her fingers on the side of her throne. "Aye, House Tyrell will be certain to back us, but this may delegitimize them to the rest of the Reach - ancient grudges and all of that. We'll have to proceed very carefully."

"Garlan is a boy and Olenna isn't well-liked." Oberyn stood to the side, as befitting the Hand of the King. "Mace may have been a fool but he was an affable one - kept many Lords behind him through flattery and favors."

"Highgarden will be the first Royal Progress I'll have to make, it would seem - along with Oldtown." None of them were looking forward to that - the domain of the Most Devout. "Have your little birds pay attention to the Reach just a little bit harder, Lord Varys."

"Of course, your Grace," the Master of Whisperers nodded, earning a hidden look of suspicion from Elia. Perhaps it was time for her to start building her own network...

Doors opening, Ser Lyn Corbray entered. "Your Graces…" He bowed low, quite deferent and respectful to the royal family. It unsettled Lyanna but didn't truly bother her. "There is a highborn knight asking for an audience. Ser Jaime Lannister has seconded the request."

That seemed to catch Rhaegar's interest. "Oh? And who would Ser Jaime consider deserving of this honor that my Hand hasn't approved yet?"

"Ser Gerion Lannister, your Grace. He says that he has just returned from an expedition to Old Valyria."

In this, none of the royals - nor any of the Small Council present in the Throne Room - hid their shock. "Send him in," Rhaegar commanded simply, though Arthur, Barristan, and Benjen at the foot of the dias all fanned out, ready to strike anyone that came close. Stories of what happened when Aerea Targaryen ventured to Valyria on Balerion only to come back emaciated and riddled with blind wyrms still haunted people's minds.

Not one person in the entire hall speaking, all watched with bated breath as Ser Jaime escorted his uncle towards the Iron Throne. The youngest of the brood of Tytos Lannister, Gerion didn't look emaciated or riddled with infection, but his golden looks were masked by a layer of grime and healed cuts and bruises that belied… nothing easy about his expedition. Nevertheless, he held himself high as befitting of a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Behind, two equally filthy souls carried a large chest between the two of them. "Your Graces," Jaime began, bowing. "Ser Gerion Lannister, my uncle, seeks your audience."

Rhaegar nodded. "He may speak, Ser Jaime." Wordlessly, the adventurer bent the knee, though he seemed a bit wobbly on his feet. "Ser Gerion, I have been told you've returned from Old Valyria."

"Aye, I have." Gerion rose, cracking his neck. "Gods, it wasn't easy if I do say so myself, but l managed to avoid the fate of my ancestor King Tommen, Second of His Name."

"If I recall correctly, Ser Gerion," said Lyanna. "He sailed with a large fleet after the Doom to conquer the peninsula for the Rock, no?"

Gerion smiled. "You know your history, your Grace. Unfortunately, his fleet and his men never returned, nor did he. My family always said that we may have won at the Field of Fire had he not crippled us, but I disagree." Rhaegar rolled his eyes - classic Lannister pride. In all honesty, the only Lannister to him that could back up such arrogance was Tywin. The rest were mediocrities. "Forgive me for the appearance, but I had to sail immediately for here. Volantis wouldn't let my ships anywhere near their ports, and neither would Lys."

"Undoubtedly heard stories of Aerea Targaryen as well," Rhaegar mused. "It is of no matter, you may have a guest chamber here in the Red Keep. Clean up and I invite you to dinner with my Queens and I, answer questions about your expedition."

He laughed merrily. "Sounds perfect, your Grace, but there is one thing I do wish to show. My dear nephew holds the first."

Eyes drifting to Ser Jaime, who looked as if he were skipping on clouds, Elia picked out the change before anyone else did. "That sword… a lion's head pommel - you found Brightroar?"

"Good eye, your Grace." The legendary Valyrian Steel sword of House Lannister, lost to the ruins of the lost civilization. "My nephew the Lion of Lannister deserved it, but that isn't the only Valyrian steel weapon I recovered." Gesturing to the chest, his two crewmen opened it to reveal a treasure trove of weapons. Ones that made Rhaegar's eyes sparkle with interest, as did Lya's. "Four swords, two daggers, an axe, a glaive, and a mace. I'm keeping one of the swords for myself, but the rest are a gift to the Crown as a token of House Lannister's loyalty… and a position on your Household Guard for myself," Gerion grinned.

As Rhaegar seemed speechless, Lyanna answered. "I will have to judge your suitability myself, but other than that your terms feel proper." She gestured to the chest. "Please have them put in his Grace's solar."

Looking over the tabletop where the weapons had been placed, Rhaegar leaned in - running his hands along the finely polished metal. Gerion may have cared less about his own appearance in sailing straight for King's Landing, but clearly poured all his attention into making the steel shine as brightly as it would straight out of the forge. "For centuries old blades, they certainly have kept their shape."

"These are good arms, your Grace," Arthur observed, picking up the mace in his hands. "If it may please you, this would make a perfect nameday gift for Dacey."

"Go with the gods, Arthur. She's earned it," laughed Lyanna, the Queen speaking for her husband in this - as was her right. Rhaegar didn't contradict her. "As for the others, the steel may be the finest of quality, but aside from Brightroar…" To the side, Ser Jaime seemed entranced by the legendary Greatsword of House Lannister, returned to the House of the Golden Lion. "None of these are marked for anyone in particular."

"They can serve as tokens of our patronage," Elia mused. "Or go to our children, the ones who won't inherit the sword of Kings."

Rhaegar nodded, picking up one of the daggers. "Our children will not fall victim to the familial squabbles and bottlenecks that left House Targaryen reduced to so few members after the Tragedy of Summerhall - myself, my mother, and my father." Not since the Dance had they truly been close to extinction then. The gods smiled on House Targaryen since, even through the terror of Aerys' reign and the chaos of the Rebellion. They survived. "Our children will receive keeps through the Realm, starting with the rebuilt Summerhall and Harrenhal. For Egg's reign, they will be his loyal councilors to hold back our enemies."

Walking to her husband, Elia wrapped her arms around him. She leaned up to kiss his jaw. "Wise decision, my love. You're a good King and great father."

He peered down, smiling wistfully at her. "Hopefully our children will think so." Resting the dagger upon the table, Rhaegar went for a large bastard sword. The steel was a smokey grey almost black, pommel nothing special. Primed for personalization. "I shall keep most on advisement, but this I already know who deserves to wield it." Grinning down at Elia, who's eyes widened in understanding, Rhaegar approached Lya. "Here."

It took a moment for Lyanna to realize his intent. Her eyes widened as well. "Me?"

"For birthing me a beautiful, handsome son." Rhaegar held out the blade horizontally, offering it for her to take. "Lyanna Targaryen, a Queen that shall never be chained by anyone."

Hand trembling, Lyanna took the Valyrian steel in her hand. Lifting the bastard sword and admiring its finish. "Rhaegar…" Tears pricked at her eyes, but they were ones of joy. He truly remembers... "Thank you." Angling the blade out of the way, she surged forward and kissed him hard. Feeling herself melt into it, only to meet Elia's lips once they pulled back for air.

---

Not for the first time, or the last if she was honest with herself, Lyanna withdrew the bastard sword from its sheath. Gazing at the smoky blade with wonder. Her inner wolf howled with a blistering power, radiating out from the priceless Valyrian steel blade her dragon gifted to her.

Gods, if the courtiers weren't keeping him and Elia preoccupied Lyanna would mount him and ride him until he begged for mercy.

"Seems House Stark finally has its Dark Sister." If Lyanna's… warlike fierceness unsettled people, Benjen wasn't one of them. Dashing in his brand new red-black Kingsguard armor, he rather felt if fitting. "You've finally achieved your dream."

"My dream was accomplished when I married Rhaegar, found Elia, and held Jon in my arms." Lyanna slowly slashed at the air, testing how light and fluid her efforts were now with the blade. "But I shan't say the young lass that Lyanna Stark has been two years before wouldn't squeal with glee at this gift."

Underneath the setting dusken sun, the pair of wolves crossed through the gardens towards Maegor's holdfast. Courtiers and servants both bowed as they walked past. "I only wish Ned hadn't left so soon. He would have loved to match Ice against… wait, the blade needs a name." All the great Valyrian steel swords did.

Her grin as they passed into Maegor's Holdfast was quite indistinguishable from a wolf's. "Wolfsbane, with a massive sapphire on the hilt and an elegant blue dragon for a pommel." Again she toyed with the blade expertly, ignoring the queer looks she was getting. A wolf didn't bother with the critiques of sheep, let alone a wolf married to a dragon. "Jon shall have this sword one day, and his child after him."

"You've thought this through," Benjen laughed.

"Since I was nine, though I never dared to dream…"

"Muna!"

If Lyanna's mood could get even better, now was the moment. "Egg!" She quickly sheathed the sword, reaching out to take her delighted son from Ashara and kiss the crown of wispy silver hair on his head. "How is my beautiful babe?" While Jon would always be her special miracle, she loved all three equally.

"He missed his brother," Ash said, wrapping her arms around Benjen's waist and kissing him deeply. The sparkle in the look she gave him communicating she missed him as well. "Thought to take him to their nursery so he could pay Prince Baelon a visit."

"Great idea," Lyanna exclaimed brightly, kissing Egg's cheek before handing him back to Ashara. Planning to pick up both Jon and Daenerys when they got to their nursery. Luckily for them, it was only one turn of the corner away.

Two guards stood at the door, and they seemed surprised at the Queen's arrival. "Your Grace," they stammered out.

Lyanna was curious, but thought nothing of it, Benjen opening the door and letting his sister and paramour in. Her mood brightened yet again at the sight of Jon, but he was asleep. Disturbing him was the last bit on her mind… until the door opened behind them that is.

All three adults shifted their eyes to the doorway as the two guards entered. "Yes, soldiers?" Lyanna asked, expecting an answer or a message, but they remained silent - faces hard beneath the lip of their helms. Behind, three more entered, swords drawn. Her blood immediately ran cold. "What is the meaning of this?" Her voice took a hard edge to it.

"You weren't supposed to be here," the one in the middle said. He was grizzled with a face etched with wrinkles and pockmarks, even if only a decade older than Lyanna herself, and his teeth were rotted. "None of you were, but it's of little consequence." He drew out a large dagger, looking at Ashara - licking his lips. "Thank you for bringing the other half-breed, Dornish bitch."

Lyanna drew Wolfsbane with a deep scowl, joined by Benjen not a moment later. "Ash, stay behind me. Protect the babes."

"Yes, your Grace," she said haltingly, trembling in fear.

Egg noticed the tension, starting to wriggle in Ashara's arms, reaching out for Lyanna. "Muna… muna…"

"Valyrian incest fuck," one of the guards snarled, charging at Lyanna directly. Blade high, the woman made for the best targets in his eyes.

Such was a massive miscalculation. With ease, the lessons Rhaegar and Barristan imparted on her undisturbed by her pregnancy, Lyanna batted away the sword and kicked him square in the stomach - sending him staggering. "Get the wolf cunt!" yelled the lead cutthroat, all of them lunging forward and getting into the thick of it with Benjen and Lyanna.

"No!" Lyanna surprised them all as she rushed headlong towards the attackers, beautiful dress stained with crimson blood as Wolfsbane first tasted flesh after centuries - disemboweling a cutthroat. His screams echoing through the hall and waking the babes, all of them wailing at the disturbance.

Benjen took on the biggest one, the attacker's strength no match for the Kingsguard's skill. It was barely a fair fight, his head rolling on the floor to join another of Lyanna's targets.

Dropping Egg in the crib with his little brother, Ashara came face to face with the leader, who managed to jink and weave around Lyanna to come upon the babes. "Both Princes in the same bed… lucky me." The Dornishwoman lunged for the dagger and tried to wrestle it out of his hand. But the man snarled cut the blade across the sleeves of her dress, leaving a shallow cut on her skin as he kicked her in the stomach. "Bitch!" was his last word before Lyanna buried her sword in his stomach.

Watching him drop the dagger, Lyanna kicked his knees, forcing him to the ground. "You tried to kill my children." Her voice had dropped, a pure icy blizzard. "Who sent you?"

He snickered like a naughty kid. "Your time will come, wolf shit," he said, voice hoarse and mushy as he spat at Lyanna. "Yours and your fuckin' brats."

Eyes blacker than night, Lyanna shoved him flat on the ground and angled Wolfsbane. "Lya, no!" Even with Benjen's warning, she thrust forward slowly. The blade's sharp steel sliced through the flesh of his throat without difficulty. Gurgling and gasping for breath, his eyes widened from agony before dilating in a torturous death. "What was that?!" Benjen clasped her shoulder, only to be greeted with the face of an ice demon in his sister.

Lyanna breathed out short and harsh, heart pounding as she shook from rage. "Don't touch me," she ground out.

"Lya…" Benjen took a gentler tone, only for more guards to scramble through the door. This time, the figure of Ser Alliser was in the van, easing his worries. "Double the guard of the royal wing with men verified by you only, and send for His Grace and the other Kingsguard. There was an attempt on the Princes."

Thorne nodded. "At once, Ser Benjen."

The still shaking Lyanna, hands white as she held Wolfsbane, found Ash hugging her. "Lya… you shouldn't have killed him. We needed someone to interrogate."

She forced herself to slow her breaths, taming the roiling heat within her. "Anyone," she said in a heavy voice, eyes looking at the sleeping babes unaware of how close they had come to death only moons after yet a similar brush with death. "That tries to harm them will meet cold steel."

"Then you must turn that blade on yourself."

She blinked, the voice hitting her ears like a thunderclap.

"It's your fault… for your sins…"

Lyanna shut her eyes, suddenly feeling a horrible headache.

"Sinner…"

"Adulterer…"

"Fornicator…"

While Ashara tried to comfort her, mistaking the new trembling for her anger, the voice bombarded Lyanna in a sudden fusillade. Vulnerable and fearful underneath all her fire and strength, there was no more perfect time.

Notes:

Well fuck... Lyanna is a beast. No one's touching her babies while she's around.

Sansa's finally hear, rounding out the four born in 83 AC. Already she has grey eyes of House Stark.

Lots of new developments, namely Rhaegar's supporters getting their lordships and new Valyrian Steel swords.

I think Benjen and Ashara are cute together :D

Till next time.

Chapter 63: Gathering Darkness

Notes:

Greetings all. It was a hellish week past. As most of you are probably aware, the Texas blizzard exploited wind turbine limitations, corporate greed, and the federal government's lack of giving a damn for the average person into the entire state being without power and water for days. Was planning to update last week, but... let's just say circumstance intervened.

But all is well. Power's back, water's back, and the weather is a balmy 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Let's do this.

Enjoy and please comment :D

"Well?!" Arms crossed, honey-brown eyes blazing the same dragonfire as her husband's dragon, Queen Elia Targaryen glared at the two men standing ramrod straight before her. "How did they get in?! Answer me!"

Alliser Thorne, Lord of Duskendale and acting commander of the Royal Targaryen Guard gulped. "Your Grace… I…"

"Choose your words carefully, Lord Alliser." If the Queen was frightening, the King was truly a portrait of demonic fury. Even Lord Commander Barristan Selmy trembled, though neither he nor Lord Thorne could blame their monarchs. Had their wife and children been close to slaughtered, the rage would overwhelm them. "Answer the Queens' question, how did the assassins get into the keep?"

Sighing, Lord Alliser looked his King and Queen directly in the eye. "Your Grace, we did a search of the areas around the Red Keep… several bodies of guardsmen were found tossed in one of the catacombs that led out to the beach beneath Aegon's High Hill. They showed signs of ambush."

Elia trembled. "So, you're saying they impersonated these guards and snuck in through the catacombs?" Never since Starfall was she this afraid… Egg, Jon, Ash, and Lya nearly died under their very noses. Gods, she needed to be with them. Not here, arguing with their guards as if they weren't competent.

They should have been competent.

"Aye, your Grace," Barristan answered. "I've instituted a sign-countersign system among the guards and barricaded the Red Keep. Prince Aegon and Prince Baelon are as protected as can be."

"Good, good." Sensing his wife's growing discomfort and needing to hold Lya as well, Rhaegar made his last question brief. "Any identifying the assassins?"

Thorne nodded. "Most were cutthroats from Gin Alley, common sellswords that partook in the more… seedier tactics of war. One of them though… none of the Goldcloaks could point to any clue regarding his identity. It's my contention that this person was instructed to hire the cutthroats. Lord Varys has asked me to inform you he wishes to begin a proper investigation."

Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar sighed. "He has my leave to do this. Dismissed." Both men bowed and exited the room… Barristan taking his position on watch at the entrance to the royal quarters. Elia nearly collapsed, but was taken close in Rhaegar's arms - the King embracing his Queen. "They're all alive, my love," he whispered into her ear, sensing her tremors.

Tears welling in her eyes, Elia nodded into the crook of his neck. "I know." She wordlessly kissed him, seeking comfort to regain her composure. "I want to be with Lya."

"As do I." Nothing was stopping them now.

They found Lyanna sitting at her vanity, just gazing quietly at her reflection in the looking glass. The beautiful gown she had been dressed in was hastily stripped away and her sword tucked to the side for cleaning, instead a gossamer nightgown donned that hugged her curves. Hair released over her shoulders, she looked absolutely breathtaking, though a hollow look left those beautiful grey eyes. "My love…" Elia made her way to behind Lya, leaning down to wrap her arms round her neck and shoulders. Noticing an ever so slight flinch. "Forgive us, but we're here now."

While having initially wished for solitude in her internal conflict, the feel of her loves close by brought Lyanna the greatest comfort. "I'm glad you're here." Tilting her head back, she accepted Elia's sweet kiss with need. It warmed her.

It brought back the harsh words from earlier.

She felt guilty for remembering them.

Elia pulling back, they rested their foreheads together as a warm, calloused hand stroked her arm. Rhaegar… my King… "Are you alright, my Queen?" she heard him ask.

"As well as I can be," Lya replied. "So who were they?"

Such a clever girl. Both King and Queen smirked through their eyes at how perceptive their direwolf was. "Cutthroats from Gin Alley, though one can't be identified."

Lya bit her lip. "I knew I shouldn't have killed that last one… but I needed him to die. I… I had to kill them." Her eyes darkened, voice hard. "To kill them all."

Rhaegar nodded. "I understand - they would have all burned had I had my way." He wrapped his arms round her chest, easing her up from the chair. She didn't resist. "Lya… you saved our sons."

"We almost lost them," she replied in a whisper.

Elia trembled at the thought. "I know… gods, we all do." No words were needed after that, embraces turning lewd. Touches turning prurient as lips locked, hands ghosting over intimate places as both Rhaegar and Lyanna led her to bed. Barely giving her a chance to breathe as they swapped kisses, making her sigh in pleasure and comfort. Lyanna was guided flat upon the bed, eyes closed and heart pounding at the thought of either of them pleasuring her. The weight that slid upon her form was slender and soft. Elia…

Kissing her soundly, Lyanna leaned up, cupping the outline of Elia's breasts. Moaning at their supple feel…

"Adulterer!"

Inwardly, Lyanna tensed.

"You are evil… you betray your honor." The voice was sweet, syrupy, but malevolent. Biting. "You caused their deaths, fornicator."

The soft touches of her love mixed with the harsh judgement of the voice, which transformed into her father's… her brother's… even her mother's...

"Lyanna Stark. You have betrayed the gods of your ancestors!

"You have laid with someone not your husband. Polluted your marriage bed with the darkest perversion."

"Why did you do it, little pup?"

Her heart hurt, electricity passing painfully through her.

"Our death was your fault!."

No...

"You put everything at risk. Our entire House close to extinction because of your lust!"

No!

The feel of Elia's lips piercing her own broke the haze she was in… Her heart pounded, her skin pricking and form shaking.

"Adulterer!"

"Fornicator!"

"Whore!"

"Stop…" she murmured, barely hearing her own voice. "Elia… stop…" Louder now, but still Elia didn't hear it, kissing down her neck and pulling down the straps of her nightgown while Rhaegar played with the hem of hers - teasing it before he would dive in and enjoy his midnight snack. A finger ghosted over her silk-covered nipple, which sent Lyanna's eyes widening. "Stop!"

In a split-second, the passionate moment between the three lovers had turned into one of confusion and incredulity. Lyanna - without meaning to - had shoved Elia back, pushing her into Rhaegar who stumbled out of the bed entirely… falling to his knees on the floor. It took a moment before they managed to piece together what had happened. "Lya?" Elia asked, less hurt rather than stunned and concerned.

"What's wrong, love?" Rhaegar asked, pulling himself to his feet. Never in their passion had they ever seen her like this. So… afraid…

Seeing the looks of worry and love on their faces, Lyanna felt guilt stab at her like the worst of blades. "I'm sorry…" she stammered. What was happening to her. "I'm so sorry, I… I…" Tears welled in her eyes.

"Lya…" Rhaegar was at her side in an instant, while Elia crawled opposite him. "Tell us what's wrong."

"Whore!" The malevolent word bombarded her brain… the voice sounding so much like her own father.

"Whore!"

"Whore!"

"WHORE!"

She wrenched herself free and stood, covering her eyes in shame. "I… I have to see Jon!" Enough sense remaining in her to grab a dressing gown, she bolted out of the chambers leaving her two stunned lovers in her wake.

Watching like an ever present apparition, the dark one smiled at his work.

---

"Leave me alone, Little Man!"

Try as he might though, Sandor Clegane would need to try harder to dislodge the teenage Imp of Casterly Rock from his tail - stubby legs working overtime to keep up with his massive strides. "It's just so intriguing to me, you fought alongside his Grace the King… what was it like?"

"Cold, wet, and bloody. What the fuck do you think war is like?!" Seven hells… please shut up!

"But it's the Sunrise Dragon!" He wasn't going to be so lucky. "The first dragon to grace the world in centuries." It was as if Tyrion's childhood dream was finally to come true. "Did you see the dragon? How big was it?"

Groaning, Sandor wanted to punch something… or someone. Gregor would have. But even Lord Tywin's least favorite son getting a broken nose or worse would very much displease the Old Lion - if for reasons other than sentimentality. "About the size of a house cat…" Sandor remarked quietly as he made for the Lord's wing of the great keep. "Or a small dog."

He witnessed Tyrion visibly deflate, disappointment written on his face. "That small?" What a letdown.

"What did you expect? For him to be burnin' Harrenhal like the fuckin' Black Dread a moon after hatchin'?"

"I suppose so," Tyrion murmured, looking out the window to the vast expanse of the fertile highland farmland. Not yet would he see his dream of great dragons soaring atop the winds and currents.

Frowning, a chorus of girlish giggles from one of the chambers drew his ear. "Fuck, your depression is annoying. Let the giggle sisters fuckin' downer on your mood." With his foot he half-nudged, half-kicked Tyrion to the door of the Lady Cersei's chambers and stormed off… letting out a sigh of relief to find the Imp not following him.

Pondering both his crushed mood and the Hound's suggestion, Tyrion shrugged. Perhaps teasing my sweet sister would be just the right thing for me. The more he thought about it, the more amused he grew at the thought. Without knocking, he pushed open the door - latch just within reach he was glad to note - and entered Cersei's private chambers. No longer muffled, the giggles and coos of more than one woman came to notice.

What he saw really improved his mood.

"Come here, darling… come to mama!" Hair let down, clad in a dressing gown tied round her waist, Cersei rested on her knees atop the floor. Her arms were out in an inviting pose, though at the moment it was quite innocent. "You can do it, crawl to me, Robb."

In his five moons of life, little Robb Hill - or Robb Stark as Cersei insisted - had transformed into an active, delightful little babe. Precocious and full of energy, Tyrion wasn't shocked since Robb had developed quite a resemblance to his uncle Jaime. Golden hair thick and lustrous, green eyes sparkling with vibrance.

The entirety of Casterly Rock was smitten with him even in spite of his parentage.

Beaming a toothless smile and clapping his hands, Robb's eyes darted everywhere as both Jeyne Farman and Malera Heatherspoon bombarded him with equally sweet exhortations, almost overloaded with stimulation. Propping himself unseen against the wall, Tyrion crossed his arms and watched with amusement. He would have loved to tease, but he was smitten with his nephew as well.

Eventually, Robb's attention rooted firmly to his mother and he began to crawl towards her. Cersei's eyes sparkled with a happiness that Tyrion hadn't ever seen in her before - radiant happiness and contentment, and it truly suited her. "My baby boy!" When reaching her, Cersei picked Robb up, sweetly blowing a raspberry on his belly to his shrieks of laughter. "You're perfect."

At Jeyne and Malera's giggles, Tyrion finally couldn't help himself. "Usually, I hear those giggles in a different context."

Once, Cersei's handmaidens and friends would have been scandalized - now though, they shared Cersei's ire and bored acceptance of his lewdness. "Brother… I would say I'm glad at your presence, but that would be lying."

Not the most biting of insults. They truly were getting along more and more. "I suppose someone is." Brows rising, he smirked as Robb reached out for his uncle. The little one had taken to him more than anyone other than his mother, and Tyrion with him. "May I hold my nephew?"

Cersei frowned but then sighed. "You may." She may have disliked Tyrion, but Robb loved him and she couldn't deny her little direwolf his family. He's never met his Stark family… Such tinged her frown as Tyrion took him.

Tyrion held his nephew gingerly, trying to keep Robb's hands from smacking at his face with giggles. "Yep, he's your son, Cersei." Normally his charms were lost on Jeyne and Malera, but here they laughed. "Good news, uncle Gerion's returned."

That drew surprise. "He actually survived Old Valyria?" Jeyne asked with wide-eyes.

"Even Aerea Targaryen didn't," added Malera. "And she had Balerion the Black Dread."

"Us Lannisters are a stubborn, tough bunch. If anyone could do it, it was uncle Gerion… and he found Brightroar!"

Smirking, Cersei leaned back on her knees. "Well, I hope he gave the sword to Jaime."

"He did."

"Jaime with the Lannister Valyrian steel?" Jeyne sighed dreamily. "He'll look so dashing with it." One day, both siblings knew, with his golden looks Robb would get the same attention from the maidens of the world… if they overlooked his bastard status.

At that point, Robb started to fuss and whimper, which had Cersei standing up. "He needs a bath."

Before she could take him from Tyrion, Malera swept in to do it. "No, let us do it, Cersei. You relax."

"But…"

She was insistent. "Relax. We're happy to do it for our little lion." Jeyne in tow, Malera took the fussy Robb to the bathhouse of the keep, installed by Lord Tywin to accommodate his fastidious need to be clean.

"Little wolf," Cersei whispered under her breath, heart clenching at the thought of her Ned.

Such was not lost on Tyrion. "He won't be a Stark, sister," he warned, not wanting to hurt her but knowing it would only hurt her if she kept her insistence. "Not unless you marry Ned Stark and the King legitimizes him."

"I know, I know…" She stood, walking to the window. "It just hurts greatly. I love Ned and I'm sure he loves me… we have a babe, a healthy heir for House Stark." Her fists clenched. "I'd make a better Lady of Winterfell than that glorified Septa he was forced to marry."

Ah yes, Catelyn Tully. Wasn't a secret what his sister felt about her. "She's borne Lord Stark a daughter." He watched her stiffen. "Name is Sansa, and the whispers say she's rather healthy."

Cersei was silent. "I'm happy for him."

"Are you truly?"

Biting her lip, Cersei hesitated before nodding. "I'm happy that he has a child to love, but simply wish that she were mine with him. That Robb could have a little sister to grow up with."

"And Lancel isn't a good companion?" She turned around and glared at him, to which Tyrion raised his hands. "Sorry, bad jape."

"I hate her, brother." The old Cersei returned in force, bitter and haughty, but it seemed less childish. More focused and grounded. "She's hurting the North, hurting my love."

"Are you referring to her decision to allow septons and septas to proselytize in the North?" It was longstanding practice that only White Harbor could operate a true sept, and even there it's activities were limited. "Aye, that will hurt."

Sitting with her hands in her lap, Cersei fumed. "The North hates the Faith of the Seven. They've learned to live with the Andals but see the Starry Sept as an encroachment. That Fish Whore is only going to harm Ned's hold on the North - hyenas surround him, and he doesn't have someone like father to support and protect him." Tears started to prick at her eyes at the thought. "I wish I could get rid of her."

Tyrion winced. "Cersei… don't go there, please."

"No one would know if I do it well enough. I doubt Ned loves her… then we could get married."

"Father would kill you if you tried." Tywin Lannister was a schemer, but hated common schemes. His were more… intricate and grounded. "We know that our father runs this family as an Iron fist… only Jaime has ever defied him on his plans, and had he not become a Kingsguard there would have been a reckoning."

She sighed. "So only he can make this decision… typical. All of us dancing to his jig." She had been a pawn, conditioned to fall for the Prince - only to fall for the enigmatic Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Her only decision for herself.

"We're all monsters, I suppose, for acting like the great Tywin Lannister." Tyrion chuckled dryly. "I feel our father wants to be the monster for House Targaryen, lest they need someone to actually deliver fire and blood."

"They'd need a marriage alliance to seal that."

"Aye. You're just going to have to let the gods guide us to a proper end."

Huffing, Cersei leaned on her bed and turned her back to Tyrion, cheek on the pillow. "Piss on the gods." What use was honor if it got a person killed and their family attained?

She could almost hear Ned scolding her for such a thought, and it only added to Cersei's pain.

---

Leaning down over the lining of the crib, finger extended, Princess Rhaenys' eyes were alight with excitement as she touched the chin of her much younger aunt. "Hi Dany," she giggled as the little babe squirmed and waved her arms. "I'm your niece. Grow up quick cause I need a girl to fight my brudders."

One of her said 'brudders' was currently snuggled in his mother's arms, Lyanna gazing down at him. Her nipples were tender from his hungry suckles, but the Queen wouldn't miss quality time with her miracle for the world. "Oooh… easy on muna, pup." That didn't mean it wasn't uncomfortable.

"Eww!" Lya's head went up as Rhaenys pulled back, shaking her hand vigorously. "Dany drooled on me!" Giggles left the crib where the Princess dwelt.

The Queen stifled a giggle of her own. "Babe's drool, Rhae… not on your dress." The girl stopped just as she moved to wipe her slobber-drenched hand upon the pretty saffron children's gown she wore. "It's freshly laundered."

Groaning - so much like Rhaegar it was uncanny - Rhae wiped it instead on Daenerys' blanket… considering Dany likely slobbered all over it, Lyanna couldn't speak up.

Jon took the moment to detach from her nipple, smacking his lips after draining his fill. Smiling, Lyanna placed him atop her shoulder and gently pressed until a loud belch echoed through the nursery. Egg slept soundly in his crib, while Dany's violet eyes zeroed in on her slightly older nephew with… awe? Rhaenys merely laughed, discomfort forgotten. "Jon funny like Uncle Ben." Northern to the core, Benjen always liked to delight his family with his antics. He's lucky Ash finds him charming.

"Don't let Uncle Ned fool you, Rhae. Northerners have quite the sense of humor." Her elder brother was an oddity in that regard - most northmen were more like the Umbers than icy enigmatics like Roose Bolton.

Walking right beside her, Rhae gave her a curious look. "Muna, do I call him Jon… or Baelon. Grandmother calls him Baelon."

"Your grandmother is a stickler for propriety… you may call him Jon, as I do, unless in a formal occasion."

Her head bobbed up and down. Rhaenys reached her arms up. "Can I hold Jon?"

She sighed. "Sorry, sweetling." Lyanna didn't want to deny her, but the worry of her dropping Jon was pressing now. "Perhaps when you're older." Rhaenys pouted, this time looking like a mini-Elia.

Elia…

Jon was a mix of Rhaegar's build and her own coloring, Daenerys pure Valyrian while Egg was an almost sun-kissed Valyrian - everything but the alabaster skin. But Rhae… while she inherited the graceful bone structure and violet eyes of her father's line, the rest was pure Dornish. Not just any Dornish, but of her wife. Of her love…

"Adulterer!"

"Fornicator!"

"Whore!"

"Muna?" A hand tugged on her dress. "Muna? You good?"

Lyanna looked down to see the expectant, concerned expression of her daughter. Rhaegar's eyes, but Elia's expression. Guilt immediately flooded her, feeling as if she was betraying her family. "I'm fine," she lied, not wanting to worry her. "I'm fine." Placing Jon in his crib, perhaps that was more for herself than Rhaenys.

"Must I, muna?" a sullen, indignant voice stated from the hallway.

"Come on, Vis. It'll be good for you to get out of your chambers."

Door opening, Ser Barristan walked in from where he and Lyn Corbray stood guard - always one to give a small sweet to the children, Ser Lyn was a favorite of theirs leading to his assignment to their guard full-time. "Your Grace," he stated, "Queen Dowager Rhaella and Prince Viserys." Announcement completed, he stepped back out.

Finally, the slender, smiling form of Lya's godmother walked in with the frowning Viserys in tow. Ser Jaime brought up the rear, guarding Rhaella as he always did. Charming and self-assure he always was, but in the last weeks he had been the picture of happiness. Lyanna had an idea why. "Your Grace," Rhaella bowed, though there was a hint of a smile on her face.

Lyanna cracked a bit of a smirk. "Goodmother." She chuckled at Rhaella curtsying even deeper. "Get up please… it feels weird if you do it."

Rhaella rose, laughing as well. "Couldn't help myself, dear Lyanna." Happily, she pulled her granddaughter in for a hug. "How are my daughter and grandchildren?"

"Growing like weeds, I can honestly say." Lya watched as Rhaella kissed Egg on the head before cooing at Jon, making silly faces that he went wild over. "Baelon has Aegarax's appetite, as does Daenerys. Gods, I hope they don't grow as quickly."

"Aye… he's as big as a large dog at this point." Aside from Rhaegar himself, Rhaella spent the most time of anyone with the first dragon in centuries. The power of their house restored, it filled her with fire. One that didn't last too long, but was there. Kissing Jon, now she finally got to her little daughter. "There's my sweet Princess!" Beaming, Rhaella picked up Dany in her arms, bouncing her gently. "How are you today?" Dany gurgled and giggled, greatly enjoying the attention. "Say hello to your sister, Viserys."

Arms crossed, Viserys finally looked at his sister from where his gaze had been directed elsewhere. Lyanna came to notice that unlike the sweet boy that she gave a flower on the fateful day that Aerys took Visenya away from her, the sullen older child hadn't once greeted her. "I see Daenerys… does she always slobber like that?"

Rhaella ignored that. "Babes are like that, my son. Here." She held out Daenerys. "Hold her, please."

Rolling his eyes, Viserys nevertheless took the babe - cradling her in his arms. "Um… hello, sister. I'm your brother, Viserys." Daenerys simply stared up at him. The older Prince wasn't one to associate with his niece and nephews, first barred by orders of Aerys and later by choice, so this was his first time holding a babe. He seemed… entranced. "You're a pure dragon, just like me." A hesitant, proud smile came to his face. "We're going to restore our family to glory, sister - I can tell."

The moment was broken when Daenerys - seemingly out of nowhere - let out a shrill cry, wriggling in obvious discomfort that nearly shocked the Prince into dropping her. He looked confused and angry. "Muna! Make it stop!"

Ever patient, she and Lya both knowing babes were unpredictable like that, Rhaella reached down and scooped Dany up. "There there, she's probably just hungry and tired, right hatchling?" Dany kept crying, but it lessened somewhat.

"She's useless!" Without another word, Viserys stomped off to gods' know where.

Watching, Jaime winced. "Ser Lyn, please follow him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"Aye, Ser Jaime."

Jaime shook his head. Seven hells, what have you done to that boy? Not for the last time, he cursed the name of Aerys II Targaryen. Concerned for Rhaella, his own love, he found her coping well. "Poor boy. He still hasn't healed from those awful months." It brought her grief, but she understood.

"I'm sure he'll heal," Lyanna told her as Dany's cries began to fade.

Rhaenys tugged on her dress again. "Muna, read a story to me again!" Oft, Lyanna and she would spend an hour together in the library pouring through book after book, the Queen determined to impart on the Princess the knowledge of the Realm. "I wanna story of direwolves!" With dragons back, now her curiosity was on the Stark sigil.

About to smile and agree, suddenly the words slammed through her head.

"Adulterer!"

"Fornicator!"

"Whore!"

"Whore!"

"WHORE!"

She shook her head. "Perhaps another time, sweetling. I… I need to be somewhere else." None noticed the tears pricking as she raced off.

Rhaenys looked puzzled. "But… we always read stories…" She sounded heartbroken.

Frowning, Rhaella had no idea what was up with Lya… or the entire royal family recently. There seemed to be a… tension, one Rhaegar denied and the Queens didn't speak of but that existed. Sharing a concerned look with Jaime, she turned to Rhaenys with a smile. "Let me feed Dany and I'll read you a story, alright?"

"Alright, grandmother!" Crisis averted… for now.

---

Watched over by the two massive twins, Olenna Tyrell heard the clash of steel on steel before she entered the training yard of Highgarden, somewhere her son hadn't visited much in his lordship but the new Warden of the Reach usually found himself in. As such was today, her grandson Garlan dressed down into a tunic and breeches and sparring with Ser Igon Vyrwel… rather well for a boy of ten and four. A man-at-arms watching the spectacle noticed his Lady and stood, offering his seat for her. Olenna took it with merely a brusque nod and watched for Garlan to finish.

Blunted sparring blades meeting in a series of strikes and parries, Garlan gritted his teeth as he sidestepped a lunge, swinging… only for it to be caught. "Very good, my Lord," Ser Igon breathed, pushing the blade back with his own. "Excellent form."

Nodding, Garlan lunged himself, though twirled the blade and swiped sideways in the nick of time, crossing the chest of his opponent and delivering a quick kill. Everyone around him clapping, he drew back with a smirk. "I believe that's two for me."

"And ten for me," Ser Igon replied with a smirk of his own. "Nevertheless, you are advancing quite well, My Lord." He noticed a newcomer in the corner of his eye. "My Lady," he bowed.

Garlan noticed her too. "Grandmother."

Olenna motioned to him. "Let's talk privately. Enough training for the day."

Minutes later, the two of them were in the Lord's private solar. "Gods, that was exhausting." All Garlan wanted was a pitcher of wine and a hearty meal. "You wished to discuss something, grandmother?"

Sitting across from him, Olenna looked bored with everything… It was her usual expression. "I'm going to not mince words, Garlan."

"I'm shocked," was his reply.

She had a nod of approval. "I'll turn you into a mini-me yet," Olenna chuckled. "But in any case, it is time for you to find a wife."

In the process of gulping down a flagon of watered-wine to quench his parched throat, but the moment his grandmother's words reached his ears almost choked upon it. Dropping the flagon on his desk with a clang, he pounded on his chest, coughing violently. "Grandmother…" Garlan sputtered out, trying to gain his composure back… "Marriage… but I'm not even of age yet?"

His grandmother snorted. "If a woman of ten and four can marry then so can a man."

"But… but…" While as a handsome young Lord he had started to get quite a lot of attention from the various highborn ladies and smallfolk maidens that populated Highgarden, Garlan didn't see himself as ready to be bound to someone in matrimony. The thought of it filled him with apprehension. "It's too sudden."

"Seven hells, stop being such a coward." She tapped her cane on the stone floor, eyes glaring out from wrinkled lids still sparkling with cunning. "Let me tell you our situation right now thanks to your idiot father taking the craven way out." Garlan winced - Olenna didn't mince words, and as much as he loved his father she was right. "Your heir is Loras, right now, and he's barely past the pony-riding stage. After that is Margaery, who's still in swaddling clothes. I'm not risking Higharden passing to your fat uncle or your addled cousins… no, no, fuck no!" She smacked her cane for good measure.

Grimacing, Garlan sighed deeply. Taking another swig of his wine… wishing it were stronger. "I suppose you've already found several choices for my future bride."

At his resignation to her efforts, Olenna's lips turned into a tiny smile. "Excellent." Prickly as she always was, this indicated a good mood. "And I have picked the right person already." Garlan raised his brow in a curious worry. "Lady Melissa Blackwood."

"Melissa Blackwood… Melissa Blackwood…" The name was familiar on Garlan's tongue, but aside from the long dead mistress of Aegon IV he wasn't… his eyes widened in recognition. "Tanton Fossoway's widow?! That Lady Melissa?"

"The very one."

"She's three and one, twice my age!" Garlan exclaimed, a sheen of sweat not related to the sparring session forming on his forehead. "More than twice."

Olenna simply looked at him. "Yes? So?"

Mouth opening, the words died on his tongue, apprehension replaced with a fear of a different sort. "How would I… satisfy her?" It felt uncomfortable discussing it with his grandmother, but who else could he talk to?

Leaning forward, Olenna suddenly slapped him upside the head. "Seven Hells, you're not some priss! You're a Lord of House Tyrell, start acting like it. As far as I know your parts work, yes?"

He flushed red. "Grandmother…"

"I'll take that as a yes." She crossed her arms. "You will marry Lady Melissa, Garlan. Her brother, Lord Tytos, is a friend of King Rhaegar and of First Man blood, which will ingratiate us with the Starks. Her mothering of three Fossoway boys proves her fertility and connects us to a powerful House to cement our control of the Reach after your father's mistakes." Gods know we need it.

Garlan ran a hand through his hair. "The Fossoways hate us for the trial by combat."

"Aye, they do, but they won't go against their own mother." Standing, Olenna brushed off her skirts. "Your mother is already in Cider Hall to fetch your bride. You'll be married upon their return." Not allowing for any other complaints from him, she left.

Slowly standing himself, Garlan made his way to the ornate liquor cabinet propped against the wall. There was nothing that would stop him from getting drunk tonight.

---

Pain pulsing between her eyes, Elia pinched the bridge of her nose - not caring that she exposed her mood to the person she spoke with currently. "Are you telling me, Lord Varys, that none of your little birds can divulge to me any information of the state of Lord Quellon Greyjoy?"

Looking up at her perch upon the Iron Throne, the increasingly plump eunuch didn't give anything away. Such a placid shroud was the most irritating yet most effective characteristic of him. "I cannot say anything to your Grace, except that it is the truth."

"I find it hard to believe your birds do not extend into the Iron Islands."

"That godsforsaken cluster of rocks has always been an enigma, your Grace."

Elia frowned. While Rhaegar was riding through the Crownlands establishing his newly appointed Lords in their keeps, she had taken over in holding court. She loved it - supposedly - but current events were weighing on her greatly. "Well, what do you have for the Crown? Tell me everything."

Varys nodded. "Apparently, Lord Quellon has lost the ability to leave his bedchambers but from what the whispers tell me… he is still in control of the Iron Islands."

"Are you sure about that? From what I've heard…" She wasn't about to give away her sources, as it was still young and threatened to fall apart. "That he and the majority of his sons disagree greatly over the role of the Ironborn and the use of the Iron Way."

"I cannot be sure of the feelings of the younger Greyjoys, but their inclination would lay in the directions of a more traditional role of the Ironborn, yes." As cryptic an answer as Varys could give.

This caused Elia to narrow her eyes. If it had been up to her, the Master of Whisperers would have been taken to the block with Staunton, Merryweather, and Pycelle out of an abundance of caution… but it wasn't. "And the rumored deal between Jon Connington and Balon Greyjoy to raid the North?" North… she suppressed the pain that hit her mind at the word.

If Varys detected something, he didn't show it. "I heard those whispers, though others suggest Victarion Greyjoy acted on his own accord. The lad has been described as an ill-tempered thug that doesn't take well to orders and direction."

Pursing her lips, Elia leaned back. The Iron Throne was quite uncomfortable, but the twinges of pain focused her. "Very well, Lord Varys." She looked to the right, finding her brother merely standing there. "Lord Hand, do you believe that Lord Quellon's accord between the Iron Islands looks to continue, or will they revert to their traditions of raping and reaving?"

Oberyn merely looked at her, shrugging. "I would never wager against the perfidy of the Ironborn."

She nodded. "Succinct, Lord Hand." Elia sighed. "Lord Velaryon," she addressed the Master of Ships. "Keep in contact with Lords Lannister, Manderly, Redwyne, and Seaworth about the maintenance of our fleets."

Lord Lucerys' nose wrinkled. "Seaworth, your Grace?"

"Aye, Seaworth." Elia's eyes narrowed. "A problem?" Davos had certainly drawn her notice for his skilled sailing and loyalty.

Sensing the ire and steel in the formerly frail Dornishwoman, Lord Lucerys pulled back. "No, my Queen. I shall establish contact forthwith."

"You'd better. Dismissed aside from the Hand." Once the courtiers and guards aside from her uncle Lewyn disappeared out the doors, Elia deflated against the back of the throne. "Gods… to think I wanted such authority." She felt exhausted, close to tears.

"You did well, dear sister." Oberyn placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You have our mother's wit and skill, the ability to strike down a person with words, not weapons."

A small smile formed at the thought of their late mother, someone Elia looked up to for so long. "Still have quite a ways to go before I'm at her caliber."

"Less than I would think," he replied. "Obara and Nymeria think you walk on water."

She laughed. "I should thank my nieces for their support. I would enjoy Tyene's support, but I fear her too young to even know my name." Ellaria had given birth to her newest niece, and Elia hated herself for being too busy to drop by to see the new babe. "I'm sure she and Dacey are enjoying being new mothers together." Those two… bosom buddies.

"No doubt, nor do I think Queen Lyanna wouldn't enjoy such moments as well." Unfortunately, he noticed Elia visibly stiffen. "Sister? Something the matter?"

"No," she quickly replied.

Oberyn frowned. "Elia… you know I can tell when you're lying." Truth be told, he had seen a sort of distance between the two of them… or more a lack of closeness. Before, it was quite often in which he witnessed them practically devouring each other, but since the attempt on his nephews' lives none of that occurred. "She's still hurting over the near loss of Egg and Jon?"

Elia closed her eyes, lip quivering with a hated weakness. "I wish I knew." Lyanna simply didn't talk with her. They had no fights, they held each other in bed while asleep, they carried on ruling with professionalism, but few words were shared. Not one instance of lovemaking either, and that included Rhaegar as well. "It's like she wants to put distance between us."

"I'm sure it's just fear over the children."

"Yes… it has to be."

"No it isn't!"

Elia stiffened again, voice a pulsing pain within her skull.

"She hates you."

"She'll kill you… kill your children for hers."

She pressed her fingers against her temples. No… no… no… Lya loves me!

"And yet she shuns you."

"The wolf pushes you aside."

"Pushes your daughter aside."

Oberyn called to her, but Elia didn't notice. Instead her mind remembered something Rhaenys said, about her muna no longer spending as much time with her. It's not true!

"But it is."

"She'll betray you for her bastard brats!" Doran's words bombarded her with the others.

"Usurper… she is a usurper. She'll take everything from you."

Lyanna's grinning face from her dream came to mind. "Go, my love… Take what's now yours."

Take what's yours.

Take what's yours.

Usurper!

Kinslayer!

Betrayer!

"Stop!" she suddenly yelled, only to open her eyes and see her brother and uncle staring at her. "Fuck… sorry. I… I have a blistering headache."

"Should I send for Grand Maester Qyburn?"

She shook her head. "No, brother. It's fine. I just need some rest. Uncle, mind escorting me to my chambers."

"Of course, my Queen."

Much as he had done before, the specter slinking around the shadows felt the widest of smiles on his face. Oh, this was going better than ever expected.

---

Suddenly, the rickety rope bridge lurched to the right - swinging at the force of the winter's gale that bracketed the island and castle of Pyke. Areon Greyjoy whispered a beleaguered prayer to the drowned god, asking for his mercy as he held firm to the ropes. Soaking wet, inwardly he cursed a blue streak at those who built the castle. Only the perverse manhood of our people keep these deathtraps in existence. The reigning excuse was defensive, but if cutting the bridges was necessary then they were all doomed anyway.

Murmuring another prayer, he scrambled his waterlogged frame forward until he safely reached the overhang. Praise be to the drowned god.

Father better have a good reason to call this council.

Castle Pyke was the same as the entire Iron Islands, cold and hard. There was only the barest hint of comfort among the dark rooms and severe furnishings, one that bred the hardest and toughest even with the highest of highborns - such it had been with Areon and his three brothers, as it did with his eldest's two boys and would be for his young niece and nephew. The Hoares preferred the bounty and gluttony of the Riverlands, which many Ironborn said was their undoing.

It was the Iron Way or death. Areon believed this for most of his life, but recently he had begun thinking of different applications for their seafaring ways. Not that he had much decision-making authority, though.

Passing by the narrow hallways lit by flickering torchlight, Areon passed two guards to enter the council chamber. Many stood for the son of their Lord, while his three brothers kept to their seats, outranking him. Areon said nothing as he took his uncomfortable chair next to his brother Victarion, sitting straight and placing his hands on his lap. "Forgive me for my tardiness… but I had to say an extra prayer."

One that held the look of a crabby old man even when he was a child, his elder brother Balon scowled at him. "Excuses, excuses…" I doubt he's gotten along with anyone in his entire life. "Now, let us begin with a piece of news." Blunt as always - Ironborn hated evasion. "My father, Lord Quellon, has fallen into a delirium."

"I trust that this news will never leave this room." Across the table, Areon's younger brother Euron placed a gutting knife nonchalantly on the table - implication obvious.

Clearing his throat, Lord Dunstan Drumm cleared his throat. "My Lord, please elaborate about Lord Quellon's condition." Though bald and grizzled, he was the veteran of a hundred major reavings and thus couldn't be dismissed.

From the deepened scowl on Balon's face, he knew it. "He has no idea of the date or reality. Thinks he's a man of ten and eight namedays, but his age makes him weak and bedridden. The maester gives him but two years at most." There was a silence. Areon couldn't say a thing. Likely kept a secret between his three brothers, the grief of losing his father to a delusional mind was threatening to crush his heart. While Victarion had a flicker of grief as well in his eyes, Balon and Euron exhibited none of it, however. "I will assume the title of acting Lord, but no one will disclose that information. The greenlanders must never know."

Rodrik Harlow seemed confused. "Why is that necessary?" Older and not martial, only his wisdom kept him respected enough to be on these councils. Beside him, Areon could see Victarion raise his brow at their two brothers. Did they not tell him?

What have Balon and Euron spoke of?

As it sat, Areon didn't have to wait long for his older brother to divulge that information. "We don't want them to prepare for our coming attack upon them."

If there was silence at the earlier announcement, Areon couldn't find a word to describe what followed that. "You mean war against the Greenlanders, father?" Young Rodrik Greyjoy, attending his first council, asked with a hint of youthful zeal. Much like Victarion, he was.

"Yes. The avenging of our humiliation at the hands of Aegon the Conqueror and his bitch wives. We will resurrect the Driftwood Crown and achieve our glorious destiny."

Unable to help himself, Areon scoffed. Such drew attention from all. "You're mad, brother," he said simply. "We have not the power to do this."

Balon crossed his arms. "Lord Orkwood, tell my brother the status of the Iron Fleet."

Broad and oafish, Alyn Orkwood lived to plunder. It wasn't a shock that Balon would entrust him to do his aggressive bidding. "We have begun construction on five hundred new oceangoing ships. That joins our current fleet of two hundred."

"Outnumbering anything the dragons can provide."

Areon couldn't believe what he was hearing. "After your plots with Lord Connington failed completely to secure us anything, you aim to bring the entire Seven Kingdoms upon our heads? Why now? Why after Rhaegar Targaryen secured peace?"

"Lord Areon has a point," commented Rodrik Harlow. "It seems to me we should have done this while the Realm was fighting itself?"

Pursing his lips, Euron leaned forward. Out of all the brothers, he was the leanest and the most… classically handsome. In spite of his inner malevolence, he had no trouble attracting followers and companions. "There… is in existence something that gives us a short time window to go about our long-held dream of glory."

"You mean the dragons?" Ser Harras Harlow asked.

"Precisely." The tale of Rhaegar Targaryen and his dragon Aegarax had reached Pyke moons before. It scared everyone, while Areon felt it an omen from the drowned god himself. "One day, that dragon will be large enough to annihilate us, so we must strike first and strike hard before it can. Hit them with such ferocity and savagery that they simply think we aren't worth the trouble." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the naval capabilities of the Greenlanders just like that.

Areon stood, incredulous. "You'll lead us to our deaths…"

"No." As if a sage, Lord Drumm held up his hand. "Sit, Lord Areon. I want to hear your brother's strategy." No arguing with the oldest and most senior warrior among them, Areon had no choice but to accede. Across the table, Euron smirked darkly at him, handsome blue eyes sparkling with malevolence.

Eloquently divulging his plan - the various stages and strikes that would run the length of Westeros from the Wall to the Arbor - the skeptical attitude of the council began to give way to a grudging admiration… and then to enthusiastic support. Both Lord Rodrik and Areon tried to argue against it, waxing poetic about the will of the drowned god and the efforts of the still living Lord Quellon to move the Iron Islands past their destitute existence of living off the fruit of other, greater powers. It had been the speech of Areon's life.

Only for it to be a failure. In the end, there was no difference he could make. The Iron Way was the only way for them.

---

Out of the bobbing water leapt some sort of creature. Its streamlined body disgorged a wave of droplets, each glinting in the sun as they fell back to the surface of Blackwater Bay. The creature let out a half-honk, half-grunt, diving back into the sea from whence it came.

Standing on tiptoes - eyes peeking right over the railing - young Dale Seaworth clapped his hands merrily. "Papa! Look here!" Again leapt the creature, honking. Behind it, two others jumped out, seeming to ride the currents of their caraval. Brand new from the drydocks of King's Landing, it had been a personal gift from Queen Lyanna. "Sea Dragon!" he giggled merrily.

Striding up to the side and placing his hand on his eldest son's shoulder, Davos found the 'sea dragon' Dale was speaking of and chuckled. "That's not a dragon, my son. That's a sea lion."

"Sea lion?"

"Aye, sailors and fishermen always consider them good luck." Where they went, fish and land were both close by. "Them and dolphins."

Dale turned back to the sea lions scampering on the surface. His blue eyes remained transfixed by the graceful beings - the large bull emerged with a fish caught between its teeth, almost smirking in triumph. It didn't take much to awe a young lad, but to Dale's credit the animals were quite majestic in their own way. Davos had been quite the same on his first sea voyage at Dale's age.

With that in mind, he ruffled the boy's hair, ruining the last of the orderly curls that the sea breezes hadn't yet damaged. "Yer' can watch them as much as ye' like, my boy. Just don't get in any trouble, and…"

"Make sure to not fall in…" he recited from rote. "I know, papa." Apparently Marya was quite the overprotective mother, but Davos wouldn't have it any other way.

Speaking of Marya, out of the aftercastle of the sleek ship emerged his still blushing bride - no longer a maiden, but still as beautiful as when she was one. "Dear wife," the former smuggler called out with a beaming smile, wrapping her and the little bundle in her arms with a tight embrace. "And how are the little ones?" Davos leaned down and kissed the newborn Matthos on the head as he dozed.

Lips curled into a serene smile at her dashing sailor, Lady Marya Seaworth pecked at his lips. "This one is doing quite well, husband, while poor Allard has the sea malady."

Davos sighed. "Poor guy." If it wounded his pride that one of his brood didn't have the calling of the oceans, he didn't show it. "Well, I suppose he'll get used to it." A tiny grin formed. "His mother did."

With her arms cradling Matthos, Marya could do nothing but glare at him. "Shut it." He laughed… which served to make her giggle as well. This man, he was still as charming as the day they met.

"My lord." From behind him, Davos heard one of the crew call out to him from the top of the quarterdeck - he didn't respond until a second call echoed out, the former smuggler not used to the new nobility that King Rhaegar had so shockingly bestowed upon him along with a knighthood. "We've approached the mouth of the Wendwater."

He raised his brows in interest. "Well, mi'Lady," he grinned. "Would you like to see your future estate?"

She grinned back. "Lead the way… mi'Lord."

Mi'Lord… My Lord… Climbing up the stairs to the quarterdeck, such simple and teasing words from his wife belied the significance of the gift King Rhaegar bestowed upon him. A highborn, a knightly house… me. He was a crabber's son, a common smuggler and sailor, and yet based on the luck of sneaking food into the right keep at the right time he had been plopped into nobility. A landed highborn of the Crownlands alongside some of the most august houses.

It all seemed quite surreal. Undeserved and surreal. Alone, he may have declined it, content to serve his King and Queens, but for Marya and his sons… Davos couldn't deny them such a better life.

Regardless, it was done. Eyes peering off the starboard side along the southern shore of Blackwater Bay, Davos stared at the stretch of land that was now his. "The lands here used to be part of the King's personal estate," explained the local game warden, the only person knowledgeable of the area that they could find. "Daemon Blackfyre was granted them by Daeron II, but his rebellion attained it to the crown." He pointed at the delta fanning into the bay, islands of brackish reeds and cyprus trees dotting the landscape. "The bay road runs through Wendwater bridge about a mile downstream, while there are considerable farmlands and hamlets in the coastal plain between here and the Kingswood."

"How many live on my lands?" Davos asked, brow furrowing as he looked for a place to put a keep. Someplace strategic… yet close to an anchorage.

The warden nodded. "About a thousand or so, my Lord. Spread out over the entire area."

"That's not much for a proper knightly house to project power for their liege." Marya had asked around - houses such as Velaryon or Celtigar had tens of thousands under their charge. "Where's the closest keep to here?" Marya asked. "Stonedance?"

"Sweetport Sound," Davos responded. With house Sunglass attained, the new landed knight in charge didn't have the power and clout to challenge them. "And even they have more men than ours."

"Perhaps we could bring some of our neighbors in Flea Bottom…?" Marya suggested. Davos smiled warmly at her, kissing her cheek in appreciation, which made her blush. Below, another sea lion honked, darting under the water in pursuit of fish. "There are so many of them," she mused.

"Aye, my Lady. There's a colony that nests on a rocky outcrop that juts into the bay." He pointed a bit away from the delta, and just well enough, they could see dozens of dark shapes moving around the peninsula. "Locals call it Sea Lion Point."

Sea Lion Point… The animals were the best of luck. Perhaps the gods were sending him a sign?

"What are those?" His wife pointed towards the coast at the mouth of the estuary. Taking a pair of spyglasses out of his pocket, Davos aimed them at the same point. It was a group of men, their mouths covered in cloth. From an ox cart, they gathered a long shape wrapped tightly in soiled linen… a body?

In the cart, there looked to be twenty of them.

Notes:

Well fuck, whatever is hurting Elia and Lya is kicking it into high gear.

At least they have Dany and Jon being utterly adorable, as is Robb for our Lannister family :D

Fuckin Greyjoys...

Davos notices the coming malevolence. Things are not going to go well at all...

Till next time.

Chapter 64: The Red Plague

Notes:

Hey everybody. Things are quite busy, so this story has pretty much become my refuge, lol.

Some people were really angry over Garlan's marriage. Yeah, it's kinda creepy, but since Olenna did that in canon by marrying Margaery to Tommen, who was like 10 years younger than her, the precedent is set. I obviously don't approve, but you have to go in the morality of the world rather than reality.

Enjoy.

"What have you done to me, Oberyn Martell," groaned his paramour… half spat out.

Looking back at Ellaria, Oberyn smirked to himself. "Alright dear," he told Nymeria, all of five namedays. Gingerly, he edged her stance with his foot. "Crouch. Make sure your knees have a little give."

"Yes, papa," she chimed, looking as if on cloud nine for being trained by her father.

Kissing her forehead, Oberyn turned to his lover. "Yes, my sweet Ellaria. What is it?"

Rolling her eyes, Ellaria wore a put out expression - one only half caused by the fussy babe in her arms. "You're useless."

"That isn't what you normally say within our bed." He laughed as she glowered, but Ellaria accepted his hug round her shoulders and kiss of her hair. Truth be told, even in ire she loved it.

Didn't mean she still wasn't morose. "Last time I lived in this red monstrosity, I was arranging orgies to amuse myself. Now…" She gestured to Tyene, currently finding her father's dangling finger the height of hilarious. "Breastfeeding and swaddling clothes. And this is all your fault."

He grinned. "You love her… and me."

She huffed, but smiled. "Yes, I do."

"Papa, what's an orgy?"

Both looked up at Nymeria, who stared at them with wide, innocent eyes. "Something you won't learn about till you're far older," Ellaria replied, grinning at Oberyn. 'She's your daughter,' she mouthed to him. Oh, she is right.

The Tower of the Hand happened to sport quite plush accommodations, ones Oberyn took advantage of once appointed - made it less the prison cell that he viewed the office as. Thus, none of them heard Obara enter until she waltzed into the solar, covered in a sheen of sweat. "Seven hells," the older girl mumbled, plopping onto one of the chairs. She still wore her training leathers, needed for the cold. "That one is relentless."

Walking over and ruffling her hair, Oberyn chuckled at his eldest. "Uncle Lewyn still has fight in him, I see."

She shook her head. "Uncle is on duty guarding his Grace. It was Aunt Lyanna that I sparred with… gods help anyone that tries to fuck with her." When around his company, one picked up foul language quickly.

"You trained with Queen Lyanna?"

"Aye. She's always there, sparring with whomever is available… she's quite good at it, father. You should try sparring with her."

"Perhaps one day I shall." He turned to Ellaria. "Till next time, my love. The duties of the Hand never cease."

Ellaria nodded. "The king shits and the Hand wipes."

"Not the most depraved image I've endured in my life," he tossed to her, leading to both a swat and a kissy face from Ellaria.

Once the warmth of his paramour and his daughters left him, Oberyn's mind plunged back into the dark place it usually was. Only for Rhaegar would I do this. He enjoyed the scheming and politics, but the constant mundane matters that crossed the desk of the Hand… How did Tywin Lannister stand this? Simple, he was both a leader and a consummate bureaucrat - comfortable in both skins. Oberyn vowed he would only do this as long as Rhaegar needed, no more.

Such wasn't the only cause of his melancholy, stepping off the tower's stairs and jogging towards the main keep. The tension in the Red Keep was thick, emerging from the growing… distance between the Queens. What is up with them? Their relationship only weeks before had been both passionate and deep, the two unable to keep off each other. Now...

Consumed in worry and concern, Oberyn didn't notice the clinking chains and rail-thin form of the Grand Maester until they nearly collided. Nearly being the operative term, the Red Viper twirling around just in the nick of time as he did while sparring. "Grand Maester," he remarked. "My apologies, I did not see you there."

Qyburn chuckled, waving it off. "Only for those in the Citadel am I notorious. Elsewhere I am simply forgettable."

Nodding, if not truly understanding, Oberyn looked over the newly appointed Grand Maester - the first since Maegor the Cruel's reign to be directly appointed by the King rather than the Citadel. Unlike previous maesters that rose high in the conclave on scholarship, Qyburn was far different. Always busy, he scurried about the Red Keep and the city itself on some experiment or observation. Truly, watching him created more mysteries than answers, but he seemed loyal to House Targaryen above all else.

"If that is all, I need to be on my way…"

"No, Lord Hand…" Voice soft and friendly normally, now they held a… worried edge. "There is something that I've wished to speak to you about." He gestured towards a corridor. "May we continue this in my chambers?"

Raising an eyebrow, Oberyn figured that Lord Lucerys could use a bit of humbling by waiting for him, so followed.

All the detritus of the Pycelle suit of rooms had been converted into a haphazard storage room of the former Starfall maester's various studies that only he could decipher. Nearly half of all the scrawled notes and traced diagrams involved dragons, said to fascinate him. Rumors that Aegarax almost burned him alive for all the poking and prodding Qyburn did in his observations had reached the Hand. He believed them.

"So what does this concern, Grand Maester?"

Qyburn pointed to a large map of the Blackwater Bay region spread out on an artist's easel. Pins marked certain spots, concentrated at Duskendale and the Wendwater. "I've been getting ravens from the maesters of Stonedance, Sweetport Sound, Rook's Rest, and Duskendale - the changes in lordship have kept them harried, but they found this important enough to inform both I and the conclave in Oldtown." A frown marred his face. "It appears a strange new illness has reached our shores."

Oberyn crossed his arms. "Are you sure this isn't some smallfolk superstition?" In his travels, the Dornish Prince had only seen two instances of genuine magic - one by a Red Priest and his goodbrother's dragon. All else was inauthentic in his eyes.

Shaking his head, Qyburn gathered a stack of hastily scrawled notes. "No, it isn't."

"How?"

"Because I've seen it for myself."

The Hand said nothing, looking for any sense of deception… or the hallmarks of hiding deceptive intent, like Pycelle's bumbling old man act. He found none, only a fearful earnestness. Oberyn started to worry, his mind going to the worst eventuality. "Spring Sickness returned?" He shuddered at the idea of the great plague that nearly wiped out House Targaryen.

Qyburn shook his head. "No… it's strange, because I've only heard of this happening in the Rhoyne or the Lands of Always Summer." He poked at his notes. "The high Valyrian term translates to 'Red Plague.'"

Body stiffening, Oberyn had to keep from collapsing to the ground, bracing himself against the wall. "The Red Plague? Are you sure?"

"Aye. There's an outbreak isolated in Flea Bottom which the Goldcloaks barricaded on my orders." He moved to a map of the city nailed into the wall, more pins sticking out. "I visited with leather overalls, a leather hood, and thick breathing linen for the face, which I subsequently had doused with wine."

"Wine?"

"Dornish red to be exact." Qyburn chuckled. "Wine removes the vapors that cause illness, I've found… that and keeping clean." He waved it off. "Regardless, it's confirmed. Breathing difficulties, red rashes on the back and shoulders, and weakness of the limbs. From the observations of maesters past, death is certain for two out of three that get it."

"Elia had this… as a babe…" Gods, some of his first memories were of his mother wailing while alone at the stress of it all. "Isolated case from a trading cog… you're saying an entire building infected?"

"Three," Qyburn replied. "I'll need authority to instruct the goldcloaks on further measures…"

Oberyn grabbed a sheaf of parchment, taking a quill and writing. "I'll do you one better, Grand Maester. This is an order from me directly giving you full authority to stamp this out. Use of the City Watch or Household Guard included." Finishing the quick order, all it needed was his seal. "Gods help us if this gets out."

Qyburn shifted his feet. "Perhaps we should move King Aerys' wildfire stocks to the dragonpit, just in case."

Brynden Rivers' infamous act left a bad taste in Oberyn's mouth. "Do it."

---

Ned breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the godswood. Warmed by hot springs that centered in the large pond by the heart tree, as the last tendrils of winter began to pass towards a brilliant cloudless sky he enjoyed the warmth that hit his skin. Dancing around the familiar and the newly grown roots and bushes that lined the paths, Ned needed to be cautious. Ice strapped to his back, tucked in the crook of his arms was a bundle. The most precious thing to Lord Ned Stark at the moment.

Soon, the blood red leaves of the ancient weirwood came into view. "Here we are, dearest daughter," Ned whispered, smiling as Sansa shifted in his arms - snuggling into a more comfortable position. The gentle movements made him chuckle. Trying not to disturb her, he lifted Sansa up and kissed her chubby cheek, face the only portion of her not bundled to ward off the cold.

Wordlessly, Ned approached the face of the old gods. He slowly raised his hand and ran it along the smooth bark not disturbed for scores of generations. The most spiritual place in all of the North… where Starks since the beginning of their house had came to enjoy connection with the old gods. If only Lya had the same connection as this gives her in the capitol.

Sansa took that moment to yawn, cowlicks of hair the most fiery shade of red visible to the eye. She was so very clearly her mother's child, but still held the blood of the First Men. Looking up at Ned, the wondrous grey eyes said it all.

"Love you, little pup." Gently, he set her at the foot of the heart tree, making sure her form rested directly on one of the thick roots. This required her direct connection with the gods.

A ritual that all Starks had gone through as babes. His siblings, his father and mother before him, all of them - one that Lya's children and Benjen's, if he and Ashara ever had them, would need once they first journeyed to Winterfell. A blessing before the old gods, heralding them into their power and embrace.

Out of respect for his lady wife, Ned didn't require her to be here. She had already ordained Sansa in the Faith of the Seven, and he said nothing. This would be his task as he and Sansa were the last two wolves in Winterfell at the moment, all others to the south.

Cersei would have insisted she be here. He shook his head - no sense in torturing himself with what couldn't be.

Drawing his sword, Ned knelt before the weirwood. "Old gods," he whispered under his breath, head pressed against the cold metal of Ice's hilt - stabbed shallowly into the ground. "I bring to you a direwolf of house Stark, born of the North with the blood of your chosen people in her veins." Sansa gurgled and shifted around, which was a good sign. The old gods inhabited every living thing, and therefore an active life drew more of their energy.

Ned continued. "Sansa Stark is your devoted servant, heir to my house and a northern maiden as strong and kind as her aunt. Please bless her with happiness and a life worthy of her blood and nobility. On this I swear my fealty as Lord of Winterfell."

In his mind flashed a single image. Of a red haired beauty, fire-kissed locks flying behind her as she soared upon the air in something… laughing along with two others, one voice masculine and another feminine.

As soon as the image appeared, it vanished, leaving Ned with a fussy daughter demanding his attention. Something he was absolutely ready to give once sheathing his sword.

Outside the walls of the sacred place, the hustle and bustle of Winterfell continued without interruption - aside from the occasional bow to Ned as he walked by. No one could see any change on the surface from before the war. Ser Rodrik trained new guards as the master-at-arms, Vernon Poole and Maester Luwin negotiated with Wintertown shopkeepers and White Harbor merchants for supplies, and servants darted about on their duties.

There was a difference though. The attention-grabbing presence of Brandon and Lyanna were sorely absent, as was the steady hand of their father - Ned missed him every day, wishing for his guidance at the moment. The clang of mason hammers rang out through the air, both for the old keep being restored at his orders and the tiny building off to the side also being built on his orders. The former was well-received, the latter not so much… only the Lady's retinue appreciated the creation of Winterfell's first sept, but none of the others complained.

Ned had earned their loyalty, even if in certain cases it was… grudging. But they loved their lord - and their new lady, the tiny one whose eyes darted around from one stimulus to another, sharp and attentive. What wasn't to love about baby Sansa?

As he entered the keep, the sight of his wife made him remember how the presence of Sansa had softened their relationship - made them more comfortable in their routine. "Husband," she said, blue eyes lighting up as she took the little babe in her arms. "Where'd you take my sweet daughter?" The tone wasn't accusatory as she kissed Sansa's forehead, cradling her.

"Took her to be blessed at the heart tree. Normally it's done the day after birth, but…" Without Ned there, they had to wait.

Catelyn's new look was slightly accusatory - but she knew better than say what she wanted to say. "It's still too chilly outside for a babe."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Sansa's of Northern blood. She can handle it if she's bundled up."

Wanting to say more, Catelyn didn't. "You have visitors in your solar… from Deepwood Motte."

"Lord Glover?"

"His brother," she replied. "And Gregor Forrester."

"Thank you for telling me."

"Go meet them, I'll give this little princess her lunch and tuck her in."

"Go ahead." Ned smiled and kissed Sansa's cheek… doing the same for Catelyn, though if was mostly perfunctory for her.

Passing into his solar, the two highborns seated before his desk stood, bowing. "Lord Stark."

Ned nodded to them. "Lord Robett… Lord Gregor." Robett Glover was a stern man, dignified but easy to insult and with a tendency to be craven - unlike his brother. Ned didn't appreciate his company, but for Gregor Forrester it was different. One of the less important noble houses of the North, they obtained a modest wealth from harvesting ironwood trees on their land. Gregor was brave and kind, earning him a marriage to the knightly House Branfield of the Crownlands. His goodbrother had been given Sweetport Sound for his loyalty to Rhaegar, so the Forresters were rising up in the world through their connections. Motioning for them to sit, Ned took a seat himself. "Let's save the pleasantries for dinner tonight, cut to the chase here."

Pursing his lips, Glover acquiesced. "Alright, Lord Stark. Your wife has insulted my house greviously."

Narrowing his eyes, Ned crossed his arms. "Watch yourself, Lord Glover."

Gregor Forrester interjected. "We mean no disrespect to your wife or yourself, Lord Stark." He glared at Glover, who merely glowered. "But a certain… decision by your wife while she sat in your chair during the Rebellion has… brought concern among those of Ironrath and Deepwood Motte."

"And what would that be?" Catelyn may have offended many in Winterfell while still a Tully, but since their marriage she was a proper Lady.

"Allowing the Starry Sept to send proselytizers and built septs within every keep in the north."

"A travesty and betrayal," Glover growled.

Stiffening, Ned hoped he hadn't paled from shock. Cat never told me… neither did Luwin… Something this major should have gotten to him somehow. "Is this just for Deepwood Motte, or have other keeps received septons?"

Glover… shifted his gaze. "Not yet, aside from the complement of White Harbor's Sept being doubled." Not completely worrisome, considering the city was the only place in the North where the Faith had a significant presence.

"There was a rumor that Lord Bolton received a septon and three septas on his land, but that they were murdered by outraged smallfolk," Gregor added. The explanation didn't hold water for either he nor Ned, given Lord Bolton's reputation.

"See! The people are close to revolt!" Robett Glover was far more thickheaded.

"Have the septons caused any crimes or undermined your authority, Lord Glover?" Ned asked.

"Well… no…"

"Then I can't do anything as of now. I'd recommend you try to counter their preaching with renewing the faith of you and your people in the old gods." The Glovers weren't the most pious of houses.

Reminded of that, he stood angrily. "You'll rue this day, Lord Stark." With that, he stormed out.

Gregor smiled wanly. "He's just worried. I'll make sure it's sorted out, but can you do anything, Ned?"

He sighed. "Matters outside the North must be taken into account, given where my sister now resides." With Rhaegar and the Faith frosty with each other, anything Ned did to the Starry Sept's emissaries would come back to Rhaegar and Lya. He had to play the game. "Forgive me, Gregor, but there's nothing I can do unless they overstep their bounds."

Once the Lord of Ironrath left for his quarters, Ned collapsed in his chair. "Gods, Cat…" Perhaps she hadn't changed after all.

---

Setting down the book that she was reading - the stylings of a northern bard from before the conquest - Dowager Queen Rhaella Targaryen saw Ser Oswell walk into the chambers. "Your Grace, Lady Ellaria is here as requested."

"Good. Thank you, Ser Oswell." The kingsguard nodded and departed back to his post. Barristan had him assigned to her while Ser Jaime had the rotating privilege of sparring with the King before his afternoon bath and dinner. Perfect for Rhaella's plans… if she had the will to go about it.

Dressed in an immodest gown exposing her leg with a slit and cleavage with a plunging neckline, the Hand of the King's paramour nevertheless curtseyed respectfully - knowing court procedure. "Your Grace."

Rhaella stood from her seat. "Welcome, Lady Ellaria. I am glad you came."

"One cannot resist the invitation of the Queen Dowager," she replied with a smile. "Though I am curious as to why." They both sat, Ellaria gladly taking the proffered chair facing Rhaella. "Both Queen Elia and Queen Lyanna are my close friends, but you and I are not known to be… deeply acquainted."

Nodding, the Queen poured them each a glass of Dornish red - earning her a raised eyebrow. "Prince Oberyn's mother developed the palate of both I and Joanna Lannister to it. Baffled our husbands to no end, given they weren't fond of your homeland." That earned a shared chuckle. "But to tell you the truth, Lady Ellaria, the… past arrangements of the court have cloistered me. It wasn't by choice, mind you."

"Of course. To me, it is obscene that someone as kind and beautiful as you were kept from her wishes and desires. Something I… rejected long ago."

"As is the reason that I wished for you to come - besides hoping to integrate myself further in my son's household." Ellaria leaned forward across from her, sleeveless arms pressing together on her lap, waiting for Rhaella to speak. Fighting an innate modesty, she cleared her throat. "It has not escaped me that you are an expert in the… arts of pleasure."

Eyes widening, to her credit Ellaria remained serious. "I have heard such things said about me, and most of them tend to exaggerate." She stifled a snicker. "Many wish to smear me to win favors at court, but I care little."

Remembering some of those stories, Rhaella blushed slightly - imagining such… wild displays of sexuality were incomprehensible to her. "I would like your… advice in how to please a man in that manner." The last words were practically choked out.

"Just a man? I've been told by my lovers that I know how to pluck the strings of many a maiden as well."

That only reddened the blush on the Queen Dowager's face, but Rhaella pressed on. "No, just one man. My own paramour… but you must swear to secrecy."

Eyes twinkling, Ellaria smiled warmly. "But of course. Just between us ladies." First Dacey, then Elia, and now Queen Rhaella. There could be quite a lot of coin in being such a matchmaker… though in this she'd more be a 'pleasure advisor.' "Who is your lover?"

Rhaella paused. "Jaime Lannister."

Now that truly surprised her. "Oh?" Arthur had a paramour in Dacey, and Benjen in Ashara, so it didn't shock her that Jaime partook in such. Who was another issue. "How far does this go?"

"I love him, and he me." In that, she was confident on.

Ellaria softened. "I am glad, your Grace. From what I heard, you deserve someone who loves you." The smile turned into a smirk. "Loves you repeatedly."

Her eyes fluttered shut, trying to calm both the embarrassment at discussing this and the lustful memories. "We've only… done that once. Not again because of Daenerys."

"Seducing a man while pregnant. Now that is impressive."

"It wasn't like that. It was… gentle. Sweet. And we haven't done anything but kiss since."

Ellaria snorted. "Please, look at me in the eyes and tell me you don't want to ride him until he faints." She waited a few moments. "You see, you do."

Rhaella opened her eyes. "Aye, I do."

Beaming, the paramour of the Hand leaned forward, motioning for Rhaella to do the same. "I think I know what you shall need to do, something I have heard Queen Elia refer to her… pleasure with his and her Graces. Namely 'Waking the dragon.'"

Darkness had descended over the Red Keep long after Ellaria had left Rhaella to her own devices - much to the Dornishwoman's displeasure, the offer to join the two of them had been rejected. Alone in her rooms, Rhaella shivered as she tied the dressing gown tight around her waist. The entire Red Keep was in a tension not seen since Aerys, filled with rumors of sickness and the persistent distance between the once inseparable queens. She felt them all, but at the moment Rhaella was preoccupied with another worry.

Gods… what if I am… subpar? Hers and Jaime's first time had been magical, but he took the entire lead. And had been gracious enough to let her take the reins. She led them to kisses, it had been her decision to let him sleep with her in her bed, and now she wished for them to become lovers, but what did Rhaella know about carnal pleasures? Aerys only took what he wanted, and aside from a brief dalliance of kisses with Ser Bonifer Hasty at a young age she was practically a maiden. Jaime… handsome as he was, he could have had anyone.

What if she wasn't skilled enough for him?

Rubbing a smattering of perfumed oils on her neck for the scent, Rhaella's mind was a stressful jumble. As was her wont in recent days, she went to the braziers burning in the corner of her chamber - finding the large spheres of stone that never ceased to give her comfort. Two dragon eggs, one gold with white swirls and another a pure blood red. Both sitting in the same coals that Aerys had placed them in.

There were others, kept in the King's solar and tended to by Melisandre, but these… Rhaella wasn't sure why she was drawn to them. It was as if a tiny whisper called to her. Begged her to come closer and closer… She always wished to ask Rhaegar about it, but he was too busy, forcing her to figure it out for herself.

Wordlessly, she gazed at the golden egg. Mesmerized by it.

Rhaella… Rhaella…

She was transfixed.

Your destiny is here. Fire and blood.

Something overcame her. Out darted her hands, slowly pressing against the scorching scales. She felt nothing.

Only warmth. One that swept through her body - filled her with fire. Working to banish the meekness Aerys beat into her.

Suddenly the door to the chambers opened, Rhaella pulling her hands back and turning, seeing the face of her lover. "Forgive me… your Grace," Jaime smiled. He had stripped himself of his armor, leaving nothing but his undertunic and trousers.

Fuck… he looked handsome. The fire was overcoming her, filling Rhaella's body with a sudden confidence and lust. She wanted him, and he was all hers now.

Jaime's eyebrow rose, seeing that her violet eyes had an odd glint to them. "Rhaella?"

Her name on his lips lighting the fuse, Rhaella strode several paces towards him before untying the dressing gown, letting it pool to the floor to reveal the nude body underneath. Smirking darkly as all words left his mouth. "Ser Jaime."

Gods, she was perfect. There was no hint she had ever been pregnant once, let alone multiple times. Waist taut, breasts still quite perky and large, she had worn her hair down for him and it truly affected him. Rhaella Targaryen was everything he desired and more. "I…." He really couldn't find his voice.

"You have been neglectful in your duties." Oh, she was enjoying this. "I have been quite lonely without my dashing knight."

"That's… not true. I have been quite attentive." He started to find his voice.

"Oh? Then why have I been denied the pleasures of the flesh that I so desire?" Without waiting for his response, she walked to him and tugged up at the hem of his tunic. "I am the Queen Dowager and you are the knight. You obey me."

The arrogant smirk that made her insides twist in desire returned, Jaime recovering. "I am yours to command."

"Good." The tunic came off, her hands resting flat against his chest. "Fuck me now." Elucidating the command, she kissed him, their mouths collapsing into a wanton meld of teeth and tongue that she herself initiated - much to her shock, not that she cared.

Wake the dragon.

With a strength that would have surprised her without the fire of the dragons boiling within, Rhaella shoved Jaime to the bed. "Take off your trousers," she commanded, voice low and commanding. Jaime didn't know where this Rhaella Targaryen came from but as he complied, his rock hard member scraped against the cloth… he liked it.

She quickly straddled him, both pleased to find her wet and ready. "My Queen…" he said reverently, which made her want him more. Hunger for him. Need him.

Joanna's son… her lion… the one person to truly love her.

The one person she truly loved.

Rubbing her core against his length, they both moaned. "I cannot wait any longer to feel this again," Rhaella insisted, reaching down and lining him up. She smiled filthily as his head pierced her cunt. "Is this mine?"

"Yes," he gasped out. "All yours."

"Good, because I'm not sharing." With that, Rhaella lowered herself onto him. Ignoring the pinch of his size, a wanton moan escaped her. Oh yes, this was what she desired. It felt complete. Grabbing his hands, she guided them to her breasts as she started to ride. "I am all yours too," Rhaella told him, a moment of tenderness piercing the fire.

There was nothing better for Jaime. He squeezed them, making her moan. Angling his hips so she could take him harder, the knight silently pleaded. Begged for her to go faster, harder. A mature Queen though she was, he knew her to be strong… found her strong before anyone else, and such surged her love for him.

Rhaella obliged, riding him harder. Faster. Rocking her hips as she rose up and down. Kessa… kessa… kessa! She burned hot with dragonfire, heat and pleasure just filling her.

Eyes rolling in the back of his head, Jaime gripped her hips tighter - certain he was leaving bruises the shape of his fingertips. The pleasure consumed him, pressure building. This was nothing like his previous experiences. He had only one other, Cersei, but while fun it wasn't this. The passion, the fire, the sense of being lost in lust and love for someone utterly spellbinding. She is perfect… she is a dream… "I love you," Jaime grunted, finally succumbing and shooting his seed deep into her.

Rhaella felt every drop, and whether it was that or his declaration of love that triggered her climax she did not know. Only that the waves undulated through and her quivering lips opened in a scream. "Fuck… I love you… gods…"

She collapsed atop him, both riding out their pleasure in a tangle of limbs and sweaty skin. Not caring how they got here, but knowing it was where they so wished to be.

---

"I don't think you should leave the keep anymore."

Dacey frowned. "Why?" she demanded of her lover, quirking her head with a cross look. "I might wish to purchase a new set of armor from the street of steel." Such just reminded her of the Valyrian steel mace Arthur gifted her for her nameday - promptly named Skullcracker by the gleeful warrior woman - and her ire softened.

A pained look crossed Arthur's face. "Our smiths in the Red Keep are far better than those people…"

He was cut off when Dacey placed her free hand on his, holding their young son tightly with the other. "Arthur… please tell me what is really going on?"

Purple eyes wary - the same look she had found on him when she and little Arthur surprised him in the White Sword Tower - he sighed. "There's a… sickness in the city."

"What kind of sickness?" Hadn't been what she expected.

"It's nothing," he dismissed. "Only affecting Flea Bottom so far, but I don't wish to risk you or the little bear." He leaned down to kiss the crown of his son. "Please, Dace?"

She looked into his gaze and nodded. "Alright… but it'll cost you a spar tomorrow."

He laughed and drew her into his arms - kissing her deeply. Gods, he was so passionate with her. It always made her weak in the knees.

Unfortunately, Arthur was on duty that night, so their bed would be lonely without him. Dacey hated it as she passed through the halls of the Red Keep, but could endure. Just meant that she and Arthur would be ever more passionate the next night… with her child in her arms, Dacey didn't wish to flush with lust.

The oldest of the newest brood in the Red Keep, little Arthur Mormont was an almost perfect blend of both his Northern mother and Dornish father. Large grey eyes but the coloring of the Sword of the Morning. "You are going to be so handsome, my sweet cub." Arthur only looked at her for a moment before he went back to playing with a dangling necklace that reached over the valley of her breasts. His father's favorite area as well. "The ladies will eat you up when you're older."

Arthur Dayne could have had a harem of girls following him around as did Oberyn - or Ellaria if Dacey was being truthful - but the Gods seemed fit to fashion him only for her. Dacey thanked them every day for it.

"If only you could have his name," she murmured, her son ignorant of it all. Rhaegar's rapid legitimization of him came at a price - he could never be a Dayne for no Kingsguard could marry, the only way around the oath. While she loved being with Arthur in any open capacity and her children bearing the name of the northern Bear filled her with pride, the fear their bastard status would harm little Arthur wasn't a small worry.

She hugged him closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek. But Arthur's peers, Egg, Rhae, Baelon, and Dany and whatever other children came from Lyanna, Ashara, and Ellaria's wombs would accept him.

Finding the corridor to the royal wing - to which as the official Lady in Waiting to Her Grace she lived within - Dacey stopped suddenly. Craning her neck out, she managed to hear clearer the voice that stopped her… no, the soft sobbing. Who's crying? Quietly, she moved towards the sound.

The identity shocked her. Elia?

Perched on a bench on the personal promenade of the royal family, Elia's hands were crossed atop the stone bannister. Cradling her head as she cried softly. Using the solitude to let her feelings out. Gods, she hated herself for this - the last time she spilled true tears of frustration and heartbreak had been early in her relationship with Rhaegar. The first dismissal of Rhaenys by Aerys' profanity-laced tirades. But then she had been a young maiden, and now she was a strong Queen. How could she have regressed.?

Because your love is shunning you. Not for the first time did she silently plead the heavens for an answer to this. For something she could do to bring Lyanna back to her.

"Your Grace?"

Elia's head shot up, revealing her red-rimmed eyes even as she hurriedly wiped away the tears. "Dacey." There stood the she-bear, clutching Arthur's namesake in her arms. "I didn't hear you approach."

"I can see that…" she replied awkwardly. "May I sit here, my Queen?"

The thought to dismiss her being quite easy to Elia, she decided there wasn't reason beyond selfishness. She nodded, and soon felt the statuesque northern warrior sit beside her. Soon after, the babe reached out for a gold band on Elia's tanned arm, drawing a tiny smile to her face. "Reminds me of his father."

Dacey smiled back, kissing the crown of her babe's head. "Aye. The little one has Arthur wrapped around his little finger."

Biting her lip, Elia felt a supreme jealousy at getting to hold a newborn babe of her womb… and she hated herself for it. Dacey was her friend. "One would never think our Artie would be a father, but I can see he's a natural."

Giggling, Dacey covered her mouth. "Artie… he groans whenever I call him that, so I do it all the time." They both chuckled. Eyes flickering to the red-eyed Elia, Dacey took the chance to ask her question. "Why were you crying?"

Elia blinked. "I wasn't crying." Dacey merely raised her eyebrow, disbelieving the obvious lie. The Queen knew it was half-hearted. "I haven't been… in the best of situations regarding my family." Dacey wasn't Ash or Ellaria - a childhood companion she absolutely trusted - but she was at the level just below. "Regarding Lyanna…"

Sighing, Dacey knew it would come to this. "We all saw how… distant the both of you are recently - none of the servants, guards, or highborn staff like Arthur or I speak about it." She was worried. "Is it really worse than it seems?"

There was a silence, but she finally nodded. "I think Lyanna is ashamed of me… she doesn't speak about it at all, but I can see it in her eyes ever since Jon and Egg were almost killed." The memories of that fear combined with the current worries were seemingly destroying her. "We… we haven't made love since before it. She seems disgusted with the thought."

That didn't sound like Lyanna. While she didn't partake in that other than the one session with Ellaria, Dacey didn't find it disgusting. "I… I would be surprised if that was true."

"I thought the same. Now I don't know." She bit her lip. "Dacey, I need you to tell me. Are… relations between women as forbidden under the old gods as they are among the Faith?"

That was a hard question to figure out. "Well… I don't think there are any traditions against it - our faith doesn't have codified rules, only longstanding tradition and folklore passed down from generation to generation." She thought to her own House, the almost Dornish laws of succession. Her father Jeor had inherited Bear Island from his mother, father a Hornwood second son. "While we are expected to have families and marry, I don't think people truly care. With winter always harsh, there are greater worries."

Unfortunately, that didn't reassure Elia. "So it's me then." The tears returned, though she refused to sob again.

"My Queen… this will be but a rough patch. Both of you almost lost your children." Gods, if anything happened to little Arthur… "You've survived everything thrown at you."

"To be honest, Dacey…" Elia's voice was almost a murmur. "Somehow I have a feeling that this will be worse than all others." The voice still haunted her mind. It tore her apart, even as she kept it to herself.

"What do you mean? We already survived the worst."

Her answer came close to making Dacey's skin crawl. "There's always something worse."

She stood. "Don't tempt fate Elia," the She-Bear warned. "This will pass… I'm sure of it." Elia said nothing.

Lya… what's going on? Dacey would get to the bottom of this.

---

Fluffing up the ruffles of his shirt, Alerie Tyrell watched her son with a gentle pair of brown eyes. "Oh, my dear boy. You are so handsome for your special day."

Garlan groaned, eyes closing. "Mother, you know I would do anything to get out of this peacock doublet and back into my riding leathers." Long doublet extending down to his pelvis a dark green with golden swirls much like his late father was fond of, the shirt underneath ruffled in the sleeves as was the fashion of the pre-Rebellion balls of Oldtown and King's Landing. A longer, hanging sleeve was more in-style, but Garlan absolutely refused. The cloth itched and his narrow boots pinched regardless. "Couldn't we just marry in front of the Three Singers as is House Blackwood's wont? It's a much shorter procedure."

Alerie clucked, smirking at her son - he clearly got his wit from her side and she was proud at that. "That will happen in a week once the dignitaries of our bannermen depart, for the benefit of your bride's house. You know that…"

"Yes, yes, the rifts between the Faith and the Crown necessitate us to straddle the line to appease both," he replied in his best impression of his grandmother, which caused mother and son to chuckle together. Given how close they were to the center of the Faith in Westeros, appeasing them was needed.

The door suddenly opened, revealing his young and beautiful Aunt Lynesse - arrived here with the majority of his mother's family. "Forgive me, sister, nephew, but two little ones wanted to see you."

In Lynesse's arms was the squirming eighteen moon old Margaery, while young Loras ran out from behind her. "Mama! Gar-Gar!" Hugging Alarie's legs, the young future knight ran to his brother.

Garlan let out a cheerful laugh - completely genuine - as he picked up Loras, the boy's golden curls bouncing. "Well this has made my day." Some of the only joy the new Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South enjoyed these days were his little siblings. They were innocent and guileless, looking to him as an almost father. "How are we today, Ser Loras?"

His brother giggled. "Mama agreed to start my first swordsplay training soon!"

At that Garlan raised his eyebrow at his mother, who had taken Margaery from her sister and was giving her funny faces - much to Margaery's delight. "Is this true, mother?" He set Loras down.

Alarie smiled and went to her son's side, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Don't worry," she whispered into his ear. "The Master-at-arms will keep his activity to a minimum. Simply getting him used to holding and carrying the blade."

He was relieved. "Good, good." Smiling, he looked down at his baby sister. "Well Marg, eager to see your brother get married today?" Getting married today, at four and ten… seven hells.

"Gar… Gar…" she babbled his childhood nickname, clearly taking this better than he was. Unable not to feel joy at his little sister, Garlan pulled Marg into his arms, lifting her up. Don't worry, Marg. I promise that you'll get to choose your husband. A large promise to make to his sister, but one he had every intention to keep.

She looked at him with her youthful ignorance, refreshing if anything.

Before Garlan knew it, he was posted at the front of the castle sept, standing with the Septon as the inhabitants of House Blackwood - the house of his bride - and House Fossoway of Cider Hall - the house of his bride's late husband - proceeded up the walkway towards the front of the well. The young children and maidens of Lord Blackwood's loins seemed pleasant enough, while his soon to be goodsons were anything but. Tanton Fossoway's three boys, the eldest Garlan's age while the others were much younger, stared at their mother's betrothed with little disguised ire.

Just perfect. From the other side of the well, his mother and grandmother urged him to stand straighter, while his grandfather, uncles, and aunts - Lynesse most among them - smiled. Thank you. He was grateful.

And then the moment of truth happened. At the first glimpse of Lord Tytos Blackwood stepping into the sept - face sour as would any devout follower of the Old Gods - his breath hitched. Garlan's eyes fell upon a slender, dignified figure arm in arm with Lord Tytos. Melissa Blackwood. My bride.

The sister of the Lord of Raventree Hall didn't look her age of one and thirty. While clearly a mature lady rather than a shy maiden, her skin was smooth and cheekbones sharp - truly a beautiful woman. No longer a maid, she abandoned the usual cream of purity and instead wore a dark red gown with white and black etchings shaped like branches. It fit her slender figure quite snugly.

In spite of himself and his nerves, from how his trousers strained Garlan's body had no qualms that it liked his bride. He tried to hide his blush, hoping no one noticed.

Lady Melissa looked composed, standing straight and offering a loving smile to her three sons - one not reciprocated at all. But as she approached, Garlan noticed her piercing blue eyes just as nervous as he was. Her brother handing her off and taking his place across the corridor from Olenna, Garlan hesitantly reached out to take his bride's hand in his. She squeezed it back as the Septon began his recitations.

Little did he remember of the feast, only snippets. The chorus of toasts in his name, Garlan refusing the wine in favor of cider from Highgarden's orchards. Dancing with his wife, to which was followed by his mother and grandmother while Melissa took his Grandfather and her eldest son, the latter's loathing of Garlan seeming to only increase. The words either newlywed spoke to each other - simple banter, each attempting to grow more comfortable with the other.

It partly worked, as much as a man of four and ten and a woman of one and thirty could forge a marital bond.

As such, his head was clear and heart pounding as the gathered women of the feast were carrying him towards the bedroom, laughing and whooping the cries of the drunk. "Time to become a man, oh noble Lord!" Aunt Lynesse… why? The girl was adventurous and full of mischief as she led the others towards more ribald action - the fact that he knew his aunt loved him kept Garlan from being too irritated.

Not that the other girls needed any excuse. His cousin Desmara Redwyne kept smacking his ass and laughing, while a clearly sloshed Delena Florent tugged at his doublet, urging her cousin Selyse to do the same. Those were just the faces he recognized.

When finally deposited in his bedchamber, his doublet had been torn off, shirt half unbuttoned, and trousers rumpled but was otherwise modest. Wanting to mumble a curse, all words escaped him at the sight of his wife.

Melissa Tyrell sat on the bed, equally rumpled but whose dress remained intact. She leaned back, hands bracing her while looking at him - one eye covered by a curtain of raven hair. She was beautiful, and from his manly desire and boyish nerves Garlan was rooted mute and unmoving.

Seeing her youthful husband in this state, Melissa pushed her hair behind her ear and smiled at him comfortingly. "Garlan, dear?" They mutually decided to refer to each other's first names. "Come here." She stood, beckoning him to come forward. Recovering some of his composure, he did so. Smartly, she hugged him beneath his own arms - they were the same height. "Your grandmother told my father that you are… not experienced with a woman's touch."

He flushed red, only partially soothed by her soft skin and gentle fragrance against his cheek. "I… I've kissed and touched… but…"

"It's alright, I understand." She pulled back, cupping his cheek. "We have no airs anymore, so allow me to take the lead." For Melissa, her brother's schemes to earn a much better match for her were unwelcome, especially when a boy young enough to be her son was chosen. But Garlan seemed genuine - kind and handsome. Considering Tanton had been a neglectful, arrogant man that gave her no pleasure, what woman wouldn't want a virile young man as a lover? "If it pleases you?"

Garlan, gulping, nodded. "Aye, Melissa. Just go slow for now… till I get the… hand of it." He almost croaked, both from nerves and desire. At her chuckle, she pulled him into a kiss.

And take the lead she did, gently but forcefully pushing him to the bed and straddling him - their clothes discarded behind them. Their kisses grew full of lust, a feeling they both had for the other in lieu of romantic love or the deep comfort of those longtime married. When Melissa finally lowered herself upon him, Garlan felt his world melt away. It was only the two of them in that moment, her finishing the coming of age that the Battle of the Bells had started, heralding the coming of the newest Lord Tyrell.

After, where he had taken the lead and brought her to shatter twice in succession, Melissa slept curled in his arms while Garlan stared at the ceiling. Mind lost in thought. He hadn't chosen her out of love as he truly wished, but perhaps they would become as his father and mother did.

Garlan felt sleep overtake him, soul removed of much of his burden.

---

"Gods…" murmured Nymeria Sand. "She's almost as good as father."

Arms crossed, the oft acerbic Obara Sand was quite hard to impress - but the female fighter before her clearly had. "Who knew the North could produce those that rival our glorious ancestor?"

Rhaenys clapped her hands. "That's my muna!" In that moment, all she ever wished to be was a warrior like Lyanna.

Sweat slippery on her forehead, Lyanna darted back several steps. Her muscles ached and burned and she needed a moment's distance. Her breaths heavy in the late winter's cold. "Problem, your Grace?" commented Lord Alliser Thorne, pacing like a lion overlooking a wounded deer. "We can stop if you like?"

Lyanna's eyes narrowed. The newfound Lord of Duskendale and acting Master-at-Arms was eminently loyal and respectful, but under that one could tell his general disdain and low mettle for female fighters. Nothing she hadn't endured her entire life. "Not in your lifetime, Lord Alliser," she replied evenly, spinning her blade back into place. It wasn't as fluid in her hands as Wolfsbane, but just about. "I don't intend to lose."

"We'll see about that." Clutching his own greatsword in two hands, Alliser quickly closed the gap to lock blades with his Queen.

And such was what Dacey Mormont walked in on. Dressed in boiled leather and her chestnut hair tied back in a tight ponytail, Lyanna traded blows with Lord Alliser, using her innate agility to avoid the powerful strikes and lunges. Dancing away from Thorne's attacks.

"Lady Dacey." She looked down to see Oberyn's two girls around their cousin. They seemed… a cross between bored and amused. "How long with her Grace keep toying with him?"

Smirking, Dacey watched Lya duck back, allowing her to parry a slash. "I give it a minute."

Obara shrugged. "I give it eleven seconds."

Turned out that Obara was closer in her prediction. Feinting left, Lyanna spared a split-second for a smirk as Lord Alliser took the bait. Swinging wide but missing as she lunged right and tripped up his legs. With a cry, Thorne toppled to the ground, soon finding a sparring blade pointed at his throat. "Yield?" Lyanna said smugly.

Sighing, Thorne nodded. "Aye. Yield."

Claps resonated from the few watchers. "Good show, your Grace," Barristan called out.

"Go muna!" Rhaenys cheered.

Ever the lady, Lyanna helped Thorne up. "You are a worthy opponent, Lord Alliser."

He nodded. "Aye, and you fight with the skill of three knights. I am impressed." From him, that was genuine and not faint praise. "I'll fetch over a jug of wine." He motioned to the servants.

"Water please," Lyanna called out. Turning, she ran into Dacey holding out a washcloth. "Dace… oh, thank you." Taking the cloth, she wiped her soaked forehead. "Was looking for one of these."

"Always ready to help, my Queen," Dacey replied. "Are you doing well?" There was not any decent way to approach the subject - especially with Rhaenys around - so Dacey intended to be quick and blunt about it.

Lya shrugged. "As well as can be… there seems to be some sort of black cloud hanging over all of us." What with Oberyn's increasingly hushed conversations with Rhaegar, increased military presence in the city, and Qyburn issuing bizarre directives about baths and washing, she couldn't parse it. Not to mention… Lya shook her head. She wouldn't think about it.

But unluckily for her, Dacey wasn't going to let it go. "Does that involve Elia?"

Eyes finding her friend, Lyanna narrowed them. "No, we're fine." Liar. "I'm not talking about it."

"You have to. I need to know as your friend." Dacey placed a hand on Lyanna's. "I already heard her side of the story, and I…"

"Wait… she talked to you about me?" Lya was shocked.

"She's going for you."

"She's undermining you."

"No love... wants to destroy your son."

"A threat he is."

The voice, it bombarded her. Crippling her with its malevolence. In her pain and worry, a dark thought came to her. "Is she trying to turn you against me?"

Dacey's heart pounded. "No… it's not like that at all…"

But Lyanna wasn't listening. "Was this all a game to her?" I thought she truly loved me… The guilt of it all was predicated on that, but was it all for nothing? Was she simply seduced? "Gods… I'm a fool…"

Before she could speak any further - before Dacey could interject and stop the situation from spiralling beyond recognition - a crash of pottery and liquid startled them both. A jug of water had shattered upon the tile, spilling its contents and scattering shards of pottery in all directions. "Watch your clumsiness!" barked Thorne, scowling at the young servant currently leaning against one of the columns.

On second glance practically holding himself upright by clutching to the column. "Apologies…" he murmured, shivering. "My Lord… your… Graces…" Each word seemed to be agonizing to speak, a sheen of sweat covering a clammy face. He breathed hard, almost wheezing.

Blinking, Lyanna took a step forward. "Are you alright?" She didn't know this servant, but was always kind to them. One of the reasons the staff adored her.

Knees wobbling, the servant's eyes were bloodshot as he met Lyanna's gaze. "I… I… I…" Without warning he coughed out a spray of blood. Shaking all over, his knees finally gave way and pitched to the ground, sprawled out motionlessly.

Lyanna gasped. "Fetch Maester Qyburn!" she cried, attempting to go to his side, but Dacey stopped her. "What are you doing?"

"There's a plague, Lya," Dacey whispered.

"Don't go, your Grace!" Barristan added, the brave knight himself stepping further away from the dying man.

Darting forward before her cousins could react, Rhaenys approached the servant. "Muna, his shirt is all red…"

Processing all told to her, Lyanna's maternal instincts kicked in. "RHAE!" Hearing her muna scream, Rhaenys stopped in her tracks. "Get over here, now!" Without further prompting she ran to Lyanna, who hugged her protectively. "Stay away from those like that, alright?"

Rhaenys was trembling herself. "Alright, muna."

Thorne for his part was ashen. "Bloody rash, breathing difficulties… it's the Red Plague." He waved at two of the guards. "Bring torches and pitch! We're burning this body - all gates to the Red Keep are to be sealed at once!"

Too little too late.

The Red Plague had come for House Targaryen.

Notes:

Not good at all.

While the coming plague can't end any way but horribly, there were some good moments in the chapter. Rhaella finally gets her groove on - she deserves happiness.

Garlan will have to live with Olenna's manipulations for him - hopefully he'll make the best of it. Could def be worse.

If I get 35 comments, I'll post on Friday.

Chapter 65: What Have I Done

Notes:

Happy march, guys. May it be far better than last march (with vaccines, I think it will).

Fprgive me for this chapter. Just remember "Longclaw's Rule of Happy Endings."

Enjoy.

So many souls. So much death.

Oh, did it delight him.

The god soared above the city on dragon's wings, both present and not present in the vagaries of divine beings. Some chose to live amongst the heavens, some on occasion in the mortal sphere, while still others chose to weave in and out of both. Normally the god chose the first choice, but as of now he popped into the world of the living to achieve his goals. And with the stench of illness and death hanging over the city of his greatest foe's champion, his goal was in sight.

Closer than he had been since the aftermath of the Dance of Dragons.

Diving unseen from the clouds into the city itself, the god slowed himself to a hover - admiring his work. All over King's Landing were the results of the Red Plague. No mortal knew where it came from, though many had ideas. Some said Dorne. Some said Braavosi merchants. Most blamed Gerion Lannister and his expedition to Old Valyria… if the god hadn't been so preoccupied to notice the lion darting in and out of his domain… No sense in litigating such old gripes.

Carts of bodies rolled through the streets, greasy smoke rising into the air as panicked families tossed the corpses of beloved family members upon hastily built fires. Wandering septons and septas chanted their prayers to cleanse the vapors from the city, as did the red-robed priests of the so-called Last Hero - the god chuckled at the worship of that bitter old fool who seduced his foe.

So many perished, from the highborns on the east slope of Rhaenys' Hill to the poor wretches dwelling in the deepest slums of Flea Bottom. All gates were closed to travellers both in and out unless bearing supplies. All ships turned away from port, cargo left on the beaches for goldcloaks to cart back to the capitol. Thousands died daily, each departing towards the domain of the god himself.

In the distance, a greenish glow perpetually escaped the bowels of the ruined dragonpit, all efforts at restoration abandoned for the sake of the plague. Brynden Rivers' old trick was in full force. The infected corpses were incinerated with wildfire in one massive pit.

Oh, did the smell of such unearthly smoke delight him.

Still flying, letting each departed soul bring just a little smidgen of power into his cold, fiery heart, the god had to admit the dragons and their lapdogs weren't fools. Somehow they had advanced greatly in their understanding of the medical condition of such plagues. He remembered the efforts of Daeron II, unsuccessful and clumsy enough to kill both him and his two heirs. The men that journeyed into the hordes of sick without any precautious and died because of it. Now, no such idiocy was in the offering. Goldcloaks and Targaryen guardsmen strode through the city wearing large leather hoods and trousers - thick cloth covered their faces, while leather gloves were doused with the strongest Dornish red that the crown could acquire in bulk. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something the humans could rely on.

But the screams and silent sobs coming from the home of the last dragons were enough to truly fill him with the delight he so desired.

In an instant, the god was transported to Maegor's Holdfast… to a room deep within it. Unseen, he wafted between the figures both standing and seated round a tiny bed. The rail-thin maester, tending to his ward. The Dornish Queen, eyes red with long shed tears as she held onto the hand of someone she held the most dear.

A tiny boy, the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms… reduced to a shivering, fitful sleep - wheezing breaths barely able to sustain him.

Oh, did it delight him to see the shivering of the little Prince. To feel the sorrow and worry in the souls of those that watched him slowly die. Tugging at the strings like an omnipotent puppetmaster to cloud and manipulate the feelings of the lad's two mothers to draw them against each other. To create battle lines where none previously existed.

To prepare the greatest victory since the Dance, drawing the last dragons back into the void where they all belonged.

You will soon fail, dear sister of mine. Soon your precious champions will be no more.

For he was Balerion, god of the night itself… of the everlasting sleep. Every dragonrider deprived of life would serve him in death.

And only six remained upon the earth. Six that would need to die.

He could just taste it.

---

Not for the first time, Grand Maester Qyburn was thankful that winter had not yet abated in Westeros. The errant snowfall kept travelers at the minimum, while on the personal level it was much easier to wear the contraption of boiled leather that the armorer had fashioned for him. Protecting against whatever vapors caused the Red Plague it may have done, but airy it wasn't.

Metal probes in his gloved hands, he probed at his little patient. Crown Prince Aegon was prone in his bed, yearling body still and unmoving. His eyes didn't open, and no sound other than the rhythmic breathing pass through his nose. Each breath brought a wheeze out of his plague-battered lungs, resulting in a whimper from the Queen beside him.

Elia brought a wet rag to her son's head. "Here you go, sweetling." Hopefully it would reduce his fever.

Prodding the boy's knee, Qyburn frowned underneath his hood. He pressed harder and found Aegon's leg flinch away from the painful stimulus. "That is good," he murmured to himself.

Gaze going to the maester, Elia's eyes shone with hope. "What's good, Maester Qyburn?"

"His Grace responds to pain, which is a normal human function."

"Does that mean he'll wake up soon?" Elia stroked her beloved son's cheek. Please wake up… please… She had suffered from this affliction in her youth, but from what she remembered never once had fallen into a coma.

Qyburn sighed. "It's hard to say, your Grace. The fact he hasn't been felled by the vapors of this Plague as most of the dead would is heartening." Notwithstanding his hopeful tone, Qyburn watched as the Queen's face fell. She resumed her seat at her son's bedside, taking Egg's hand in hers. Just before he turned to make his exit, he noticed a tear fall from Queen Elia's cheek.

Sometimes he hated his position.

It hadn't been quick for him to make his discoveries of the cleansing properties of potent, sour liquor. Observations that scrubbed hands and unstained bandages cut down illness among soldiers treated at the Citadel were quite observable, and such had caused Qyburn to scour the histories for anything he could gather on the subject. Learning of a Yi-Tish discovery involving their brewed alcohol and the cleaning of wounds, he presented his findings to the Seneschal… given his other experiments, it had not been well received.

Here though, the King and Queens backed him up fully, and the Realm was the better for it.

Over a quarter hour passed before he had cleansed his leather hood and trousers. Qyburn wiped the sheen of sweat on his forehead with a rag as he entered the hallway, but halted in his tracks. "Your Graces…" He bowed. "Forgive me for my impertinence."

Rhaegar waved him off. "Forget all of that… how is my son?" His voice threatened to catch on the last - never had Qyburn seen the Targaryen monarch so despondent and… broken.

If Rhaegar was broken, Queen Lyanna looked ripped beyond repair. "Has he woken? Gods, please tell me he's finally awake." It seemed as if she hadn't slept in days, much as Queen Elia. From how the servants gossiped, she had been in the Godswood most of the day when not tending to the other children or in Small Council meetings. All life leached from her.

Qyburn took no pleasure in shaking his head - Lyanna's expression grew more tortured while the King muttered an epithet in High Valyrian. "He is receptive to pain in the most basic way, but his body remains both unresponsive and wracked by the worst of the Plague, namely labored breathing and high fever."

"So is he close to…" Rhaegar gulped. "To death?" He hated himself for having to ask that.

Pursing his lips, the Grand Maester shrugged. "His fever is still as high as it was when he first fell ill, and he's still managing to breathe well enough to survive, if difficult." He had seen so many instances of the Red Plague, both much better and far, far worse. "In the last three days Prince Aegon has not awoken, yet hasn't gotten worse - it's a balance that is keeping him alive but not close to recovery."

"What are you saying?"

"Your Grace," he answered Queen Lyanna. "I cannot speculate in the slightest since I have only begun to scratch the surface, but House Targaryen holds… great secrets in its blood. Given his symptoms, perhaps it is the Prince's way of protecting itself as it battles the vapors that so assault him." Such seemed to mollify the worried King and Queen, but not easing their sorrow. "He has Queen Elia by his bedside, which also is helping."

"I should be there," Lyanna lamented, voice accusatory. "She shouldn't have to do this alone."

"Lya," Rhaegar cautioned. "We talked about this. We can't let the vapors affect you too."

Qyburn agreed. "His Grace is right. The only reason Queen Elia can tend to Prince Aegon is that she's already been afflicted in her childhood."

Lyanna sighed, burying her head in her hands. There was nothing she could do for her son, and her mind continued to hurl her into the darkest of places. "There's nothing we can do…"

"There are some treatments for this illness dating back to the days of Septon Barth, but the Citadel has outlawed them as heresy…"

"Do it," Lyanna said without hesitation.

"You sure, your Grace?"

Rhaegar nodded. "I'll shield you from reprisals. Just save our son."

Qyburn bowed. "I'll see it done, your Grace." Not wasting time, he scurried off to his chambers to begin preparations.

Alone again, Rhaegar instinctively turned to his bride. He just managed to catch her as Lya collapsed into his chest. "Lya…"

"We're gonna lose him." Lyanna was sure she had cried herself out, but the words of their Grand Maester only drew our fresh tears. "So many dead, and our babe among them."

Unable to stem her sorrow, Rhaegar rubbed her back. Trying to keep it together himself. Goddess… The image of the beautiful being he had witnessed while wounded from Robert's warhammer filled his head. Protect me, protect my family…

In his deep prayer, Rhaegar failed to hear Lyanna's murmurs. "My fault… my fault…"

---

Lips curled into a tight, respectful line, Tywin looked up from the ravenscroll to eye his brothers. "Well, Lord Garlan at four and ten is already more of a leader than his idiot father ever was." It had just come from Highgarden, the maester of Casterly Rock wasting no time in delivering it to his Lord's solar.

"Could be the Queen of Thorns," Tygett muttered with a frown. "Surely she's controlling the boy, her or his Hightower mother."

"Don't forget his wife, the Blackwood," added Kevan.

Gerion, always the odd man out as he sat with his feet propped up on Tywin's massive desk, laughed. "Poor bastard, surrounded by older women clucking over his every move. Least he can fuck one of em." He laughed again at his own jape.

Tywin's vein throbbed on the side of his face, but he couldn't touch Gerion. I promised mother… "No, it's him. Blackwoods aren't crafty enough for this while Alarie Hightower was more concerned with running the household than politics. As for Olenna, this doesn't fit her."

"And how would you know that, brother?" Tygett challenged. The two always had a difficult relationship.

"I know Olenna well. I know how she thinks and how she writes. This isn't it." Gods, I wish Loren were here. The non-lion of the room wasn't his dear friend, but his goodbrother Emmon. Silent as a mouse, Tywin hated him for it - not recognizing that Emmon was quiet because he didn't wish to provoke the old lion, not that it would have made any difference had Tywin acknowledged it. Sighing, he leaned back. "Garlan requests reinforcements to hold off more of the refugees."

"Can't his own archers and levies do it?" Kevan inquired.

"The Reach is big, Kev," Gerion replied. "I like it - joint operation. May I lead it?"

Tywin shook his head. "No, things are already pretty dicey with you in terms of rumor." For once, that shut Gerion up - most did blame him and his expedition for bringing the plague to Westeros, even though the entire ship would have been infected if it was him. "I'll send Roland and Clegane. They're steadfast and aggressive. Lefford can continue to hold the Golden Tooth." All passes through the crags and peaks were sealed off on Tywin's orders. It had prevented an outbreak in Lannisport… so far.

"Shouldn't Dorne be a part of this? They have as much to lose as the rest of us."

Glaring at Emmon for the temerity to speak, Tywin grunted. "Have you ever known Doran Martell to care about anyone but his own people? No, they're going to fortify their own borders and be done with it." Tywin was doing the same - as were the Vale, North, and Ironborn - but at least he realized the importance of collective action."Fuck, I'll deal with this later." Not bothering to answer any of his brothers' questions, he stormed out.

When this bad of a headache struck, he needed his refuge and the providence not to run into Tyrion on the way there.

Luckily for him, his Imp son decided to be elsewhere that day. Probably spending my coin on the brothels in Lannisport. 'You only live once,' as he put it. Shaking his head in disapproval of Tyrion not for the first time in his life, Tywin brushed into his chosen refuge… only to see he wasn't alone. "Daughter."

Fixing her bodice, Cersei had just finished nursing Robb when the Lord of Casterly Rock walked in. "Father." Her brow rose. "What are you doing here?" Tywin was many things, sentimental wasn't one of them. He didn't visit the nursery once during her and Jaime's youth and that wasn't likely now. "Looking for me?"

Tywin's gaze fell to the floor, shaking his head. "Just… needed to see my grandchild for a moment."

Brow rising, Cersei ended up smiling softly. Rocking the golden-haired, sleeping babe in her arms. "He does bring happiness to whoever holds him." She wasn't going to hurt her father's leonine pride… Cersei would use Tyrion for that when he returned. "Want to hold him?"

Watching how serene his first grandchild - living grandchild anyway - was in Cersei's hold, Tywin demurred. "Yes, but hold him for now." Instead, he approached the second crib in the room which contained a far more active babe. "Hello Pod." Awkwardly, he picked up Loren's orphaned son - gingerly kept in Casterly Rock as a promise to his friend. "You could pay a little attention to him to."

Cersei frowned. "He's not my son."

Tywin frowned harder. "Loren was like an uncle to you… more than some of your actual uncles to be honest." Tygett was a pain, while Kevan could be called many things - warm wasn't one of them, and he didn't have the inner strength to make up for it.

"Well, what is that babe to us? Shouldn't he be with some relatives? His mother was a Westerling if I recall correctly."

"And leave him with that idiot? You are the stupidest Lannister." Tywin awkwardly moved his finger to the boy's cheek, in which Podrick grabbed at it with giggles. "I suppose Podrick is to be fostered here at Casterly Rock as our ward… and you will not treat him any different." Setting him back in the crib, a carved lion made for Robb soon was dropped in after him, attracting Pod's attention. "Go find your aunt, see if there's something regarding the household you can help her on. I'll put Robb to bed."

Sighing, Cersei rose and gently handed her sleeping son to his grandfather. "I hope you're a better grandfather than you were a father."

Watching her walk off, Tywin glowered but said nothing. Looking down at his grandson… his bastard grandson. "You look like your uncle, Robb." Try as he might, he couldn't see Robb as a bastard - Tyrion… sometimes, but not him. In the privacy of the nursery, he could afford to be wistful. "You're my second chance, understood. You're going to be a great Lord." Twin green eyes looked up at him, perfectly Lannister.

But he was a wolf too.

One whose fate was decided by his own grandfather. "I will make you Lord of Winterfell. This I promise." Robb, distracted by the lion embroidered on Tywin's doublet, knew not the great game of thrones being played around him.

---

"Oh kind Mother, protect us...

"Oh great Father, have mercy...

"Oh high Stranger, guide us...

"For this painful journey."

Hoods of homespun cloth draped over their unshaven faces, the Holy Brothers chanted pronouncements to the Seven who were One. They walked slowly through the halls of Maegor's Holdfast, decanters of incense swung rhythmically from chains held in their hands. To ward off the unholy vapors of the plague as Septon Meribald had put it. The illness had already taken the life of the High Septon, discovered dead in a puddle of his own vomit as his lungs gave out. With the Most Devout having fled to their estates along the Honeywine it was left to the wandering septon to manage the holy men in the capitol, and he did it with the same vigilance as Qyburn.

Trying not to sneeze or cough on the acrid vapors, Rhaegar nodded at the humble brothers and ducked into his solar. Oberyn followed, while Ser Barristan took his perch guarding the outside. "Given your unfriendliness to the Faith, I did not expect for you to let them in."

Plopping down upon his chair, Rhaegar just let his head fall on the desk. Exhaustion pulled him towards sleep, but he fought it. "Meribald asked me to, and to tell the truth if this entire fucking mess can be alliviated with a little spirituality then I don't care what it is.'

"Lady Melisandre is alright with this?"

"She's more of a recluse than Elia is at this point. Melisandre has locked herself in her chambers and asked for nothing but bread and charcoal for her brazier," Rhaegar responded, finally getting the energy to look up at his goodbrother. The normally lively Oberyn was almost unrecognizable - skin pale, eyes sunken, and a limp frown where the normal cocky smirk would be. "We both look like death warmed over, don't we?"

Oberyn snorted. "If it please your Grace, I tender my resignation as Hand effective when this plague passes."

"Accepted." The Prince wasn't cut out for this, the kind of bird that needed to fly free rather than live in the gilded cage of court. He was needed to placate Dorne, and now the matters have settled. "I'm still glad you're here, goodbrother." Rhaegar's lip quivered, the stress of it all closing in on the breaking point. "Any…" He desperately flailed for any other subject. "Any dispatches from the lordships?"

"Aye, Tywin Lannister essentially shut down the Golden Tooth while Lord Garlan has strung archers astride every road through his kingdom. Kill all travelers on sight."

A sigh. "Tough, but fair given the circumstances. Stormlands and Riverlands still affected?"

"Lord Tully took the advice of his brother and shut down all fords and bridges, while an unseasonable rain has blanketed Shipbreaker Bay." None of them knew how the vapors were transmitted except by close proximity to those infected, and the worse the weather the less infected smallfolk would travel. "With luck, we could see this entire plague localized."

"Gods willing." Rhaegar leaned back. "Varys tells me that most believe this was brought here by Gerion Lannister from Valyria."

Oberyn shook his head. "Unlikely. Elia suffered from an outbreak in Dorne many years ago… I believe that Volentine traders carried the plague from Essos to here." At least that was what their maesters suspected.

Rhaegar nodded. "If Elia hadn't caught it, then our son wouldn't even have anyone to love him through this…" Like a mudslide, the emotions overwhelmed him. "It's all falling apart, goodbrother."

He understood. "Lya and my sister still haven't reconciled, have they?"

"Elia won't leave Egg's bedside, Lya blames herself for Egg, and they still won't talk to each other." All of it was spiralling out of control and Rhaegar didn't know what to do… he didn't even know what started this. "The threat of impending death is upon us and I can't even see my family surviving the week." Gods forbid if Egg didn't make it - losing his siblings destroyed his muna's family life.

Pursing his lips in a mournful frown, Oberyn let a silence hang before answering. "I may have a suggestion that could solve multiple problems for you and your House."

"Enlighten me please." At this point, Rhaegar would try anything short of human sacrifice.

"Send the royal family to Dragonstone. Everyone but yourself and my nephew as Qyburn treats him." Oberyn would also take the advantage to send Ellaria and the girls with them if Rhaegar acceded.

Slumping, Rhaegar's first thought was that he would lose the only comfort he had during this trying time… but that disappeared as the idea of a safe harbor where no more of his loved ones could fall ill appealed more and more to him. At a gentle chirp, he looked down to see Aegarax hobble towards him from his sleeping perch in the corner of the solar. The dragon extended his neck, nuzzling Rhaegar's arm. It was sorely needed. "Elia will not be easily torn from Egg's side."

Such was well warranted. "I'll speak to her. Who knows, perhaps being alone with Lyanna will finally force them to confront whatever demons are between them."

Nodding, at that moment Rhaegar felt a shiver course through him. One that also caused Aegarax to whine in discomfort. Why did it feel that things would get a lot worse before they got better… if at all.

---

The candles had long since snuffed out, only the low firelight illuminating the bedchamber. Elia didn't notice. Seven hells, she couldn't feel nor hear anything around her. Only the still form of her son - her dearly beloved boy she almost died bringing into the world - resting without nary a sound but the soft wheezing of his battered lungs.

She would need to leave soon - forced from her vigil at her son's bedside so that Qyburn could begin his longshot treatment. The mere thought of abandoning him tore Elia up inside, but she was too weak to even light a fresh candle.

Weakness was something Elia was used to.

Her eyes, sunken yet puffy and red from all her tears, continued to stare blankly at the sight of her little boy. Aegon looked so peaceful, like nothing in the world could wake him... which sadly was true. Not for the first nor final time did Elia bow her head. She repeated the learned prayers of her youth. To the Seven, to Mother Rhoyne, to all the gods she had familiarity with to have mercy on Egg - to save her son.

But they didn't listen. None of them listened, and despite the best efforts of the maesters and her own love, Aegon remained in his deep sleep. All but dead, while the Stranger stood quite close by for the time where he would finally take him from the land of the living. Take me instead… it should be me…

"It should be her!"

Elia blinked, just hearing the voice as the dark god wafted into the room - unseen. The stench of death was strong from the boy, and it energized him. He smelled the anguish and torment within the Queen, knowing how easy it would be to turn it into anger. Into rage. Into hate.

All it would take was a little… push.

"She wanted this…"

"Aegon is in her way…"

"Usurper."

"Usurper."

"Usurper!"

"Your Grace." Elia turned and saw Qyburn and his acolytes enter - while the Citadel opposed his appointment, he was still the Grand Maester and obtained Oldtown's support. They all wore the inhuman leather hoods and overalls, the acolytes carrying assortments of tools and bottles. "It is time."

She nodded. "I understand." Rising, Elia walked to the bucket of Dornish red and dunked them into the cleansing liquid. "Please save him."

"We'll do our best, your Grace." Not an assurance. Nowhere close to it.

Walking aimlessly, Elia had turned a corner into a darker part of the hallway when voices hit her ears. "The King will send us to Dragonstone."

"Just you, Ser Lynn, Oswell, and Jaime. The rest will stay." Arthur… he spoke to Benjen with a sorrow in his voice. There was no joy left in the Red Keep. "Of the royals, only Rhaegar and the little one will stay."

She heard a sigh leave Benjen's voice. "I am not optimistic… we will need to protect Jon as the Crown Prince from this."

It was as if a punch had slammed into her gut. Ellia staggered, the words the dark god placed in her head finally crashing through the walls of her mind. They were already planning for Egg's death… for Jon to usurp his birthright. Lip quivering, she fled.

Only to fail to hear the wolf knight's next statement. Knees weak, Benjen leaned against the wall. "Why must he die, Arthur? He's my nephew too…"

Balerion chuckled. What fools.

Guards were sparing these days, mostly clustered upon the walls to protect against infiltrators. Elia knew she was supposed to have a Kingsguard, but after what she had heard she avoided them. Needed to be alone, horrified by what they spoke of.

It was just her and the deserted, dark corridors. A warm bed and a restless night called to her - perhaps even in Rhaegar's arms if he wasn't buried in paper - but her legs carried her elsewhere. Down the stairs and out of Maegor's Holdfast. Elia didn't realize it from her surreal haze, but all of a sudden she found herself opening the door to the Godswood.

Honestly, it was as if her subconscious had wanted to find her wife. Lyanna was on her knees, head bowed in silent prayer. A thick dress of grey wool kept out the cold, while the strapped Valyrian steel blade explained the lack of a guard. Even among the bright colors of the smokeberry and Dragon's Breath vines, Lyanna was as sullen and dark as Elia was.

The sight of Lyanna once filled Elia's heart with warmth… the symbol of how her life had changed for the better. Of how love had finally blossomed in her relationship with Rhaegar while also bonding with a completely different person just as strongly. Now though, with what she knew… all Elia could feel was bitterness. Anger and bitterness, welling like bile in her soul.

'She plots against you…'

'Her son usurps yours…'

'She prays for his death…'

Her lips pressed together tightly. "I'm not shocked to find you here."

Lyanna's shoulders visibly tensed, but she did not turn from where she knelt before the heart tree. One hand rested in her lap, the other toyed with a vine of smokeberry growing at the base of the tree. "I've prayed within the godswood once in my life, to save one I loved."

"And who would that be?" Surprisingly for Elia, her tone was quite even.

"My mother… when I was young." There was a short silence as Lya hung her head. "My pleas for divine mercy were unheeded, and I fear that they'll ignore my prayers now." Elia didn't witness the tears that dribbled down her cheeks - thinking of Egg.

Elia's frown deepened. "Listen not to her fake words…"

"What do you pray for, dear wife," she said snidely. "For what you most desire?"

If he had been a mortal being, Balerion would have simpered with glee at this. Quickly, his hidden essence wafted from Elia's side to Lyanna's. The Dornish beauty was in the perfect mindset, and now it was the northern Queen's turn.

Lyanna felt herself stiffen… as if the godswood had chilled in an instant. "And what do you mean by that?"

"She hates you…"

"She corrupts all…"

"She cares not, merely desires…"

Before Elia could answer, Lyanna cut her off by standing - brushing the wrinkles in her dress. "For if you must know, I pray to the true gods that my betrayal doesn't cost the lives of my family."

Brows furrowing, Elia was confused. "I have no idea what you are talking about." Truly, she didn't.

A dry laugh, devoid of any joy, left Lyanna's lips. "This, Elia. All of this. The betrayal of my heritage… of my culture… of my beliefs." The images of her nightmares, of her father and mother and brother in their torment, all flashed in her mind. "It is my fault they died, and it is my fault that my family now suffers." Her eyes closed. "All I wanted truly was a husband, but instead I let my desires overwhelm me - and now we all pay the price."

Shock hit Elia for a moment before the rage returned. An indignant look crossing over her face. "You mean me, don't you?" At this point, the all-consuming darkness was taking hold of the both of them. Filling the dark god with power as the Queens descended into the most horrid of places. A dry laugh left Elia's lips now. "I find it ironic. You already took everything from me… why not my heart as well?"

Eyes opening, Lyanna narrowed them. "You speak impertinently, Elia."

"No!" she hissed. "I speak the truth. Do you know how I suffered? How I desired Rhaegar, wished for the love he so freely and easily gave to you to be given to me?" Every insecurity, every hurtful memory, the dark god fed on it. Drew it forth, poisoning the Dornish Queen with the bile. "But no, I was nothing but an obligation to him. You were the real marriage he so wanted. The real lovemaking… the real child."

"Take that back!" Now Lyanna leapt into the same darkness. "I loved you, but you were using me!" All the voices were true… with the shroud covering the both of them, they were all that could be true. "Sating your depravity, just like your brother."

"Leave him out of this!"

"No, at least he's honest… You pretended to care for me, when all that mattered was the manipulation of the person you were so worried about taking away your precious power!" Lyanna snarled like a wolf. "And look where it ended up. My father and brother dead, my family in tatters. I was weak to your malevolence and now I'm close to losing it all!"

All it takes is a little… push… And with Elia, push he did.

"You know nothing of loss… the loss is mine." The true Elia would be horrified at what she was about to say, but the hate and grief overwhelmed her. "I hope that this plague takes from you what it has from me."

Standing there, the fire in her grey eyes holding firm before slowly ebbing away, Lyanna seemed to deflate before her. "I'm glad to know what you truly think of me." Turning back around, she knelt again before the tree. I knew it… I didn't wish to believe it…

Balerion hadn't found such pleasure since watching the crippled oaf feed his own sister to his dragon. "She cares not… all she wants is to take."

"To corrupt."

"To destroy."

His words drove her over. Lyanna's shoulders quivered, face buried into her palms as the quiet sobs began to release themselves.

Elia could see Lyanna crying, but all she could see was him - little Jon, likely sleeping peacefully in his crib. Completely oblivious to the sorrow around him, to how the mantle of rule that was his elder brother's would soon be bequeathed to him.

The love Elia felt for him… suddenly it was shrouded. The dark god descending upon her like an predator, removing all warmth from her. Leaving nothing but the worst of emotions.

And those emotions burned within her like the roaring sun of her House. Rage - unadulterated, white hot rage. He never changed… he never showed Rhae, Egg, and I the same affection and love Rhaegar showered Lyanna and Jon with. Elia's mind filled with the most malevolent of thoughts, memories manipulated by the darkness swirling around her

"Your son was first in line." The voice was soft, seductive yet firm. Rhaegar would never do such a thing and remove him from the line of succession… not until her. "She prayed for his death, all for her own son." Only now there was no need - with Egg on his deathbed, now Jon was the crown prince.

Now it was clear how she felt - cheated, used, manipulated. The same that Aerys had beaten her down with, only with this Elia would not weep and withdraw into the corner. I am a Queen. The fact that the firstborn of the woman her husband truly loved was to inherit all of Westeros was the final slap in the face, the last humiliating insult the gods could dish out.

"You are the Queen… do not let her usurp your son."

"He must die.

"He must die."

"He must die!"

The darkness broke in Elia's mind... led her to start praying once again to those uncaring gods that failed to heed her pleas for her son, only this time instead of praying for them to save a life... it was for them to take one away. Take him… rid the world of him so she knows the pain I feel. Holy Stranger, make her suffer as I do, knowing her precious son no longer breathes.

If there was justice in this world it would be served for Aegon.

Suddenly, a commotion drew the attention of both Queens. Door to the copse of trees swinging open, three guardsmen trailed Ser Lynn Corbray as he trotted towards them. "Your Graces, come quickly. Prince Baelon has fallen ill."

Lyanna shot up from her spot by the heart tree. "What?!" She was trembling.

"Lady Ashara discovered him with fever and sweats…" He winced. "Grand Maester Qyburn pronounced the Red Plague."

"Oh Gods!" Unable to say another word, Lyanna dashed off towards the holdfast, her worst nightmare come true.

Watching the fleeing Queen Lyanna, Ser Lynn turned to the Dornish Queen. "Ser Oswell will escort Queen Lyanna to Maegor's Holdfast. I shall be standing guard at the entrance until you are finished here." He briskly walked off, leaving Elia to her solitude.

She said nothing, she did nothing, instead standing shock still as her mind pondered just what had happened. The plague… it came for Jon. Not Rhaenys… not Daenerys… not Rhaegar or Rhaella or Lyanna, but Jon.

Her prayer worked, almost immediately in fact.

Gaze drifting to the heart tree, Elia stared at it. Time immemorial passing as her eyes locked at the carved face, haunted and tortured image of the old gods affixed by some long dead northman in the court of Aegon the Conqueror. The Dragon's Breath, the smokeberries, all shone red in the torchlight… A sharp gust of wind from Blackwater Bay shook the trees, as if in anger.

Elia could have sworn blood dripped from the eyes and gaping maw of the carved face.

The Old Gods heard everything. They saw everything, including her deepest, innermost thoughts.

"What have I done…?" she murmured to no one in particular.

For the first time in many moons, the malevolent voice that so haunted her was absent. Elia was alone, only the gentle breeze framing the heart tree breaking the silence of her world.

Notes:

And so we now know who the specter is. Balerion, the Valyrian God of Death. And he's essentially sundered the Queens... or at least he thinks...

It wasn't fun to write this chapter, believe me. Just trust me enough to know I have a plan.

Let me know what you think, and until next time :)

Chapter 66: Maternal Bonds

Notes:

Well, last chapter really hit us right in the gut. Hoping this one adds a bit of hope to it.

Enjoy.

"No! Let me go!"

"Please, your Grace…" Alliser Thorne was in a bind… the Lord of Duskendale hadn't once been to his new keep as of yet, his loyalty to House Targaryen rooting him to King's Lansing as any honorable bannermen would. As of today, however, the task before him truly tried his patience. "You need to come with me."

"I won't leave them!" Arms thrashing, the slender Queen weighed barely a thing to the burly Alliser but fought like the direwolf she was. He couldn't restrain her arms since it was his duty to protect her, so letting her flail and pound at him with arms wrapped around her waist as the only way to go. "Let me stay!"

"Lya!" To Thorne's relief, King Rhaegar trotted across the sand beach towards his northern bride. The massive bulk of the Red Keep loomed high behind the King atop Aegon's High Hill, while large stacks of acrid smoke marred the early morning sky - Qyburn's men kept the wildfire bonfires in the Dragonpit burning through the night. "Lyanna, you have to go."

The Queen shook her head. "My sons need me! I can't desert them like a coward!" Again she thrashed at Thorne's hold.

Rhaegar placed his hands on her shoulders, stroking her upper arms through her thick woolen dress. Lyanna stopped writhing, allowing Thorne to back away and leave them some privacy. "You're not a coward, Lya."

Lyanna's voice was hollow… losing every tone of strength and fierceness she once had in spades. "What kind of mother am I if I can't tend to my babes?"

She looked at him with an expression so broken if brought him physical pain. "You can't tend to them, or you'll fall ill as well. I need you safe, on Dragonstone where you can care for Rhae."

Lyanna bit her lip, trembling. "I did this, my love. I am at fault."

He crushed her in a hug, kissing her deeply. Lyanna's moaned, losing herself in the kiss even as hot tears cascaded down her cheeks. "You are not at fault," he finally said. "You are perfect." Rhaegar's covered her heart with his hand.

"I'm scared, Rhaegar."

"I am too."

Nothing more could be said. Another passionate embrace followed, after which the now subdued Queen let Lord Alliser guide her to the skiff that's would take her and the other passengers to a boat of House Velaryon, bound for Dragonstone.

That soul-crushing moment behind him, Rhaegar had to steel himself for more. It wasn't just his beloved she-wolf that he was sending away. "Muna." A tight hug followed.

"Be careful my son," Rhaella whispered, holding him close."

"I will, I promise." He looked at the three Kingsgaurds, Benjen, Jaime, and Lyn Corbray - Arthur already on the skiff with his paramour, son, and pregnant sister. "Watch over them."

"With our lives, your Grace," Jaime responded as the seniormost whitecloak present.

Nodding, Rhaegar approached the wet nurse holding a sleeping Daenerys. "I love you, sister. You're the future of our house." Dany didn't wake, though she stirred softly at his kiss on her cheek. And now… "Watch over your mother, Viserys."

The eight nameday old boy held his head high, but it was a mask. "I am not afraid."

He sighed. "It's alright to be afraid. True courage doesn't mean the absence of fear." Viserys said nothing, but let his brother hug him.

If the rest hadn't broken Rhaegar, the last person he needed to see off threatened to rip out his soul. Trying his best to push back his grief and worry, Rhaegar knelt so he could look her in the eye. "Hi, little dragon."

With Lyanna inconsolable and Elia remaining, Rhaenys clutched at Rhaella's dress - unwilling to leave her grandmother's side. "Kepa…" She was so young, so innocent with her wide violet eyes and silky hair, but nevertheless knew more hardship than many ten times her age.

Sensing her silence, Rhaegar cupped her cheek. "Please, sweetling. Talk to me."

"You promised." Rhaenys sniffled back a sob. "You promised never to leave."

The words hit him worse than Robert's warhammer, but Rhaegar shrugged it off. "I'm sorry, sweetling." Opening his arms for her, Rhae hesitated but for a moment before launching her tiny frame into her father's embrace. "It's for your own good, so that you'll be safe." He heard her sobbing into his doublet and it made Rhaegar's heart break. "Please, little dragon. Don't cry."

She held him tighter. "No, kepa. Let me stay. I strong for you and Egg and Jon." She didn't know what was truly going on… it was beyond her comprehension, but Rhaenys could tell both her brothers were in danger. Could tell both her munas and her kepa were right on the edge and it destroyed her.

"Allow me… and muna to worry about that," he said softly. Pulling back, he cupped Rhaenys' chin and guided her to meet his gaze. "You have another task for you, Princess Rhaenys. I need you to look after muna, grandmother, and your Aunt Dany for me." Her violet eyes shone with tears. "Promise me that?"

Lip quivering, Rhaenys nodded. "I promise, kepa."

He didn't know how long he held his daughter, burying his face in the black locks that so reminded him of his beloved Elia, but Rhaegar was roused as a hot snout nudged his side. Without him hearing, Aegarax had landed on the beach, amber eyes almost sad as they stared up at him. "Thank you, boy."

Rhaenys seemed to improve at seeing the small yet growing beast. "Eggax…" she stammered out, still to young to say his full name. The dragon began to coo as she detached from Rhaegar and hugged its scaly neck. Aegarax's warmth provided a comfort only one with the dragonblood could understand.

Looking at them, Rhaegar quickly made a decision. "Boy, go with your sister." Both Rhaenys and the dragon looked at him with confusion, while Rhaella was a little surprised. "She needs you more than I could. Watch over her." The dragon hooted affirmation, while Rhaenys hugged him again. Glancing at his mother, Rhaella smiled softly, nodding her head.

From a high balcony within the Red Keep, Elia turned her head away from the heartwarming scene. Hands flew up to cover her face, holding back the sobs that threatened to wreck her body.

---

Lord Reed

I have ordered Lord Manderly to close White Harbor to all shipping but grain, and Lord Flint to shut off all foot and animal traffic through Moat Cailin. You have my leave to dispatch all travelers that appear to carry the plague through the Neck with swift killing.

Lord Stark

The words upon the ravenscroll made Ned's mouth taste like ash, but he nevertheless handed it to his bannermen to take to the rookery. Falling back into his chair, the Lord of Winterfell picked up another letter… this one from King's Landing. It was far grimmer and painful than even his ordering the death of innocents.

Ned

Please, pray for us. Egg still hasn't woken, and Jon has been struck by this cursed plague. Elia and Lya's split has widened to the point of near break and I am lost at how to repair any of this.

Pray. Pray and stay safe.

Rhaegar.

"What does it say, Lord Stark?"

He looked up through teary eyes to see the elderly Maester Aemon Targaryen. Stooped and frail, his unseeing eyes were nonetheless twinkling with a sharp mind. "The plague is worse. It… it's threatening many in the Red Keep, including Aegon and Jo… Baelon."

Aemon let out a breath, slowly getting to his feet. "Come on. Perhaps a walk will calm our emotions."

Long before had Rhaegar's orders to the domain of the Night's Watch absolved Aemon of his duties as the Maester of the Night's Watch. Much as it seemed slightly dishonorable to Ned, he understood - after all that had happened, Rhaegar wanted his family united and close. Ned didn't blame him for it and agreed to open his home to Aemon. A stay of a few days turned into nearly a moon as the plague hit, extending his stay till this disease resolved itself.

Wanting to get to know the old man better - and distract himself from his worries - Ned looked over at him as they walked slowly from his solar to the family wing. "This is the first time you've left Castle Black since…?" Ned trailed off the question.

Aemon picked it up where he left off. "Since the second decade of my brother's reign, when I visited to seek prisoners to ship to Castle Black. Saw all my nephews and nieces too, before my vision failed."

Ned imagined such to be a happy moment, but soon remembered who one of those children was. "Was… was the young Prince Aerys as he ended up being?"

"Oh no, he was a perfectly sweet child. Always close to his mother and very charming." He sighed. "I cannot speak of when he turned into the man that he was, but I can suspect."

Raising an eyebrow, Ned's curiosity peaked. "I would like to know." What caused my sister to lose her child and my father and brother to be burned alive? While it still hurt in a dull throb, Ned had a morbid desire to know.

Looking at him, Aemon shambled along the hallway. "My dear niece mentioned something in one of her letters to me, how her brother fell into a deep melancholy upon the death of Joanna Lannister."

"Lord Tywin's late wife?"

"Aye, her. She used to be Rhaella's lady in waiting and thus was close to the entire royal family. Given Aerys' reaction… I believe he cared for her - loved her even."

That was shocking. "Madness caused by heartbreak?" It wasn't so far-fetched. What else could have described Robert's actions during the Rebellion? Or Connington's, though that seemed more obsessive longing than true heartbreak. "That could explain it, but not how far he fell."

"I know… that's what makes it so strange to me. Most madness is innate or brought on by trauma. He definitely endured such in Duskendale, but Aerys suffered from paranoia and bouts of uncontrollable temper long before." A deep grimace reached the maester's face. "I dread to think of the real cause… and also to think of what Rhaella must've endured. I still remember her as a babe, last time I was in King's Landing. Such an adorable thing."

"I'm sure she'd love to see you."

Aemon nodded. "All we have to do is survive… this plague." Whatever joy came from imagining such reunions ended. "I fear some of us won't."

Ned gulped. "Jon? Aegon?" There was silence. "From what you have heard, is there any hope?" Aemon didn't respond. But before Ned could push further, a pitched wailing hit his ears. "That sounds like it's coming from the nursery…" The cries, agonizing and painful, made Ned's heart break. "Sansa…"

True enough, the heir to Winterfell was despondent. Her face was beet red, screaming her little lungs out no matter what Catelyn or her nursemaids tried to do to calm her. As Ned burst through the door - Aemon shuffling slowly behind him - he immediately went to his wife. "Gods, what's going on?"

"I don't know…" Catelyn was close to sobbing herself in fear, though a hint of frustration filled her tone. "She was fussy all day, and suddenly she just started screaming. She doesn't need changing, I fed her an hour ago, there is no wind…"

"Perhaps it is the plague, my Lady," murmured a young Riverlander maid, herself trembling.

"Bah, it's no plague!" rasped Old Nan, sitting in a rocking chair. "That's the sound of loss and heartbreak, she's sharing their pain… gods know who she's scared to lose." Apparently Nan's perceptions only went to what, not who or why.

Scooping up Sansa, Ned rocked his daughter. "Easy, little pup. Poppa's here." Normally Sansa loved her father's hold, but it didn't this time - the wails continued.

Having just arrived, Aemon leaned his cane against the wall. "Perhaps I could help. I still remember when little Rhaella cried like this - something I did perked her right up."

Catelyn looked aghast. "You'll drop her!"

"Nonsense. My arms may be old but they're still strong."

"Ned…"

Wincing, Ned overruled his wife. "He survives Castle Black, Cat. I think he's strong enough to hold our babe." Gingerly, he handed Sansa to the wizened maester. Gently brushing a bony finger on her red cheek, Aemon's mouth opened and a song tumbled out. One in a voice so beautiful that everyone stopped to listen.

"Lyka sir, ñuha rūs...

"Sagon iēdrosa jorrāelagon, ȳdra daor limagon...

"Ēdrugon hae ao sagon ōregion ondoso se qelbar."

The squalls were initially louder than ever, Sansa screeching as if her lungs were thrice their size… but Aemon's gentle, nonthreatening voice soon won out. Face red, she began to still. Grey eyes looking up at the old man with a… surprising familiarity to the song in a language she had never once heard before.

Soon, she was quiet, listening with rapt attention.

"Ēdrugon se rȳbagon, ñuha mōrī vāedar...

"Sīr nyke'll sagon lēda ao, skori ao pendagon."

Yawning, her little arms stretching, Sansa's eyes fluttered shut. Ned smiled gently, while Catelyn looked completely shocked. "How did you…?" There was incredulity in her expression as Sansa snuggled to sleep in Aemon's arms.

Aemon chuckled, holding the Stark child out for her father to take her. "Just sang her a little tune that my grandmother Myriah always used to sing to me. It's not as beautiful as its original Rhoynish, but my Valyrian translation has its own elegant sweetness to it."

Ned kissed his daughter's head. Even in her sleep she looked troubled, but at least she rested rather than awake and distraught. "Forgive me, but I don't speak Valyrian. What was it about?"

"An ancient melody… legend says it's the song Princess Nymeria sang to her young son during the wars with the Valyrian Freehold. She let him drift along the Rhoyne rather than let the dragons and armies kill him in the sack of her capitol city.." He sighed. "An unfolding tragedy, but one with a glimmer of hope… quite fitting for these times, no?"

"Aye, quite," Ned murmured. He let Catelyn scoop up the little pup. "Put her to bed, Cat. All is fine now."

She cast him a harried look. "Not if this mood continues when she wakes." Sansa dozed deeply against her breast. "What could this honestly be? What troubles you so, little one?" Ned had no answer for her, while it seemed that Aemon had an inkling… but didn't illuminate either of them.

Sighing, he tapped the maester on the shoulder, leading him out of the nursery. Closing the door softly, he let his head fall on the cold wood - feeling his headache returning. "Maester Aemon." Ned met the Targaryen's milky violet eyes, as unseeing as if made of wood or glass. "You didn't answer my question from earlier."

The old maester deflated. "I was hoping to avoid it."

"Just tell me."

A gnarled, trembling hand grasped Ned's shoulder. "Go to your heart tree, for unless the gods deliver their providence…" He didn't continue.

He didn't need to, for the omitted end was clear.

---

Dragonstone was once her refuge. The sight of the happiest of memories - for Queen Lyanna Targaryen, it now seemed somewhere between a prison and a crypt. Where one went to rot until they died.

Gods, sometimes the haggard northerner wished she would die. All was falling apart - her sons on their deathbed, her daughter distraught and near catatonic with grief, and the state of her love life…

"I hope that this plague takes from you what it has from me." The last words Elia ever spoke to her, filled with hate and bitterness. Once, Lyanna hated her for them, but now all she could feel was shame and self-loathing. My foolish words brought her there. The voice and the dreams bombarding her had ceased, and truthfully Lyanna forgot about them. They were no longer pressing, and the feelings they induced fleeting.

Leaving guilt. Unbearable guilt.

"Lya… you can't let this destroy you." Ashara's arms rested above her growing belly, the pregnant beauty concerned for her friend. "There is nothing you can do but know providence is on your side."

Yeah right…

"You shouldn't keep secrets." Dacey was more circumspect and blunt as they all sat in the lady's solar. Lya, Dacey, Ash, and Rhaella, all seeking comfort from each other. "Secrets will eat you alive. Honesty may bring pain but it forges bonds unbreakable by man or god."

Biting her lip, Lyanna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Both her friends were drawing her into places she would rather not go - into darkness that threatened to destroy her. Flailing for a lifeline, she turned to Rhaella. "Goodmother, tell me what you think?" The older woman, she was almost like another mother to her. Lyanna valued her opinion.

Rhaella closed her eyes before looking straight at Lya. "My father and mother married for love, and while she wasn't a pick he would have made had he been the intended heir it worked out. No better Queen than my muna." It had been decades since Betha Blackwood died, but it still was raw in her heart. "My father never regretted it… not as I regretted choosing duty over love."

This shocked the three women. "You were in love with another?"

She nodded. "Aye, a young knight three years my senior. I was quite young, but I have no doubt that he was truly taken by me and I him." Rhaella remembered Ser Bonifer - how handsome he was, with a kind heart to match. Never once did he dishonor her, only showering her with affection. "He crowned me Queen of Love and Beauty and asked me to run away with him. Gods, I wanted to, but I couldn't… I couldn't betray my family… and I've regretted it ever since."

Pairs of eyes glanced at each other. "Did Aerys ever love you?" Dacey asked hesitantly, though all wanted to know.

The answer came as Rhaella shook her head. "His madness was obvious, but even before he was as heartbroken as I was. He loved another… Joanna Lannister."

"The rumors were true," replied Ashara.

"Aye, they were. I don't think he ever recovered from her death, nor my first love from my rejection. I believe he swore an oath to the Seven and became a Warrior's Son in all but name." Lyanna reached over and pressed her hand on Rhaella's knee, which her goodmother appreciated. "But I am content now, for I have my children and my new love…" She covered her lips with her fingers, as if saying too much.

Lyanna raised her eyebrow, for once distracted from her worries. "New love?"

"Who is it, your Grace?" Ashara asked, leaning forward. Dacey leaned back, as if already knowing.

Rhaella sighed. "Ser Jaime." He likely waited in her chambers at the moment, and she longed to go to him.

Three sets of jaws dropped. "Gods, I knew it," Lyanna breathed, a little grin forming on her face. "I knew from the tourney that he cared for you, and now you two are lovers… right?"

"Yes… since before even King's Landing fell."

"Seven hells, that was risky." Dacey knew King Aerys would have flayed and roasted Jaime alive had he known. A flower had sent him into a rage that killed his unborn granddaughter.

"I didn't care… nor do I know." Rhaella was defiant, sitting straight. "I've had enough pain in my life - Jaime makes me happy and I love him - I refuse to be ashamed at it." Each of the ladies nodded in understanding and agreement. There was no reason they should judge, nor did they wish to. Rhaella leaned towards Lyanna. "Love, it is worth it. Duties come and go, some important and some worthless and contrived, but love is permanent. That is my advice to you. Embrace it."

Embrace it.

Benjen bowed as Lyanna left the solar, falling into place behind him. "Sister… you need sleep."

"What use is sleep when my sons are dying?" she shot back.

Her brother frowned. "When they live, shouldn't they have a mother that didn't let herself collapse?"

There was a terse silence. "I already destroyed everything. There is no point." While the advice of her goodmother and dearest friends filled her mind, it was all futile. "I am not worthy of happiness."

"What are you talking about…" Benjen nodded in understanding. "Elia."

"Aye, Elia."

"She loves you, regardless of what spats you have."

"This was more than a spat, brother." Lyanna reached her chambers. "I fear I did the unforgivable for reasons… I can't even remember." Pressing a finger against his mouth to cut him off, Lya kissed Ben on the cheek. "Just go spend time with Ash. I'll be fine." She patted Wolfsbane strapped to her waist. Benjen, after several moments of concern, merely nodded and walked off - obeying his Queen.

But she wasn't alone even in her chambers. "Rhae?"

Rhaenys rested upon her bed, eyes closed and clutching Rhaegar's dragon. Aegarax's tail and neck were wrapped round her in comfort - it made a heartening sight. She opened her eyes and looked at her mother. "Muna…"

Rushing to her daughter's side, Lya cupped the girl's cheek. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Couldn't… too scared." She bit her lip. "Can I sleep with you?"

Lya smiled. "You don't even have to ask."

Settling into the bed, Lyanna held her daughter close - gently stroking her back while Aegarax ambled to the edge of the mattress. Rhaenys sighed and shifted, as if all tension left her. Just like her mother. Elia would shudder and relax in the same manner… only with Rhaenys it was completely innocent while with Elia it almost always led to kissing and hands frantically tugging at clothes…

Her thoughts made her core ache with want… and her desire only brought on a wave of shame and guilt given how things ended. Why did I say those things? It seemed so idiotic in hindsight.

"Muna?" Rhaenys broke her thoughts.

Lyanna was grateful for her. "Yes, sweetling."

"Tell me a story, I can't sleep."

Smiling weakly, Lya kissed the crown of her head. "Anything you want, particularly?" She would do anything for this sweet girl with Rhaegar's eyes and Elia's face.

Said violet eyes looked up at her. "Something of the North, Muna. Please?"

Forehead crinkling in pensive thought, after a moment Lyanna though of a perfect one. "This was one of my favorites as a young girl on my mother's lap, and it has a dragon in it."

The surprise and joy on her face was palpable. "Really?"

"Of course." Chuckling at how Rhaenys beamed at the idea of a dragon in the land of her muna, Lyanna held her tighter and began. "It was of the age of Targaryens, but the royal family was split."

"Dragons not together?" She seemed sorrowful at the prospect.

"No, Rhae, they weren't on the same side." The Dance of Dragons… the near destruction of House Targaryen. "The son of the Dragon Queen was determined to win the crown for his mother, but all houses had chosen sides already." Jaecarys Velaryon, bastard son of Rhaenyra Targaryen and a lover unknown. A person whose nature was lost to history, but the North would always remember. "All but one house."

Her eyes twinkled. "House Stark," Rhaenys said.

Lya nodded. "Aye. The direwolf kept to itself, never leaving its den, but the young Prince was determined. He mounted his dragon and flew north to meet the Stark lord." She smiled, as she always did at this part since a little girl. "But he fell in love."

"With who, muna?"

"The Lord of Winterfell's bastard sister, the beautiful Sarra Snow… it is said that she was more a daughter of the North than any of her true born nieces."

"Sounds like you," Rhaenys replies, yawning at the end.

Sighing wistfully, Lyanna continued - shoving back the guilt that welled up. I don't deserve to represent the north… "He came for an alliance, and forged one. The Pact of Ice and Fire, consummated as he married Sarra underneath the Winterfell heart tree."

There was more to the story… for as was always the case, Jaecarys wasn't the dashing, honorable Prince the stories made him out to be. There were dark shades to him, but the North remembered the story this way. A parable that primed her marriage to Rhaegar.

"He rode off on his dragon back to war, Sarra left behind until it was safe and the war won. Every day she waited in the broken tower for her love's return, but it wasn't to be." A tear fell from her cheek. "For he was lost in a great battle, leaving a widow to mourn him for the rest of her days… never to love another but her handsome dragon Prince."

Never to see him again…

Checking down at Rhaenys, the little one had already fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of the tale. Her small chest rose and fell with rhythmic breaths, while at the foot of the large bed rested Aegarax… curled up in sleep as well. Two of her dragons, the family that the gods gave her.

The gods gave her Elia, and she had let some sort of malevolence destroy it.

Head falling on the pillow, Lyanna clutched Rhaenys with a desperate longing - she was the only bit of Rhaegar and Elia she still had with her, and in her she could greedily hold on to her loves. One of whom she betrayed in the worst of ways.

"I'm sorry, Elia…" The image of Sarra Snow mourning for her love, forever lost, came to mind only with her in the famous bastard's place - forever mourning the love she hadn't lost, but cast aside in a pique of insanity. "If you can hear me, please forgive me. I love you," Lyanna murmured as a tearful sleep passed over her.

---

She barely heard the acolytes speak. In all honesty, Elia didn't hear much of anything these days. A haze covered the Queen, a steel shock that rendered her near catatonic most times where her duties didn't force her up - and even those actions were rote. The Queen's spirit was gutted and everyone knew it and gave her a wide berth.

It was quite clear to the servants and guards that she wished to be alone.

"... do you understand, your Grace?"

Elia blinked. "Forgive me, but can you repeat yourself?"

Acolytes looking at each other, it was Qyburn that responded for the lot of them. "My Queen… Prince Aegon's treatment is seeing results."

For the first time in weeks, her heart beat more than the bare minimum. "Is he awake?"

"Unfortunately no." Her face fell. "But his response to prodding is growing and his fever is starting to lessen. I remain optimistic about his condition."

Wasn't the best of news, but she would take it. "And…" Elia gulped, hesitant for a different, much more personal reason. "And Jon? What of… my son?" Qyburn's wince sent her mind flashing… to her own words only days before.

"I hope that this plague takes from you what it has from me."

'Take him… rid the world of him…'

Instead of the rage she felt at the time, all Elia felt now was hollow. Tongue tasting the ash of her malevolent urgings. And now… "Tell me, now," she demanded.

Clearing his throat, Qyburn averted his gaze. "I'm afraid Prince Baelon has not long left of the world."

"What?!" She staggered, knees wobbling. No… it couldn't be.

This is what you begged the gods for…

I never wanted this…

You did…

Gods… forgive me…

"How? He's still conscious…"

"My Queen," one of the senior acolytes spoke up. "Prince Aegon's deep sleep is a protective mechanism we believe. It shows a powerful will to live. In Prince Baelon… he was already predisposed to weakness from his early birth." He pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, the vapors have only a day or two before his breathing stops or his fever boils away his organs."

"I'm sorry, your Grace," Qyburn added.

Her head was spinning, all of her composure struggling to keep from fainting. Elia turned without even saying another word to the gathered maesters. Lyanna was gone. Rhaenys was gone. Rhaegar was locked away in his solar with her brother trying to keep the realm from falling apart. Only she existed to give either Prince any form of love or comfort, and as such she dashed for the royal wing of Maegor's holdfast.

She needed to see Lya's son.

Her son.

His chamber was isolated… not the main nursery that also held the Princess Daenerys and Prince Aegon before the latter was also isolated and the former departed for Dragonstone. Her uncle Lewyn stood guard outside it, giving her a sympathetic smile of understanding. How can he understand? No one can. Additionally were a group of servants beginning to don the protective leather garments that kept the vapors at bay.

Even through the shut door, the agonizing squalls of the innocent babe pierced through her very heart. Feeling the tears blurring her vision, Elia's voice was a mix of pain and anger. "Why aren't you tending to the Prince?!" she demanded of the servants.

The three of them, two female maids and one male attendant, quaked under fire from the Dornish Queen. "Your Grace…" the senior maid stammered. "We must follow Grand Maester Qyburn's instructions to tend to Prince Baelon…"

"Where are those that suffered this plague before?" Egg was attended by them, immune from the disease that afflicted the two princes. It stood to reason Jon did as well.

"I know nothing of this…"

With a wave of her hand, Elia silenced them. "Begone! I'll handle it myself." Spared of dread over the contagious vapors, she stormed through the door without a second glance at the terrified servants.

Aside from the scattered tables of medical equipment and a large vat of Dornish red, the nursery was empty - no creature comforts or sign of life… just a hollowed out cell of a chamber where Prince Jon Targaryen rested. Or more accurately suffered alone in his crib. The shrieks of agony drew Elia to the crib and she gasped at the sight. Qyburn and the acolytes had not been mincing words. The fever drenched Jon in sweat, face flushed almost cherry red. His hands were covered in a purplish rash, while his breathing resembled that of a dying man's.

He was dying.

Staring down at him with a myriad of emotions - all that could be characterized as a form of grief or pain - Jon's red-rimmed, wet eyes settled on her. The lavender orbs squinting through the tears to bear witness on one of those he knew to be his mother… and the squalls tapered out. Comforted by her presence, Jon reached up for Elia, begging to be held.

You don't deserve to hold this angel.

But Elia knew there was no one else who could. Gently, she reached down and picked him up, settling Jon in the crook of her arms. He snuggled into her hold. It seemed that this was the first form of comfort that the little Prince had known since his journey to an everlasting sleep began - and likely, his last.

Elia rocked him with such a tenderness as if he'd die if she gave but the smallest discomfort. "I love you, Jon, my sweet pup." Her voice quivered as she kissed his feverish cheek. "Forgive me." It was as if a dam burst. "Gods above, forgive me…"

"Baelon Targaryen has not perished yet." Elia turned with a shock. There stood Lady Melisandre. Barely seen since this plague started, she had emerged unseen to arrive in the Prince's chambers. "But he is on his deathbed."

Uncaring of the sudden appearance any longer, Elia's tears resumed as she hugged Jon - pressing her cheek against his. "I wished for his death… so consumed with mad ire at Lya, I wished him to perish so that she would suffer."

Melisandre sighed, not entirely sympathetic given the dark forces arraigned against the King and Queens. "In my life, I have seen the greatest acts of depravity, selfishness, and malevolence. I have also seen those driven mad by the darkest of evil determined to destroy all that is good and kind."

"You mean…" Even with all that had happened, this strained the depths of her mind to comprehend. "Please, tell me what is wrong."

"I saw it in the flames." The visions, clouded for weeks on end as the large bonfire in the chamber she hadn't emerged from till now, Melisandre watched as they roared to life. Ordained by fate, the Lord of Light showed her the darkness arrayed against the Targaryens. Only a glimpse of the evil, but she knew the danger. "Your house by marriage has a long, illustrious history with the divine - as does the house of your wife's blood. Shrouds and specters are threatened by their power, and what befell young Aegon and young Baelon is a manifestation of such fear." Melisandre sighed. "And you and Queen Lyanna were mere pawns in their plots."

Such revelations staggered Elia, but it made sense. The voice… not a manifestation of her conscience but a honeyed whisper leading her to nearly destroy those she loved. To turn her against her own child. Feeling Jon shiver in her arms, she looked down. Taking in his flushed, sweaty head - the labored breathing that sounded like sand scraping against metal. I don't deserve to live…

But as much as she hated herself, as much as shame coursed through her soul… there was only one path forward for Queen Elia Targaryen. "How can he be saved?"

Melisandre was ready for her to ask this. "This isn't like Prince Aegon. All he needs to battle is his illness, as he was merely a means to an end to destroy your love for Lyanna." Elia visibly stifled a sob, staying strong for Jon's sake. "The young Prince before us was the true target, and the means to save him would not only fail to stave off his death… but kill you if your love for him isn't true and real."

The vision from long before flashed before Elia. 'Ignore the pain. Banish the hate - allow only love and understanding...'

Ice and death… banished once her feelings of love for the north achieved free reign.

"Are you confident in your feelings to risk it all?"

The North… Lya… Jon… Gods, how she loved the both of them.

And suddenly the bright sun that emerged made sense. A beloved sun that was nestled in her very arms right here.

The woman that replied held the strength of Princess Nymeria within. "What must I do?"

Notes:

Didn't think Melisandre would go away any time soon, did ya?

Aemon makes his first appearance in the story. All Targs need to be together now - the song he sang is the Valyrian translation of the lullaby from Prince of Egypt.

For the story about Sarra Snow, I realize that Jaecarys Velaryon probably wasn't as dashing or noble as depicted, but it's a cleaned up legend/love story for the North. Liberties were taken.

Till next time.

Chapter 67: My Darling Son

Notes:

Hey everybody. Happy Nowruz to all my fellow Persian-Americans and Persians, and rejoice for I am getting the first dose of the Covid vaccine tomorrow!

Know the last few chapters have been rough, but this one should make everyone happy :D

Enjoy.

Such death… such pain.

Each suffering soul brought agony to her heart.

The one she loved said for her not to torment herself even further than she had - the knowledge that the dark one committed this deed being painful enough for her, but she shrugged it off. He did it because of her, and therefore it was her responsibility to put it to right.

Tirelessly she passed through the city, her long-ago chosen crafts of healing and comfort reaching the poor. Engulfing the sickhouses, drawing those on the precipice of impending demise back towards life. A slow change so as not to alert the mortals of a divine presence, but the sweet satisfaction of watching a family see their loved one return to them was itself a miracle to her. House to house, victim to victim, each saved from the plague of the dark one.

But it wasn't enough. It was never enough, too much even for her skills and power.

Innocents still died.

The ox-carts still crated away bodies.

The malevolent wildfire pits still burned brightly from within the dragonpit.

Death, the foul stench she knew he lived on, still hung over King's Landing - the city of her third set of champions. She hated it… it ripped out her heart and soul. The mortal death had to be less agonizing than watching this.

But there was worse… far worse. The ones she truly cared for above all others, the latest of her favored and loved mortals, they had fractured. Sundered by the evil spirit she once called brother. Torn, ripped apart, bombarded with sick malevolence until their minds cracked and the worst invective spewed out. It had been but for a moment where the most vile of perfidy was uttered by one, but such was enough.

She felt the crack, endured the disturbance, and now the boy joined all others in sickness. In the journey to her brother's clutches. Try as she might to pull him out as she was doing to the older boy, all attempts failed even her divine hand. Her brother's might was too strong.

Soaring above the city, unseen tears falling at the suffering below, suddenly she saw it. The faintest of lights - not that of the earthly realm, but of the spirit. It didn't take long in the darkness of night for her to find it. The Red Keep, home of her champions.

Her mind focused and the image came through. Of loving words, said through tears and shame. Of promised hopes, vague yet determined. Of sheer will, born through duty brought not by blood but by love. Everlasting love only one step below that of the divine. Her own heart soared momentarily before she steeled herself. How could she be sure if she did not see it for herself? With all speed, she dashed for the Red Keep.

As her sweet fragrance wafted into the dark, firelit chamber, the goddess Tessarion gazed upon the young babe of her champions. The great one, the promised one - his features almost exactly like her own love's from that tender age. Gaze frittering between the priestess and the desperate Queen, she hung back. Waiting for whatever this was to transpire.

And with it the fate of so many hanging in the balance. Choose wisely, dear Elia.

---

Sweat beaded upon Elia's forehead. She once thought Dornish summers were the worst of stifling heat, but nothing could compare to the lair of the Red Priestess. She breathed the fetid, smoky air deeply, willing herself forward in spite of being close to collapse after only a minute in the heat. In her arms, little Jon was on his last legs, murmuring softly and wriggling with discomfort.

For him, Elia would endure.

"Mmmmmm-Ummmmmm."

"Mmmmmm-Ummmmmm."

Dashing something into the flames of the largest brazier - one of a dozen of gold and dragonglass that ringed around the walls of the dark room deep within the Red Keep - Melisandre stepped back with a smile as the fires rose. Their flickering tongues stabbing high towards the stone ceiling. She hummed softly, synchronized in rhythm.

Jon's arms thrashing about suddenly in the daze of his fever, Elia's fear heightened. She rocked him, kissing his overheated brow to soothe the little boy she loved. Looking back up at Melisandre, her ire began to grow. "How much longer…"

The Red Woman held up a hand, silencing Elia without a word. Normally the picture of immaculate dress, her hair was down and matted with sweat - red robes discarded in the heat to reveal a shift of a light crimson. It hugged her curves, which were quite shapely and beautiful. As she turned, the ruby choker wrapped around her neck glowed and pulsed as if alive.

Elia was unsettled, but stifled it. It was all for Jon.

While the nervous Ser Oswell and Ser Lewyn guarding the floor of rooms left for the spiritual adviser to his Grace, Elia didn't expect for the door to open… but it did, revealing the Priest of Myr. Thoros, she was sure his name was. Someone she hadn't seen much of in many moons, but always assisting Melisandre when she did.

Thoros approached Melisandre and whispered in her ear, handing over something that glinted in the firelight. The Red Woman finally turned, a smile on her face. "It is time," she said in a firm voice - her eyes seemed to glow just as bright as the ruby.

Inhaling and exhaling, fighting the urge to cough at the smoke, Elia leaned down to press one more kiss on her son's cheek. I love you, Jon.

Please forgive me.

Lya, forgive me.

Gods, forgive me.

Suddenly the flames in the braziers morphed from red-orange to the purest, brightest white - equally as hot, but a more gentle heat. And a voice filled her mind, not the one of malevolent seduction but sweet. Kind. Forthright. "You are forgiven, Queen Elia."

Blinking, Elia felt the warmth spread through her… all doubts being lost. She straightened herself, ready for whatever sacrifices she had to make or risks she had to take. It was for Jon.

All for her babe.

"Oh Lord of Light," Melisandre began, sensing the color change and the new mood of the Queen as auspicious signs. "Gathered before you tonight is your promised prince." Of this she was certain… if it worked, then her suspicions would be correct. "Prince Baelon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen, first of his name." She tossed a sprinkling of spiced oil into the braziers, the white flames streaking with blood red. "He comes before you and your own divine champion to seek the gift of life… to restore his might and strength through fire and blood."

"Perzys Ānogār," Thoros murmured, loud enough for the two women to hear. Elia knew barely a word of High Valyrian, but recognized that particular phrase - it was emblazoned on the Three Headed Dragon banners of her husband. Fire and blood, the words of her adopted house.

"Joining him is Elia of House Targaryen, daughter of Mynara of House Martell, Princess of Dorne. She is not of his blood, but connected to him by motherly love alone." Melisandre's eyes flickered to Elia's, filled with a heavy certainty. No turning back. "She offers herself to you for judgement, offering her life to be bartered for her son's."

Elia could almost feel flames licking up her body. It was the most agonizing of pain, but she gritted her teeth and endured it. Not once lightening her hold of her babe.

Lips set in an emotionless, flat line, Melisandre held up what Thoros had given her. A knife of the sharpest, finest dragonglass. "Here rests the great artifact of your once chosen land. Forged in the fires of Old Valyria's Fourteen Flames… held by the great House Balaerys, now wielded by their descendants in House Targaryen." She brought the dagger to her own palm and cut a line upon it. Blood dripping into the brazier. "The blood of the servant, first willfully given to your might."

Thoros, quiet through the entire ritual, now gestured to Elia. "Come forward, your Grace. It is time." Elia swallowed and nodded, walking with Jon till they were but a foot from the white flames.

Black blade reflecting the pure whiteness of the flames, Melisandre grabbed Elia's hand. She yanked it forward to hover over the fire. Elia bit her lip as the pain of the cut stung, but concentrated on keeping Jon in her arms. The red liquid sizzled as it hit the coals and fetters. "The blood of the mother, not of blood but of pure love all the same. Given to be judged."

Nothing seemed to happen. The unseen flames that explored her vanished, leaving Elia drenched in sweat and honey-brown skin flushed but otherwise unharmed.

Melisandre took it as the signal to continue. "Thoros."

Without hesitation, Thoros took the knife from Melisandre's proffered hand and cut off a lock of Jon's dark hair. The babe squirmed, delirious from fever and pain. Elia fought not to wince or sob at her son's distress.

The lock of hair went into the fire. "The offering of the dragonborn, polluted with malevolent plague. Given for your blessing." Deep within the flames, Elia silently gasped as the hair refused to burn. Surrounded by an inferno, but remaining there untouched. "Please, great Lord of Light. Please, great pantheon above, spare Baelon Targaryen. Spare him of his fate, and grant him your providence and power."

In an instant, the white flames grew brighter than ever before. They roared to the ceiling, a deafening sound that filled Elia's ears with a cacophony of noise.

Looking down at Jon, she saw a sight that made her heart soar. There was her little child, violet eyes open and staring at her with clarity.

"Fire and Blood."

---

"I can't take it anymore!" Hands clasped right on his ears, Prince Viserys tried to no avail the muffle the squall that echoed through the nursery. "Get that brat out of here!"

"Viserys!" scolded Rhaella. "Don't speak of your sister like that!"

Whining, his mood did not change. "She hasn't stopped squalling since we got here! Put her to bed away from me, muna!" He turned his back, taking a down pillow from his bed and folding it over his ears.

Allowing her son the solitude he currently preferred, Rhaella kept rocking her infant daughter. "Daenerys my sweet." While patient, the babe's wailing was starting to get to her as well. "Please, calm yourself. It's alright." But little Dany didn't heed her. Arms flailing and face bright red with hot tears, the princess had truly been inconsolable since departing the Red Keep. And Rhaella thought she knew why. "You miss Baelon?"

The cries didn't end, but at her nephew's name Dany seemed to quiet - squalls shifting to whimpers. So she was right. Aunt and nephew were mere babes, but already inseparable. Together for most of their time on this earth. Coupled with the magic in their blood, double magic in Jon's case, the separation anxiety was intense.

Her own sadness selling up, Rhaella pressed her cheek against Dany's. "I know, darling. I know… I miss him too." Jon and Egg, both her grandsons on death's door. "It's not for much longer. They will be better."

They had to be better.

Dragonstone was where she had her happiest memories, just herself and her parents and siblings. Rhaella's heart broke thinking that Dany's memory of it would be the place where she languished as her nephews perished.

Spirit broken before it began.

It was in this state that she arrived at her chambers. Eyes rimmed red, face pale and sunken, knees wobbly… the dark dragon glass corridors gave way to the large chamber, where her love thankfully sat upon their bed. His armor was hung in the corner, Brightroar out of its scabbard and propped against the bedside for quick reach. As a Kingsguard, Jaime had adapted their chambers for personal use. Rhaella loved accommodating him, but now…

"Greetings, love…" looking up with a smile, Jaime's face immediately twisted in concern at her expression. He stood immediately, arms out. "Oh Rhaella…"

He hadn't stood for a moment before she ran into his arms. Greedily seeking the embrace of her handsome lion. "Jaime…" The tears started to fall, soaking his tunic. "Gods, it's horrible."

"Daenerys?" Jaime knew her so well.

She nodded into his chest. "I can't bear to think what would happen if she loses Baelon. I can't…" Only Jaime's soft stroking of her back kept Rhaella from falling apart.

He let her softly weep against him, allowing her time and space to release her sorrow and emotions without question or scold… not since his mother had left for Casterly Rock did she have someone to trust implicitly, and Jaime never ceased to thank the gods he was who she chose for that honor. "I bear some news from King's Landing," he finally said once Rhaella quieted down, though she still trembled in his arms.

Rhaella looked up, eyes red but expectant. "Tell me."

"Apparently, from what is being said the spate of corpses in the dragonpit is slacking off. The wildfire burns are only four a day instead of continuous." She shuddered at the thought of wildfire, Jaime holding her tighter. "Queen Elia has taken over Baelon's care personally, and they feel there's a turnaround in his condition."

A deep sigh left Rhaella. "Thank the gods."

"Aye." Jaime kissed her forehead. "Let's get you to bed, my love."

"Mmm-hmm." Without fuss, she let Jaime strip off her dressing gown, leaving only her thin shift that hugged every bit of her figure. Given how tired she clearly was, Jaime didn't initiate coupling, but Rhaella noticed his wandering eye and loved him for it. Soon, they both slipped under the warm covers. "Hold me," Rhaella breathed.

In moments, two strong arms enveloped her. With the moonlight, the same emerald eyes of Joanna watched her with love. "Always." I don't deserve this young man. But have him she did, and the last thought Rhaella had before sleeping was that she was never letting him go.

"Rhaella!" The young maiden turned to see Joanna and Mynara giggling together, the willowy blonde and buxom Dornishwoman a study in contrasts. "Father betrothed me to cousin Tywin!" Joanna simpered with glee. "He's so handsome."

Suddenly she was transported to the gardens of the Red Keep. Young she still was, but rapidly filling out with the beauty of a maiden. Across from her was a dashing young knight, one that brought the fondest of feelings. "I shall win the tourney for you, Princess. You shall be my Queen of Love and Beauty."

She blushed. "You are a charmer, Ser Bonifer."

"For you, I am anything your heart desires." Their lips met in a chaste kiss.

His kindly face was replaced before her with the stern face of her normally happy father. "I don't care, daughter. It is decided!"

"But father… please…" Rhaella's voice was pleading. "Don't make me do this."

Aegon V Targaryen was livid and unyielding. "I already sent that worthless knight packing. You will marry Aerys and that is the last of it!"

Such happiness morphed into sadness as Rhaella walked through the keep, stroking a large belly bump that she knew was to be her dear Jaehaerys - lost in the cradle before his second moon. In the distance, muffled voices carried out. "Please, Joanna," she heard her brother plead. "Don't leave. I command it."

An equally pained voice followed. "I don't wish to, Aerys, but I must."

"Tywin is a fool. Leave him, be with me. I love you."

"I…" There was a silence, followed by a muffled moan leaving Joanna. "I love you too," she finally murmured. "I love you so much, but it can never happen and we both know it. It's better this way." Rushing around the corner, Joanna was gone, only her brother remaining. She looked at Aerys with hurt, and he looked at her with sorrow. The beginning of the end for them… and for his own sanity, starting there.

In her sight, Aerys disappeared only to be replaced with a beautiful maiden… features so fair as almost pure silver and violet. "Your life brought you pain, but it has not ended dearest daughter." A hand clasped to her chest, filling it with warmth. "Kill the weak woman, and let the Mother of Dragons be born."

Rhaella's eyes flew open, the vibrant purple dark as the night's sky. Jaime had shifted in the night, his hold less tight. As if in a trance - though her expression was anything but trance-like - Rhaella escaped his hold and rose, shift clinging to her sweaty figure. The tile was cold on her bare feet but she cared little.

"Mother of dragons… mother of dragons…"

Sweet yet firm, the voice led her to the two eggs sizzling on the brazier. Rhaella slowly rested her hand atop them, the searing heat feeling soothing on her skin. Without delay she scooped both eggs into her arms. Eyes shifted to the hearth, logs lit and flames licking high towards the chimneystack. Larger, hotter, more powerful. With care she set the eggs into the fire, its crackling tongues not leaving a burn or a blister on her arms.

She turned towards the now empty braziers. Instinctively, Rhaella knew what she needed to do. What would fulfil her destiny.

Unlike the worries of Kingsguards old, the soft arms and tender embrace of a lover had not dulled Jaime's senses. At the loud crash, he roused immediately - arm shooting out to grab Brightroar's hilt as he stumbled to his feet. "Rhaella," he barked, standing there with his greatsword in but nary a tunic… she wasn't in bed, but there was no one else in the room. The door was locked, window shutters unmoved.

Only an unearthly glow from the hearth, red-orange flames turned into something a bright blood red. His eyes traced the overturned braziers - the likely cause of the clatter - to the hearth and…

"Rhaella!"

Somehow she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mini-inferno. Her shift was in flames, the fiery tongues enveloping her whole body. Tossing Brightroar aside, he scrambled to pull her out regardless of the burns that would follow… only to stop in his tracks.

The face of his lover looked straight at him. Features undamaged, the eyes glowed bright purple. Much like Aerys' gaze, but sure and mighty rather than the madness that his suffered. They entranced him, until…

Twin screeches nearly made him jump.

It wasn't long till Jaime saw the source of the noise. Two wriggling forms crawling up from Rhaella's lap. Though partially obscured by the flame, Jaime could tell. "Unbelievable."

Fire coursing in her blood, Rhaella calmly rose to her feet and stepped out of the hearth. Head held high, she walked to Jaime. "It is done," she said to no one in particular… or everyone rather. Tiny heads swiveling around, the gold-white and blood red dragon hatchlings clung to their mother. "The mother of dragons." She didn't recognize the voice that left her lips - meek and quiet Rhaella Targaryen had entered the fire.

A dragonlady of old emerged out of it.

And Jaime watched her in awe. "The mother of dragons."

Snapped out of her trance, the now nude, soot-covered Rhaella met the gaze of her lover and smiled. A strong smile, one of love but also of supreme confidence. One of the purest of fire and lust, the hot dragonblood craving such might. Such power and pleasure. It was sudden, but who was Rhaella Targaryen to deny it? "Time to sleep, my darlings."

The dragons chirped, continuing to scamper about her body with their tiny claws, but once she set them upon the large writing desk they merely curled up into balls and fell fast asleep. Hatching was quite tiring, apparently. Rhaella caressed their heads lovingly before the ache in her loins drew her back to Jaime - his own look of pure want only set off the inferno.

Both crashed together, lips hungrily attacking each other while Jaime groped her arse cheeks. Moaning, Rhaella felt herself lifted up - she wrapped her legs around his waist and they began kissing again as he carried her over towards the bed. It didn't break once, even when they fell onto it in a tangle of limbs and hair.

Hands were everywhere, his exploring every curve as if committing them to memory again while she tore his tunic, desperately needing him naked. Rhaella couldn't believe how desperate they both were, her own fire having coaxed his. She needed him, and he her. There was no stopping the furious coupling that would ensue. Both changed position multiple times, Jaime pinning her to the bed one moment while the next found Rhaella on top, grinding her dripping cunt on top of his hardened member. The glorious friction stoked their lust. "I can't wait any longer, Jaime," she said in that husky, powerful voice.

"Me neither…" Growling like the lion he was, Jaime flipped them over again and ended their wait.

"Ahhh…" One thrust buried him deep. Their eyes locked together, there was no wait before he started to thrust hard and fast inside of her core. "Jaime… Jaime… Jaime…" Rhaella's breathless moans were cut off as her lion - the young, virile man who so loved her - crashed his lips onto hers. He plundered her mouth, Rhaella placing both hands again around his shoulders and digging into his muscles. She bucked up into him as he kept on thrusting hard and unhurried inside of her - ensuring each of his powerful thrusts kissed her womb. "Oh fuck… Ñuha jorrāelagon, hen ñuha ābrar."

Jaime didn't know Valyrian, but remembered some of the same words she said to Daenerys. It filled his heart with pride and love. "Yes… I love you…" he grunted, continuing the fuck her. Elated as she so quickly clenched around his member, their mouths fusing together to drown out her scream.

Even as she wailed her climax, her lover did not stop. He continued to slam into her without abandon and she couldn't get enough. They kept on kissing each other fiercely, Rhaella clawing at his back and undoubtedly leaving bloody gouges. Jaime pulled away, merely smirking at the trembling queen. Before she knew what had happened, he had spun her around so that she was now on her stomach. Rhaella's yelp turned into a sultry moan as his cock quickly entered her needy cunt. "Oh, Jaime… yes... fuck your dragon!" Pulled by his powerful hand up to her hands and knees - ass high in the air - Jaime's hands dug into her hips as he continued his grueling pace of ramming her cunt. "Fuck your dragon!"

"My dragon!" he growled back, barely able to see, so tight she was around him.

"Yours!" Pleasure overwhelming, the fire was so bright in her that Rhaella still managed to slam her ass back against him, heightening the sensation. "And you're my lion! My lion!" Out of nowhere, she felt herself come undone once again… followed by the sheer bliss of his seed emptying deep inside her.

But she wasn't close to done. Nothing could sate the newest dragonrider that night…

The Mother of Dragons, hope returned to House Targaryen even in the darkest of times.

And in the heavens, the goddess Tessarion watched with a smile… and not a little fluster of her own.

---

Looking around her, Elia blinked. Disbelieving her eyes - she was in the Water Gardens, surrounded by the flowing pools and swaying fruit trees. Her childhood refuge, not to mention where she and Lya truly fell for each other. With all the tension in her heart it was quite the salve.

Sighing, she walked to one of the many lemon trees in the inner garden. Elia eased herself to sit against the trunk. "Oh yes," she murmured - the Dornish beauty could stay here forever.

"It is a beautiful sight, dear Queen."

At the almost angelic voice, Elia turned her head to see a stunning maiden sitting beside her. Her face was fair, framed by silver hair and violet eyes - as if Rhaegar were in female form, but completely flawless. "Who are you?" she asked, brows furrowing.

The maiden laughed airily. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Letting her knees bend, she impishly wrapped her arms around them - more a mischievous child than a woman grown. "I can see why the King desires you so, and the Northern Queen."

Thinking of Lyanna, Elia's calm mood collapsed. She grimaced, averting her gaze and bowing her head. "I doubt she desires me anymore… not after what I did."

"You were manipulated by forces beyond your comprehension. I'm sure she does understand and misses you too."

Elia shook her head. "Not after what I said. I wished her son dead… my son…"

The maiden placed her hand on Elia's cheek. It was warm, but comforting rather than feverish. "You know not what you've done… the sacrifice you were willing to make for your son. The other hand cupped her womb - Elia peered quizzically at the woman but said nothing. "I can't tell you of the rewards you have earned, but I can show you something to ease the burden on your heart." Around them, the beauty of the water gardens disappeared. Replaced with a blinding white…

Clashing swords filled Elia's ears before her eyes eased back to sight - and for a moment her heart clenched in worry. But that dissipated. She was in the Red Keep, and it was calm. Cloudless blue sky above and the signs of a peaceful day all through the halls. Following the noise, Elia walked to the balcony overlooking the training yard… and saw something that made her gasp.

Two young men engrossed in a fast-paced sparring with real blades - one wielding a short longsword with speed and dexterity, while the other wielded twin bastard swords like Arthur with even greater speed and dexterity.

"You won't win this time, little brother," the first one teased. Elia looked at him closer, seeing the silver curls and thick shoulders of her husband, but with a sun-kissed skin more akin to Oberyn's.

Sword twirling into an attack, the other laughed. "In your dreams." He couldn't have been more different, hair dark as night and with a leaner but no less toned build, but Elia could still see Rhaegar in him.

Her hands went to cup her mouth. Were they Egg and Jon, her sons?

"You chose wisely, Queen Elia," the maiden told her as the vision faded around Elia…

Eyelids fluttering open, Elia found herself back in reality. As of now, slumped in a chair placed alongside Jon's crib, where she had been watching over him before falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. For a moment her heart began to beat wildly in worry, but it lessened at seeing Qyburn and two acolytes tending to her son. "Grand Maester."

"Ah, you're awake, your Grace." Strangely, his hood had been removed - he noticed her quizzical look and laughed. "Protective measures are no longer needed. Prince Baelon is no longer capable of passing the vapors in my opinion."

Easing herself up, Elia looked into the crib at her squirming babe. Only two days had passed since the ritual and already did Jon change like night and day. His skin was a healthy pink, no longer covered in feverish sweat or red rashes. His breathing evened out and he squirmed with a healthy restlessness. As soon as he saw her, Jon reached out - silently begging for his muna.

Elia couldn't deny Jon - or herself - that. Without delay she scooped him up. "Oh my sweet little pup," she cooed, snuggling him. He ate it up, giggling. "You should have woken me immediately," Elia told Qyburn.

"Apologies, your Grace, but the King told me to let you rest." A gesture with his eyes found Elia looking at the doorway. There stood her husband, a tired smile on his face as he watched his wife and son.

She smiled back at him lovingly. "Jon is fine, then?"

"Aye."

"Then if you're done with your examination, you have my leave to go." Qyburn and the acolytes bowed and left, while Rhaegar hesitantly stepped in.

But when Elia beamed at him he rushed to her. Arms enveloping both his wife and his son. "Elia…" Rhaegar breathed, as if a weight being lifted on his shoulders. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied. "He's going to be alright." Thank the gods.

"I know what you did." He pulled back and looked into her eyes. "Melisandre informed me after I pressed her… gods… you…" Rhaegar's face was in awe.

She blushed. "I couldn't not. He is our son."

As if on cue, Jon reached up for his kepa… only to yawn immediately as Rhaegar lifted him up. Chuckling, he kissed Jon's cheek. "Time to sleep, pup." Jon fell asleep as soon as the blanket was draped around him. Casting his son one last loving look, Rhaegar said nothing - instead pulling Elia to him and kissing her deeply.

As their kiss deepened, a hunger mollified only by exhaustion welling deep inside them, the door being thrown open caused Elia and Rhaegar to break apart. Breaths heavy, they watched as Arthur burst in. "Your Graces…" His eyes were wide, chest heaving - it was clear he ran all the way here.

Rhaegar grew concerned. "Arthur, what is the matter?"

"Prince Aegon," he managed to choke out after several deep inhales to calm his racing heart. "He's awake."

Heart soaring, Elia spared but a moment to lock eyes with Rhaegar before the two of them rushed out of the room for their son's chambers. Hope was finally returning to their world.

All that remained was patching the final hole left by the dark one's manipulations.

---

It had been nearly a quarter hour since the red three-headed dragon sails were spotted by the harbormaster, bobbing in the gentle waves of that early spring day in King's Landing. For once the sky was not marred by the great plumes from the dragonpit, for once the gates open to more than just the barest commerce. The great plague of 284 AC was lifting and a new dawn breaking over the realm of King Rhaegar I Targaryen.

Said King rubbed the shoulders of his Dornish bride, trying to ease her nerves. "She'll be overjoyed to see you, my love."

Chewing her lip, Elia shook her head. "You don't know the kinds of things I said to her, Rhaegar." And you'll never know what I did… how the great evil manipulated me. No one would - Elia would take that shameful secret to her grave.

Jon was alive and healthy… that was all that mattered.

"And I am to believe she said just as hurtful things to you." The great split between the two Queens reminded Rhaegar of the splits between Jaehaerys and Alysanne… how they threatened to destroy the harmony of the Realm. Gods, he couldn't bear if it happened again. "The two of you love each other. It is time to forgive and forget."

I don't know if I deserve forgiveness… But her thoughts would have to wait as the roustabouts signalled to the deckhands aboard ship, the two tossing thick mooring ropes to each other and fastening them with expert speed. It wasn't long before the ship halted and a gangplank was dropped. As Rhaegar guessed, the delighted Princess was the first off. "Kepa!"

Rhaegar picked up Rhaenys and twirled her around, hearing Aegarax flapping and hooting above. The Princess racing to her mother as soon as he put her down, Rhaegar rubbed his hand along the snout of his landed dragon. "Thanks for watching over her, boy." Aegarax purred and nuzzled his arm, eager for the attention.

"More dragons, muna!" he heard Rhaenys giggling excitedly, pointing back at the ship. "Grandmother hatched them."

Narrowing his eyes, they widened into saucers as Rhaegar came across his mother. Jaime Lannister standing guard behind her, Rhaella Targaryen was transformed, her hair seeming to glow in the sun as she walked confidently down the gangplank. A lace dress of black and red hugged her body like a sheath, the colors of their house both graceful and formidable - accented by severe jewelry of silver and rubies. But such wasn't what shocked Rhaegar.

Clinging to the dress - one on her arm and the other on her shoulder - were two dragon hatchlings. The same size as Aegarax when he was born, but one a bright gold with white swirls and the other blood red.

He walked to his mother with awe in his eye. "Muna… you…"

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss his cheek as the dragons began to sniff the other one with the good scent. "Aye. Seems I discovered your little secret, my son."

"Seems that you did." Rhaegar laughed merrily as he sized up the dragons. "And their names?"

Rhaella smirked, patting the golden one. "This one I shall call Jaimexes, and she'll be my mount." The golden dragon purred at the touch, while Ser Jaime seemed to puff up behind with pride.

"After…" His mother nodded. A fitting reward for the man who sacrificed so much so the Dowager Queen could keep her reputation. "And the other?"

"I haven't decided on one for him. Perhaps he'll be Rhaenys' mount… or Viserys'."

Observing the two of them, Elia could only gaze in similar awe. Gods… more dragons. Elia kissed the crown of her daughter's head, mind a cauldron of emotions. "Love you, sweetling," she murmured.

"Love you too, muna." Rhaenys looked up at her sweetly. "Jon and Egg. They good?"

"Yes, Rhae. They're happy and healthy." Her daughter's elation filled her with a certain joy.

And then she saw her. A flash of chestnut hair revealed a dark grey dress - one that hugged the athletic curves of the most beautiful woman in the world. Elia stiffened, her eyes widening and mouth dropping in a sort of trance. All she could see was this woman, the northern goddess leaning over the railing of the ship and searching the docks. Almost as if desperate to see someone...

Lyanna caught a glimpse of Rhaegar first, her heart clenching at the sight of her Prince Daemon in the flesh as he spoke to his mother. But only a tiny swivel of the eyes made her breath hitch. Lungs sputtering at the sight of the exotic angel of Sunspear. Already her gaze grew bleary, but one thing was for certain. The honey-brown eyes Lyanna had slowly grown to adore - the violets of her husband ones she fell in love with at first glance - were staring right at her.

"Elia…" she breathed, and not a moment later did Lyanna not hurry to the gangplank.

"Lya… Rhae, go to your father." Kissing Rhaenys once more on the cheek, Elia stepped towards the end of the dock, feet wobbly but slowly gaining speed and traction.

Watching what was going on, Rhaegar looked at his mother apologetically, but she merely squeezed his arm. Silently telling him to do what was right. "Rhae." He strode to his daughter. "Go with grandmother, alright? I'll take you to your brothers soon."

"Alright, kepa." She was eager to play with all the dragons more anyways.

As Lya appeared on the gangplank, Elia had broke out into a run. Tears clouded her vision, desperate to hold her wife. To feel Lyanna, burning inside from guilt and shame - a feeling mirrored by the northerner. Great evil had nearly sundered the two from each other and each wallowed in the deepest pit of self-loathing because of it.

Only love could draw them out. The love they held for each other… and that held by their husband. Rhaegar, however, held back. They would need a moment to themselves.

Lyanna barely managed to step onto the jetty when Elia launched herself into her arms. Her gauzy, light dress didn't encumber her in any way, allowing for Lya's embrace to tighten round her shoulders as Elia hugged her round the waist. Force spun them around in a complete turn, but Elia didn't notice, instead burying her face into the join of Lya's shoulder and neck. The sobs that bubbled up were unavoidable. "Lyanna…"

Hearing Elia's voice broke Lyanna, wailing silently as she tightened her embrace. Pulling the gorgeous woman flush against her. It felt like coming home. "Elia, my love." Gods… how could I have hated this? It seemed so stupid and horrid in hindsight. "I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me." How could she survive without the love of either her or Rhaegar?

Clinging desperately to her wife, Elia knew she must look a mess. All hope of composure was shattered at Lyanna's fearful voice and unabashed cries. It broke her heart "Lya… you have no reason to apologize. I was the evil one," she sobbed. Her body shook with grief and self-loathing, only just registering the hot tears soaking her dress of the beautiful northerner pulled flush against her - equally distraught and pained. "I'm sorry… I love you so much." Each word was halting, but it came out.

"I love you too…" Lyanna nuzzled Elia's silky locks, refreshed by how wonderful it felt. Of how the familiar scent made her heart warm. Such made the guilt all the more agonizing. "You mean so much to me…" I can't lose you again…

Her declaration of love merely sent another sob tearing through Elia. "What I said… how could you ever forgive me?"

"Just love me… never stop, I couldn't bear it."

"Neither could I." Sniffling, Elia pulled her even closer. "I swear it. You have me."

Lyanna sighed, her soul repaired. "Forever." She buried her face in the crook of her wife's neck. "I'm yours forever."

As they melded together, neither man nor god able or willing to tear them apart, two strong arms wrapped around them. Rhaegar lowered his head to theirs, letting their tearful grief tremble through them. Giving his dearest Queens his heat and protection which they greedily accepted.

Three souls, nearly destroyed by their own hand. But fail it did, for together they had been, and together they had returned.

---

It was both somewhere and nowhere… a realm that inhabited not the earthly plane of mortal existence. A place that took many forms at the whim of those that ruled over it - mainly upon what each considered as preferable over the others. For Tessarion, goddess of knowledge and beauty, the place she called home took the form of a Lysene manse. Not the gaudy houses of debauchery favored by the current inhabitants but the more genteel variety. Modest yet beautiful, like the summer homes of the nobility of the Freehold.

A little plain compared to her sisters and cousins, but something she truly enjoyed to rest. To set up home with her love… he rarely left it, much to her chagrin. A great explorer and wanderer he had been while a mortal.

Brushing her lustrous hair with a golden brush, Tessarion viewed herself through the looking glass. The divine possessed the greatest of beauty and hers was no exception, but it was rather more… plain than her sisters. Figure lithe, chest modest, almost elfin in appearance with only an above-average height as a distinguishing feature, she held no complaints. The most important person in her life adored her body. Played it like a fiddle even before he was made divine by her own hand. Tessarion sighed in happiness. To eternity, a life I shall never tire of.

But there were moments of boredom, ones that drew her musings into the earthly realm. Setting the hairbrush, she looked straight at the looking glass. "Show me the champions." By her grandfather's name, a worry line did appear momentarily on her face thinking of how they were so close to destroying themselves.

As the surface rippled, the scene before her killed the apprehension… replacing it with a different emotion. Within King's Landing - the city of her third set of champions - the mortal Queens rolled about the bed, engaged in a torrid embrace. Lips and tongue were melded together, hands clutching almost desperately on whatever skin they could reach. A sensual dance of honeyed skin against alabaster, tears mixing with cries of pleasure as they reconnected.

From aside, the King himself entered the image… while clothed from the waist down the paragon of manly beauty. I sculpted him well. He watched from the sides, but two dainty but powerful hands pulled him into the bed, expanding their tryst of love and reconnection.

Cheeks blushing ripe red, Tessarion ended the image with a wave of her fingers. "Wow…" she murmured, feeling suddenly hot. "Didn't… expect for it to go that well." No prude, such a relationship was that of her father and mothers, so she had no problem with it. But her modesty led to such a description upon her - especially considering her elder sister.

Tessarion huffed. Meleys can have her orgies with gods and mortals alike. She was content with her paramour.

A heavy scuffle of feet made her smile. "Oh, have you come to me, my wolf?" she husked in her most seductive voice, thinking it her lover.

Only moments later did she feel the clammy cold that filled the room. "I'm afraid that I am no wolf, dearest sister."

Face ashen, Tessarion shot up from her seat to see the black-clad figure standing across from her. "Balerion." Ire rising, she crossed her arms. "Brother, you know you're not welcome here. If he found out you were here..."

Her older half-brother dismissed her with a snarl. "Do not speak of that mortal savage in my presence." It hurt his heart too greatly to hear of the man that stole her from him. Seeing her anger, the dark violet of his eyes softened. "Forgive me, but I truly did wish to see you again."

"It has been a century and a half… and frankly such is not long enough." Tessarion wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Just go. I've had enough of your games."

"And what games are you referring to?"

"Don't act stupid with me. I know how smart you are." They grew from the cradle after all. "You brought a plague upon the earth, simply to destroy their love."

Balerion chuckled. "Those weaklings, it was only too easy. At least your last sets of champions were of the dragonblood." She was always too sentimental for her own good. He stepped close to her, frowning as she backed up. "You need not be scared of me. I am your loving brother."

"I am not afraid of you… I merely cannot stand your foul stench." Long ago she had defied her grandfather, and considering what Balerion had become she made the right decision. "You always had a black heart, and my love for you died when I saw it for what it was."

He flinched inwardly, but composed himself. "And you instead sullied yourself with a common mortal."

She smirked. "I would do it again in a heartbeat. Now leave." Tessarion shoved him in the chest. "I never want to see you again."

Something snapped. In his anger at his defeat… in his bitterness at the long-ago wounds, Balerion lunged forward. His hands grasped her throat, squeezing as he overpowered her. "I can't kill you," he seethed. "But I can make you hurt."

Tessarion cried in pain, but it came out a painful wheeze. "Brother… please…"

"You should have chosen me! You should have chosen us instead of them!"

But suddenly it was Balerion who cried out in pain, a flash of flame slicing through his arms as a booted foot kicked him back. "Get away from her," growled the wolfish cry of the mortal. The one called Azor Ahai. His raven hair fell in wild locks about his shoulders, beard trimmed but fierce as the blizzards of his former home. He twirled his blade about him, sparks crackling off of it. "Don't make me kill you."

New hands grew back quickly. "You cannot kill me, savage," laughed the God of Death.

"Wanna find out?" He laughed darkly, readying the sword. "I've waited eight thousand years for this."

While satisfying it would be, Balerion watched his sister… her eyes filled with fear as she stepped closer to her lover. The man she chose… His anger fell into hurt, and then into a bitter resolve. "Mark my words, sister, I will destroy your champions. Grandfather's task of me will be achieved if I must do it myself." In a puff of black smoke, the God of Death departed from the manse… leaving nothing but an all encompassing cold.

Sucking in a breath, the Last Hero extinguished his blade and let it clatter to the floor as his lover launched herself into his arms.

Notes:

Whew. That was close, but everyone is happy now :D

And so we've met Balerion and Tessarion, plus Azor Ahai as well. Just the beginning.

Rhaella Targaryen, Mother of Dragons!

Timeskip coming up. If I can get 40 comments by Friday, I'll update then :D

Chapter 68: A Difficult Choice

Notes:

Exciting news, my friends! Two new projects of mine are close to fruition: my Maegor the Cruel story called Dragonshield and a fluffy/smutty comedy short I plan to publish as a counterweight to the second anniversary of "The Bells," aka the Fall. Further details will come, but tell me what you think in the comments :)

Be sure to check out my other in progress stories: Heart of the Blessed, Last Hope for Westeros, A Targaryen Dynasty, and Howl of the Dragonwolves.

Enjoy.

One moon later

"This place is depressing."

"The symbol of our house's collapse."

"No longer though, the Gods have blessed us."

Ahead, King Rhaegar I Targaryen listened quietly to the conversations shared by the women in his life - taking them all in. His mother, free from her meekness and accepting the mantle of a powerful dragonrider in the making. His wives and Queens, starting to escape their melancholy and guilt in forgiving each other, finally settling into a renewed hope and happiness. It filled his heart with warmth.

Rhaegar stood alone, hands clasped behind his back and pondering it all. Eyes flickered about the ruined dragonpit, long since fallen to dust and worn rubble even before the faded scorchmarks of the great sleeping sickness and the recent, blackened scorchmarks of the red plague ever came to pass. Once, this place had been grand, a wonder of the world seen for miles in every direction - decorated as any gilded sept or shining castle. Much as our family, it had fallen to ruin. Gutted in the Dance of Dragons, never to be rebuilt again.

Why would one need a nesting ground for dragons if there were none to be found?

A hoot echoing through the massive bowl brought a smile to Rhaegar's lips. None to be found no longer. Green scales glinting in the sun, Aegarax banked sharply from above - spiraling down towards where his kepa waited in the sandy soil. Wings flapping frantically, he managed to lower himself to the ground with a gentle thud. "Good boy," Rhaegar lavished him with praise, reaching out to scratch and pet his head. It was the size of Rhaegar's, no more a tiny hatchling. "You're growing quickly, wings almost larger than I." The dragon cocked his head, as if amused. "I'll be riding you in no time."

Aegarax chirped his approval of that.

"No, hatchlings, stop that." Rhaella's firm voice was punctuated by twin shrieks. Rhaegar turned and found both Jaimexes and the as-yet unnamed crimson dragon snapping their jaws at each other. Tiny as they were, it would have been amusing had they not been perched on his mother's chest and shoulder. "Easy… that is not how you treat siblings…" In their ire-infused play, they ignored her…

EEEEEEEEHHHHHH! Mouth bared, showing off rows of sharp teeth, Aegarax's piercing screech pained the four royals, who winced and clutched their ears. Both hatchlings stopped what they were doing and craned their heads at the larger dragon. His amber eyes seemed to glow, staring them down.

Eventually, Jaimexes and the crimson hatchling whined and deflated, snuggling up to their mother - sufficiently chastized. Sharing a look with Rhaegar, the Queen Dowager pet each of them. A few sweet nothings in Valyrian managed to ease their tension.

Laughing at the heartwarming sight, Lyanna took Elia's hand in hers and walked to their husband. Both dressed in northern style dresses in the still chilly temperature, they changed up their colors - Lyanna wore burnt orange of Dorne while Elia's olive skin contrasted nicely with a northern ice blue. "Husband," Lya smiled, pecking his lips.

Rhaegar gave them an appreciative once over. "Have I mentioned how breathtaking you look?"

"This morning," grinned Elia. "Though it was in a far different context. And I thanked you." Her eyes shifted. "Lya didn't, but in all fairness her lips were rather… preoccupied."

"Lecher."

"You're both lechers," Rhaegar smirked, drawing them both in. Enjoying as they pressed their cheeks on his shoulders.

"Achhem…" A scowling Rhaella, arms crossed, drew them in a more professional disposition. "We may be alone, but we're still on royal business."

Rhaegar sighed. "Of course, muna." It was only natural that Rhaella spoke - unlike Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, and Ser Jaime waiting further off, Rhaella never kept her opinions or advice to herself anymore. Dressed in the black and red of their house - her only colors since returning from Dragonstone with Jaimexes and the crimson dragon - such an event explained most of her newfound confidence. Although… the pin on her left breast had something to do with it as well. "So, what does my Hand recommend for the renovations?"

With Oberyn gone, ultimately Rhaegar could think of no better person to take over as Hand than his mother. Rhaella could be trusted implicitly, and the lack of entangling alliances that could upset the delicate balance in the Realm greatly outweighed the worries that a woman in such a position would damage his image. Not that Rhaegar cared - both Lyanna and Elia, as well as Melisandre - had seats on his Small Council. Pursing her lips, Rhaella looked about the Dragonpit. "This will need the most renovations. With how fast Aegarax grows, he'll need this place to sleep in within a few years."

"There are many renovations and building projects in need of funds," Elia reminded them.

Lyanna nodded. "Namely the sewer system for Flea Bottom." She looked forward to the noxious stench gone from King's Landing.

"We'll start with funds for both that and this… as well as hiring dragonkeepers."

"I worry that would be difficult." Few could approach the dragons without getting screeched at. Other than those with dragonblood, Lyanna, Elia, Dacey, Ashara, and a few of the Kingsguard were the only ones. "But if they can grow used to them, then we could avoid true problems."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna remembered something from her favorite book. "The last dragon, it was no bigger than a cat, right?"

"Aye," Rhaegar said. "Decades of captivity in these walls… a dragon was not meant to be chained. Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor - a dragon is not a slave."

"Which is why there should be no dome to the dragonpit." They both looked at Elia. "Think about it, they sleep and rest here, but they can fly free whenever they so choose. Given the bond of a dragon to dragonrider, they will always return." It was a smart plan.

"We're going to need more eggs," Rhaella announced, jaw set in determination. "I do not intend to pass before my time, and I presume that Lya wishes more children than simply Egg, Rhae, and Jon?" She chuckled as Lya blushed at the implication, to which Elia joined in her laughter. "Rhaegar?" Her son averted his eyes, which she found equally comical. "Anyways, the remaining eggs that your father found are enough for Rhae, Egg, Jon, and Daenerys, but more dragons will be needed. More eggs obtained."

"How many dragons would you like, goodmother?" asked Lyanna, once she managed to overcome the awkward discussion of her and Rhaegar's intimacy and procreation habits. "An army, like the Rhoynish Wars?"

"Yes, though I acknowledge I won't live to see that happen." Watching her dragons try to scorch the ground over the watchful eye of their elder, Rhaella's violet eyes shone bright. Powerful. "I watched as the majority of my family died in the flames." Her heart pounded, head spinning as Rhaella's stomach churned at the great emotion. "I watched as only I, my brother, and my son were the only Targaryens left on this earth." She cupped her stomach, willing it to cease. "Never again. Never…" Trailing off, the Hand suddenly bent over. Voiding her stomach all over the ground. Fuck...

The dragons screeched and flapped their wings, milling about in a wide semicircle with what was clearly concern. Rhaegar frowned, quite worried, as Lyanna approached his mother. "Are you alright, goodmother?" Gingerly, she pushed Rhaella's silver hair away from her face as the Hand cleared out the rest of her gut's contents upon the sand.

Trembling from the sudden malady, Rhaella nonetheless nodded. "Perhaps I ate something problematic."

"The fish did taste funny last night," Elia remarked, only to get a certain look from Lyanna - her wife smirked ever so slightly. Frowning with a raised eyebrow, suddenly elia understood, eyes widening. Oh…

Perhaps something else was afoot.

In his worry for his mother, Rhaegar was oblivious to the silent deductions of his Queens. "Muna," he approached her, placing a hand on her upper back. "I think you should see Uncle Aemon."

She glared up at him. "I'm not weak, Rhaegar."

"Your Grace…" Jaime tried to cut in, only for her glare to fall on him. He backed off, biting his lip under his helm. Gods, he wished he could openly comfort her as the King was doing. He certainly would that night in her chambers - pretty much shared by them at this point.

"No one thinks you are weak, goodmother," Elia spoke up. "You know they call you the Mother of Dragons." Rhaella sighed and nodded. She had heard the very name called out from gathered crowds whenever she left the Red Keep on her duties. Of course Rhaegar spread that story. Made their House look strong and powerful again.

It made her feel strong and powerful again. "Alright." She needed not prove her strength as strenuously after birthing the two dragons. "I'll see Uncle Aemon."

---

Rhaegar hated supping alone. With the demands of being King taking prominence, the youthful ruler found the moments with his brides, children, and mother fewer and farther in between than he would have liked, and often he would skip meals in order to avoid the solitude and enjoy them with those he loved. Naturally, Lyanna and Elia thumped him for such a tendency, leading to moments where he combined meals with work. As was the case now.

"What is this?" Though, if Rhaegar found a moment with family, he took it. Even if his younger brother was at times more trouble than pleasant. "Is this some sort of roasted beef or auroch?" He held up the fork-speared cube of meat in his hand, eying it with confused distaste.

Chewing with gusto - sparring with Lyanna had made him quite famished, his northern bride not one to go easy on him - Rhaegar swallowed his bite and chuckled. "It's Dornish, brother. Grilled lamb." Elia introduced him to the skewered chunks of lamb, beef, or chicken and he took to it, as did Lya.

Viserys blinked. "You're supposed to stew lamb…" He took a bite, shuddering. "And it's dry."

"Variety is the spice of life, my Prince," commented Ser Arthur, seated across from his King. "My brother, sister, and I came of age with such meals."

"I did not address you, Ser," Viserys snapped. "Speak when you are spoken to."

"Viserys!" Rhaegar didn't truly mean to bark so loudly, but it did manage to shock the ire from his younger brother. "We are not in court," he softened his voice, but was no less firm. "There is no need to be so formal… and eat your supper. It's better with a helping of the rice," the King added with a smile. Mumbling something under his breath, Viserys did as bidded. Eating in silence. Mollified, Rhaegar turned to his other guest that meal. "Apologies, Lord Varys."

The eunuch demurred. "On the contrary, your Grace. This dish reminds me of the communal dinings during my mummer's days. One large leg of lamb hung up, and we would each slice off a bit of it." Varys ate daintily, though always sprinkled a bit of reddish powder onto each bite. "The southern free cities developed a taste for spice, and the best were a luxury from the summer isles that I've always come to indulge."

"Ironic," smirked Arthur. "For a dragon, Rhaegar hates scorching spice. The little Princess doesn't have such compunctions."

A shrug. "Rhae gets it from her mother, I suppose." Forking another clump of rice, he speared a lamb chunk and brought it to his mouth. Enjoying the flavor, but less than before - his mind wandered elsewhere. "Lord Varys, there is something I need to inquire with you."

The Master of Whisperers' placid face did not change. "Oh?" He sipped at his watered wine. "But of course, I am at the King's service."

"You provide much by the way of information from the Realm and abroad, but barely anything from the Iron Islands." The Ironborn hadn't sent any dignitary to the coronation and with the plague having largely passed, Rhaegar was free to turn attention towards less pressing worries.

Varys clicked his tongue. "Ah, that. It can't be helped." He offered a frown. "Certain societies are hard for outsiders to pierce. The Ironborn are one of them."

"He may say things that conform to sense, but be wary, my love. I believe he hides whispers he doesn't wish us to hear." Elia's words from some time before filled Rhaegar's mind. Varys had been his father's creature, but loyally supported him when he needed institutional support. He trusted Elia above all others, so there was an impasse. "See to it that you do pierce the cultural divide."

"I shall do so, your Grace."

The midday supp winded down after such heady conversation, less pressing matters such as gossip over the inner discussions within the Iron Bank or Masters of Slaver's Bay passed the time. Lord Varys had already excused himself, while Rhaegar pulled aside his brother. "Viserys, you must understand that as a Prince, you must watch what you say and do in front of others."

While he was prone to rages immediately after the fall of their father, Viserys merely rolled his eyes and frowned. "Father said a true King and dragon didn't mind the opinions of sheep."

"Others can easily destroy a King's reign if they sense weakness, either in him or his family."

"As you did."

Rhaegar sighed. "You know why I did what I did." Viserys said nothing, leading Rhaegar to kiss his forehead. "Go off and play with your niece before your lessons with uncle Aemon." Lip quivering for a moment with something else to say, instead Viserys merely turned and walked from the chambers. Plopping into his chair, Rhaegar massaged his temples. "What am I going to do about that boy, Arthur?"

"He's eight namedays and endured Aerys burning men in front of him. It'll take time."

"Attitudes harden after time. If I wait it may be too late… perhaps fostering. Winterfell perhaps?"

Arthur shook his head. "Too far, he needs his mother. Send him to Duskendale - Thorne won't let him get away with anything."

Rhaegar snorted. "That man has a stick up his ass, but is loyal and a good warrior." A knock on the door drew his attention. "Enter." Arthur straightened, ready to protect his King to the death if need be.

He needn't that time, the wiry form of the Grand Maester walking in. "Your Grace," Qyburn bowed.

"Maester Qyburn, take a seat." If there was anyone that had earned their title in the past few moons, it was the Grand Maester. Even the Citadel had stopped grumbling over him. "What brings you here?"

The poor man had aged decades over a moon or two, the stresses of coordinating the Seven Kingdoms through the plague having weighed on him. Wrinkles and grey hair were predominant, though his eyes still sparkled with sharpness. "I'm afraid I do, and hope you will not punish the bearer of bad news.

Rhaegar sat straighter, steeling himself.

---

Arms resting along her sides, Rhaella winced as a hand pressed against her stomach rather hard - a cold hand at that. "Must this…" Another push against the still smooth skin. "Is this necessary, uncle?"

"When one suffers from the malady of the stomach, a good maester starts with inspecting the stomach." Removed from the isolation and bitter cold of the Wall, Aemon Targaryen seemed to hold the countenance of a much younger man. Extra spring in his step and color in his rosey cheeks, the man bloomed in his new role as the personal maester to the Royal Family. Which included his beloved niece. "You know, your mannerisms are much like your mother's were."

Still uncomfortable with the examination - not to mention having to strip down to her underclothes - Aemon's statement put a smile on her face. "Truthfully?"

"You don't remember, your Grace?" asked the woman standing off to the side, Rhaella's new Lady in Waiting as approved by both her and the King.

Rhaella sighed. "I'm afraid I do not, Marya. My mother died when I was young." It was hard, though Queen Betha had the mercy of not having to endure the Tragedy of Summerhall nor Aerys' descent into madness.

Marya Seaworth, newly admitted to the highborn ladies of court, bowed her head. "Forgive me, I didn't know."

"It's alright." Rhaella smiled at the woman she was quickly growing fond of, living in the capitol with her husband Lord Davos as their keep at Sealion Point was being constructed. "Pretty soon we'll know all there is to know about each other… oww… uncle!"

Chuckling, Aemon rapped her stomach one last time. Blind as he was, one never lost a knack for tactile examination, something he excelled at in the Citadel. "All is done, Lady Hand. You may dress."

Dress being held upright by Marya while the examination commenced, Rhaella motioned the woman forward while she rose. "Uncle, you need not call me by my title. 'Niece' or 'Rhaella' would suffice."

"The first female Hand of the King is my dearest niece. Allow an old man to gloat about such a first in an entire house of such firsts." No matter the frailest he looked, his mind was still sharp as a tack and it delighted the entire family. Even grumpy Viserys was kind to his uncle Aemon. "Now, I believe I've found the cause of your malady."

Hands up and bending over, Rhaella huffed as she wriggled into her dress. "Hold still, your Grace," Marya chided - most highborn ladies would hate such a blunt former street urchin from Flea Bottom. Rhaella was not one of them.

"Alright, alright… this thing takes forever." Even the simplest dresses in westerosi high fashion took ages to don. "Give me a moment, uncle."

"Of course, of course." At that moment the doors opened to reveal… their Graces the Queens. Aemon bowed. "My Queens."

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "Uncle Aemon, you need not…"

"Save it, gooddaughter." Rhaella smoothed down the creases of her dress. "You're not going to get him to be less formal if he wills it not."

Aemon offered a toothless grin. "It's hard to teach an old man new manners, and mother was a stickler - the old caricature of a libertine Dornishwoman she was not."

Smirking, Elia kissed his cheek in greeting. "A reputation built by a few, much as the many try to disprove it… so is our goodmother alright? We were greatly worried after that incident in the dragonpit." After such loss and near loss their family suffered, to have yet another tragedy…

"Uncle Aemon was just about to say." Four sets of female eyes fell upon the wizened maester.

Hobbling to his chair, Aemon didn't look like the bearer of bad news. Instead, he seemed almost jaunty. "Now this diagnosis involves certain pieces of information that I may not be privy to, so I will need to know. Are you currently… intimate with anyone, Lady Hand?"

Rhaella blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"She is," Lyanna remarked, beginning to piece things together. At Rhaella's glare, she scoffed. "I doubt that Uncle Aemon would break such confidence."

"A poor maester I would be if I do, now…" Aemon wet his lips, cracked as they were. "Have you been intimate with anyone longer than a moonturn?" Biting her lip, Rhaella nodded. Smart as she was, she began to piece it together as well and felt her mind withdraw into itself. It can't be… no… I'm not that lucky…

"What are you saying, uncle?" Elia asked.

The response wasn't heard by Rhaella - in honesty, she didn't need to hear it to know what it was. Especially considering what Lyanna blurted out immediately after Aemon finished. "I knew it!"

Hours later, the Hand of the King waited in her room - hands folded atop her lap and seated upon the bed. Her mind was whirring with different thoughts, some joyous, others nervous and fatalistic. None even skirted the line of being upset at this news. A babe… I carry another babe in my womb.

The babe of my love and I… As much as the worries of danger rocked her, Rhaella couldn't stop smiling. Her hand absentmindedly stroking her still flat belly, taking notice of the life within. So many dwelled here… only three survived. Four. If she had anything to say about it, that would reach four.

She jumped a little as the door opened, revealing the one person she most desperately wanted to see. "Rhaella!" Quickly closing it, Jaime rushed to her side. "Rhaella, darling?" He cupped her cheeks. "Are you alright?"

Rhaella leaned into his touch, smiling. "Yes my lion, nothing's wrong."

"Thank the gods." He sat beside her, clasping her hand. "When Oswell informed me of your summons, I assumed something horrible had happened. Thank the gods you're fine."

Biting her lip, the Hand blushed a little. "Aye, I apologize for worrying you." This very much reminded her of when he would arrive after Aerys' worst bouts of madness - tending to her wounds with a tenderness that she now recognized as love. She could see the same concern in his eyes now as back then. I can grant him good tidings this time. "I'm more than fine." Rhaella smiled. "In fact, I'm elated"

Jaime blinks. "How so?"

"Because uncle Aemon has just given me the most unexpected, yet wondrous news."

"Oh? And what is it?" The Kingsguard's mind wandered into the more obvious quarters as to her cryptic statement. "Is the Queen expecting?" In honesty such could refer to either of them, but all knew he meant Queen Lyanna. The trials of Queen Elia's womb were known throughout court, given Aerys' tendency to scream and rant about it from the Iron Throne while he was alive. Sick cunt.

She looked at him, purple eyes misty with the joyous weight of it all. "Add 'Dowager' to the title and it will be… a true statement." Rhaella grabbed his other hand, stroking the back of his palm softly.

His brows furrowed before his eyes grew wide, suddenly catching on. "You...?"

Without delay, she took his hand and placed it in her still flat abdomen. "Yes my lion, the product of our love is now growing in me."

"How…" Jaime gulped, stammering out. "For how long?"

"A few weeks my love." Already Rhaella knew that their child together would be the blonde maiden she saw alongside Daenerys in her dream. "Jaime?" Suddenly squealed as she was lifted in his arms, twirled around. "Jaime!" She half-screamed, half-laughed.

"I love you!" He let her down and kissed her deeply.

Rhaella gladly returned it, her hands weaving into his golden hair. "I love you too." She buried her face into his neck. "I'm so happy, my love… but I'm also a little nervous. What if I lose this babe?"

"Don't think like this My Dragon." He held her tighter. "Lannister blood is strong, and yours is hot with dragonblood. Our babe will live"

She nodded but the worries still pricked at her. "I don't have the best history..."

"It's all because of that fucking cunt Pycelle," he hissed, still remembering the discoveries of how the Grand Maester poisoned Rhaella for reasons still unknown - many considered it by the same parties that tried to assassinate Prince Jon. "Rhaegar, Viserys and Dany will have a new sibling if I have anything to say about it." She said nothing, rather pulling him into another bruising kiss. When they pull back, they wore matching smiles... until Jaime's falls... "What will his Grace say?"

Rhaella winced, she had no doubt that her firstborn would be... displeased to say the least "I won't lie Jaime, my son will be burning with dragonfire."

"I'm still shocked he hasn't found out about us... I'm sure Lyanna knows though."

"She does, I told her." Rhaella giggled at his confused glance. "She and Elia also walked in when Aemon told me about the babe."

"Perhaps she could soften the blow?"

"And it wouldn't hurt if his Grace had either Jon or Dany in his arms."

Rhaella giggled. "That may be a good strategy… but enough about that. Kiss me again." He greedily obliged.

---

Ser Arys Oakheart entered the Small Council Chamber, boots clicking together. "Presenting his Grace, King Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name."

Gathered around the large table, the many confidants, councillors, and family of the young King sprang to their feet as Rhaegar entered. Clad in a red-black doublet and with the crown of Aegon I resting on his freely-flowing silver locks, he nodded to the others and walked towards the head of the table. The hard, wary eyes softened upon meeting the gaze of his brides. "My Queens."

"My King." Each hugging him, pecking his lips, they eyed him worryingly. The order for a full meeting of the council was sudden, and he hadn't told them why - nor did Rhaella know as Hand, seated across from Rhaegar. One by one, they all took their seats after the King, waiting for him to begin.

Rhaegar eyed all of them. Lya, Elia, and his mother were his rocks in a storm, calming him just by being there. Varys, Lucerys Velaryon, Titus Peake, Wyman Manderly, Barristan Selmy, and Richard Lonmouth were there by rights, while Rhaegar's insistence brought Arthur Dayne, Alliser Thorne, Myles Mooton, and Davos Seaworth - the latter drawing haughty irritation from the majority of the other councilors. Grand Maester Qyburn hunched over at the edge of the table, deep in hushed conversation with his Uncle Aemon, while the newly appointed High Septon Meribald rounded them out. The first of the Faith to grace the Small Council since the reign of Daeron II, but one Rhaegar trusted completely.

And last but not least was the Lady Melisandre. Everyone kept a wide berth from her, especially for the small smile she wore on her face. As if she had been looking forward to this moment for her entire life...

"Time to begin, my Lords," Rhaegar said abruptly, clearing his throat. "I have kept up to date with your reports on the progress with both recovering from this plague, riding out the last of this long winter, and starting the reconstruction projects for the city - however, that is not why I called this meeting." He frowned deeply, worrying his wives and his mother. "Recently, Grand Maester Qyburn came to me with concerns he had about the health of my children, ones I found to be jointly shared with my uncle, Maester Aemon."

Lyanna and Elia looked around their husband at each other, eyes outwardly placid but inwardly petrified. I thought we were behind this… Elia grew white while Lyanna's heart pounded - but it was Barristan that spoke up first. "I thought both Prince Baelon and Crown Prince Aegon made full recoveries?"

Solemn, Rhaegar shifted his gaze. "Grand Maester, uncle, I believe the two of you can explain this better than I can."

Rising on his spindly legs, Qyburn started off. "The vapors have passed from the both of them, yes. They no longer pass it nor suffer from the fevers, fatigue, or other maladies that acute plague sufferers exhibit. However, only Prince Baelon has recovered fully."

"What does that mean?" Lord Thorne asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Tell me about my child," demanded Lyanna. Rhaella merely looked at her son. She couldn't find the grief of a parent grappling with a dying child… no, her son had the wariness of a suffering ruler. Oh gods, this won't be good.

Aemon's voice was mushy but loud. "I and my acolyte examined the Crown Prince personally after the Grand Maester came to me with concerns. Most of the time, he is a healthy boy and growing normally. However, the disease left him with certain… long-term maladies."

Rhaella frowned. "What sort of long-term maladies?" Across the table, Rhaegar took his brides' trembling hands in his own.

"Rashes," answered Aemon. "Recurring rashes that inflame the skin. Some sufferers get them long after the vapors leave their body. It is controllable with medicinal baths and salves from certain trees. In and of itself the rashes are but an inconvenience rather than a debilitation… it is the wheezes that worry me."

"Wheezes?" asked Lord Thorne.

Casting an unseeing glance at Qyburn, Aemon handed the floor to him. "It's quite common in certain parts. A sensitivity of the lungs to all sorts of things - chaff, dust, cold temperatures, animals, exercise… I could go on. The inability to breathe is part of it. Unfortunately, the side effect of the treatment I used on the Crown Prince exacerbated a previously dormant susceptibility to wheezing."

"So you did this to his Grace," growled Lonmouth.

Aemon shook his head. "Egg would have died without Grand Maester Qyburn's intervention, and the wheezes would have happened regardless. It is in the family histories."

"How so, uncle?" Rhaella asked.

"From my studies of the texts, there were many Targaryens described as sickly - whenever details were given they described weakness of the lungs." Rhaella blinked, going back to one of her late babes. Prince Jaehaerys had died of a breathing malady, while her sickly cousins had wheezes. I never knew… She had to fight herself from touching her stomach, instead praying silently that the babe would be alright. "Egg would have suffered it no matter what," Aemon continued, "And coming of age and a strong body usually eliminates it. But the treatment has turned it into something worse."

"What could be worse?" asked Lord Peake.

"It means my son will be stricken with this for life," Rhaegar murmured loud enough for all to hear. "An illness that could kill him… if he becomes King." The last shut everyone up.

Elia's hand tightened around Rhaegar's - she above all others knew about being sickly as a youth and how it made one suffer as an adult. "Please, husband. Will our boy live?"

"He will, a long and hopefully happy life." It was Aemon who answered. "A good wife, plenty of exercise and stability… all will improve his health, as long as he never becomes King."

"But he is the eldest," proclaimed Thorne.

"The stress of ruling or learning to rule will kill Prince Aegon," Qyburn shot back. "I am completely certain."

The Lord of Duskendale did not back down. "To say such is treason."

Richard Lonmouth scoffed. "Medical fact cannot be treason, Thorne. Stop being a fucking addled moron."

"We must make Prince Baelon the heir," stated Wyman Manderly.

"Do that and the Dornish will rebel," Rhaella commented, equally as morose as the others.

"I fear that the Most Devout will protest," Meribald added. "House Martell is of the Faith, while House Stark and Queen Lyanna are not. Given the changes his Grace has made there would be added tensions." That Rhaegar jammed him into the position over the objections of the Starry Sept only added to the threat.

And so the argument rocked the council chamber - back and forth, everyone shouting over the others. Different ideas banded about, but all focused on one issue: did Prince Aegon have to tough it out or would Prince Baelon take over and risk fracturing the Kingdoms. Each maester fought hard for the latter, Aemon deploying the Targaryen fire for the first time since his youth. He would be damned if he'd let Egg suffer just for political positioning.

Through all of it, the three monarchs were embroiled in a conversation of their own. One that could not be solved at the moment, but Rhaegar explained his thoughts - begged forgiveness for not coming to them sooner but stating why. More worried than angry, the Queens forgave him, fingers stroking his palm in a silent promise to continue the discussion later amongst soft sheets and even softer bodies.

But first came the small council.

Feet aching and stomach roiling from the new babe, Rhaella reached the breaking point first. "Silence!" She banged on the table with the fury of a dozen dragons, achieving the quiet she so desired. Many gaped at her in shock - the once meek Rhaella Targaryen was no more. She looked like Queen Visenya at the moment, strong and mighty. "I have a proper solution to tamp down the issue at hand."

Rhaegar let out a breath. "You have the leave to speak, Lady Hand."

"While I agree that Prince Aegon's life is the most important matter to conserve, the unilateral decision of revoking primogeniture will not sit lightly with the Lords. King Jaehaerys the Conciliator understood such when Prince Baelon died, and therefore called a Great Council to decide the succession. As it would allow the Lords to vent their frustrations, I believe that to be the best option." The best option in a list of only horrible ones, but Rhaella didn't say that.

Gods, Rhaegar wished Oberyn was still in the capitol. He could have used his advice. "I'm putting this to the floor. Raise your hand if you support the proposal." Only a third of the councilors indicated their support, the others concerned at either the loss of royal power or the likelihood of conspiracies. Glancing at his brides, both of them held their hands up. "The ayes have it."

In the Seven Kingdoms, turned out only one's vote actually mattered.

---

That night, the guards posted outside the royal chambers were treated to quite the show. Muffled chuckles and shared smirks predominated as the sounds of great pleasure resonated from within. Some might have been inclined to complain, had they not remembered the types of sounds from Aerys' reign. The screams of pain or anguish, the wild rants. In truth, they were relieved and elated at the happiness and joy felt among the royals...

Well… and slightly jealous.

Within, a sheen of sweat covered the three lovers. Hands caressed over soft skin and supple flesh, losing themselves in the distractions only each other could give them from their worries. As such, their coupling drew a sense of desperate urgency alongside their lust, grunts and moans drawn out through tight jaws and clenched teeth. The King and Queens were pushing themselves to the brink, and the pleasure they felt was he end result.

For over an hour they had been at it, from the King being held down while his Queens took their pleasure to each Queen pinned to the wall or the mattress while she was teased until reduced to a babbling mess. By that moment they had turned frantic, leading to their current position. Both Queens locked into a tight embrace with lips melding and fingers plunging into their tight heat. Something they were wont to do after their reconciliation - guilt and sorrow led to the need for intimacy. Sleep found them wound together and so did their couplings.

Behind was the King, tight cunts exposed to his attention. Like a madman, he drove forward, making his brides scream as he replaced the fingers with his own cock. His hands ghosted on the golden skin of his Dornish bride, happening to be on top, making her shudder while pounding the she-wolf underneath her.

Only minutes later, the guards heard he muffled climax ripping through the doors. "I'd vastly prefer watching over the children," Ser Lewyn remarked.

"Least not the Queen Dowager," Oswell replied. "Ser Jaime is not one to keep quiet… or keep her quiet." They chuckled again.

Collapsing on their bed, the three of them cuddled close. Lyanna and Elia threw their arms round Rhaegar, melded to his skin while clutching each other - Rhaegar's fingers ghosted down their spines, making them shiver even though the furs were pulled atop their bodies. One of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, even Rhaegar found himself panting, trying to catch his breath. "Gods…"

"Aye," Lyanna murmured, kissing his chest while squeezing Elia's hand. "Never ages, our couplings."

"Sorely needed, after…" Elia trained off. It needed not be said, but the hour of blissful ignorance in each other's bodies finally toppled over. Reality roaring back. "Damn them… damn that Iron Chair…"

"It cannot be helped, my love," Rhaegar murmured. "Such is the fate of those born of the dragon."

Elia nodded, but it was still almost toxic. "Egg didn't ask for such a burden or fate… neither did you, or even your father."

Lyanna sighed. "My father used to tell us that duty can be a choice, or innate - what is always a choice is your actions." She felt a tear well in her eye and fall onto Rhaegar's skin. "I almost lost Egg, and Jon." Not just them, but her entire family. The loves of her life… "We can't let Egg die…" She lifted her head, searching out Elia's eyes. "I don't mean…"

Leaning over Rhaegar, Elia kissed her wife. "Never bring such up, I know he's yours - as Jon is mine." They were beyond such petty jealousies after all they had been through, the kiss resuming… until Rhaegar groaned in pain from an elbow badly placed on his gut. "Oh," Elia murmured as they broke the kiss. "Apologies, husband." She nuzzled his neck.

"No need, just go easy on the King." They chuckled dryly. "I won't lose Egg, but am worried about another matter… what if he grows to resent Jon?"

Elia's eyes darkened. "That will never happen."

"My grandfather never intended for my father to resent my uncle for the throne, but it happened regardless."

"We'll raise them to love each other, as my brothers did," Lyanna reassured her husband "Of all that is threatened here, that won't be it. House Targaryen will break the fratricide and civil wars of the past - there shall not be a second dance."

Rhaegar closed his eyes, frowning. "How do I begin to decree that? My own father and I started a war against each other over the throne. When has this house ever known… love?"

Pressing a kiss to his pulse, Elia placed her hand on Rhaegar's heart. "Every time I see you with our babes, I see the love in your eyes. You will break the mold, I promise this."

Saying nothing, Rhaegar merely held them close. They had survived so much and were still here… still together and unsundered. Perhaps they would… no, they would survive this.

House Targaryen defied the odds before. The scaled beasts flying over the Red Keep as of now proved their renowned providence was returned.

---

Thwack!

Bow dropping, Lord Bronn of House Bell watched as it smacked into the bullseye, about half an inch from the absolute middle of the target. Closer than even the Rook's Rest's master-at-arms' arrow loosed directly before. "Good shot, mi'Lord!" Said man remarked, clapping his hands.

Bronn smirked sardonically, clicking his tongue. "That's the thing with you highborns, Harry. When ye' gotta fight to survive rather than fer' sport, then skills get picked up pretty quickly."

Harry Rivers, the bastard of Stone Hedge and baseborn son of Lord Humfrey Bracken, raised an eyebrow. "Grew up a wanderer?" Plenty unable to farm land or find work ended up living off the land, shiftless and subsistence hunters or scavengers.

"Do I look like a shiftless beggar?" Bronn shot back, walking out to grab his arrows - while a fancy Lord now, no amount of wealth would lead him to being lazy enough not to pick up after himself. Compared to Symond Staunton, previous owner of Rook's Rest and a rather imperious individual, the servants and bannermen rather respected Bronn for this attitude. "Contracted with the Golden Company for a while. You didn't perform, you didn't eat."

"Blackfyre fucker, eh?"

"Yeah," Bronn huffed. "Lasted like four moons before I realized no gold in the world would keep me with a contract I didn't want to keep."

Snorting, Harry Rivers grabbed his own arrows - brown eyes twinkling with mirth. "And yet yer' now a Lord, bound to the King for eternity."

"If you weren't my goodbrother I'd beat your ass right out of 'ere." Harry only laughed. Given the past maester, castillan, and master-at-arms were loyalists to the attained House Staunton, most of Bronn's household were given to him by his godfather, Jonos Bracken.

A fine match for any sellsword, only proving he chose the winning side in the war.

Daily training with Harry completed, the grime spattered Lord strode back into the keep - heading directly for his solar. To his appreciation, Bronn found it not empty. "Lady wife, your dreadful solitude has ended."

Looking up from stacks of paper, Lady Jayne Bell - formerly Bracken - offered a quick smile… one which soon became a frown. "I thought you said you'd take a bath."

"Don't expect me to take one before my exercise. Would be fuckin' worthless then." Toeing off his boots, Bronn poured a goblet of wine - a delicious Dornish red. Gods, I love being a Lord. "So," he kissed Jayne's cheek before plopping down across from her. "What's goin' on?"

Jayne eyed him underneath her pretty lashes before looking back through the papers and dispatches. "Lord Staunton left a lot of debts."

Bronn shrugged. "He's dead, so good luck collectin' em."

Said lashes closed, Jayne sighing. "They run with the land."

"Not followin'." He chose Jayne out of a stable of other pretty daughters cause she was clever. Quite sheltered and lacking experience in the world outside of the keeps and manses, but quite clever.

"It means these debts are held by Rook's Rest, not Staunton personally… or else that's what the Iron Bank is saying. Now that the plague wound down, they're keen on collecting."

He shrugged. "So don't pay the debts."

"We have to."

"Fuck those who say I have to do anything."

She rolled her eyes. Her new husband may have been a dashing rogue that charmed her, and their amorous activities were quite enjoyable, but he was quite brutish at times. I have my work cut out for me to culture him. "The Iron Bank always gets its money back… at least that's what my father told me."

"Your father said he'd get the Teats back from Blackwood - how's that workin' out for him." Her glare made him chuckle further, which softened the glare into a smirk of her own. One that accentuated her dimples. Bronn felt them her second best feature after the buxom chest. No wonder Aegon the Unworthy fell for two Bracken wenches.

A servant knocked, interrupting them. "Raven from King's Landing, mi'Lord. Mi'Lady." Another transplant from Stone Hedge, and he treated Jayne with more deference than his Lord as a result.

"Give that to me," Bronn replied gruffly. He scanned it. "Well shit."

"What?" Jeyne asked.

"Looks like you'll be dressin' fancy sooner than I figured. We've been summoned."

Notes:

I thought Rhaella would be good as the Hand. Shows how far she came :)

Bronn finally gets his castle.

Timeskip coming up. If I can get 40 comments by next Friday, I'll update then :D

Chapter 69: Great Council

Notes:

Exciting news, my friends! Two new projects of mine are close to fruition: my Maegor the Cruel story called Dragonshield and a fluffy/smutty comedy short I plan to publish as a counterweight to the second anniversary of "The Bells," aka the Fall. Further details will come, but tell me what you think in the comments :)

Some people commented expressing their view that Elia is being "sidelined" because Baelon replaces Egg as crown prince. You could not be more wrong and misinformed. Just read the story and you'll see.

Be sure to check out my other in progress stories: Heart of the Blessed, Last Hope for Westeros, A Targaryen Dynasty, and Howl of the Dragonwolves.

Enjoy.

Doing her best to stifle the good-natured giggle on her lips at the sight, Elia crossed her arms and leaned against the wall of the nursery. "He's certainly a hungry little dragon," she ended up saying, smile wide.

While she winced softly as her babe tugged at her nipples, Lyanna nevertheless chuckled. "A big appetite, just like his father." Her dress was pulled down, allowing Jon to breastfeed comfortably from his perch nestled in her arms.

"In more ways than one."

It took a moment to get the jape. "Oh, shut it." Lyanna stroked her babe's head as Elia chortled. "By that level of deduction, Jon takes after you in that regard." She smirked as Elia's laughter ceased.

Eyes narrowing, the Dornish Queen rolled her eyes. "Well-played, your Grace. Well-played indeed." A whimper caught her attention, Elia looking at the other crib in the room. Inside was little Dany, arms reaching up and her toothless lips smacking. "Your mother already fed you, goodsister." At that Dany seemed to pout. Oh, you'll be such a heartbreaker. Much as Jon would be.

Finally sated, Jon detached from the nipple. Smacking his lips with a self-satisfied grunt. "Oh, you are just like your father," Lyanna cooed, as if it were the most wonderful of complements. She made to rise, but was conscious of her dress. "Elia, please help me with my dress."

"Why? I like you like this." She leered appreciatively.

"Be serious. The Tullys are to arrive at any moment and I wish not to be part-nude when I receive them."

"We could always let Rhaegar handle it while we… have some fun."

Lyanna shook her head. "Such a lecher." They both smiled at each other as Elia acquiesced, walking behind to fasten the straps and ties of her sapphire blue gown. Fingers wonderful on her bare skin, for a moment Lya did wonder if they should just head back to their chambers. Gods, how did I ever pull away from this goddess? "I can't believe this is happening… the Great Council."

A sigh left Elia's lips. "Aye, it doesn't seem real."

"This was Egg's birthright, and many will likely tell him that to create another Dance."

"I told you, Lya. We won't let it happen." Ties finished, Elia reached down and scooped Jon in her arms. "Egg's gonna love his brother just as all of us do." Cooing him, Elia drank in his giggles and nuzzled his nose with hers. Jon loved the attention and flailed his arms, giggling. "And Jon will love Egg."

"And his newest sibling." Rising, Lyanna reached out and cupped Elia's still flat stomach, awe on her face. "Won't be the only one to love him or her."

Still rocking Jon, Elia let out a breath. Almost trembling at the feel of Lya's warm hands on her stomach even through the dress. "I know… another little dragon, something I never thought I'd speak of my own womb, only yours."

"There will be plenty of mine if I have anything to say about it," Lya replied. "Are you worried, about your health?" Egg's pregnancy nearly killed her - she hadn't been there, but it still made Lyanna's heart break just thinking about it.

Elia's eyes fluttered open. "No, I'm not." A gentle kiss pressed on Jon's cheek before she set him back into the crib. "She said she would reward me, for saving Jon." The Queen walked into the waiting embrace of her northern love, savoring the piney scent and powerful hold. "I asked for none to save our son, but apparently this is the providence of the divine."

Lyanna kissed her forehead. "The gods are good." There really were no words on how wonderful their life was in spite of everything. "I love you."

"I love you too." Pulling back, it wasn't long before they leaned into each other again. Lips melding against the other's.

"You know, it's not polite to evesdrop, your Grace," Arthur whispered.

Ear pressed against the door to the nursery, Rhaegar rolled his eyes - though the smile threatening to rip his face apart never fell. "Just let me enjoy this moment," he whispered back.

"Elia still doesn't know you know?"

"She does not." It had been rather sudden, the discovery of a new royal pregnancy. The way all three of them were going at it made this almost inevitable, but none of them expected it was Elia to fall pregnant. Pycelle had declared her barren once Egg was born, and while his incompetence was a reasonable conclusion, none of the royals believed it. Elia wished it a surprise, but Lyanna told Rhaegar wishing to surprise their wife. Oh, did he plan for it. Smile widening, he listened further as Elia spoke once more.

"I think I'll enjoy the Red Keep full with children. It's been cold with sorrow and death for so long."

"With our children, young Dany, and the babe's in your and Rhaella's womb, quite the wondrous occurrence."

Rhaegar's smile immediately changed into a confused frown. Babe in Rhaella's womb…? "A half-dragon, half-lion… good thing for us we needn't not worry about our husband with Cersei Lannister to see what sort of mix that would be." Both shared a merry laugh… humor not shared with the King.

Pulling back, Rhaegar walked away from the door, hand running through his hair. "Your Grace…" Arthur asked, concerned.

Half-dragon… half-lion…. Jaime Lannister… How he was always so close to his mother - Rhaegar began to piece the puzzle together. Seven fucking hells. "Did you know?" he asked Arthur.

"What?"

"Did you know of my mother and Ser Jaime…" Arthur didn't respond immediately, but grew slightly pale - enough for Rhaegar to divulge the truth. "That disgusting traitor." Eyes darkened, he stormed down the hallway before Arthur could say anything.

Oh, this won't end well. Without delay, the Sword of the Morning raced back for the nursery.

Veins pounding in his head, Rhaegar paid little attention to his surroundings as he searched for his mother. Her chambers were empty, as was Lya's library. What has Ser Jaime done to her? If his mother was with child, then they had to have coupled after Daenerys was born. After Aerys' death, during all the insanity with the plague. I'll gut him for taking advantage of her. Each minute that passed only welled more rage within him.

"Your Grace," bowed Ser Arys Oakheart, head bobbing down.

Seeing the Kingsguard on watch duty, he immediately sidled up to him. "Where is the Queen Mother?"

Ser Arys blinked. "Ser Jaime said he was escorting her to the gardens for some fresh air…" He didn't finish as Rhaegar stormed off… knowing exactly where they were.

And he found them, in the gazebo in the far corner of the gardens… one of the most private places in the keep and where his mother would oft go to escape his father's worst moments. Pushing through the growth of palm fronds that masked it from sight, Rhaegar stopped in his tracks. Eyes blazing as he witnessed Rhaella being drawn in a passionate liplock with Ser Jaime.

Bad timing all around, unfortunately for the Lion of Lannister.

Jaime first noticed that he and his love weren't alone. A quick look to his right found his King right at the entrance, and it drove him back, eyes widening. "Your Grace."

It was sudden, but fear churned in Rhaella's gut. "My son…" She felt a sheen of sweat begin to form on her forehead. They had been caught unprepared, a situation she dreaded. "I didn't want you to know this way…" They had intended to go to his solar and breach the news with the Queens present, but Rhaella had just wanted a quiet moment with her love in her favorite place… And there was her son looking murderous. Shit… shit… shit…

Eyes narrowing and shoulders tense, Rhaegar slowly approached the now standing kingsguard… driving him back. "I thought it must have been a mistake. My loyal guard having taken advantage of my own mother during her most stressful time, but it was true." Out of its scabbard came Blackfyre, the smoky blade rippling in the sun.

Hands up, Jaime felt his back collide with a column. "Your Grace…" If it had been anyone else, he'd have drawn Brightroar, but this was his King. "It's not like that…"

Rhaegar cut him off by pressing the blade to his throat. "Tell me why you deserve mercy, and I shall merely make you take the Black." Part of him hoped Jaime wouldn't - just one push forward would slice open the traitor's neck…

Slap!

Stumbling back, Rhaegar felt his anger evaporate into utter confusion as Rhaella - herself blazing dragonfire - inserted herself between him and Jaime. "That's quite enough. You're acting like a child." She breathed deeply, trying to calm down - wishing she had her dragons to steady her blood. "Sheath that sword before you hurt someone."

"But muna…"

"Don't 'But muna,' me. Do it." Her tension eased as he did what he was told. "Jaime did not take advantage of me, my son."

"What do you call seducing someone when they are in a vulnerable state of mind?" Rhaegar asked, glaring at the Kingsguard. "Leaving her with child in the process."

Rhaella took his hands in hers. "There was no seduction. I fell in love with him."

His eyes widened. "What…?" Rhaegar couldn't comprehend it.

At that moment the Queens hurried into the clearing, followed by Ser Arthur. Taking in the scene, Lyanna groaned. "He did something foolish, didn't he?"

"Held Blackfyre to my love's throat." Hearing those words from his mother only muddled Rhaegar's world more.

Elia shook her head. "Rhaegar, really? You impulsive idiot… your mother and Ser Jaime have been lovers for moons now."

"For moons?! And you just tell me this now?"

"Your mother wanted privacy and she deserved such. You do not control her." Lyanna jabbed her finger into his chest. "Let her have some happiness."

"And she's content with bearing the bastard of someone half her age? Will he even care for the babe?"

Clearing his throat, Jaime spoke up. "I would not abandon my child, even if he or she doesn't share my name. I am not a reprobate…"

"You don't want to know what I think you are…"

"Enough!" Rhaella wasn't having it. "This babe is your sister, Rhaegar, and I love his or her father. I'm sorry you had to find out like this and believe that it was not my intention, but you will accept it - do you understand me, Rhaegar Targaryen." While there was some motherly scolding there, anyone who witnessed it could see a dragon standoff brewing.

It was Rhaegar that blinked first. Grumbling something unintelligible, he stormed off. "Rhaegar!" Lyanna called out. "We'll talk to him." The Queens offered their goodmother a small smile before rushing after their husband.

Deflating, Jaime collapsed onto the bench. "Well… that could have gone better." Rhaella nodded in agreement, collapsing next to him.

One could only hope the King was professional enough not to screw up the Great Council over this spat.

---

The wheelhouse rolled to a stop just before the steps leading to the throne room and Maegor's Holdfast. Dismounting evenly from his horse with expert fluidity, Lord Garlan Tyrell felt an overall familiarity with the place. He had left many moons before as a squire, and now he returned a Lord. It took the death of my brother and father to get here. Nothing he ever would have wished for, but momentous nonetheless.

Bannermen in full plate bowing as he walked by, he waved away the footman to open the wheelhouse door personally. "Ugh, that took far enough." Olenna gripped her cane as she took Garlan's proffered hand. "That stench made me wish for slit wrists."

"It always smells that way, grandmother," Garlan remarked with a smirk. As her titular better, he needn't censor himself around her.

Didn't mean she'd like it. "Shut up." Shuddering after a sniff, Olenna picked herself up next to the massive twin guards she always carried around. "Least the holdfast has burning incense to mask the smell."

Ignoring her further complaints, Garlan reached out his hand for the other occupant to take. "Thank you, husband." Lady Melissa Tyrell was the opposite of Olenna, insisting on the pomp and airs of formality when the situation called for it. She leaned on his arm to exit the wheelhouse with poise… as much poise as possible considering the ever-increasing swell of her stomach.

Garlan kissed her cheek, hand on his unborn heir. Young as he was, he was also a dutiful lord - mindful of what responsibilities his grandmother would whack him over the head with a cane if he failed to deliver.

Still irritated, Olenna couldn't help but nod at her grandson. Didn't get his father's stupidity, thank the gods. "Well, I'm not wasting another minute of my life waiting around here like a git. Come on. Garlan acceded with a "yes grandmother," whispering something in Melissa's ear that made her smile. In that he was just like his father. A born charmer.

Custom for highborn visitors was for the host to greet them in their great hall. For the Red Keep, the fearsome visage of the Iron Throne loomed large in its own great hall. Even from the entrance a hundred yards away, to the Tyrells it never ceased to awe them - the same fires that burned their former Gardener overlords forged the throne from the swords of the conquered. But to Garlan's observation, they weren't alone. "Lord Stark."

The family of the Warden of the North waited with their own retinue before the throne. Sensing the voice of the newcomer, Ned Stark turned and walked to where Garlan, Melissa, and Olenna stood. "Lord Tyrell, I am relieved to see another ally of his Grace arriving safely here."

"And miss a chance to see the fruits of my gift in the flesh, not in this lifetime," Olenna replied, kissing Ned on each cheek.

"Lady Olenna, pithy as always. You would be much loved in the North."

"Cold bothers me, but otherwise quite the compliment from you, Lord Stark."

Ned chuckled. "Melissa Blackwood, you are radiant," he greeted the much older wife of the teenaged Lord. "A radiance my dear wife still holds thanks to our lovely daughter." Behind, Lady Catelyn walked up, a wrapped up white bundle nestled in her hands. "I believe you already know Catelyn, and this is the wee Lady Sansa, heir to Winterfell."

Melissa, who had been Lady in Waiting to Lady Tully during her children's youth, kissed Catelyn on the cheek with familiarity before looking at Sansa. "She has her father's grey eyes but the red coloring of your House… a combination that will break the hearts of many men."

"Only the best of Lords and knights to court my child." Olenna noted the addition of 'knights.' The North didn't bother with knighthood, so that seemed to exclude a northern suitor. Oh Rickard, I fucking told you…

"Pardon for asking, but isn't there supposed to be a Stark in Winterfell?"

"So goes the tradition, Lady Tyrell, but I felt we'd all be needed here. My kin Lord Karstark is watching over our keep, which is auspicious enough for the young pup to meet her cousins."

Olenna snickered. "Where there's a will, there's a loophole. Even for the honorable Ned Stark." She seemed to approve greatly of the sentiment… only for the mood to darken slightly as the doors opened again and new footsteps echoed across the tiled floor. "And speaking of honor - or the lack of it…" She turned. "Lord Tywin. It is quite strange seeing you here without the King humiliating you at every waking moment."

From anyone else's mouth, such would be scandalous, but Tywin was a veteran of court politics. Olenna's bluntness was a tactic to push others into revealing themselves, so he simply scowled. "I am grateful for his Grace's beneficent reign. His success so far endears me to the fact that his rule will be a prosperous one."

Well played, Tywin. Well played.

"Lord Tywin," Ned said, approaching and extending a hand to shake. As wardens, they were equals in spite of their ages. The Lord of Casterly Rock gave Ned a haughty look, but took the hand. Each had a firm grip. "I trust your family is well." Gods, asking about his one love with his wife present was the height of dishonor, but he needed to know.

Tywin raised an eyebrow. Still pining, Stark? Good. "They are well, even Tyrion unfortunately enough."

"You only brought your brothers Gerion and… Kevan?" Piped up Garlan, unaware of the secret history Houses Stark and Lannister shared.

"Aye. Genna won't leave her children, nor will Tygett - his wife is with child. Cersei… she will stay in Casterly Rock until I find a suitable husband for her." He did rather enjoy Ned's eyes dim.

"Only the best for you, Tywin," Olenna snorted.

"Naturally." He eyed the quiet Lady Catelyn, fussing over Sansa. "Your babe, Lord Stark? A male heir?"

Ned shook his head, allowing Sansa to improve his mood - she was his joy these days. "A girl, beautiful and healthy. She is my heir."

Perfect. "Indeed." He wouldn't say more. He wouldn't tip off his golden hand till it was time - regardless of how his prospective goodson would suffer. Such things mattered not. "I trust Lady Catelyn is a good mother and Lady."

"A good mother, aye. Very loving." Even young Garlan wasn't lost on Ned's omission.

You're lucky your sister married the King. Eddard Stark was too honorable to win the game of thrones. You lose, you die.

Suddenly, the heralds trumpeted from beside the throne. "Her Grace, Queen Elia Targaryen." Entering from the side, Queen Elia sported a modest Dornish style of dress - the burnt orange of House Martell in the collar and sleeves seeming to arise out of Targaryen black at the hem line. Visually striking and accentuating her beauty.

As the old saying went, if House Targaryen lacked beautiful women to marry, the Kings and Princes obtained those that matched such beauty. King Rhaegar struck gold - twice in fact.

Instead of taking a seat on the throne, Elia approached her goodbrother and hugged him warmly. "Ned. It is wonderful to see you again."

"Likewise, Elia. Quite likewise."

She kissed his cheek and turned to Catelyn. "Lady Stark."

Catelyn bowed, hiding her distaste for the still daring cut of the dress. "Your Grace."

Elia's eyes lit up. "This must be dear Sansa. May I hold her?" One couldn't refuse the Queen, who scooped up the babe. "You look just like your other aunt, little pup. Same gorgeous eyes… many will seek her hand."

"So I've been told." Catelyn smiled brittlely, waiting for Elia's cooing to cease before taking her babe back.

This time, Elia addressed the whole of them. "Thank you for heeding our summons, my Lords. You will be housed in the holdfast until the full complement of the council is reached. His Grace, her Grace, and I thank you for your arrival." Garlan and Ned each smiled, while Tywin nodded - expression aloof. Elia assessed the totals… Ned would definitely vote with their recommendation, as would Garlan if Olenna agreed. Tywin was a different story. There was no making guesses with him.

Gods be with us.

---

"Lord Tywin."

Fighting not to shiver in the draft that blew through the ruined halls of the Dragonpit, Tywin Lannister watched the familiar face of his younger years stride towards him. "My Queen… or should I rather say Lady Hand?"

Rhaella was a vision… she had always been, owning the graceful, silver beauty of Old Valyria. But now, there was a fire in her eyes. Unlike Aerys' almost manic fire, instead that of power and strength accentuated by the red and black dress - her house's colors.

And the dragon resting on her shoulder. "Many thanks for meeting me in private prior to the start of the council."

"I can't very well turn down the invitation of the Hand." While deep inside - without guard - the dragonpit, a partially collapsed ceiling let in the noonday sun. "Or that of your Grace's companion."

The gold-white dragon eyed Tywin curiously, sniffing out similar blood to the one her mother was so fond of. Instead, she curled against Rhaella's shoulder. "The kingsguard did not wish me to be unguarded. This was our compromise."

"Of course." He eyed her carefully. "You wish to influence my support for the council?"

Rhaella shook her head. "While I do hope that you shall see reason for your decision today," how Tywin voted would bring the entire Westerlands with them. "Such is not why I asked you here."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Instead of replying, Rhaella leaned against the wall - a wistful look passing on her face. "Sometimes I still think that I should turn a corner and see Joanna's smiling face." Tywin's eyes glazed over, a lump developing in his throat. Joanna… the only woman he had ever loved. Some even saying the only person. Just thinking of her brought him to grief. "I know you wished for your son to not don the white, but as your once friend, I appreciated it greatly. Having a little piece of Joanna back."

Tywin took a deep breath. "I am glad that at least one aspect of that matter was beneficent."

What Rhaella spoke of next was the last eventuality he expected. "Your son is my lover." His eyes widened in spite of himself. "And I am carrying his child… your grandchild."

Not a few whispers among the many dozens of delegates to the Great Council of 284 AC wondered why it was held in the Dragonpit. Why not the great hall of the Red Keep, where the last two great councils had been held? When the King entered they soon understood why - he sat at the hastily assembled throne at the head of the wide circle, elevated higher than the others. While the Queens and Hand of the King Rhaella Targaryen sat beside him, in front rested the growing form of Aegarax. The smaller crimson dragon rested atop the green dragon's back, while Jaimexes slept in Rhaella's lap.

The Sunrise Dragon made his statement to the Realm. With the return of the dragons came the return of Targaryen power, emphasized by the dragonpit. A tomb had now birthed back into glory.

"Greetings, my Lords, shall we begin?"

Seated across from the King were House Stark and the Northern delegation, the remaining delegations spread out as if spokes of a wheel. Garlan Tyrell led the Reach, Hoster Tully the Riverlands, and Elbert Arryn of the Vale. Leading the Westerlands was Tywin, and he was slightly surprised that Doran Martell actually showed up rather than sending Oberyn, who was also present. The Baratheon brothers also showed up, Stannis firm in spite of his youth while Robert kept sneaking moony glances at Queen Lyanna. Balon Greyjoy was absent, sending his brother Euron in his stead… a man to worry about at a later time.

At the moment, Tywin had greater issues… namely the grandchild of his that was growing in the womb of the Queen. Damn you Jaime… first your sister has a Snow and now this. Hopefully, this could end in his favor, but he needed to think and time was of the essence.

But the swirling thoughts of his mind only was sent into a typhoon by what the King said - outlining the issue before the council. Of Prince Aegon's continued illness and his chances of survival given titles. Both Maester Aemon and Grand Maester Qyburn offered their assessments, ending with Rhaegar outlining that he hoped for an orderly transition of the line of succession from Aegon to Prince Baelon for the best wishes of both his family and the realm.

Prince Baelon… the cousin of my grandson and other grandchild… Tywin's musings stopped, the skeleton of a plan forming in his head.

Not a moment after Rhaegar ceased speaking did Lord Franklyn Fowler rise in his seat. "You dare this?! You dare insult us with this perfidy!" Many on the Dornish delegation banged their hands upon the table in support, while Doran Martell stayed silent. "This is an affront to all Dorne!"

"A greater insult would be if we condemned Prince Aegon to death," Lyanna replied, eyes narrowing.

Lord Fowler, one of the richest Lords in Dorne, sneered at the Queen. "You would enjoy such, your Grace. Your brat would be King while we get nothing."

"Take that back," demanded Greatjon Umber, slamming his fist. "That's the she-wolf's boy you speak of."

"I deign not speak to savages."

Greatjon rose, hand going to the greatsword at his hip. "Sit down and shut up before I make you."

"Enough!" Rhaegar silenced all, a shriek from Aegarax only adding to the effect. "We will have order here."

"Your Grace… forgive my bannerman for his rudeness." Doran's glare at Fowler had the man sitting with a huff - Greatjon on the other hand sat with satisfaction in his eyes. "But I believe you have already made your choice. This entire assemblage is but wasted effort."

"Something as important as the royal succession is in need of ratification by the Great Council, Prince Doran," Rhaella spoke up. "I should imagine your nephew's health is high on your list of concerns."

"Such is a good point, brother…" Oberyn was silenced by a raised hand.

"If you truly care about him," Doran said, "Why not let Rhaenys inherit?"

A poison pill if there ever was one, given the precedent set by the Dance of Dragons and both Great Councils prior - if not for the precarious situation House Targaryen found itself in, such may have been an option. But not now. Luckily for Rhaegar, it was the Most Devout that objected. "Succession is the right of men, not weak women," one hissed, a young and vibrant member of the Faith. Ignoring the glares of the royal females, he went on. "And it is the right of the eldest child. The child of the true marriage."

There was silence. "Archsepton Mern, watch yourself." High Septon Meribald was usually jovial, but could have a firmness when needed. "His Grace's marriage to Lady Lyanna is ordained by the Seven in his trial by seven. We cannot deny their will." It was clear Meribald was the minority of his own council.

Arguments dragged on and on for hours, various servants bringing in refreshments while the Lords traded compromise after compromise in the middle of invectives leveled at each other over the pettiest of slights. Dragons screeched, religious tirades were launched, Lords Bracken and Blackwood nearly came to blows, Lord Umber literally knocked out a Dornish delegate, and Queen Lyanna threatened to castrate disrespectful knights on more than one occasion.

And through this Tywin thought, and thought, and thought. Charting everything together, shifting from Ned Stark to Rhaella Targaryen and back to Ned Stark. He didn't see Jaime there, while the King and his mother seemed overly formal with each other. They disagree about my son being her lover. Perhaps his direct connection with House Targaryen wouldn't be so firm as first thought. That brought in Ned Stark, who was effectively the brother of the King. An heir to Winterfell with higher claim than his daughter - even as a legitimized bastard - was too tempting… but only if House Stark had blood connections with the King.

Everything was forged by blood, either spilling it or sharing it.

Eventually, the King had enough. Discussions were over - time for a vote. Only two choices: retain Prince Aegon, ultimately rejecting Rhaegar's entire line since the Prince would die if kept to that level of stress, or install Prince Baelon as the Crown Prince.

As with the previous great councils, the Crown abstained from any vote - though Tywin assumed that if the council refused to ratify the decision Rhaegar would go for it anyway. Damaging his legitimacy in the process, unfortunately for him. A majority of the delegates would vote in favor or opposed, but the Lord Paramount would hold sway. Without one, the Crownlands went first, votes largely in favor of ratification. Houses such as Bell, Thorne, Tully, and Seaworth owed the Crown everything and voted accordingly.

The Reach was next, and Tywin was mildly surprised. Among them, the Most Devout defied their High Septon and voted no, followed by representatives of the Citadel. The Lords were divided, those closer to House Tyrell voting aye with Garlan while the Hightowers and their bannermen went differently. All not in accord between grandfather and grandson?

Stannis Baratheon, after heated whispers with his brother - Robert still staring lecherously at Lyanna like a horny youth - stood. "At the decree of my Leige Lord, House Baratheon refuses to cast a vote in this motion." Coward. Aside from a few such as the Dondarrions, their bannermen followed Robert's command.

Lord Elbert and the Vale fared better for the Crown. The majority of the Lords voted for Baelon, while some of the more devout houses stood with the Starry Sept. A similar dynamic happened in the Riverlands, only reversed - Hoster, in spite of the relation by marriage, sided with the Faith while some of the major bannermen sided with Prince Baelon. House Blackwood and the Mootons weren't surprising, while Walder Frey was. What was the old man's angle?

The North held no surprises, nor did Dorne. Every single Northern Lord present sided with Baelon while Prince Oberyn led Houses Dayne, Blackmont, and Uller to buck Prince Doran's position. "I don't care what you greenlanders do with your crowns, but I admire the stones of the King to bring this before us cunts." Euron Greyjoy voted for Baelon, the other Ironborn joining him.

Ultimately, now it was all on Tywin. "My Lord," Rhaella… the mother of his grandchild… spoke. "As Warden of the West, you may cast the first vote of your Kingdom." The rest were formalities. If Tywin told them to jump off Casterly Rock, they'd do so.

But how to vote?

In the end, he made his decision quickly - the minutes he allowed passed were to unsettle the rest. All the pieces seemed in place. A grandson with Stark blood, another grandchild with the name of the dragon. My children are useful to me for once in their lives. Young Aegon would be connected to him by blood, but young Baelon would have double the connection if Crown Prince. Tywin would hold far more leverage, and the prospect of denying Doran Martell even a potential foothold was too tempting not to trigger.

"I vote for Prince Baelon. Prince Aegon should serve the realm more as a healthy Prince than as a sickly King." Quickly after, the westerlords cast their own ballots for Baelon.

It was decided. Sixty-five percent of the Council had ratified Rhaegar's decision, while the remainder were opposed or abstained.

Prince Baelon was now Crown Prince Baelon, decreed by the King and validated by the Great Council.

Shooting out of his seat, Lord Fowler kicked his chair away. "You will rue this!" Face red, he stormed off. No other Dornish lords followed him, though their expressions echoed his sentiments. Elia was expressionless, but inside the rejection of her countrymen hurt - they would rather see Egg dead than allow the blood of the direwolf to sit on the throne in his stead. A very poor omen.

As the majority of the Lords broke off in smaller groups to discuss matters together, Tywin walked towards the royal family. He could see Lord Tully and Lord Hightower huddled with the Most Devout, while Elbert and Ned Stark were engaged in an animated conversation with Queen Lyanna - Queen Elia soon joined them, Oberyn Martell in tow. "Thank you for your support, Lord Tywin." The King reached out his hand, which Tywin took. "Though I presume you haven't done this out of the goodness of your heart."

"You were always smarter than your father," Tywin replied.

"Just speak of it, Lord Tywin," Rhaella cut in, crossing her arms just underneath the pin of the Hand - a pin he himself once wore.

There was so much he could demand… but the old lion demurred. "My brother is still aimless after his expedition was a success." Shocking, I know. "Your father rejected Kevan as Master-at-Arms. It would honor the Westerlands if you rectified his mistake and granted it to Gerion."

Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "I shall think on it, my Lord." With that he stalked off to his brides.

Raising an eyebrow, Rhaella looked him down. "What are you playing at, Tywin?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but stayed silent. "Be careful. A lion cannot outrun dragonfire."

"Duly noted."

Bidding farewell to the Hand, Tywin suddenly found himself face to face with a burly, dark-skinned face. That of Aero Hoteh, the personal guard of Prince Doran. "Lord Tywin," the aforementioned Prince walked gingerly towards Tywin, movements slow but words sharp and biting. "You did what you had to do. Though I know not your reasons, I trust you had good ones."

"I need not explain myself to you, Prince Doran," Tywin replied, letting Gregor Clegane stand behind him. His own form of intimidation.

"I suppose you don't." Doran looked him up and down. "You are as crafty as your reputation states."

"You are far underestimated by your reputation," was the reply.

Doran offered a tiny smile. "Good luck, Lord Tywin. Those that fall may rise again, while those who fall for a second time usually meet the most grievous of ends." Their eyes continued to stare hardly at each other before both withdrew to their own corners. Battle lines drawn.

---

The clouds had washed over Blackwater Bay, none that would give rain but enough to block out the sun and usher in a steady breeze. Cuddling the fussy and wriggling princess in her arms, Hand of the King Rhaella Targaryen pointed to the sky. "See that, Dany?" Dany's eyes focused skyward just as a gust bracketed the both of them. "Feel the wind, that's our birthright. Dragonriders, you and I are. We will rule the skies, free from the control of man or gods."

Dany waved her hands, excited by the prospect.

Without delay, Rhaella nuzzled Dany's nose with hers. "You're the perfect little dragon princess, hatchling." Just like your sibling… Harmed and beaten down by too many unfit to dare challenge a dragon, Rhaella was determined not to let any of her family not take up the opportunity the return of the dragons gave them. Answering not to man nor god… never again will we do so.

"Your Grace." Rhaella looked over to see the warmly dressed Eddard Stark walk to where she waited by the railing. "Seems we had the same idea." Nestled against his furs was the redheaded Sansa Stark, grey eyes blinking out the bracketing wind. The cold she was used to… the salty spray, not so much.

"Great minds think alike, Lord Stark." They stood in a silence for the briefest of moments. "Much of Westeros is now angled against your family."

"We northmen have faced that before and always survived." He snorted, rocking Sansa. "I didn't expect Tywin Lannister to side with Jon's claim. Did you say anything to him?"

"I did, reminding him of what bound our families together."

"After all that happened when the capitol fell, I can see why you and Ser Jaime were able to fall for each other." What is it about Lannisters? Even now, Cersei held his heart. "But I suspect your son doesn't feel the same way."

Rhaella shook her head. "Barely said a word to me since he found out."

Gurgling something incomprehensible to those older than a nameday, Dany caused Sansa to giggle with her - both of them waving their arms in their parents' holds. "Seems these two are getting along," Ned chuckled.

"Haven't seen Daenerys take so quickly to one other than her nephew." Rhaella rubbed her little hatchling's back, kissing the crown of her head. "Perhaps I should ask Lady Stark for permission to plan young Sansa to be her Lady in Waiting."

"Oh, Cat would faint from such an honor bestowed upon our daughter." Such as it was with Catelyn, already writing major houses in the south to foster Sansa - aside from House Manderly, no northern house was sent a raven in acquiring of a fostering, though Ned didn't think Catelyn was considering White Harbor on par with such as Hightower or Arryn. "Normally only Queens or prospective Queens are afforded such from that of a Lord Paramount's station," Ned inquired, brow raised. "Expecting for young Daenerys to marry the new Crown Prince?"

Rhaella shrugged. "She and Baelon are closer than anyone I've seen even from the cradle. It's a fair assumption."

Ned snorted. "Sometimes I have to remind myself that I have Targaryens in my family now." That caused Rhaella to laugh.

"There you are, Ned… I was hoping not to be alone out here…" Both turned over their shoulders to find Rhaegar standing there in a cloak and a loose gambeson, the bundled form of Crown Prince Baelon Targaryen tucked in his arms. "Greetings, muna."

The Dowager Queen pursed her lips. "Rhaegar." The frostiness she had informed the Warden of the North of was on full display at the moment. "Bringing my grandson for air?"

He nodded. "The swaying of the ship was unsettling him, so he needed a breeze. I didn't realize you would be here." Formerly quiet, at their violet eyes locking Jon immediately reached out for Dany and her for him, negating any chance they could avoid each other any longer. "I didn't realize you would be here." Walking in between Rhaella and Ned, he eyed his goodbrother. "Had the same idea, no?"

"Aye. Catelyn… the ship unsettles her too. Was that why you are on babe duty?"

Rhaegar frowned. "Aegon needed his munas." There was an uncomfortable, sorrowful silence. "He used to be so lively, and now he can barely walk. I don't think I've seen him smile since before all of this." By the grace of the gods, Jon didn't suffer from such a problem. He kept trying to swat at Dany's hand, the silver-haired Princess pulling it away from him and giggling wetly.

Ned wore a similar frown. "Children are resilient, brother. He has the love of his family, and that can work wonders more than any treatment or poultice a maester could cook up."

Nodding, Rhaegar sighed. "Family… aye." Forced into the most uncomfortable of decisions for moons, Rhaegar hadn't been absent in observing his mother and her… lover for the first time. Never did he think of the Dowager Queen in such a light - that she would have a sexual life given his father was thrust by his madness into thinking brutality was the proper outlet for carnal gratification. But the more he watched them, saw the caring looks and gentle gestures exchanged between Jaime Lannister and his mother, the more he found himself slowly accepting it. She had never been happier, and could finally enjoy a pregnancy with a father she truly loved. "Muna…"

"Yes, my son?"

He cleared his throat. "You… you have my blessing." What rewarded him was the biggest smile he'd ever seen cross her lips. "But don't expect me to ever call him kepa." For some reason Ned found that the height of hilarious, almost keeling over as he laughed while Rhaella stifled a snicker.

None of them noticed how Jon - following Dany's gaze - shifted his attention to Sansa, swatting at her too. Unlike the teasing Princess, the young wolf leaned closer to her cousin, inviting the playful touches with a contented look on her infant face.

---

"Lya…" Elia giggled, pushing her bride's hands away. "Stop rubbing my skin… the babe isn't even a swell yet." She knew there was no stopping the she-wolf, and she loved every moment of it.

Pouting playfully, Lyanna merely kissed her cheek. "Forgive me, but I am excited… and our beautiful babe is the best salve for that exhausting Great Council."

Elia frowned. "Why did Tywin vote in Jon's favor? He holds no stake in the game."

"Cersei Lannister and my brother had some sort of love affair if I read the signs correctly. Perhaps he wishes to secure a marriage alliance between them."

"Honestly, I hope that happens." Elia sighed. "Poor Ned needs some happiness in his life not connected to his daughter. Sansa is adorable, but no person can be starved of intimacy." She eyed Lya lovingly. "I mean, I cannot exist deprived of the intimacy of one of my loves." That earned a sweet kiss, but the topic shifted once more to politics. "But he'll never give up Catelyn."

"He won't. Ned is much too honorable for that, even if it would mean sacrificing his happiness… and I suppose Tywin knows this, which makes his behavior all the odder."

"I should begin establishing birds in Casterly Rock… though there are far more worrisome areas for me to start…" She trailed off, suddenly reaching a large courtyard with her eyes widening.

The night in Dragonstone was cloudless, a full moon overlooking the beautiful island and illuminating all the torches couldn't touch. Combined with those very same torches, the completed water gardens of Aegon's Garden shone in a low light, flowing fountains and shiny flora reflecting the moonlight brilliantly. And in the middle was their husband, Rhaegar dressed in a loose tunic and red cloak of the dragonlords. With his hair down, gods, he looked scrumptious to the both of them. "Rhaegar…" Elia breathed.

"It is finished," he smiled. "Your home away from home."

Sighing happily, Elia twirled under the palm trees warmed by the volcanic springs. Soon landing into the hold of her husband, his embrace offered and waiting for her. "This is wonderful, Rhaegar. Thank you."

"Of course." He kissed her brow. "Where else would I celebrate the news our little miracle babe?"

"Celebrate…" Eyes widening for the barest moment, upon realization a blush came to her cheeks. "Oh…" She looked away, slightly embarrassed. "So you know."

Rhaegar gently guided Elia till their eyes met. "Aye, Lya told me."

She was lost in his violets. "I wanted to surprise you."

Without waiting a second after she finished talking, Rhaegar kissed her thoroughly. Making her lean against him, toes curling. Elia had melted by the time the kiss ended. "And Lya and I wanted to surprise you."

"Well you succeeded," she smiled. Sighing again, she let her head rest against Rhaegar's chest. "It almost feels like the day prior to now… when Pycelle informed me that my womb was beyond rescuing… and now…"

"Pycelle was a traitorous cunt," Lyanna said, trying to not let her rage at the dead man ruin the happy moment. "But it doesn't matter. The blessings of the gods are upon us."

Rhaegar leaned over to kiss Lya's lips, still hugging Elia close. "Much has happened to us, my loves. Some things that even now, I cannot comprehend."

For the still youthful Queen - having endured more than even one thrice her age could handle without breaking - she walked into the shared embrace of her loves. The tales of dragons and knights and Kings and magic that she read in her youth seemed to be the life she now lived. Married as the conquerors were, living in the shadow of the great beasts of Old Valyria, associating with the gods themselves as those of the First Men did during the Age of Heroes. Truth be told, the life prior was what truly scared her.

"I would never wish to go back," she murmured. "The world prior may have been simple and predictive, but the greatest horrors still abounded."

Elia sniffed her neck, taking in the piney scent. "Aye, the worst." All endured, the madness of their King that had taken so much from them… "The unknown blessings and duties of the gods are better."

"It won't be easy," Rhaegar said sadly. "I wish this blessed joy would last forever, but I fear this be merely the end of the beginning."

Twin grey eyes narrowed in determination. "Whomever survives our dragonfire, they shall meet the steel of our blades." Violets seemed to darken at her statement, arousal evident in Rhaegar for his warrior Queen. "I promise that upon our friends and enemies."

Laughing, Elia squeezed their sides. "While that is lovely, unfortunately I cannot swing a sword or a spear."

"One of us has to be the Lady of the Keep, watching over hearth and home." Lyanna managed to keep a straight face for about five seconds before a grin curled over her lips.

Elia rolled her eyes. "That is it, I shan't associate with you the rest of the night for that." She pulled away from Lyanna playfully, guiding Rhaegar to the middle of the courtyard underneath the lush vines. "I finally catch a glimpse of the northern barbarian those of my brother's court speak of."

"I would not go that far, my love. Northern wildling seems more appropriate." By the glare Rhaegar was given by his Stark bride, she would clearly be out for blood in the bedchamber. Lucky lucky me. "Would you like a dance, mother of my babes?"

A large smile formed on her lips. "That would be lovely - but there is no music."

He frowned. "You know that I am better than any common minstrel. Name the song you wish?" Rhaegar knew the answer before she said it.

Turned out he was right - Elia did not disappoint. "Jenny's Song." The same song Lyanna fell for him to. With the rebirth of her womb, perhaps now they could rebirth their entire marriage in the proper way. In love and devotion.

Rhaegar was more than happy to provide the voice, singing the same tunes that serenaded Lyanna many moons prior without even knowing it. He and Elia glided along the tiled ground, smiling enchantedly in the glow of her pregnancy and the miracle that made it so. One that was unable to exclude Lyanna from the joy, the next dance being of her and their King, then her and her Queen as well.

The three heads of the dragon, alone with only each other below the stars. Woe was any man or god that tried to sunder them.

Watching with the largest frown, he knew he would need to change his plans.

Notes:

The political lines are being drawn.

Elia's womb is healed :)

Until next time, my friends.

Chapter 70: The Dragon Pack

Notes:

Hey all. Happy saturday. Next week I get my second dose of the Moderna vaccine. Wish me luck.

Good news, the pace of my new stories is coming quickly. The Maegor story will be called "Dragonshield" and once published sometime within the week, it'll follow not just Maegor but the Conquerors and many more as they try to solidify the Targaryen monarchy in the early years. The comedy will be called "Bet of Dragons" and will follow Queens Elia and Lyanna as they compete with each other over finding a bride for their son Jon. That will be published on May 5th, the anniversary of the fucking bullshit episode "Last of the Starks..." seriously, fuck you Dumb and Dumber for that. Hope to see you all then :D

Be sure to check out my other in progress stories: Heart of the Blessed, Last Hope for Westeros, A Targaryen Dynasty, and Howl of the Dragonwolves.

Enjoy.

"Jon," called out the Queen, walking down the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast at a fast clip. Any faster would cause her perfectly styled Dornish updo to fracture, and she couldn't have that. Not on this day. "Jon, where are you?"

"Prince Baelon's not in his room, your Grace," Ser Barristan noted, a frown of concern on his weathered face. "Nor is the Princess Daenerys."

Elia Targaryen huffed. "What has that girl gotten him into now?" she muttered under her breath.

As the Queen continued towards the rest of the royal bedchambers, Barristan quickly followed. "Your Grace, if I may? There is nothing that would hurt the Prince more than taking the Princess away from him… or him from her."

"I'm not planning to act thus… it's just frustrating sometimes." Sharing a chamber since in the cradle, from the moment they could walk both Jon and Daenerys were inseparable. It was the most adorable thing Elia had ever seen, except when little Dany and her dragon-like spirit got her more reserved son into all sorts of trouble round the Red Keep. The servants and guards loved them, so they normally got away with it.

If only they weren't so cute.

Knocking on Viserys' door, she opened it immediately after. "Viserys, goodbrother. Have you seen Jon and your sister?"

Fiddling with a dagger on his bed, dressed but looking quite bored, Viserys looked annoyed at the intrusion. "Do I look like I know where those brats are?"

Rhaegar would have scolded him. Lyanna would have shouted at him. His mother would have smacked him upside the head - Elia simply rolled her eyes and shut the door. Let Viserys stew in his sulkiness. He was a young lad and endured the worst his father could dish out, but everyone was simply losing patience with him when he got in these moods.

"He just needs maturity, your Grace," Barristan offered. "I could ask Ser Jaime to take him as a squire, or find someone that would."

Elia reached her son's chambers. "Best discuss that with Rhaella, good Ser." Without knocking she entered, to find Ashara doing her best to ease a child doublet over his head.

As soon as Egg's shirt was straightened out, his eyes sparkled at seeing Elia. "Muna!"

She walked in and knelt, kissing his head. "How are you, sweetling?" Hugging him, Elia buried her head in his silver curls.

"I'm fine, muna. Hurt earlier, but no more."

Looking concerned at Ashara, her friend and Lady in Waiting smiled sympathetically. "He's a strong dragon. Wants to see the King defeat all others in the tourney."

"Kepa's the strongest of them all!" Egg announced, pure adoration for his father in his expression.

Elia smiled. "He sure is." Kissing his cheek, she rose, looking at Ashara and Benjen - the latter with the squirming one-nameday old Allyria Dayne. An adorable babe the spitting image of her mother, but with the grey Stark eyes. A future heartbreaker. "Have either of you seen Jon or Dany?"

Ashara furrowed her brows. "No, not in their chambers?" Elia shook her head. "Ben?"

Benjen shrugged, trying to keep Allyria from pulling at his beard. "Haven't seen him since breaking fast… have you checked with Rhaenys?"

"Of course. Thank you." Bidding them farewell, Elia hurried to her eldest's room. If Jon and Dany were inseparable, then Rhaenys was a person they greatly looked up to. "If they're not with her… gods help us," she murmured to herself.

Again without knocking, Elia pushed open the door to find Rhaenys in the middle of her chambers, twirling a child staff that her uncle Oberyn gifted her for her sixth nameday. At the noise of Elia's intrusion, Rhaenys yelped and stumbled - landing on her rear. "Muna! You scared me!"

While her ire was real, the young Princess' adorable features - a portend of an immensely beautiful and sultry young woman - caused the scene to be quite amusing. Elia bit back a laugh, knowing it wouldn't help. "Are Jon and Dany with you?"

Rhaenys shook her head. "They're probably with grandmother Rhaella. She's watching over my aunt and sister."

"Thank you, little dragon." Elia took in the girl's tunic and trousers. Just like Lya. "Now put your dress on. We have to be at the tourney grounds promptly."

"Ugh… fine." She pouted.

Aye, just like Lya. The thought left a wide smile on Elia's face as she closed the door. The babes of her own blood had taken on Stark personality traits simply from nurture, while she saw some of her mannerisms in Jon as well. Somehow, it was all the way it was supposed to be.

The nursery was, as Rhaenys suggested, where Elia found her goodmother the Queen Dowager. Dressed in a black and red gown much as Elia did, it was far more severe. Unlike the softness of the Queen's Dornish dress, Rhaella looked like a dragonrider and relished in the look. She looked stunning even so, minus the crown that rested atop Elia's head. "Goodmother?"

Looking up from the crib, Rhaella picked up the squirming bundle as she regarded Elia. "Gooddaughter. What brings you here?" An eyebrow was raised. "Oh, has my daughter absconded with my grandson to places unknown?"

Snorting, Elia walked over to the other crib in the room. "Those two remind me of Jaehaerys and Alysanne. If they had dragons to ride, Daenerys would fly to Mossovy on a whim and Jon would fly right after her." She reached down and snatched up Princess Alyssa Targaryen, the perfect little Valyrian Princess that had celebrated her first nameday only days before. "The servants are already gossiping at when we formalize a betrothal between them."

She may have said it in jest, but Rhaella nodded seriously. "I believe it is too early for that - let them enjoy their innocence… stop that, Cella." Princess Myrcella Targaryen swatted her arms at the Hand of the King pin fashioned to her breast. "She always does this… and then looks at me so innocently. Gets it from her father."

"Jon and Egg do that all the time. They're so like Rhaegar that Lya and I let them get away with murder." An exaggeration, but with a kernel of truth.

"Jaime is lucky I love him, or I'd be quite cross that our daughter was passed his worst traits." Myrcella held the violet eyes and delicate bone structure of a Valyrian, but her hair was the characteristic Lannister golden-blonde. There was no denying her parentage, though few outside the royal family and confidants discussed it openly for fear of the Hand.

Cooing at Alyssa, who was quite active - far more than Rhaenys had been shockingly enough - Elia laughed. "Could be worse. She could take after her grandfather."

Rhaella shuddered. "True, quite true." Her lips pursed. "To tell you the truth, I know where my daughter and grandson are."

Elia's eyes widened. "You do, where are they?"

"Did you look at the doorway?"

"What…" Turning with Alyssa in her arms, Elia found the aforementioned cause of her harried mood standing bright and innocent right at the doorway to the nursery, wide smiles on their cherubic faces. Behind was a sheepish Ser Jaime, hand resting atop their shoulders.

"Hello, muna," Baelon 'Jon' Targaryen said first, genuinely happy to see his mother.

"Hello Jon," Elia said, trying to keep a stern face at her beloved boy. Three namedays old and growing like a weed, the Crown Prince of Westeros was a perfect mix of his mother and father. Hair dark, it grew in ragged curls that seemed to suit him, and it quite matched his Northern coloring. In all else, he seemed to look like his father - the eyes especially, rich pools of purple that could charm anyone. Not that he tried often… a more conscientious boy didn't exist in the Seven Kingdoms. He was more apt to brood in his room, again like his father, than get into mischief. "So just where have you been?"

"Nowhere," answered Princess Daenerys 'Dany' Targaryen. If Jon was quiet on his own, he was a terror when paired with his aunt Dany. Completely Valyrian in looks and temperament, the wild silver locks and dark violet eyes hid both mischief and fire. Dany questioned everything, explored everywhere, expressed a fiery temper at everyone, and included Jon in nearly everything she did. She did have a charm about her, but she was not shy in deploying it… as she did now with an innocent smile and adorable dimples. "Just walking."

"I'll wager." Elia approached Jaime. "And where did you find them?"

Jaime shrugged. "In the garden, playing with butterflies."

"Well, if that's all it was," Rhaella started, "Then it is fine." Both little ones seemed almost relieved. "But if I ask the kitchen servants, would they inform me of the origins of the crumbs on your cheek, Daenerys." Dany's eyes widened in horror, tongue swiping her lip - feeling the tiny specks of the apple tart she had been snacking on before the gardens.

Jon was indignant. "Dany, you said you know how to get away." Quiet he was, but he had the combined tempers of all three of his parents when truly ired.

"I didn't know…" Normally confident, Dany sunk into herself. It was a heartbreaking sight. "Please no be mad, we hungry." The kitchen servants loved the royal brood. Pastries were often pilfered with them turning a blind eye.

Chuckling, Elia couldn't be mad at her little boy. "Was it just one each?" They both bobbed their heads, and one look at Rhaella made it clear both she and Elia believed they were telling the truth. "Good, but you shouldn't have snuck off. Today is tourney day."

Both of them brightened up. "We see kepa?!" Jon asked excitedly.

"We see dwagons?!" Dany asked, equally excited.

"You will," Rhaella replied." And at least you kept your outfits clean. Mischievous as they were, the pair knew they were royalty and acted accordingly. "Alright, let's fetch your brother and sister and head out."

"Uncle Vis be there?" Jon asked, looking up at his grandmother, holding his little aunt."

"I'll make sure of it."

---

With a grunt, Lord Yohn Royce picked himself up from the ground. His muscles ached as he brushed the sand off his armor. "You alright, my Lord?"

Royce looked up to see King Rhaegar looking down at him - the man that had just unseated him in the second tilt of their joust. A man of complete honor. Royce bowed. "As alright as I can be, your Grace. Pride wounded though."

Rhaegar chuckled. "You were a worthy opponent, Lord Royce. I am glad that on the field of battle, you fought alongside me." While one was grounded and the other mounted, they clasped their hands in a firm shake.

"Go kepa!" Jon shouted, cheering for his father from the royal box, as he had for each joust of the tourney so far. The defending champion, Rhaegar displayed his power and skill by unhorsing every opponent that came against him to the delight of both the crowd and his children.

Now only one opponent remained.

Huffing, Rhaenys crossed her arms as said opponent emerged. "I can't believe anyone would challenge kepa, let alone a craven that keeps her face hidden." Smart beyond her years, her vocabulary was impeccable. "A Laughing Weirwood sigil, stupid."

Elia bit back a laugh at the obvious irony at it all. "It only adds to the drama to have a mystery knight, little dragon."

Rhaenys wasn't convinced. "Why would muna give Winter to him? Or Aunt Dacey be her squire?" Smart as she was, she didn't connect the dots.

"Your muna does enjoy sponsoring the downtrodden, granddaughter," Rhaella interjected.

"Why can't muna be here?" Egg asked expectantly. While Jon and Daenerys were too engrossed by the jousts, quiet Prince Aegon was more introspective.

Elia sighed. "She was feeling… under the weather." She bit her lip, not wanting to ruin the obvious surprise - she had been surprised at first seeing it - while the Knight of the Laughing Tree readied for the final joust of the tourney.

Winter and Moondancer had reached their positions opposite each other on the freshly sanded jousting field. Both Rhaegar and the Knight of the Laughing Tree kept their lances up high, shields tucked loosely into their sides. "I cannot watch this," Elia murmured.

"You need not worry, your Grace," Ashara whispered behind her. "They are both accomplished riders."

"A man died at a tourney in Lannisport only five moons ago," Elia shot back.

Rhaella snorted. "That was against Gregor Clegane. He is a brute and a fiend." Had she not been holding Dany and among her grandchildren, there was no doubt the Hand would have used harsher words. "There shan't be worry of grievous injury today."

Elia wasn't mollified. "You can't possibly know that."

Seated in the chair normally assigned to Rhaegar, Jon tugged on Elia's sleeve. "Cheer kepa, muna." His violet eyes were insistent.

Smiling, Elia kissed the crown of his head. "I do wish for your father to win, but a Queen must keep her dignity."

Rhaenys snorted. "I'll do it, Jon. GO KEPA!" she screamed out, to which Jon clapped his hands.

"Win, brother!" Dany screeched just as loud, which was enough to galvanize the crowd to cheer for Rhaegar as well.

"They certainly love their King," Ash smirked.

Elia smirked back. "As they do the mystery knight." The whims of the smallfolk would fritter when two favorites competed… none could hate either of them. Hence the real reason Elia refrained from rooting for any.

But her breath hitched as the horn sounded, beginning the first tilt of the final joust of the tourney. Immediately, the horses erupted from their starting positions - clouds of sand kicked into the air as the hooves gained traction. Both knights held on expertly, bouncing with the gait of their mounts. Down dropped the lances while they readied their shields, only moments away from contact...

A draw. Rhaegar's lance crashed into the shield of the mystery knight, shattering upon impact. Such also happened to the Mystery knight, though the King was less staggered than his leaner opponent. Both horses slowed, looping around back into alternate starting positions as Dacey and Monford raced forward with new lances for their masters.

"That went well for both of them," Rhaella mused, leaning back.

"Both are going easy on the other for now," Elia replied. "That won't last."

Dany looked up at her mother. "Brother will win, muna?"

Rhaella stroked her back. "One shall, but both are worthy of the honor." Dany's brows knit in confusion, but for once she didn't ask further as the horn blew again.

The second tilt ended in advantage for Rhaegar, the Mystery Knight's blow glancing off his shoulderplate while Rhaegar hit his opponent directly in the center of the shield. The knight nearly toppled from Winter, but only just righted and stayed mounted. The third tilt, much to Elia's worry, was the reverse, Rhaegar getting massive punch in the upper chest that made him grit his teeth in pain. The Valyrian armor was strong and didn't buckle, but it was certainly a tough blow.

"We're in for a good show," Arthur commented, crossing his arms.

"Gods help me," Elia muttered.

Four tilts turned into five, which turned into seven, and then into twelve. Any cheers from the crowd or errant discussions among the highborn had died down with baited breath at the titanic clash between the Sunrise Dragon and the Knight of the Laughing Tree, both living legends.

"This is amazing," Rhaenys said, her violet eyes lit up in awe at the clash. "Like Kepa fighting Lord Baratheon."

Elia snorted. "Robert isn't as good as the mystery knight is."

"I believe your sentiments are a bit biased, your Grace," Arthur replied just as the twelfth tilt finished in the third draw in a row. "But I was there. You are quite correct."

"That whoring fool was smart not to show up this time," Rhaella hissed. "I would've hauled him into the Black Cells as Rhaegar should've."

New lances held tightly in their mailed fists, the two competitors erupted as soon as the horn sounded. They were tired - nay, completely exhausted - but gritted their teeth and charged forward. Rhaegar stood straight, muscles tense, while the Knight of the Laughing Tree rested low in the saddle, hunched over and expression unreadable under the helm. Elia looked away as the lances clashed together.

The Mystery Knight was hit in the shoulder, but the feet tightly jabbed into the stirrups managed only just to stop a fall.

Rhaegar was hit in the side, staggering him and forcing him from the saddle… crashing into the ground. A hushed gasp overwhelmed the crowd. The King had been defeated, a Targaryen royal no less… such was unheard of in centuries, and the rare examples were against fellow Targaryens. Trotting to a halt, the Mystery Knight looked at the fallen King, tensing up as if whomever it was was truly concerned… Only to relax as Rhaegar stood, removing his helm and grabbing a towel from his squire.

The King was fine, and now the Knight of the Laughing Tree removed her own helm… revealing Queen Lyanna Targaryen to all - both those that knew the secret and didn't.

Each of the royal children were gaping in shock. "Muna?" Jon was confused.

"I can't believe it," Egg breathed.

Silent for a moment, Rhaenys lurched from her seat. "MUNA!" Her hands clapped as loud as she could, which was picked up by everyone in the royal box… and soon melted into the rest of the now adoring crowd.

"LYANNA! LYANNA! LYANNA!" If their great King would lose to anyone, they would want it to be the She-Wolf of House Targaryen. Resting in her saddle, Lyanna smiled humbly and bowed to the crowd. To Elia, she hadn't ever looked more beautiful.

Wiping the sheen of sweat off his brow, Rhaegar climbed the steps to the royal box with helm removed but still in his armor - much as he wished to strip it off, doing so in front of the large crowd wasn't advisable. Ser Oswell stepped aside to allow him entry, to which he was mobbed by his children. "You were amazing, kepa," Rhaenys beamed.

"You and muna the best," Aegon added, his voice halting but smile bright.

Jon was jumping up and down. "Up, kepa, up!" Laughing, Rhaegar lifted Jon into the crook of his arm, kissing his heir on the cheek… a move which coaxed another chorus of raucous cheers from the crowd. If there was anything that the smallfolk loved more than seeing their king and queens as mighty rulers, it was seeing them as a tight, loving family. After decades of Targaryen infighting, it was as refreshing as it was for the equally popular Aegon V.

Chuckling with his son, Rhaegar eased himself next to Elia. "My Queen."

"My King," she replied lovingly. "I believe it is time, lest you wish to be a bad sport?"

He snorted. "Can't have that." Motioning with one hand, a servant trotted forth with the crown of love and beauty. "Queen Lyanna Targaryen, present yourself to your King."

Handing off her helm to Dacey, Lyanna spurred Winter towards the royal box - where she normally sat, but where she quite enjoyed looking up at her element now that her husband and wife wore the crown. She bowed in the saddle. "Your Graces, it was the greatest honor to participate under your aegis." A tiny grin plied at her lips.

Cheeky wench. Rhaegar's eyes glinted in mirth as he took the crown of flowers. Where once they were blue winter roses, now they were red-orange Dornish Apple blooms. "You are truly a victor in every sense of the world, and today I proclaim you champion of the King's Tourney. The winner's prize of ten thousand gold dragons is yours."

"Your Grace, I ask that my winnings are distributed to the orphanage and healing houses of King's Landing. I have no use for such coin." The crowd went wild for Lyanna, shouting her name and tossing flowers of their own for the Winter Queen they so adored… if some of the highborns watching curled their lips in disgust. They shrank back as Lyanna glared at them, but she otherwise waved at the crowd with a smile until they died down. "I only ask to hold the honor of crowning the Queen of Love and Beauty." She spurred Winter till she was right adjacent to the box, able to look her husband, wife, and children in the eye.

Smiling at his wife, Rhaegar handed her the crown of Dornish apple. "Choose wisely. Kingdoms have risen and fallen by such wise or poor choices, my Queen."

Pursing her lips, Lyanna peered at the crown of flowers. "Hmmmm… I am curious as to the rules sworn to this tradition. Lady Hand?"

Rhaella, Daenerys sitting in her lap and riveted to the scene before them, blinked. "Yes, your Grace?"

"Since there is nothing forbidding a woman from participating in a tourney if she meets the requirements, would it be possible to crown a King of Love and Beauty…" Her grin widened. "Because I believe his Grace is deserving of such an honor."

Hearing her words, Rhaegar groaned and buried his head in Jon's curls. Lyanna speaking loudly, the entire tourney grounds had been able to pick up at least the gist of her words. A roar of laughter - or mortification in terms of the more traditional persons - overwhelmed the crowd, as it did the royal box. Elia merely giggled and Ser Barristan bit back a snicker, while the unabashed laughter of the others was infectious.

Young Jon, confused, looked from his father to his mother. "Kepa need all crowns, muna," he said both matter-of-factly and rather loudly, only exacerbating the laughter. Even Lady Melisandre and High Septon Meribald weren't immune to it.

Keeping her composure, a smirk gracing her lips, Rhaella cleared her throat. "There is no rule forbidding it, your Grace. Custom might, but women do not usually win tourney jousts so I cannot think of an example to guide you."

Nodding in understanding, Lya regarded her husband - finding the crown of Aegon the Conquerer on his head. "No, I think his current crown is deserving enough." Without undue delay, she shifted her gaze to Elia. "My Queen, if you would please?"

Blushing, Elia complied to another round of cheers - the throats of the smallfolk that adored them with adulation were undoubtedly to be hoarse for the rest of the day if their screams were any indication. Dipping her head, the ringlet of Dornish apple blooms soon made its new home atop her raven hair. She drew back, the deepest affection for Lyanna reflected back in her wife's eyes. "I am honored, your Grace."

"The honor is mine, your Grace," Lyanna replied, inconspicuously winking.

"Muna pwetty," Jon announced, leaning over from Rhaegar's grasp to kiss Elia's cheek sloppily. "She no pwetty, kepa?"

"She certainly is, my boy," Rhaegar boomed, wrapping an arm round her waist and kissing her on the lips. Releasing her, he drew Blackfyre one handed and raised it in the air. "To Queen Lyanna."

"TO QUEEN LYANNA!"

---

Sunlight streaked through the thick canopy above. An early morning mist still hung over the ground, creating a dazzling glow wherever the bright spears of light penetrated the leaves. Small groups of birds fluttered about, devouring the summer insects that took advantage of the rare warmth to multiply. A swallow snatched one between its beak, landing atop the branches of the great weirwood tree - its red body blended in well with the red of its leaves.

Watching the tranquility of nature, Lord Ned Stark let out a happy sigh. Up came his hand, clutching a washrag that stroked his fine Valyrian Steel blade. Polishing up to the hilt, he reversed course down Ice's massive length. Up and down, up and down, over and over again until the steel of the greatsword would shine as a looking glass.

He sighed in contentment, leaning against the large rock that served as his mount. Summer was finally here and with it life was brought to the North. Wintertown had emptied as men and women dashed to till the soil, keeps negotiated for massive deliveries of goods from merchants in White Harbor, and riders and ravens crisscrossed the flowering landscape as put off political positioning was restarted with a vengeance. Taking advantage of their newfound strength as the land of one of the Queens, many Northern Lords were holding out for significant political marriages with Southern houses.

All potential headaches for Ned, but here in the Godswood he could enjoy the beauty of summer. The rare peace and tranquility it offered to those of the North. As Warden, he required solitude more than most. Few were ever allowed to disturb him as he continued to rhythmically polish Ice.

While he should've noticed the gentle crinkle of grass behind him, Ned was so distracted by the rare tranquility that it didn't register on him till the intruder leapt on his shoulders. "Daddy! Daddy!" Tiny arms tangled around Ned's neck as Ice fell to the ground, Ned almost knocked off his perch. "I gotted you!"

Few could disturb him, but from his jovial chuckle his daughter was one of them. "Gods, Sansa, you're a true direwolf." Insistent, Ned reached up and pulled his baby girl off of him… and dropped her on his lap. "But you cannot match the alpha," Ned chuckled as he began tickling her.

Sansa wriggled about, trying to flinch away from her father's ticklish assault. "Stop daddy!" she squealed, laughing all the while. Eventually though, Ned stopped and Sansa composed herself. "Ewww, mud." She avoided the wet patch of soil and stood on the boulder next to Ned, smoothing out her dress.

Ned watched with amusement. "You know, pup, it's fine to step in the mud."

She looked at him as if he sprouted two heads. "Mama say a pwoppa lady need be clean." Dress unrumpled, she touched her hair to see if the feather pleats in her hair were intact. "Plus mud ewww."

Chuckling again, Ned kissed his daughter's cheek. Soft and dainty, Sansa looked exactly like her mother with the fire-red hair and willowy features - aside from the grey eyes, which were an almost mirror copy of Lyanna's. But there was a study in contrasts about her. One moment she was a perfect lady with the perfect mannerisms and agreeableness, and the next she was as wild as her aunt had been… aside from her manifest aversion of being dirty.

A she-wolf in Jonquil's clothing as Old Nan dubbed her, to which the proud father couldn't disagree with.

"Be with you, daddy?" she asked, fluttering her lashes sweetly.

How could he say no? "You most certainly can, Lady Stark… just be respectful of where we are." He pointed to the face carved in the weirwood.

Sansa nodded, suddenly solemn. "Yes daddy."

While Sansa had the wolfsblood, whomever now came to disturb Ned's peace broke twigs and struggled against the thick undergrowth of the Godswood - any hunter would hang their head in shame. "My Lord, have you seen…" Septa Mordane emerged in the clearing round the heart tree, a worried expression transforming into her normal sour frown. "Oh, there you are, Lady Sansa."

Ever so slightly, Ned felt his daughter cringe behind him. "What seems to be a problem, Septa?" He forced himself to be polite.

"Well… forgive me, My Lord, for disturbing you. But it seems that the young Lady chose to skip her morning prayers in the Sept."

"Is this true?" he asked Sansa. The girl nodded, her red hair bobbing up and down. "Why would you do that?"

Mordane huffed. "Because she is too willful and wild, like her…" Wisely, she trailed off from what she wanted to say, but Ned wasn't daft. Wild like her aunt. His eyes narrowed. "She needs to learn the discipline of a proper maiden or woe to any chance of a betrothal. Now, come along, Sansa."

"No."

The frown deepened. "Do not defy me…"

"Let my daughter speak," Ned spat, which halted her in her tracks. "Why did you skip your prayers?" It truly rankled him that Catelyn insisted in such southern pursuits for his daughter and heir, but the woman was a generally good mother and he tolerated it. "You may tell me, pup."

Sansa bit her lip. "Sept no like. Cold and stone hurt knees… it creepy."

"Understandable," Ned mused. "A Stark of the North must hew to the Northern tradition."

"Lord Stark." Mordane was indignant. "You can't possibly deny her a proper education in favor of…"

"Of what? The traditions and faith of the people she will rule as Lady of Winterfell?" Ned growled, shutting her up. "I've decided her morning prayers won't be necessary today. She shall spend the time with me instead."

Mordane sputtered. "Lord Stark… this is highly…"

He held up a hand. "I've made my decision. Leave us." Scowling at the both of them, Mordane nevertheless curtseyed and bid them farewell. "You don't like her, do you?" Ned asked Sansa.

"She mean," Sansa replied. "Smack hand when I slip words."

Ned sighed. "I'll have to talk to your mother about that." But not now… he still didn't wish to be disturbed, and now Sansa was his for the morning. "Tell you what." He sheathed his sword. "How's about we go to the crypts and I'll teach you about your ancestors. Only Starks are allowed there so it'll be just you and me." Beaming, Sansa clapped her hands.

As night fell, Sansa was long since tucked into bed - her little body at the brink of exhaustion after running around all through the crypts. Seated at his desk in the Lord's solar, he reminisced at how she asked about each of the sarcophagi and then only half listened. I'll have to explain it to her again when she's older. He looked forward to it.

Few could enter into his solar without permission. His wife was one of them. "Ned!" Ah hells… He winced at her shrill yell. "How dare you pull Sansa out of her prayers this morning!"

Taking a deep breath, Ned kept his voice soft and calm. "She's a darling child, Cat. One day enjoying herself at this age isn't much to ask."

Frowning. Catelyn waddled towards him. Her belly swelled with the gravid form of their second child, hopefully a son and heir as Catelyn hoped. Ned had decided long ago to keep Sansa as his heir as the eldest, but hadn't broached it to Cat. "You don't understand, Ned. Our daughter is the niece of the Queen, cousin of the future King, and heir to the Lord of Winterfell. She will be pursued by the most august of houses for marriage and she needs to know these things lest she fail to charm the knights and Lords of the south."

"Seven hells, Cat." Ned put his head in his hands. Mordane had the same argument and he found it perverse. "Sansa is three namedays old. Must we barter her about like a cow on market day?"

"If you don't wish to allow this land to ruin, then you'd listen to me. She needs to learn how to be a proper Lady inculcated in the Seven."

He pursed his lips. "Sansa is a northerner. She must learn the northern gods."

"And she will… once she memorizes these. Your rituals and ceremonies do not have the intricacies as ours do." He'd choose not to find that a patronizing insult… He learned to do that quite alot with Cat. "She'll spend double the time tomorrow in the Sept. I'll see to it personally." Without letting him answer, Catelyn waddled out of the solar.

Lowering his head to the desktop, Ned allowed his thoughts to occupy a forbidden place. Of golden hair and supple curves… of a face that smiled at him and emerald eyes that looked at him with adoration.

If only the fates hadn't been so cruel.

---

"Mmmmm, my beautiful knight," Elia murmured sultrily, pulling Lyanna into the bedchamber. The she-wolf was now removed of her martial outfit, the gown she wore a black and red one that mirrored Elia's for the most part. But at the moment, Elia was doing her best to rend the garment from her. "I believe you are overdressed."

"A sentiment I concur with." Rhaegar shut the bedchamber door behind him, toeing off his boots and removing his doublet quickly. Clad in trousers and an undertunic, he rounded his brides and sat upon the bed. A show better than any mummers troupe could perform. "Continue. I shall join in a minute." Lascivious purple eyes watched it with a lustful glint.

Lyanna moaned as Elia sucked at her neck, one a northern dress would have covered but the southern dresses she normally wore as Queen left deliciously bare. "Fuck… you have to bare yourself as well… but not the crown." Still resting on Elia's head was the crown of love and beauty, orange petals accentuating her olive skin quite beautifully. "Keep it… keep it on."

"I shall, my warrior queen," Elia moaned against Lya's skin, soothing a red bruise with her tongue as her gown pooled in a heap about her feet. In the great hall the feast was still merry, the sounds of frivolity even audible from Maegor's Holdfast. But the royals couldn't wait… they needed each other, and so to their bedchamber did they hurry.

Their bed was large enough for the three of them, Rhaegar not having to move aside as Elia pulled Lyanna atop it. The two women were kissing each other, hands frantically touching any piece of exposed skin. The last few years had been utter bliss in their family lives, whenever the stresses of ruling could be banished away for quiet moments together. Wonderful days with their children, awe at seeing the first dragons in centuries grow and train, and breathless passion that left their toes curled and sweat coating their bodies. "You're mine."

"Yesss…" Gods, it was perfect. Her life was perfect. "Oh fuck, Lya…" Elia moaned softly as her wife's hand made its way down her body to her core, already soaked with the dampness of her arousal. Two fingers entered her, immediately searching for her special spot. Elia nearly screamed when Lya found it. Her hands moved to paw at Lya's breasts, only to find them still clothed. "Gods… get… dress… off…"

Growling, Lyanna tried to sit upright, but it was hard as she still pleasured Elia. "My King…" she called out sweetly but huskily. "Your Queen could use your assistance."

Eyes hungry and cock straining against his trousers, Rhaegar practically lunged. He planted his hands at her waist to tug out her dress, starting to place kisses on Lyanna's neck. She tilted her head back, allowing her husband more access. The pleasure from his lips made her increase the speed of her fingers inside Elia.

"That's right, scream for us, viper," Lyanna moaned, then positioning herself between Elia's legs. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes, my loves, please…" Elia begged, her hand going for Rhaegar's rapidly hardening cock. At the feeling of her hand on him, he let out a moan. Rhaegar made a mad dash to divest himself of his clothes.

Once he was fully naked, he positioned himself - on his knees - next to Elia and put his cock right at her lips.

"Your mouth, my love," Rhaegar said. "Please."

Elia obeyed and immediately ran her tongue up the length of his shaft and let out a groan as Lyanna licked a trail up her slit. She fought a scream of pleasure, instead sucking harder. Hungering for his seed. One hand gripped his hip, while the other weaved into Lya's chestnut hair. The pressure quickly built after an entire day of denial and it was exhilarating.

"Oh fuck…" Rhaegar's deep grunts in Valyrian reached the cores of both Queens, Elia taking him deeper while Lyanna's fingers found her own flower to relieve the burning ache there. "You are perfect, my loves. So perfect…" He trailed off as Elia's hand softly stroking his stones sent him over the top, emptying into Elia's mouth.

Sucking it all up as if the best tasting nectar, Elia crashed over the edge as Lyanna hit her sacred spot just as her tongue swiped over her nub. "Seven bloody hells," she gasped, head falling onto the pillows.

Lyanna climbed atop her, tongue plunging in her mouth. "Gods, you taste good… as does our husband." They both looked over to see him stroking his cock, getting it hard once again. Lya ground her core against Elia's hips in arousal. "You better be ready to pleasure us, my King."

His eyes were so dark to appear black. "Do not wake the dragon, Lya."

Both grinned. "What if we want him awoken?" Elia asked innocently.

He rose, stare predatory… making them shudder. "I warned you… now to the consequences." Lyanna and Elia gladly submitted.

What had to be an hour later, all three were cuddled closely together under the thick down blankets, trembling in the aftershock of their pleasurable evening. "We need to do this more often," Lya sighed, kissing Rhaegar's chest.

Rhaegar smirked. "I still haven't taken either of you on the Iron Throne yet."

Elia smacked him on the chest. "Lecher." Though the thought was so incredibly naughty that she simpered in the delight of it.

There was a rapping on their door, intruding on the moment. "Your Graces." Poor Oswell was apparently the one stuck with nighttime guard duty… especially the pleasurable noises that would assault his ears. "You have a visitor."

Rhaegar groaned. "Tell whomever it is to bugger off," he called out, while the Queens wore similarly annoyed looks.

"I don't believe I can do that. You may wish to dress… your Graces." He was nothing if not formal.

"Seven hells," Elia murmured, her Dornish accent deep whenever she was irritated or angry. "If this is Varys with some song and dance his birds dredged up I do not wish to hear it."

Lyanna tossed a nightgown to her wife before letting one slip over her head and shoulders. "I doubt it's Varys." The gown ran down to right below her knees, scandalous for most women but one Lyanna didn't mind due to her own daring nature - plus it enticed Rhaegar just as Elia's much more risque Dornish sleepwear did… not that they really wore sleepwear in bed. "Probably Baelish. How Elbert Arryn saw potential in him is astonishing."

"He's somewhat competent so I put up with him," Rhaegar replied, already in a loose tunic and trousers. He didn't like the chief clerk of the Master of Coin, but he didn't think much of the man.

"Brandon always called him Littlefinger."

Elia snorted. "Three tries to where that name hailed from." Each of them shared a chuckle. "Let the visitor in," the Dornish Queen said, annoyance returning.

All trace of annoyance faded from all of them as the door opened and a tiny figure ambled inside on unsteady legs. "Muna… kepa?" Oswell flashed a ghost of an 'I told you so' grin before he closed the door behind the young Crown Prince.

Closest to the door, Elia rushed to her son. "Jon, my love. What's wrong?" She knelt and hugged him close, now thankful she had her nightgown on. The smell of sex was still in the room, but behind Rhaegar thought quickly and opened one of the shutters.

Jon, for his part, buried his face in Elia's shoulder. "No sleep."

"Oh, little pup." Lyanna was hot on Elia's heels, sandwiching their dragonwolf between them. "Did you have a bad dream?" He poked out of Elia's grasp and nodded, black curls bobbing even as unshed tears made his purple eyes shine. Lya sighed. "Wanna talk about it?"

Trembling, Jon bit his lip. "Fwire," he murmured. "And blue-eye monsters. And black… so many black…" It proved too much for him and he sought out Elia's embrace again.

"Shhhh… shhhh…" Lya placed a kiss on his head while Elia stroked his back. "Would you like to sleep with your kepa and munas tonight?" He bobbed his head again, enthusiastically, though the trembling didn't cease. "Rhaegar?" Elia already knew he'd absolutely agree, but Jon was growing too big for her to easily carry.

The King quickly scooped up his son. "'Ere we go, hatchling." Jon clung to his father as if he'd perish upon letting go. "The Sunrise Dragon and his Queens will protect you from the monsters."

One by one they settled into bed, Jon scrambling to crawl in between his munas. Rhaegar didn't take it personally, only wishing the court painter could quickly sketch this for a later work. "Kepa…" Jon murmured. "I's sworry."

He furrowed his brows, seeing Lya and Elia were equally confused. "Why, my son?"

"I's not a stwong dwagon like you or grammy." In his childlike mind, such was the worst thing in the world.

"Oh, hatchling." Rhaegar ruffled his hair. "Even a dragon needs the love of his creche. You need not think bravery means loneliness."

Lyanna kissed his cheek. "Remember, pup. Wolves and dragons are not meant to be alone. The Lone wolf dies, but…"

"Pack swuvives." Jon had heard it many times from his muna, and understood it enough for the words to calm his heart. "I love you."

"We love you too, sweetling," Elia cooed.

The door opened again, Oswell not bothering to announce a new arrival this time. It was soon apparent he didn't need to. "Brother." An equally small figure, hair and nightgown disheveled from sleep and panic, stared at the bed with wide, violet eyes. "Jon not in bed. I's scared."

Hearing her, Jon looked up. "Dany!" The Prince motioned for her. "I's here. Come." Dany needed no urging before she ran to the foot of the bed and climbed on… ultimately ending up between Rhaegar and Lyanna.

"You scared me, Jon," she almost scolded, but her lip quivered in past fright. "Don't leave me."

"I sorry… I won't." The two toddlers hugged each other over Lyanna's stomach, black hair mixing with silver.

Smiling softly at the sweet sight of his son and his sister, Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Want me to fetch your muna, Daenerys?"

"No!" she almost shouted. "I stay with Jon."

"Alright, alright," Elia said softly, trying not to giggle at how tooth-rotting the scene was. "But you two need to sleep." Reluctantly, they disentangled from each other… and were out like a candle not long after. "Some would say their closeness is weak, but I don't think so."

Lyanna nodded. "Bonds such as these cannot be severed, especially among dragons." Two mischievous eyes glanced at Rhaegar.

He shrugged. "Perhaps." With them both asleep, his mind turned elsewhere.

This caught the Queens' attention. "Rhaegar?" Lya asked.

Rhaegar sighed. "Those dreams Jon has… they could be dragon dreams. Portends of the future - Targaryens ever since Daenys the Dreamer have had them."

"Blue-eyes… they remind me of Old Nan's tales of the Long Night." Lyanna shuddered at the thought.

"But what of the blackness he talked about?" Elia's brows knit until it came to her. "You don't think…"

Rhaegar reached out to touch their shoulders, comforting them. "Whatever it is, we will stop it and protect our babes." Both Queens nodded.

Dragons answered to neither man nor god… nothing could hope to defeat them.

---

At the near edges of the known world, the frivolity and healing of the center of Westeros were nonexistent. Rule of the Iron Throne did not concentrate here, it followed its own way. An ancient way. The Iron Way.

Over a hundred men and women gathered in a sheltered cove, protected from the worst of the gales and storms that often tormented the Iron Islands. They parted way, armed guards escorting Lord Balon Greyjoy towards the beach. Only yesterday did Lord Quellon die, and the long-hidden plot reached its zenith. There was no choice but to commence it now, and with resolve and warlike excitement that they waded into the breach.

They did not reap. They did not sow.

Fresh seaweed tied into his hair, Aeron Greyjoy watched as his brother waded into the estuary, crabby face alight with an uncharacteristic zeal. Oh brother… you cheer that for which our destruction shall be forged from. But he was a Greyjoy, and he would never betray his house even if it were barreling towards destruction. Such was not the Iron Way.

With the remainder of his brothers, goodsisters, nieces, and nephews waiting by the shore in their finery - considering the nature of their people, not the sort that greenlanders would call finery - only Balon and two guards joined Aeron in the water. Brackish waves lapped at their waists as the wind blew against the shore, kraken banners whipping in the wind. "Who comes to seek the mantle of the Drowned God?" Aeron began, his voice powerful.

Balon's smile grew wider. "I, Balon of House Greyjoy, firstborn son of Lord Quellon Greyjoy and Lord of Pyke." Exhilaration filled him as he knelt in the water. Why shouldn't he be happy? For the first time since Black Harren Hoare, the Ironborn would assert their superiority over the greenlanders. It was truly time.

Without delay, Aeron seized the back of his brother's neck and shoved him in the water - bubbles fountianing out as Balon was so suddenly enveloped by the sea. "Let Balon, your servant, be born again from the sea as you were." The voice boomed across the cove, letting all present know what was being said, the momentous occurrence that it was. They faced it with hard stares and indifference.

"Brother…" a young boy asked, tugging on the soon to be Prince Rodrik's hand. "What are they doing?"

"Shut up," Rodrik hissed.

The boy's eyes were wide with fright. "But they'll kill him."

An open palm cuffed him hard upon the head. "Shut up, Theon," Rodrik hissed again. "Be a man." Lip quivering, Theon obeyed… the only thought in his head being of his father dying. Do they want him to die? Surely they weren't so heartless.

But he was in for a rude surprise. If Balon died, then he wasn't the strong leader their god wished for. It didn't matter. There were plenty of others who could lead them to victory.

For a reaver raised on a speck of wind-swept rock, sentimentality led to death.

"Bless him with sword," Aeron continued. "Bless him with salt. Bless him with steel and wind. Listen to the waves and to the god, for he is speaking to us." The writhing and faint gasping of a drowning man grew less and less frantic, blackness quickly overcoming the Lord of Pyke. "Listen, for he says we have no King but Balon Greyjoy."

"Uncle?" A short, pudgy girl looked up at Euron. "Is Theon right?" She looked worryingly at her youngest brother.

Euron shrugged. "Perhaps, Asha. We'll see if your daddy is strong enough." There was nothing comforting about his statement.

Balon's struggles ceased, his body going limp. "Let the sea wash your follies away - let it kill the old Balon. Let him drown as his lungs fill with seawater." One last gasp. "Let the fish eat the scales off his eyes. What is dead may never die."

"What is dead may never die!" shouted the collective throats of all those present.

"But it rises from the sea harder and stronger." Role concluded, Aeron let go and stepped away. Both guards grabbed the limp, floating body of their supposed King and dragged him ashore. Balon was tossed onto the rocky beach, hair matted to his forehead and ceremonial robes drenched… face white with cold.

His bothers and children formed a ragged semicircle around the still form, joined by the various Lords of the Iron Isles underneath their own house banners. They walked within about six feet of where Balon laid but didn't move. Didn't attempt to help, instead simply watching. Waiting. All in complete silence except for the wind and the cawing of seagulls.

Little Theon was close to tears. "Father…" He tried to move to him, but was kicked in the pit of his knee by his elder brother Maron. That dissuaded Asha, feeling the same way but far smarter in not showcasing it.

"Is he dead?" snorted Lord Orkwood.

"Let me see." Euron stepped forward, looked over his elder brother with a curious, contemptuous look, and then suddenly gave him a kick in the ribs.

At that moment Balon erupted, eyes wide as he coughed up torrents of seawater. Coughing, sputtering atop the ground in desperate retches, he had nonetheless survived the trial of the Drowned God.

Picking up the Driftwood Crown from where it rested atop a mossy rock, Aeron dropped it on his brother's matted, salty hair. "What is dead may never die."

"What is dead may never die!"

Beyond the shelter of the cove were the four hundred warships of the Iron Fleet, stationed at anchor and waiting for the order to sail against the Seven Kingdoms. An order their new King would soon give.

Notes:

Aren't little Jon and Dany so freaking adorable?! Close even from the youngest age, not to mention baby Sansa. Can already spot the difference from her canon side.

And so we have the new additions to House Targaryen, Elia's daughter Alyssa and Rhaella's daughter Myrcella (yep, a Targaryen version of that Myrcella).

And fuck, the Ironborn preparing themselves.

Until next time, my friends. Be sure to comment :D

Chapter 71: Alight

Notes:

Hey all! I'm fully vaccinated and feeling great!

Great news! My new story about Maegor and the Conquerors have been posted. It's called Dragonshield and I would be so stoked if you guys checked it out!

And now on to the new adventures of our dragon family :D

Enjoy.

The Red Keep was large. Besides the dragonpit - used to house beasts as large as Balerion the Black Dread - it was the largest single structure or set of structures in King's Landing. Such extended to the royal quarters of Maegor's Holdfast, the once protective fortress long softened into one of comfort and magnificence by Viserys I and Daeron II. Each of the King and two Queens spirited their own solar, and it was in Elia's in which the aforementioned Dornish Queen currently resided.

She was not alone, however. "In regards to whispers from far off lands," Lord Varys said. "A slave revolt in Yunkai has come to an ignominious end when the Wise Masters were reinforced by Unsullied forces loaned by the Good Masters of Astapor."

Queen Elia frowned. "I presume that the Unsullied were ordered to…"

"Kill them all, yes." Elia sighed. Her goodsister Mellario was a notorious slaveholder in Norvos, escaping charges in Westeros since the Norvosi were not under the jurisdiction of the King's Justice. "My birds song of the Yunkish running out of crosses to punish the rebels."

"Quite…" Elia had seen Mellario execute a slave by crucifixion once. Never again would she tolerate it. The Unsullied are also slave soldiers… "The markets and merchant fleets will be busy resupplying new slaves for the Yunkish."

Varys nodded. "An opportunity of our own ships to handle grain convoys."

Quite bloodless, taking advantage of mass human bondage campaigns… but the Seven Kingdoms weren't a part of it - they'd need the coin to replenish the treasury. All their projects had drained quite a lot of it. "Do it, but any captain taking part in the slave trade is to be hung or sent to the Wall. Understood?"

"Of course, your Grace."

Elia nodded. "You're dismissed." It was clear that Varys was done speaking, even if he had more information dwelling in his mind. Ruddy face and body starting to go to fat showed someone nonthreatening, but Elia knew better.

What are you hiding, Varys? What are you hiding?

Too engrossed in her dispatches, Elia didn't notice the footsteps outside the door till it opened, startling her. Wondering why her uncle let whomever it was disturb her, she looked up with an annoyed scowl only to find her husband entering. "Oh, it's you."

Snorting, Rhaegar shut the door behind him. "Such a declaration of affection, that was."

Elia sighed. "Apologies, my love." The weight of it all heavy on her slumped shoulders, she rose. Arms outstretching to take him in a tight embrace. "The songs never detail the stresses of an active sovereign." Lips searching out his, a shudder of contentment washed through her.

They kissed languidly, enjoying being together after a long day of pressing business. Times such as these were a refuge for the royal family, and they sought them out greedily. Rhaegar broke the kiss and leaned his forehead on hers. "I would suggest that you try to ease off yourself, but I cannot give advice that I wouldn't take."

"You're a good King, husband, and I hope that I can match your need in a Queen."

"You do." He kissed her cheek. "Perhaps I can grant her Grace some assistance." Rhaegar leaned against the desk. "I have experience in such matters, though not of her caliber."

Grinning, she moved to her seat while running her hand down his arm. "I could be persuaded to accept your advice, however unoriginal it shall be." Gods, for Elia it seemed as if their first four years of marriage - excepting the happy moments of bonding with their babes - were but a nightmare than reality. Everything now was simply… bliss. Even the mundane portions. Picking up another stack of dispatches, Elia could only bask in the happiness.

Unlike most, she would never take it for granted.

"Varys greeted me in the halls not long before I arrived," Rhaegar began. "I am aware of your feelings of mistrust to him, so what worries you specifically?"

"He… he is knowledgeable at this craft. Greatly so." Elia would be a fool to discount Varys' talents - even if one was an enemy, underestimating them as a form of ridicule was unwise. "While normally he would proffer his whispers at the Small Council, I wished to hear his findings myself." Reaching out to grab another dispatch, she winced. "Hells. Fucking shoulder. I told Lya that position would be difficult."

An eyebrow rose. "Oh? This is a story I do not yet know." He grinned down on her. "Given I did not witness this action of my disobedient Queens first hand, do share."

Elia rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't the letcher King like to know." He licked his lips, but when Elia reached up to smack his side, her shoulder ached again. "Ahhh…" Her grimace was evident.

"Easy, my love. Easy." Rhaegar eased her arms down, walking behind her. "You may be disobedient, but I cannot stand my Dornish beauty in any sort of agony." He pressed his powerful, calloused palms onto her shoulders.

"Rhaegar, love, there's no need…" Her voice trailed off, replaced with a drawn out moan of pleasure. "Mmmmm…" Rhaegar's hands kneaded the stiff muscles of her neck and shoulder and Elia adored it. "Gods, you're good at that." She relaxed, allowing him easy access to the olive skin.

Rhaegar smiled, letting his fingers dig into her flesh as she liked. "I've learned that my Queen derives great pleasure from her King's hands on her."

"Gods, you are correct… oh, Rhaegar." This was better than anything aside from sex.

"While I know that I am irresistible to you and Lya, may we move to the matter before us?"

He knows how he affects me, the bastard. She couldn't be mad at him, though. "Well…" Elia cleared her throat. "Varys' whispers bring much… on most Kingdoms. He knows a great deal which showcases his skill."

"How so?"

"Elbert Arryn no longer sleeps in the same bed as his wife."

"Oh?" Rhaegar pursed his lips. "Lysa Arryn… I cannot blame him for that." There was no denying that Ned's goodsister - and by extension their goodsister - wasn't the most pleasant woman. "But I do not like where this is going."

Elia nodded. "They discovered a bastard girl of his, one Della Stone. Elbert refuses to legitimize her, but is still taking her into his household."

Moving to her lower back, the King pounded the smooth skin and muscles there to her approval. "We may have a succession crisis in the Vale over this."

"Lord Royce is an ally of ours… at least he fought well on our side in the rebellion. I think he could watch over Lord Elbert for us, ensure matters don't boil over."

"A splendid idea, my Queen." He leaned down and kissed her neck, making Elia shudder with happiness. "But what is your worry of Lord Varys?"

Her smile turned to a frown. "My House… we've always been as drawn to the east as we have to our countrymen in Westeros. I know those people, the ones that hold power in the Free Cities - my goodsister is from Norvos, and my mother oft entertained Triarchs, Princes, and merchants in Sunspear. Varys… he is of that society transplanted here. He doesn't operate the way someone raised in Westeros would." Elia looked up, finding Rhaegar listening with rapt attention. "He will serve you ably, but if his interests differ from yours he will bend the truth… or even hide it."

Rhaegar was silent for a moment. "In what layer of information does he bend the truth in your opinion?"

"The Iron Islands."

"My love, it is quite hard to gain any sort of whispers from those godsforsaken rocks."

"That's just it… I have a whisper, through Oberyn mind you but it ended with me." Rhaegar's eyebrow rose. "A merchant in Volantis had sold a large shipment of timber to Pyke and Orkmont only moons ago. Sturdy logs, ones used to make ship masts."

"How large was the shipment?"

"A hundred logs. The Ironborn are building their fleet… I cannot presume this is for a peaceful purpose."

"And Varys didn't tell you?"

"He might have no little bird privy to this, but I doubt it."

Nodding, Rhaegar was more concerned with what had been told him by his Queen. "I'll speak to Lucerys. We'll call the royal fleet and signal Tywin and Lord Redwyne to do the same."

"May I suggest we do the same with the Manderly fleet?"

Rhaegar smiled. "Some men never speak to their brides of matters of state. I am all the better for not being one of them." Freshly relaxed, Elia looked up at him. Seeing his beautiful features, it ignited a different feeling inside her. Without delay she reached up and pulled him down for a kiss.

---

It was times like these that Tywin Lannister truly missed his dear friend, Loren Payne. Looking up at those in his current inner circle, each of them had a strike against them in his mind. Kevan was timid in his thinking, the kind of man that would have tried to parlay with Roger Reyne and Walderan Tarbeck - essentially their father but without the immorality. Tygett disliked Tywin and was quite antagonistic and sullen. Gerion was too adventurous and unserious, plus he wasn't there as he took the position of the Red Keep Master-at-Arms as per his deal with Rhaella. Finally, one of my own in that position. And Emmon Frey… the less said about his goodbrother the better.

Gods, Loren. Why did I lose you? He had always been on Tywin's side, but was bold and didn't coat anything in honey as the bannermen of Gawen Crakehall, Leo Lefford, and Roland Westerling were oft to do. People tended to bury bad news around Tywin, and he didn't like it.

Rolph Spicer on the other hand… but the man was simply beneath Tywin.

"Congratulations on your new child, Gawen," Kevan said, reaching out to pat the man's palm.

"Is this your second?" Lefford asked.

Gawen was a loyal man, but not a particularly formidable one. He was more inclined to smile and go with the flow. "My third. Another daughter - joins her brother and two sisters."

"Jeyne's a pretty lass, like her mother my sister," Rolph laughed, clasping Gawen on the shoulder. The man knew that being the goodbrother of Tywin's most loyal bannerman was the only reason he was here… much like Emmon Frey, but smart. Tywin resolved to keep an eye on him.

"Enjoy their younger years," Kevan added. "I do that with Lancel, and shall enjoy it with the new babe in Dorna's womb…"

Kevan was cut off as Tywin smacked his hand upon the table. "We're not women. Let's stop the idle bunk and get back to the male domain of ruling this Kingdom." Summarily chastised and shut up, he continued. "Gerion informs me of something intriguing. There are rumblings in court of discontent with Dowager Queen Rhaella as Hand."

"Oh?" asked Roland Crakehall. "Not surprising, as she is the living manifestation of fire and blood."

A snort came from Tygett. "Weak-willed and dainty Rhaella Targaryen, now a vicious dragonrider."

Emmon's eyes widened, as if in fear. Damn you father for this weakling in our family. "She… she rides dragons? There are dragonriders?"

"The King rides his dragon… we don't know if she does…" Tywin began, but was cut off himself as the door opened. Obviously someone the guards didn't believe they needed to bar entry for.

"Greetings, masters of this fair land." Oh no… Arrogant, amused grin on his lips as he loped into the meeting chamber, the second son of Tywin Lannister moved to hug each of his uncles. "Forgive me for being late, but the roads were dreadful."

"One cannot be late to something one was not invited," Tywin replied, scowling at his son. If his day and headache couldn't get worse…

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders. "Good to see you as well, father." The dwarf still had his traveling leathers, and they were splattered with dried mud, as were his boots. The boy couldn't even bathe or change clothes before taking the chance to irritate me. "I bring tidings of your granddaughter - your royal granddaughter."

Blinking, Kevan leaned forward. "Myrcella? Please, do tell." While certain… related topics were still carefully guarded, the news of Rhaella's newest babe was not. Unlike Princess Daenerys, Princess Myrcella's parentage was not up for debate - she was Jaime's. One look at her confirmed it, a perfect mix of Rhaella and Joanna.

Clasping his heart, Tyrion made an over the top dramatic gesture. "Gods, the most adorable little babe I have seen. First woman in King's Landing to earn my undivided attention that I hadn't paid with coin."

"So you didn't find a whore? I'm shocked," Rolph Spicer deadpanned, smirking.

"Seven heavens, no, I may be a highborn dwarf but I'm no begging brother."

Yes, the headache was getting worse. "Any sign of her personality?" Even at one nameday, he and Joanna knew what Cersei and Jaime would be - a manipulative, scheming lady for the former and a naive, gallant knight for the latter. His grandchildren were no different.

Tyrion shrugged again. "Quiet mostly, but I can see a bit of a lion's roar deep down. She will not want for intendeds, I promise you."

"Not that we'll have any say in it," Tygett pointed out. "She's not a Lannister, she was legitimized a Targaryen since my nephew's white cloak prohibited him from marryin' her." Tywin was honestly still amazed that the boy had the stones to pull this off. Since he ran off to join the Kingsguard… Tywin had sensed a certain cowardice in the boy. But killing the king then making the Dowager Queen his mistress… I underestimated the chivalrous idiot.

"Doesn't matter. She is my blood and therefore any match of hers will spread our influence." He just needed to get back to the capitol to oversee matters. The Westerlands were in his pocket, there was no use for him here. "Everyone leave except for Spicer."

"My Lord…"

"Everyone leave." Known for mercurial bouts that rose only to a sort of dead growl, the gathered Lords did as they were told. "You too, Tyrion."

"Pish, no fun, father. Now all I can do is pray that dear Robb hasn't grown taller than I…" he said in fake outrage.

Tywin was having none of it. "Out." The dwarf that was his son and his shame bowed and left. "If only he wasn't his mother's child… I'd have thrown him down a well," he said to no one in particular.

Rolph Spicer was the only one to hear it. "Odd, I'd have done it regardless." The upstart knight who managed to marry his family into an august house walked up to the seat adjacent to Tywin. "You wished to speak to me in private, my Lord."

"Yes, Ser Rolph. Have you kept watch?"

"Aye," Rolph nodded. "She's with child again. Maester suspects it's a son this time."

"Damn." Tywin lightly slammed his fist on his leg. "I was afraid of this." He didn't trust Spicer, but the man was Varys' close equal when it came to subterfuge. For a man in his position, Tywin needed that. "Deal with it."

Spicer's eyes widened for the briefest of moments before growing expressionless once again. "You sure, my Lord?"

A nod. "Aye, and do it quietly. You'll get an additional three estates once the deed is confirmed, and a Lordship if I get what I want."

"I will not let you down, Lord Tywin." Spicer stood and dipped his head in respect before seeing himself out.

As he was leaving, a small figure sprinted into the room. "Grandfather!" Golden hair glinting from the sunlight, the man cub leaped into Tywin's lap… arguably the only one who could do so and escape the rack. "Can you show me the lions again?"

"Robb!" Behind entered Cersei, face cross. "Gods, Robb. What have I told you about bothering your grandfather?"

Little Robb Hill, golden curls drooping over his forehead and green eyes wide and innocent, pouted. "But grandfather promised to show me the lions. They are the mightiest creatures in the land."

Even Tywin couldn't help a tiny smile at that. So much like Jaime at that age, but bolder. Stronger. Such allowed his bastard taint to be ignored by Tywin, the boy holding so much potential. "It is fine, daughter. I'll take him to see the lions after lunch." Robb beamed with glee. "Now get him to his lessons."

"Thank you, grandfather."

"Git to your lessons, boy," was the reply.

"Come along, Robb." With that, the intrusion was over.

Grandson, you will rule the largest Kingdom if I have anything to say about it. Hate him or loathe him, when Tywin Lannister made such proclamations, they had quite the high chance of succeeding.

---

Pudgy hands reaching for the door handle of the wheelhouse, Hand of the King Rhaella Targaryen snatched her up. "No, Alyssa. Do not touch the door." She sighed, the Princess immediately starting to wriggle out of her grip. "Gods, is it the Dornish in you or the dragon in you?"

"Allow me, Rhaella," said Marya Seaworth, her new Lady in Waiting. "We can switch. Princess Myrcella is a dear."

Rhaella took her little girl with a happy smile, tickling Cella's cheek and getting a giggle for her trouble. "She is a little angel… Lyssa is a terror, though. Gods help her husband."

Marya seemed to keep her calm though, the only naughty thing she tried to do being tugging on the woman's brown hair. "It's no trouble to me. Try raising four rowdy boys with a penchant for wrestling with each other. The Princess is a breath of fresh air for me."

"You should have a girl," young Egg said in his soft voice. "I love my little sister."

"You're a charmer, my Prince," Marya replied. "But I have what the gods seek fit to give me and my husband. We've been blessed so far and I would never question or regret it."

Many years ago, Rhaella would have been supremely jealous of someone like Marya - at least a highborn version of her, Aerys not seeing fit to allow her to associate with anyone but the most august houses. Alone with one child, multiple pregnancies ending in dead infants or stillbirths. Even now, they still hurt, especially remembering Joanna with her healthy twins or Mynara and her three easy childbirths. But now, four healthy babes and the love of her life with her… Rhaella was content.

"I want a little brudder!" Crown Prince Baelon insisted from where he and Princess Daenerys were huddled up, previously whispering things to each other in the way they always did.

Rhaella smirked. "It is not I you need to tell with that, Baelon." Of the family, only she persisted in calling him by his actual name. A dragon should be known by a dragon's name. It was all in good spirits though. "Rather your parents."

"I's tell them tonight," he announced, which caused the two ladies to grin at each other.

The wheelhouses jolted, Alyssa clapping her hands while Cella let out a cry - only a gentle cooing from her mother prevented a full on wail. Gods, the roads are horrible. There was for the longest time no need for those of the crown to make the journey from the Red Keep to the Dragonpit. Now they did, and while Rhaella would normally shun a wheelhouse as something far too extravagant for her, with the children, here she was.

"Are you sure about this, your Grace?" Marya asked. "They're still so young."

Rhaella nodded. "That one's namesake," she pointed to little Alyssa. "Took her newborn sons to ride on Meleys after childbirth. They're ready Marya, just as Ser Davos took Dale, Allard, and Matthos to sail so soon after their second namedays."

"He certainly loves the sea," Marya conceded. Rhaella was glad for the woman's company. Dignified and graceful in court, she also spoke her mind - the former denizen of the Flea Bottom slums proved to be more adept at court life than many highborn maidens that looked down on her. Mynara and Joanna would have loved her.

Speaking of Joanna… "We're here, your Graces," Jaime called from outside. Having dismounted, he opened the door to the wheelhouse. "After you." As usual, his eyes fell upon Rhaella.

Three years into their love affair and Rhaella's heart still fluttered the slightest bit at his gaze. Still holding their daughter, she took his hand and stepped onto the sandy ground. "Thank you, Ser Jaime." They were in public, but Rhaella pecked his lips regardless.

"There they are!" Rhaenys, mounted atop her new steed - a gentle mare, the first foal of Moondancer and Winter, jumped off the horse as if she was born to ride. Of course she was, Lyanna was her teacher. "Look, Jon! Dany! Egg! The dragons!"

"Dragons!"

Picking over charred bones, it was clear the dragonkeepers had soon before dropped off the dragons' midday meal. Sensing Rhaella there, Jaimexes immediately ambled to her, chirping happily. "Hello, darling." The Dowager Queen stroked the golden dragon's snout, earning a contented hum. "Yes, your siblings are here. Be nice."

Daenerys stared up at them with awe. "You dragon, muna?" She'd only ever seen them in the sky.

"Aye, my dear, this one is mine."

"Ride her?"

"Not yet, she's still too small, but your brother rides Aegarax." Already Rhaegar's brood was surrounding the growing green beast… though Aegon was far less enthusiastic. "Aegon, there's no need to be afraid."

"He scary?"

She sighed. "Just touch him. You're the blood of the dragon, I promise he will love you." To her delight, Egg listened. His fear was replace with a giggle as Aegarax snorted and licked his hand. They are the future dragonriders. They need to know these creatures before they ride dragons of their own.

Rhaenys hugged Aegarax's head, cooing at her father's mount. "I remember when you were so little." The massive dragon, his head larger than the size of the Princess, merely whined like a hatchling, leaning into Rhaenys' touch. "I'm gonna hatch my own dragon, then we fly together." A grunt came from Aegarax, telling his sister of his agreement.

Jon broke the moment, reaching for the green dragon. "Up, up!" Rhae glanced at Aegarax, who understood almost instinctively. Eyes almost twinkling, he lowered his head to the ground. Jon clapped his hands in glee. "Fly, dwagon, fly!"

"No, no flying for you, Baelon," Rhaella barked out, hoping at least Aegarax would understand. Hearing Dany's giggles, she looked over to see her daughter's arms looped around Jaimexes' neck, giggling like mad as she dangled. "That goes for you too, girl." Jaimexes trilled in response, ambling along while Dany squealed with laughter.

"I's Eggon, grandmother!" Jon called out, holding tight to Aegarax's head. The fierce mount of the Sunrise Dragon seemed completely unbothered at Jon's attention - rather enjoying it. He snorted out a blast of hot air, which mussed the Crown Prince's black curls.

Chuckling herself at the antics of her blood babes and her draconic children, Rhaella suddenly realized something. "Where is Viserys?" she asked aloud. He wasn't to be seen amongst his sisters, nieces, and nephews, while she distinctly remembered last seeing him standing awkwardly beside Daenerys. "Viserys?" she called out.

Marya tapped her shoulder, herself intrigued at something. "He's over there, your Grace."

Turning around, Rhaella's heart relaxed at finding her son… only to raise her eyebrow in curiousness. "What in seven hells…"

Alone as he seemed to prefer nowadays, the young Prince and brother of the King sat cross-legged on the sandy ground of the Dragonpit. Viserys was silent, not brooding but an almost distant look in his eye. Slowly, gently, he stroked the neck of Rhaella's crimson dragon, one she hadn't yet named since she was riderless. My gods...

Marya, still holding little Cella, grinned. "Seems your other son has bonded with a dragon."

"It's shocking to me," Rhaella had to admit to her friend. "She's always been the most temperamental of all the dragons." Jaimexes and she squabbled daily, while Aegarax was forced to wade in with his bulk and teach his smaller sister a lesson from time to time. But now, the dragon rested her head in Viserys' lap - perfectly serene.

"Maybe the Prince will finally come out of his shell. It worked for yourself, Rhaella," Marya noted.

Rhaella nodded, a slow smile forming on her face. "Aye, mayhaps with the gods' will." Clasping her hands together, she walked along the sand to where her son sat. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Shaken out of his almost daze, Viserys looked up at his mother. His blank look didn't change, but he was coherent. "She and I… is this what my brother refers to as a bond?"

"I believe so, my son." Reaching down, Rhaella stroked the dragon's scales, hearing a contented purr. "What shall you name her?"

"Muna?"

"The first rider of a dragon should name him or her. You've earned the right."

Viserys stared off into the distance, thinking. "Maerys," he finally said.

Rhaella's brows knotted. "Maerys?" The name sounded familiar, but she didn't recall a past dragon or Valyrian god named that.

He smiled softly and continued to run his hand down her neck. "Yes, like Meleys the Red Queen, but also of kepa." He leaned down and rested his head at the base of Maerys' skull. "I am a dragon, kepa. I shall make you proud of me from the afterlife."

Sighing, Rhaella kneeled beside her son, kissing the crown of his head and uncaring of the sand that would mar her dress. He still thinks highly of his father, in spite of what Aerys became. But now her son was a dragon, like her and like Rhaegar. I will teach him, mentor him till he is a proper dragonlord.

"I love you, my son," she murmured. "You are a dragon and I am proud of you."

Viserys looked at her and smiled, the first childlike happy smile she had seen in a long time. "Thank you, muna."

A shriek followed by a merry laugh drew Rhaella's attention. "Look muna!" Astride Jaimexes' neck, Daenerys looked down in triumph to where the golden dragon had pinned Jon to the ground with her snout. "I's Visenya! I defeat King in the North for House Targaryen!"

"No fair!" Jon blubbered as Jaimexes licked him with her large tongue. "Grandmother, I's Aegon! My Queen betrayed me!" His brother and sister couldn't stifle their laughs, while Aegarax rested on his hindlimbs with a twinkle in his amber eyes that could only be described as amusement.

"Sorry brother," Rhaenys laughed, clutching her side. "You're normally Aegon, but now you're Torrhen." Teasing her brother, that seemed to irritate Aegarax to the point where he nudged Rhaenys in the side, knocking her down. "Stop that! I'm telling kepa!" Aegarax cocked his head, as if daring her to.

Rhaella stifled a giggle herself. The last time children and dragons mixed, the Dance had occurred. Now seemed completely different - happy, delightful, loving.

With fire and blood, Rhaella wouldn't allow anyone to end such joy. Their house deserved it after so long.

---

"Well, my Lady," Maester Luwin remarked, setting his instruments down on the pewter tray before him. "I reason the babe is healthy and due for this world within the end of the moon."

A relieved Catelyn Stark sighed, wan smile spreading on her lips. "Thank you, maester. That is quite a weight off my shoulders."

Luwin nodded. "Please try to refrain from too many stressors and strenuous activity. Sudden onset labor in such circumstances is never advisable." Labor in any circumstance could turn deadly, but for the rather fertile and robust Tullys and Whents Luwin wasn't worried of natural occurrence turning against the Lady of Winterfell. "Three square meals a day, then."

"Of course, maester. Thank you again." Rising from the examination table, Catelyn saw herself out.

"All good, mi'Lady?" her chief maid asked, rather young but loyally serving her since arriving at Winterfell.

Catelyn walked - more akin to waddling these days as the large belly hindered her greatly - through the corridors of the east wing of the keep. "My son is due any day now."

The maid practically simpered with squealish glee. "I cannot wait to meet the little pup." Unlike most of her retinue hailing from the Riverlands, the maid had already found a lover in Ser Rodrik Cassel, and was becoming more northern in attitude by the day. "How do you know it is a son, by chance, mi'Lady…" She trailed off, hoping she didn't cross a line.

Not particularly in a sour mood, Catelyn ignored the possible breach in decorum. "Mother's intuition, as my mother had with each of her pregnancies with myself and my siblings." Ned also claims it from visions before the weirwood, but only a coincidence. How any man educated by the late, honorable Jon Arryn could pray to an overgrown tree was beyond her. While Catelyn respected Ned in his own piety, no one could get her to accept it… nor keep Sansa from learning how to be a proper Lady of the South.

Passing by the various maids and servants native to Winterfell, Catelyn didn't notice their formalistic bows and greetings - how their eyes still watched her with disdain, not even bearing two Stark pups lessening their dislike of her. She cared not, for her mind whirred at a fevered pace. How would she make a proper match if cloistered in Winterfell castle? How could she truly teach her with such distractions? It was impossible here with the redheaded scamp having wrapped her father round her finger.

The answer was obvious… fostering in the South. She had with her mother's family in Harrenhal, as well as a year in Highgarden that ended with her betrothal to Brandon Stark. The sooner the better for Sansa, and Catelyn had the perfect choice - Lord Leyton Hightower. Oldtown was the cultural and religious hub of Westeros, as well as the current Lord being the son of Celia Tully, thus being family. Many sons and grandsons born, Catelyn could see Sansa becoming Lady of the Hightower, august indeed.

"Where are we going, mi'Lady?" the maid asked.

"To the sept. I wish to see my daughter in her prayers, and to give tidings to the Seven for my babe's health."

The maid - Anya Piper was her name, a distant cousin of Lord Presten Piper - bit her lip. "Alright." She declined to tell Catelyn that she already accepted the old gods in her heart, her willing sacrifice now that she was to be Lady Cassel.

Built at her request and of Ned's desire to please his new wife, the Winterfell Sept was austere as the North was. No ornate altars or gold-encrusted plinths to the various gods and heroes of the Andal pantheon. Just the bare bones, which Catelyn didn't mind. Just being here among the Seven that were One was serene to her… or would be serene if her daughter wasn't currently butting heads with her Septa.

"Insolent girl," Mordane scolded. "You are not to touch the altar."

"Father say touch heart tree in prayer," Sansa replied defiantly. "I like touching. I feel old gods."

Mordane's cheeks flushed. "We of the Seven hold reverence for our holy relics, not the familiarity and flippancy as those tree-worshippers allow!"

Catelyn sighed. Why can't Sansa behave? It was always the same for the girl. Most of the time she was as prim and proper as a princess, always quiet, well-groomed, and eager to please, but there was always that wild streak about her. The 'wolfsblood' as Ned proudly dubbed it. It reminded Catelyn of Queen Lyanna and to her, it wasn't a kind comparison.

But this time Mordane was going too far in her insults. "Septa," she spoke. "We've talked about this."

Reddening again, the Septa managed to keep her composure. "Forgive me, my Lady. I allowed my patience to lapse."

"Just see that it doesn't lapse from now on." Taking a seat in one of the pews, Catelyn motioned for Sansa to sit next to her, which was taken up gladly. "How are you, sweetling?"

Sansa smiled. "I's good, momma. Ol' Nan tell me I can watch her sew." She seemed happy at that.

Catelyn was relieved. Embroidery was something any highborn Lady should know. Thank the Seven. "I am glad, and I am sure you shall be wonderful at embroidery." Her mind drifted to Oldtown. Sansa was much too young, but what harm could a trip there to acclimate her within the year cause? "Listen, sweetling, what would you think of a little trip south."

She looked puzzled. "South? To fat man?" Such was her name for Wyman Manderly, and the entirety of Winterfell's Northern residents thought it hilarious.

"No, not to White Harbor. Farther south, to Oldtown."

"Why?" She was a curious one.

"So you can learn to be a lady."

"I learn here. Be lady like Aunt Lya." Sansa smiled. "Poppa say Lya the bestest lady."

A sigh. "The Queen is deserving of respect, but no other Lord of the South would accept a wife that acts as a youthful boy sowing his oats." It was disgusting and uncouth what Lyanna did, but she dare not say anything insulting within Winterfell. Lyanna was revered like the maiden here. "You will learn how to be a true and proper lady in Oldtown, with House Hightower."

The prospect of leaving Winterfell seemed to Sansa as akin to death. She went white, eyes wide in fear. "I no go south. I like here!"

"Don't talk back to me, Sansa. This is for your own good."

"Poppa no let me go."

A little white lie, but Ned would agree with her. "Your father knows and is alright with it." Sansa reacted if punched. "This is important, daughter. You need to learn how to be a proper lady to marry a southern Lord - like the stories I read to you."

Her reaction was explosive. "I no lady! I a wolf! I'm not going!" She stood, stamping her foot on the ground. "No going!"

"You will go to Oldtown when the time is right, young Lady!" Catelyn scolded her loudly, something she never did, leaving instead to Sansa's household and Mordane. "I will not have you be a male-impersinating wildling as your aunt!"

"I hate you!" When the wolfsblood reared its head during an argument, Sansa's howls could shake the rafters. "I hate you, you stupid fish!" Before her mother could speak, the redheaded Stark fled the sept, running fast even in a floor-length dress.

Mordane was by Catelyn's side, her Lady almost numb from what had transpired. "I am sorry you heard that, my Lady. It seems she has picked up some of the ugly slurs whispered by the northmen here."

A fish. House Tully's sigil, only used as an epithet. "They say this?"

"Not Lord Stark or the highborns, but the guards and washerwomen mostly. I'll strive to keep Lady Sansa away from them." Catelyn could only nod, eyes closed.

Even an hour later, at her desk in her solar, Catelyn could only replay her daughter's words in her head over and over. 'I hate you, stupid fish!' Could she truly be so corrupted as to turn against her own mother? Young children were insolent, but was this a harbinger of things to come? Catelyn resolved to speak to Ned about this - she'd listen to him.

In need of a distraction, she looked over the stacks of papers and found a letter. A smile curled on her face as she saw it was from Petyr. His correspondence was a treat, Catelyn always able to confide in him when needed.

Dearest Cat,

I hope my words find you well, and can only be glad that winter has ended and the frozen wasteland you now call home has entered into more bearable weather.

Catelyn snorted… not on Petyr's candid sentiment but the idea that the weather would be any better here. This was a land of 'summer snows.' One would have to park five braziers into one's chamber along with a lit hearth in order to feel any sort of warmth most nights.

Sighing, she put aside her chronic complaints and continued with Petyr's letter.

By the grace of the gods, my standing in the capitol grows by the day. As you remember from our childhood lessons I was always good with figures and calculations - such has allowed me to assist the Master of Coin with matters involving the treasury, and I have already advanced several rungs in the hierarchy.

However, among the course of other business ventures I have entered into…

To this, Catelyn rolled her eyes. It wasn't lost on her that her childhood friend had bought a brothel. For all his failings, such was his greatest weakness - the desire to obtain wealth through means unbecoming of a highborn Lord. There was nothing she could do, though, and from when Catelyn read the next words, she promptly forgot about such things.

...Lord Tywin's brother, Gerion, indulges in the most perverse of tastes - which I cannot find myself shocked. The Lannisters have always been filled with immorality. But to one of my associates, he bragged about what he calls 'my half-wolf nephew.'

Cat, I'm so sorry, but it seems that the rumors of your husband and Cersei Lannister are true. My contacts are certain and trustworthy. The Light of the West has born his bastard, and I cannot rule out their bastard to end as the heir to Winterfell considering his moons older birth than Sansa and your husband's devotion to those of his blood.

Be careful. Trust no one.

Petyr

There was nothing she could say… or even think in that moment. Catelyn's blood turned to ice, her face paling. Ned… a bastard son… "With Cersei Lannister of all people?" Of course she knew the Light of the West - one that all heralded as among the greatest beauties of the realm.

And she had seduced her husband… of when it didn't matter.

"A son… a son that could usurp Sansa. Usurp…" Her hand cupped her swell, the son of House Stark that she would birth any week now. That would be the heir that the Seven commanded every proper wife to bear for their husband. And now a whore that spread their legs without consequence - protected and sheltered by a father without morals or oaths, only the pursuit of power - and bear a bastard.

Bastards… only to usurp their trueborn siblings. To covet that of those siblings and stab them in the back at the soonest opportunities. The lessons of the Seven Pointed Star, verified by the Blackfyre Rebellions, was part of her childhood teachings that she took to heart. And Ned… supposedly honorable like his elder brother, her beloved Brandon. Not anymore, just as debased as any other man.

Exhaling hard, she slammed her fist against the desk. Anger rolling over her in waves, Catelyn stood. It was time for Ned to explain some things.

"Cersei Lannister of all people… CERSEI LANNISTER!"

---

Huffing, Cersei Lannister cursed Robb's father. "Robb, get back here!" she called out, more in exasperation than anger.

"I heard something, momma!" Robb replied back, running towards a stream.

Seven hells, Robb… you have your father's endurance. While the direwolf she still loved with all her heart hadn't ever run in her presence, Cersei had seen Ned fight like a tiger against Arthur Dayne - among other things requiring strong endurance. "It's not safe, Robb, come back here!" A simple picnic out in the fields surrounding Casterly Rock with just her and her precious lionwolf pup had been tranquil and perfect… until the food was scarfed down and Robb grew bored. "Dog, go get him," she ordered her guard. The one her father insisted she take.

Sandor Clegane looked sour, but he didn't speak offensively. "I'd let the lad play. Too sheltered in that stuffy rock."

"If you want a child to drown, do it on your own brood." If a woman would ever want to bed you. Sandor was older than she, and as a child Cersei remembered being terrified by his scarred face. His brother terrified her more, but that wasn't the point. "Robb!" She ran towards him as he disappeared into some reeds.

But he emerged, holding something in his arms. "Look what I found!" It was moving slowly. "Our house!"

Cersei's eyes widened as the unmistakable face of a lion cub poked out of Robb's arms. It had to be a newborn, or close to it. "Impossible," she murmured to herself. "Lions are extinct in the wilds of the Rock." Only in the private collections of House Lannister did they live… or out in the outlying highlands where human presence was negligible.

There was no denying it though, Robb had found a male lion cub… a filthy and malnourished one at that. "Can we keep him? Please momma?"

Yawning, the lion cub was quite precious… even to Cersei. "It would be a horrible omen to kill the symbol of our House. We'll take him to the maester and kennelmaster, clean him up." Robb beamed and tickled the belly of the cub, which purred in delight.

While to anyone else it would have been a heartwarming scene, to Sandor Clegane he merely fought a retch. Familial moments had been nearly nonexistent in his keep since the first time Gregor punched him in the gut for making too much noise at two namedays. Watching mother and son… it was just annoying to him. Well… most things were annoying to him.

Looking away, bored, a glimpse out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. At first it didn't register, but slowly boredom turned to surprise and then tension. "My Lady," he called, low but gruff. "My Lady, we should leave."

Tickling the belly of the cub with Robb, Cersei ignored Sandor. "Let us alone, dog," she dismissed him.

"My Lady." He was insistent. "We need to go."

Rolling her eyes, she rose and was intent on giving him a tongue lashing when she stopped in her tracks, eyes widening. "Well well, what do e' 'ave 'ere?" Four men, one with a bow slung around his back and the others carrying swords, stood about thirty feet from them, having emerged from the woods. "Fresh meat." The leader flashed a smile of missing teeth.

Sandor narrowed his eyes. "Best be on your way." His hand drifted to his claymore sheathed on his back.

"Why? We's just gettin' started." The others laughed. "A fine cunt we 'ave 'ere."

"Momma? Who they?" Robb asked, tugging her skirts as he held the fussing cub.

Cersei's heart pounded. "Stay behind me, pup." Frayed grey leather, gloves, and salt-stained trousers, there was no doubting they were ironborn. Ironborn in the Westerlands meant only one thing… "I am the daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister," she announced, voice haughty and imperious. If she could put the fear of her father into them… "Any hand on me will face his wrath."

More chuckles from the reavers, who stepped ever closer. "See dat's 'da thing, bitch. We're not afraid of your fuckin' father. Gold Shitter will be on a pike soon."

"Don't talk of my grandpa that way!" Robb yelled, scowling much like his mother - brave as his uncle Jaime… or his father. The cub let out an angry meow, swiping with it's little paw.

"Fuckin' shut it, brat." The leader shrugged. "Kill the bear and kid, and get the bitch's cunt ready fir me."

Cracking his neck, Sandor drew his claymore, watching the man with a bow nock an arrow. "You cunts are fuckin' borin' me." With a speed uncharacteristic of a man his size, a dagger shot out from his left hand and slammed into the archer's chest, sending him sprawling as he dropped the bow. Ranged enemy taken care of, Sandor raised the claymore and charged.

Seeing blood spurt out from the fallen Ironborn, Robb's earlier bravado vanished. He trembled. "Momma…"

Cersei hugged him to her skirts. "Don't look, pup." But her eyes were riveted to the scene.

Though skilled trackers, the three surviving ironborn were no match for the man that could stand up to the Mountain in one-on-one combat. A reaver attacked him, only for Sandor to parry the strike and then punch him in the head - the blow cracked his skull and he crumpled. The second lunged, but he sideswiped it and hacked the man clean through the gut. The Ironborn became two halves of a corpse, spilling blood and guts all over the golden grass.

"Just you and me', pretti' boy." Sandor enjoyed the look of fear on the Ironborn leader. "Ready to die?"

"What is dead may never die." Bellowing a war cry, he charged, only for Sandor to lop off his arm. Cries became screams, ended when his head left his body.

"No, you die, prick." Hearing gurgled breaths, he stabbed the still twitching body of the man he punched, ending any hope of him getting out. "They're all dead, my Lady," he called out.

But Cersei wasn't listening. Her eyes were riveted to the scene before her… beyond the hills towards Lannisport itself. The whole harbor seemed on fire, the great carracks, galleons, and cogs of her uncle Damon Lannister's fleet burning brightly. Plumes of greasy smoke marred the blue skies as other ships filled the harbor - golden krakens adorning their sails. The Greyjoys…

Sandor saw but a flicker of this before his instincts kick in. "My Lady, we're gettin' the fuck out of here if I have to carry you and the cub!" That seemed to jolt Cersei out of her reverie. "Good, let's go!"

"Momma, what going on? Why fire?"

He was growing big, but the Hound cared little, hefting Robb and the cub up with one arm. "It's alright, little pup. Everything will be fine." Was Cersei trying more to convince Robb… or herself?

Notes:

And the Ironborn Rebellion begins. Good thing Sandor was there to stop them from hurting Cersei and Robb.

Awww, the dragons are so cute with the little ones.

Fucking Littlefinger, though Cat trying to send Sansa away is pretty bad form.

40 reviews will get an update by next Saturday, and be sure to check out Dragonshield!

Chapter 72: The Lannisters Send their Regards

Notes:

Hope all y'all are doing well.

Great news! My new story about Maegor and the Conquerors have been posted. It's called Dragonshield and I would be so stoked if you guys checked it out!

And now on to the new adventures of our dragon family :D

Enjoy.

Initially in disbelief, looking down upon the sword buried in his heart drove the city watchmen's eyes to widen in surprise and acceptance before they lost the light of life. Kicking the corpse away, Euron Greyjoy slashed at another defender, laughing as he did it. "Kill them all!"

In the distance, the looming spires of the Citadel and the Hightower were obscured by the massive pyres of greasy black smoke, as was the dome of the Starry Sept - rebuilt to a pure majesty after an earthquake hit the city during the early reign of Daeron II. The Ironborn of a hundred ships cared little for such beauty. Already a half-dozen smaller Septs had been looted, stripped of even the gold leaf that coated the plinths of the alcoves and altars. Septons and begging brothers were hung, the septas defiled and carted off as Salt Wives.

Euron had no problem with this. The four dozen triremes and carracks of the Hightower fleet, the true military target. Every home burned, sept looted, or woman raped just added to the carnage he so desired.

"My Lord?!" Ser Baelor Blacktyde, one of Euron's most capable commanders on land, trotted up with a bloodied sword clutched in his hand. "The Hightowers march in force down the main avenue."

Snorting, Euron whistled, alerting his men. "Well let's give 'em a proper fucking welcome!" Bellows and warcries from the other reavers drew them running. Hornblows summoned hundreds more to defend their beachhead.

While Victarion had made waves among ironborn doctrine by training a proper land army as House Hoare used to conquer the Riverlands and Blackwater Bay, Euron thought such effects to be a waste of time. We do not reap, we do not sow, we do not fight like knights. As such, when the column of two hundred Hightower men-at-arms and fifty mounted knights reached the outer edge of the Ironborn beachhead in the harbor, what they found were a group of septas and other women being brutalized by the saltiest-looking reavers Euron could find.

The effect was predictable. Not even fun. Enraged cries leaving the Flower knights' throats, towards them they charged at a full clip to save the innocent women… only for Euron to activate the trap with a thwack of his bow.

Hidden amongst the windows and alleyways branching off from the main road, the Ironborn assaulted the Reachmen on all sides. Arrows flying, swords swinging, all cohesion left as a slaughterhouse ensued. Smirking like a madman the entire time, the third son of Quellon Greyjoy leapt into the fray, knocking a knight off his horse with a well-aimed arrow before slashing and gutting anyone he could with his naval short sword.

It was over before it began. "To the Hightower!" bellowed Blacktyde. "We'll take this fucking city!"

"No," Euron commanded. "Back to the ships. Take everything not nailed down, including the women."

Blacktyde blinked. "But we have them…" He stilled, a knife to his throat.

Euron stared into his eyes - calm, calculating like a snake. "To the ships." No one questioned his order after that.

---

...I was content to speak not of your constructing a sept on the holy grounds of Winterfell. After the suffering of the rebellion, of which I felt personally, I couldn't begrudge you trying to accommodate your bride. But when the bastard septons of the southern dandies come spreading their filth upon my lands I cannot stand by with your fu…

Groaning, Ned set down Lord Karstark's letter. It was only the most recent missif that his bannermen were sending in complaint of Catelyn's wartime decision to open up the North to proselytizing by the Starry Sept. So far they kept most of their activity in White Harbor, but they were beginning to branch out and anger was brewing.

Gods, if only he could actually kick them out. But with the Faith brought the immense political clout they wielded, a clout that had been solidified in the Seven Kingdoms since Jaehaerys the Conciliator made his grand compromise with them. With the fall of the Iron Islands to their influence due to Quellon Greyjoy's declaration, the North was the last bastion apart from isolated groupings in Raventree Hall or Starfall… and with the North having only survived the extension of the last winter due to grain from the Honeywine, Ned couldn't rescind. Not with Rhaegar - his goodbrother - on the throne.

Jorah, Gregor Forrester, Wyman Manderly, Howland, and even Roose Bolton of all people were understanding. The rest… not so much.

Of this, he could do nothing. But of his own household, he still held considerable options. "Jory!" Fifteen and the newest member of the Household Guards, Martyn Cassel's son brought wistful memories of his father for Ned, who had watched him die upon the fields of Stoney Sept. "Fetch Lady Stark for me. Tell her it is of the utmost importance."

"At once, my Lord."

In his mind, Ned could hear Sansa's tearful begging as if she were beside him at the moment. His little pup hugging his side, face buried in the crook of his neck, pleading with him not to let him go south 'where dwagons and wolves die.' After a half-dozen attempts to coax a reason for all of it, she told him of what Cat said. Of a fostering in Oldtown of all places that he most certainly did not even hear of - let alone consent - but that Cat told Sansa he did. Ned restrained his anger, calmed her down, and put her to bed… resolved to speak to Catelyn about this.

She is my wife, but I cannot tolerate this. Sansa was a daughter of the North. He wouldn't entrust her to any southern hands that didn't respect that. Currently, the list was short: the Daynes, the Blackwoods, and Lya. Hopefully, he could have a reasoned discussion with his wife and they could reach an accord.

That hope died as soon as Catelyn entered. She was seething - silent, but seething. This was not going to be good. "Cat," he nodded gruffly.

She didn't acknowledge him except by meeting his eyes. "Lord Stark." Lord Stark. Not Eddard, husband, or Ned. Not good at all. Catelyn rested her hand on her pregnant belly… almost as if she was trying to highlight it. "I was on my way to speak with you, only for your guard to inform me that you wished for my presence. May I ask what it is in regards to?"

"Why did you wish to speak with me?"

"I asked first."

Eyes narrowing, Ned decided to humor her. "Sansa is my heir," he said bluntly, not wasting time. "I am her father. Where she goes and how she is raised is for me to hold final control over."

The look in Cat's eyes - once slowly warming over the last few years - were as cold as they were on their wedding night. Even colder. "I am her mother."

"Of this I realize, which is why I have given you latitude over the smaller matters. Potential fosterings, and I might add what faith she is brought up under, are different entirely." He leaned forward, voice dropping low. "Did you really think you could send her to Oldtown without my permission?"

Catelyn bristled, offended by his closed-mindedness. "You fail to see who your daughter is… what she represents. The cousin of the future King of the Seven Kingdoms, niece of the Queen." She didn't much care for Queen Lyanna nor thought her marriage was sanctioned under the Seven-Pointed Star, but there was no denying reality… or the avenues of advancement. "She is to be one of the most eligible young ladies in Westeros, and unless she receives a proper southern education then even the most insistent of suitors will shun her."

"Sansa is my heir," Ned replied. "And there exist plenty of matches for her in the North." Or of the royal family. But Ned wouldn't say that out loud.

"I carry your heir inside me," was her retort. "And I will not consign my daughter to live in this frozen wasteland with a second-rate husband… at best." The Manderlys were the least bad of all the other options, and even they weren't worth the gem that Sansa was.

He blinked. "Frozen wasteland?" Ned's voice rose. "You dare insult my home? Dare insult me?"

She didn't back down. "You are the Warden of the North and goodbrother to the King. You are a noble husband, but the rest of them…"

"Those are my bannermen! You will treat them with respect!" Had this been what Howland, Jorah, and Gregor warned him of? This attitude being ferreted out by the other lords? How had he not seen it? "Wolves do not fare well south of the Neck lest bonded to dragons, and Sansa is a wolf, as I am."

"Ah yes, a wolf. Wild, without shame or decorum. Your sister has it in spades, as do you."

While Ned almost lashed out at the thinly-veiled insult at Lyanna, her last statement befuddled him. "What are you talking about?" While Lyanna or Rhaegar or Howland spoke of the 'wolf coming out to play' increasingly as Ned matured as a Lord, no one had ever characterized him as so centered around his wolfsblood as the Queen or Brandon were.

"Do not give me that, husband." The last was a snap. "Honorable Ned Stark, beloved ward of Jon Arryn and the brave warrior that secured vengeance against the Mad King for your house… turns out you were just as wild and debased as the rest of these savages you call bannermen."

"Watch your tongue woman…"

"I will say whatever I please to a man that fathers bastard sons at will!"

They had been married for four years. Ned knew what was going on in Catelyn's mind… what she would say, but this… he couldn't make sense of it. "What?" Has she gone mad?

Chuckling without mirth, Catelyn rose, protectively shielding her belly. "Here I am, your wife - pregnant with your son and heir - when I find out the honorable Ned Stark has a bastard son with Cersei fucking Lannister!" Just her name stoked Catelyn's ire. "Even the great Jon Arryn couldn't do away with the wild wolf inside you." Be it fathering bastards or competing in tourneys like men, the Starks were all alike. All but my Brandon.

For Ned, he heard not anything Catelyn said after his love's name. All color drained from his face, and he could have sworn his heart stopped. Cersei… a son, my son… of her womb? Knees buckling, he fell into his chair. A son that lives without me… It was as if Aerys was burning him alive, the pain the same. "How do you know this, of my son?" he choked out, eyes glassed over.

Catelyn rolled her eyes. "Of course the bastard is all that matters to you." He was unbelievable. "Petyr told me… Apparently old Tywin Lannister was trying to keep this quiet, though it isn't shocking. Given how his son is a Kingslayer, his other son a demon monkey, he wouldn't want anyone finding out what a whore his daughter truly is."

That knocked Ned out of his daze. While his heart still ached and stomach still churned, when at his lowest point the assault of his wife stoked the howl of the wolf. "Do not call her a whore," he said darkly.

She huffed. "So it is true. You did bed her."

Even if he wanted to, Ned could find no shame in it. Not a single regret in loving her. "Aye, I bedded her. The night of my sister's wedding." The thought brought him a rare joy. "She was my first… and I didn't just bed her. I loved her, and I love her still."

Reacting as if stricken, Catelyn hadn't expected that - that he actually loved her. "You love that whore?"

He nodded. "Aye, and I cannot bring myself to regret it." A sudden urge came about him, to sink the knife deeper - after so long trying to appease Catelyn and make her happy as was his duty, to have her hurt both him and Sansa so was galling. "The nights we shared… they were magical. Her passion, her ardor…"

"Enough!" She couldn't take it, hearing him speak of her. "You disgust me, Lord Stark. Gods, just seeing you in the chair that Brandon should've sat in is disgusting. He would never have done any of this!"

"You truly believe that?" Ned grinned darkly, the wolf coming out to play as Lya would say. "He had been fucking serving girls, whores, and maybe even highborn maids for all I know." He didn't want to disparage his brother, but even Brandon himself was open on who he was… open to everyone but Catelyn.

So enraged, she grabbed a vase and hurled it at the wall to his left. "You lie! I will not let you slander My Brandon!"

As it always was. Ned would never hold her heart, the real source of their distance… he was fine with that, but her obsessive lionization of his brother had pushed them all down the rabbit hole. "Stop Catelyn. This isn't a tale like you and littlefinger believe, this is the real world. Ask anyone with two eyes and they'll tell you what my stellar brother was like." It still hurt to think of Bran, burned alive at Aerys Targaryen's insane whim. "I loved him, for the life of me I loved him, but he was far from lord and husband material."

"You wouldn't know what lordly material is if it manifested as a direwolf and bit you. True Lords don't fuck the Whore of the West and sire bastards behind his wife's back!" She would never believe Brandon was a whoremonger. She wouldn't believe Ned's lies.

Up until that moment, Ned was still undecided of whether to destroy her entire world with the truth. But after she again called Cersei a whore… "Brandon knew." Digging deep into his desk, he withdrew a slip of parchment and harshly handed it to her. "I don't doubt you'll recognize his handwriting."

Catelyn took it and it isn't long before her blood ran cold. "When did you get this?"

"Shortly before he and father were unjustly burned to death by Aerys."

"This is a lie." Her hand trembled around the horrid letter. "You forged this."

She flinched as he slammed his palms on the table, eyes blazing. "Take that back." Ned wasn't going to take any of this anymore, the Direwolf had truly woken. "I never has any intention of usurping my brother, I loved and admired him with all my heart. I never asked to be father's successor but I'm not gonna let you imply I slandered the memory of my brother!"

Overcoming her shock and fear at his tone, Catelyn's rage returned. "It doesn't matter! Nothing that you said can be proven, while you sired a bastard from a highborn whore!"

"SHE'S NOT A WHORE!" His bellow almost shook the solar. "Cersei Lannister is more of a woman that you could ever dream of being! Someone who actually respects me and makes me wish to be a better person." A person who truly loves only me… It seemed so shocking that it was her, but Ned knew it to be true. "Gods, how I put Sansa and that babe in you is beyond me, having you in bed is no different than a dead fish." The darkest thought came to his mind, the worst pain to inflict. "On our wedding night, all that got me through the chore you and your Septa forced me to endure was thinking of her."

Catelyn slapped him, the palm of her hand leaving a bright red mark on his cheek. "You have no honor, Lord Stark."

He rubbed his cheek, scowl frozen on his face. "I had honor… and I lost the woman I love for it. Something that I shall regret till my dying breath." After all he knew now, the alliance with Hoster wasn't worth it. Rhaegar would have won regardless, especially with Tywin behind him. "I wish Sansa were her daughter. And our son my heir." There was no doubt as to whose son he meant.

Another slap rang out, hitting his untouched cheek. "I'll not stay here and continue to listen to how you heap praise upon a bastard when your trueborn children are under your care." Catelyn shook with anger, but his words had stabbed deep. "Neither of us wanted this, but it's apparent that being formal is out of the question now." She stepped back and curtseyed. "Good evening, my Lord." And with that she was out.

Ned collapsed into his chair, the weight of it all crashing onto him. "A son… we have a son, Cersei." Imagining what he could look like - dark hair and green eyes, or golden hair and grey eyes - the sorrow came unbidden. Ned buried his face in his hands, letting the tears flow.

Pushing herself into a stairwell, Catelyn let out the scream she had been holding it. It echoed in the cylindrical dwelling, a haunting, painful sound joined as she pounded her fists upon the stone wall. "He dares favor a bastard! Over his trueborn children!" there was only one reason. "That whore! That golden-haired whore of the west!"

Just wait till my father and uncle hear of this! They and even her goodbrother Lord Elbert would have quite the chat with the King over this. She would not permit a lion bastard to take the place that belonged to her children.

"Mi'Lady?"

Too immersed in her rage, Catelyn turned to see a guard. He was a slender fellow, the armor hanging loosely on him and stubble uneven, but there were plenty of men of such continence in Winterfell that she thought nothing of it. "Yes… What is it you want?"

The man took a step closer to her. "Forgive me, mi'Lady, but I come bearing a message for your ears only."

Given the guards generally hated her, the fact he was here on official duty was actually calming to Catelyn. Her worries were allayed. "A message from who?"

He twitched, but took another step forward. "He informed me that you would recognize whom it is from after I tell you."

At that, Catelyn was certain it was Petyr… or maybe Lysa. She was always dramatic like that. "Well, tell me."

Suddenly, the man seized her, hand clasped over her mouth and his foul breath scorching her nostrils. Catelyn hadn't even had time to do more than tense up as he whispered harshly in her ear. "Tywin Lannister sends his regards." With a shove, he sent her tumbling down the stairs, grinning at her screams.

"Help!" he bellowed. "Lady Stark has fallen!" Only too easy.

---

Sea spray slamming into his face, Euron Greyjoy's hair matted to his forehead. He inhaled deeply, savoring the magnificence of the day.

The captain of Euron's flagship, the King Harwyn, cleared his throat. "The winds blow from the east, my Lord…"

He was cut off as Euron punched him in the gut. "I thought we had this discussion? My brother is a King, so therefore I am a prince." Truth be told, Euron couldn't have cared less what he was called, but titles were important to men so he viewed being considered the right one was critical to his standing among them. "And yes, which is why our sails are packed and our oars ready."

All aboard the decks of the seagoing trireme, Euron looked from his ship's perch at the van of the Ironborn left. In the distance he could still see the smoke of the gutted Oldtown - left as a reminder of his power, a man that could make the oldest city on the continent tremble. To his right, he could see the rest of the fleet assembled two lines deep in the tight Honeywine Strait. Galleys and longships in front with the much larger carracks waiting behind.

And sailing straight into their clutches was the might of Paxter Redwyne's fleet, answering the call of Leyton Hightower to destroy he who tormented them. Two hundred galleys, cogs, and carracks ready to do Euron's hundred ships battle.

Their numbers count for nothing in the straits. Euron shucked off his cloak, braving the winds with but his armor and hair unbound. "Signal Blacktyde and Drumm. Full attack!"

"Aye, my Prince." Moments after Euron's order, the horns boomed their stucco blasts, signal flags hoisted to the top of the mast. A little invention of Euron's - with all the captains in possession of spyglasses, they could communicate far better. Every little bit counted.

Drums sounding off in the holds, the three rows of oarsmen began their laborious task, lurching the King Harwyn from it's position towards the waiting Redwynes. "The winds are perfect, this day. Perfect weather to fight." Overcast with the slightest drizzle. It reminded him so much of home, even with the rewards of the Reach filling the bellies of the men that fought with him.

Flush with such treasures, they would go to the bottom of the sea and do battle with the krakens themselves for Euron.

It didn't take long for the trireme to reach a fast clip. Ten knots, perhaps even eleven… Far better than even the massive carracks with their banks of sails. Blasting through the heavy winds - fighting the very will of the gods themselves - Euron watched through the spyglass. "They're clumping," he whispered to no one in particular. Already he could see the formidable Redwyne battle line forced to merge within the straits, hemmed in by the shallows into a confused mess.

They think their numbers will win the day. Time to show the greenlanders their folly. "Signal rear! Sail to the North!"

"Aye, my Prince!" Another set of flags hoisted up the mast, and it wasn't long before his fastest carracks began to use the slackening winds to move themselves northward.

Time slowed, the trireme slowly approaching the enemy fleet. "Rudder, amidships!" the captain bellowed, steering course for a gap between two carracks. "Man catapults!"

Euron caught on to the tactic, but pushed the captain aside. This was his ship, he would have the satisfaction of victory. "Load pitch!" Projectiles filled with pitch and tar, they were covered in a light coating of oil that was set alight. "Hold… Thirty degrees port, ramming speed!"

"Ramming speed!"

The drummers boomed a faster tempo, the ship lurching again as the rowers went all out, unleashing a powerful roar of splashes upon the churning sea.

"Loose!" he screamed, watching the arcing trails of the flaming projectiles streak towards the ther Carrack. One splashed in the water a hundred feet off. Another splash, but only thirty feet off. The two remaining struck home, one below the mizzenmast and the other on the castle. Euron grinned as the carrack grew awash with flame.

Suddenly the charging ship jolted, all speed lost as its reinforced, metal-jacketed prow slammed into the hull of the Redwyne carrack. Positioned all along the hull, Ironborn archers raked the ship with barbed arrows, unleashing complete chaos while the oarsmen reversed course. As the ship pulled back the seawater of the Drowned God himself began to flood the lower decks - calling the lives of the Arbor's sailors to the beasts of the deep.

Euron felt the wind bracketing him… this time from the west. He understood it almost immediately. "The winds have changed! Full attack of the second line!"

Already, he could see the rear of the Redwyne fleet utilizing the change in the winds to escape for the Arbor. First in dribs and drabs, and later a flood. The straits were his. "No quarter!" Euron wasn't about to let the greenlanders salvage anything from this victory - his victory. "Slaughter all you can!"

And so the sheep tremble as the kraken emerges, hungry and filled with a conquering fury.

He chuckled as another Redwyne galley was set aflame by his own artillery. Bring me the dragon… it is time I face someone worthy of me.

---

Leaning against the railing, Ashara Dayne heard the scuffle of boots across the stone floor of Maegor's Holdfast. "You're late," she said, a tiny smirk dancing upon her lips.

From where he waited beside his aunt, young Arthur Mormont - 'Artie' - smiled up at his sire. "Father!"

Arthur Dayne opened his arms and took his son in a tight embrace. "Apologies, sister," Arthur replied, adjusting the strap of his breastplate. "We were sidetracked."

She raised her eyebrow at her brother and closest friend. "I can see that." While it was the little things with Arthur, for the less prim and proper Dacey her dress was awkwardly rumpled in places and some locks of hair were out of place. There were no illusions about what had 'sidetracked them,' and she could see how Dacey blushed at her recognition.

"Momma, come stand with me." But Ashara wouldn't tease them beyond that. Making love with a small child around was quite hard, and Artie was a handful - wild just like his mother.

"Of no consequence, though," Benjen replied, arms crossed as he also watched the inner courtyard. "You didn't miss anything. Hasn't started yet." He laughed. "The royals haven't even shown up yet." Except for two.

Assembling on opposite sides of the courtyard were the two sparring partners - and for the level of attention it was receiving, almost akin to a Ghiscari fighting pit, it could only be two. "You need not gawk, goodbrother," King Rhaegar called to the balcony, scaled armor clinking as he did a pre-clash stretch.

"Why not, when you dress in such a manner for a simple spar." The King was dressed for battle, not a strap out of place after his squire Monford Velaryon was done.

"Ask your sister why, she insisted on true blades."

Across the courtyard, Lyanna checked each of her ties and straps, her northern-style leather and mail armor weaker but far more maneuverable. It also hugged close to her figure - hair tied back in a ponytail, she looked fierce but radiant. "Shut it, Targaryen," she taunted. "We tilted lances at each other and you were fine."

"Lances weren't made with Valyrian steel, sweetling," Rhaegar teased back.

Lyanna snorted. "And yet we both have Valyrian steel, so you cannot complain… lest you think yourself inferior to me."

"In your dreams, she-wolf."

"Are they on it again?" Ashara turned to see Elia arriving on the balcony, joined by the Hand of the King and their eager retinue.

Artie beamed. "Baelon!" Not blood, he knew the Prince by his formal name.

"Artie!" They both rushed to each other, but refrained from their usual rough and tumble play… not in front of their munas. "Hi."

"Hi." The two were already the best of friends - Jon was equally close to Egg, but the other boy's quiet demeanor led him to shun most outdoor activities. No one minded, but that just transferred Jon's companion in such to Artie. Brow raised, Dacey looked at Elia at the absence of young Egg… only for Elia to shake her head.

He had a sudden spasm the night before, and still napped under the watch of great-uncle Aemon. A sorrow for the whole family, but he was alive. It hardened the King and Queens of their decision to make Jon the Crown Prince, regardless of the consequences.

"Oww!" Dany held no such compunctions about behaving in front of her muna and punched Artie in the shoulder. "That hurt."

Daenerys gave him an innocent look. "Your kepa is Swod of the Mowning. Don't be such a baby."

"Dany," Rhaella scolded. "What did we say?"

The young princess sighed. "Fire re...re...stwained is fire most deadly."

"Good girl." Speech still halting with youth, there was no denying Dany as whip smart for her age. Jon as well… the Targaryen brood was sharp and intelligent, already learning their letters.

"You're not going to win, husband!" Eyes shifted to the sparring court. "Give up while you still can."

"And give you the satisfaction? Over my corpse!"

Elia rolled her eyes at the taunting banter between her spouses."They're a pair of fools, both of them," she chided, taking a place on her own, though smiling and giggling with Ash and Dacey.

Rhaella held more composure befitting her age and station, but there was a mirthful twinkle in her eye. "I am reminded of a young boy that used to taunt the other highborn boys to rush him… and then plant them on their backs with a right hook." She stifled a laugh. "I believe that's how he and Arthur first became friends."

Elia looking instantly at Arthur, the Sword of the Morning shrugged. "I was the only one to best him."

That seemed to catch Rhaegar's attention. "That was by the skin of your teeth and I was blinded by the sun that time!"

Arthur found a champion in Queen Lyanna. "Keep telling yourself that, dragon. See if it soothes your wounded pride."

Growing impatient, Rhaegar drew Blackfyre from its sheath. "Enough talk. Put your steel where your mouth is, wife."

Lyanna smirked and drew Wolfsbane, twirling it. "You may not like what you wish for, husband."

"Watch this, my son," Elia whispered to Jon, the young Prince standing on tiptoes to watch over the beam of the parapet. "You're going to see the might of the dragon and the wolf." Jon's eyes were riveted as the King and Queen charged at each other.

It became apparent rather quickly the strategies of the two. Lyanna used her speed and agility to her advantage, carrying less weight in her armor to jink and weave - Wolfsbane attacked from quixotic angles, challenging Rhaegar at every turn. But Rhaegar was quicker than he looked. Twirling and jerking, Blackfyre met each slash and thrust. Not letting Lyanna force an opening even though her assaults were perfectly executed.

Grunting, Rhaegar parried a downward strike one-handed and lashed out with a left hook. He missed Lya's side, but she was forced back. The King thundered forward, using his momentum to make her react to him and his superior strength and bulk to overpower her. Blackfyre crashed against Wolfsbane, Lyanna planting her feet on the stone and meeting him shove for shove. Slowly, surely, he began to push her down…

"Muna can't win…" Rhaenys mused.

Elia smirked at her daughter. "Don't discount her just yet."

Her words were prophetic. Knee rocketing up, with a warcry Lyanna slammed into Rhaegar's gut. He let out a pained grunt but remained firm… but it let Lya spin away. She slashed downward at him, Rhaegar only just parrying it.

"Wow," breathed Jon, riveted to the scene… even as the moments turned to minutes. The fight dragged on through strike and counterstrike, neither monarch gaining a long-lasting advantage over the other. Lya and Rhaegar were drenched in sweat, breathing hard and aching all over but still they sparred… driven by a primal urge to show up the one they loved. From above, Elia watched, her underclothes likely dripping.

What more appealing scene could there be for her? Seeing her spouses locked in a furious dance, showing off their best features? Few, I believe.

But suddenly, the fight broke decisively for one of them. Practically a race to whom would buckle first… it ended less as a buckle and more of a slip. Lya's muscles aching, she hesitated for the briefest of moments from a twinge in her shoulder, leaving Wolfsbane in the unfortunate position of meeting Blackfyre in a weak stance… batted aside. Rhaegar spun his blade and thrust forward...

Blackfyre leveled at her chest, Lyanna's eyes narrowed, a curse bubbling on her tongue but not vocalized - mindful of her audience. Son of a bitch…

Rhaegar thought he would feel a sense of gloating pride, but he was instead just tired. Exhausted and panting from just the exertion needed to best his bride. His gorgeous warrior Queen. "Yie… yield," he choked out, breathing hard.

The exhaustion and soreness afflicted Lya as well. Her shoulders slumped, Wolfsbane's tip sacking the stone floor. "I yield." Blackfyre dropped, and the two of them sheathed their swords. "Well…" Lyanna wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead - brushing loose strands of hair back into place. "You bested me."

"A close run thing," he smiled tiredly, and before either knew it they were embracing - a loving kiss shared between them.

Which was broken as a wave of clapping and cheers rang out from the balcony. "Amazing! Amazing!" Rhaenys clapped hard, whooping for her kepa and muna.

"I grow up just like kepa!" Jon cheered, while Daenerys watched Lyanna with barely contained awe. Does my goodsister wish to learn swordplay? Lyanna was certain that Rhaella wouldn't deny her the chance if she was willing to teach Dany once she grew.

"A marvelous show, my son - gooddaughter," Rhaella beamed. "You've both become masters at your craft, do you not agree, Elia?"

Elia looked down at them, eyes shining darkly. "Master seems an understatement for their skills, goodmother." Both King and Queen knew that look from Elia… joined by a quick darting of the tongue to wet her lips. They shuddered inwardly, knowing what would await them in their bedchamber after this.

Ser Barristan jogged up to Rhaegar and Lyanna. "Their Graces speak true… you have certainly gotten as skilled as myself, my Queen."

As a servant brought a jug of water and two glass goblets to drink from, Lyanna shrugged. "I wouldn't go so far, good Ser, but the sentiment is appreciated." A drink was poured for each of them, Lyanna drinking hers greedily.

Mid-drink, Rhaegar stilled as Lord Varys approached him. Eye raised, Varys said something intelligible, which led to Lyanna leaning in with her own comment… Varys continued, and in an instant the tired, happy expressions of the King and Queen morphed to shock - and a mutual rage a split-second later. With a snarl, Rhaegar smashed the goblet against a stone column with his palm, shattering the glass all over the place.

Chattering amongst each other, at Rhaegar's rage the children all stopped, staring down at him with wide, fearful eyes. "Kepa?" Jon trembled.

"Kepa," Rhaenys was a bit more circumspect about it. "What's wrong?!"

Rhaegar ignored them. "Convene the military council!" he bellowed, storming out with Ser Barristan in tow.

Both Rhaella and Elia were worried… both held positions on the military council by virtue of being the dragonriding Hand and the Queen respectively, and Rhaegar's tone left no room for argument. "Lya?" Elia asked, while the children started to cling to her… shaken by Rhaegar's sudden anger.

Her own eyes blazing, they softened when she saw her wife's worry… and the fear of their babes. "The Ironborn," she ground out… trying to be measured. "They've risen."

Now the Dornish Queen would feel the same anger as her wife and husband.

---

Rain pelting at his visor, Tywin Lannister shoved it up, his face now exposed to the elements. How do I stay safe if I see fuckin' nothing?! Around him, he could see the telltale signs of complete chaos and carnage… and unlike his victory at the Battle of Red Rain, it were the red-gold coated bannermen of House Lannister that fled the field. Slaughtered as wave after wave of arrows bracketed them.

"My Lord!" A veritable giant of a man, Ser Gregor Clegane needed not a horse to keep high enough to meet Tywin at his level. "Your goodbrother!"

Sure enough, there was Emmon Frey on foot. His horse was nowhere in sight though he still wore spurred boots, and neither was his lionshead helm. The sigil of the Twins emblazoned in Lannister colors on his surcoat was splotched with mud and dried blood, while his eyes were wide with terror. "Emmon!" Tywin bellowed. "Emmon you bloody fool!"

With a nod from his lord, Gregor halted Emmon with an outstretched hand… barely budging as the Frey crashed into him. He looked petrified, only to relax upon seeing it was his goodbrother - slightly. "Tywin!"

"Calm down you idiot. What the fuck is going on?!"

"We're being slaughtered!" Emmon babbled. "They've got sea bows! We were barely able to get close!"

Tywin cursed. Lannisport half-burned by the krakens in addition to his entire fleet, somehow Victarion Greyjoy had been able to land a proper army to besiege the place. Not having withstood a siege since the First Blackfyre Rebellion - and it embarrassingly fell quickly to Quentyn Ball - Tywin quickly assembled a scratch force of all the bannermen he could find in and around Casterly Rock to end the siege before Victarion could take the city and link up with the Harlows camped at Feastfires.

And now his forces were impaling themselves against the Ironborn atop the hills. "Where's Tygett? Where's Stafford?! Where's anyone with any form of sense?!" He had given strict orders to wait till the morning to attack, stormclouds brewing to the west that now turned all approaches to a thick soup of mud.

Babbling, Emmon kept looking towards the foot of the hill and freedom, the sounds of battle and dying disconcerting him greatly. A knight trudging in a daze, holding in his intestines in a bloody heap, nearly made him piss himself. "Tygett… led the charge… Stafford… Stafford…"

Craven fool. "Gregor, put some order to the fucking men, and make sure Emmon goes to the front lines like a good knight."

Emmon's eyes widened in panic. "Tywin! Please…!" But Gregor had a meaty, strong arm wrapped around his waist. Drawing a claymore, the Mountain half-carried, half-dragged Emmon back up the hill along with the rest of Tywin's personal guard.

All around, Tywin found the bloody, broken corpses of his best forces. Crack troops from the Reyne-Tarbeck revolt or trained by them littering the ground. The Lannisport crossbowmen with arrows embedded in their skulls or torsos were the most numerous. Seven fucking hells… seven fucking hells… Finally, a glimpse of golden hair drew him in. "Stafford!"

Tall and well-built, Stafford Lannister was Joanna's brother but inherited none of the intelligence or wit that she did. He was stolid though, able to carry out orders. "Tywin! Please tell me you have more men!"

"You didn't fucking need more men! I told you to wait till the morrow!" Screeching, both men looked behind them to watch a horse riddled with arrows galloping towards the rear, dragging a broken corpse still attached at the stirrup behind it. "Why the fuck did you go in?!"

Stafford ran a hand along his forehead, matted with rainwater and blood. "Fucking Tygett, he said he could take them alone. Ordered the missile troops forward. Even when they were routed by the krakens he still charged."

"That little…" Was his brother that desperate to show him up? Fuck yes, he would. "Why didn't you stop it?!"

"It was too late."

Stafford's words were understating the situation. As the battle commenced the crossbowmen were forced to fight in the rain with waterlogged strings, reducing their range and power. The Ironborn, used to fighting among typhoons and sea sprays, coated their bowstrings with whale oil that kept the water out. As such, their bows slaughtered the crossbowmen and savaged Tygett's heavy horse so that in conjunction with the mud, Victarion's reavers could butcher them at will once the few reached the crest of the hill.

Any profanity unable to capture the level of rage Tywin felt, the man that destroyed the Reynes and Tarbecks quickly took command. "All archers, loose at the hills!" Infantry, forward! Keep to shield walls! On the double…"

Suddenly, a torrent of arrows hailed from the sky, assaulting the command tent with the fury of a Sunset Sea gale. Shielding his head, the barbed iron tips bounced off Tywin's armor. Stafford wasn't so lucky, getting an arrow through the jaw.

As if a fungus on his foot, Emmon appeared again. "Tygett's dead! They're charging!" This time there was no Mountain to stop his flight out of there.

And then the bellow from the crest of the hill. "WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"

Tywin's mind whirred at a mile a minute. If being Aerys' Hand had taught him anything, it was when to cut one's losses. In a split-second, he knew there was no salvaging this. "Retreat!" Galloping towards the milling heralds, their faces white with fear, he grabbed the nearest hornblower. "I said sound the retreat!"

Lannisport would fall, but damn the gods Tywin would never let Casterly Rock join it.

Not to fucking Ironborn! He could almost hear Aerys laughing at him from beyond the grave.

Notes:

And Tywin's plan comes to fruition, right after the big fight between Ned and Cat. Hope it met expectations.

Euron is not taking any chances. Huge flurry of attacks.

Let me know what y'all think of the belated end of Catelyn. Drop a review and be sure to check out Dragonshield :D

Chapter 73: Kings and Generals

Notes:

Hope all y'all are doing well.

Great news! My new story about Maegor and the Conquerors have been posted. It's called Dragonshield and I would be so stoked if you guys checked it out!

Also, a new short story involving our favorite Targaryens will be coming out on Wednesday to commemorate the absolute shitshow that was "Last of the Starks." Fuck season 8. What better way to detoxify than through something perfectly Targaryen? It'll be called Bet of Dragons and I hope to catch you there!

Time for the Counterattack to begin :D

Enjoy.

The mood was solemn in Winterfell. A pallor of loss and grief hanging over it like a summer fog. For all present in the courtyard as the called banners of the Stark Household guard prepared to leave their home for the second time in five years, direwolf banners fluttering in the wind, a sense of foreboding clung to them all - as it did their mothers, wives, and daughters watching them with tears in their eyes.

When they marched south to avenge their lord and rescue their beloved Queen Lyanna, they marched with laughs on their lips and adventure in their hearts. Now, many of their brothers in arms dead in the fields of the south, there was none such excitement. Rage would come for the Kraken scum, but not now.

Given the sense of grief, it served as a mask for the fact that only a handful mourned the actual loss of the keep rather than the potential loss of future moons. A cast of pallbearers - all of Riverrun - slowly easing the casket of Lady Catelyn Stark into a covered wagon. Horsemen bearing the Tully sigil surrounded it, while those handful that did mourn the late Lady of Winterfell clustered around the Lord.

Soft weeps made Ned's heart break, ignoring propriety in order to heft Sansa into his arms and hug her close. Her arms looped his neck almost immediately. "I's sorry, poppa," she murmured, over and over again.

He sighed, face stoic as he mourned Catelyn. Much as they quarreled - much as he did not truly love her, or even like her most times - she had given him this beautiful angel and for such he'd be forever grateful. "It wasn't your fault, pup."

"It was…" Sansa was much like his sister in that regard. Fierce and wild, but always hard on herself. Loves hard, fights hard, cries hard. Brandon coined it for Lyanna and so too did he coin it for Sansa. "I say I hate her… I don't hate her, poppa. She my momma…" The words brought her further tears.

"I know, Sansa, I know." He kissed her brow, feeling the shame in his heart. The horrible things he said to her… all words sincerely felt, but mired in the morass of guilt when his guards rushed to him. Informing him of Catelyn's tumble down the stairs. Forty hours of labor followed, in which a catastrophic breech birth taxed Luwin and the midwives of Winterfell to the point of near exhaustion.

One survived the ordeal, and another didn't.

Ned looked Sansa in the eye. "Be brave, Sansa. You are a daughter, yet you are a wolf also." She nodded tearfully, but didn't make a sound as he set her down and Septa Mordane led her a few paces away. Ned then walked to Luwin. "Is he awake?"

Luwin shook his head, the maester offering a small smile. "Sleeping soundly, my Lord."

Gingerly, Ned took the bundle from Luwin and cradled it close. "My son." Rickard Stark, born with the auburn hair and blue eyes of his mother, slept soundly - unaware of the gloom around him. "I love you." He kissed Rickard's cheek before handing him back to Luwin. This time Ned held his newborn child, a blessing he hadn't been afforded with Sansa.

Or my other son… my eldest son… Cersei's boy… Ned shook his head. I couldn't save Sansa and Rickard from becoming orphans. What would Cersei say? Would she be ashamed of him, unable to save those of his family.

He shook his head. I have to be strong. "Watch over him, Luwin."

"I will, my Lord." The Maester took Rickard from Ned.

Walking to where Sansa stood next to Septa Mordane, Ned ignored the Septa and knelt before his daughter. "I have to go now, pup."

"Don't go, poppa." She sniffled, trying to stay composed.

"I must. It is my duty to your uncle and aunts, the King and Queens."

"Come back… I can't lose you like momma." Sansa's lip quivered.

"Quiet, child. Do not bother your father," Mordane scolded.

Shooting her a glare of a wolf roused, Ned hugged his daughter again - she was never a bother to him. "Your brother will need you to be strong, and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Can I trust you, pup?"

Her grey eyes found his - red rimmed, but strong like the land of her birth. "I will, poppa."

---

There was absolute silence in the official chambers of the war council. Built by King Maegor for the express purpose of plotting the various battles and campaigns he expected to plague himself and his successors much in the same way that his father Aegon the Conqueror built the Painted Table, all those present were gathered for yet another war to plague the continent. Only they did not speak - not even the Queens dared to voice themselves while the King glared darkly at the table.

Rhaegar rubbed his temples, violet orbs narrowed and darkened in a brooding anger. He glared at the kraken markers that seemed to metastasize like the tentacles of the creature they belonged to. They wrapped around the entire western coastline, malevolent and pervasive in their campaign of terror.

Gazing at it, at the anger he felt for the so-called King Balon IX Greyjoy, doubt welled in Rhaegar. Did my father plan the war against me from these chambers? Likely not. Aerys hadn't been truly interested in such mundane matters, but the sentiment still existed. Am I no better than him? Seeking the destruction of my enemies with fire and blood.

As if feeling their presence, Rhaegar looked up at each of his Queens. Elia watched him warmly with the most supreme love. Lyanna looked at him with a greater might but with no less warmth or love. It filled his heart with strength - no man who earned the love of Elia Martell and Lyanna Stark could be truly malevolent.

"My Lords," he acknowledged his council. Pared down from the Small Council, only those he sought for advice concerning the conduct of the war itself. In addition to his brides and mother, Master of War Ser Richard Lonmouth was present, as were Lords Manderly, Peake, Varys, and Thorne. Ser Barristan stood close to the King beside Queen Rhaella, as did Ser Gerion Lannister. Lastly, a newcomer was present, one that most others looked at with a haughty confusion… Ser Davos Seaworth, who looked quite surprised to be there himself. "Richard, give me their dispositions."

Richard nodded. "Your Grace, we've all lived to stories of Ironborn savagery, but the level of aggression they've put on display hasn't been seen since Harwyn Hoare took the Riverlands." He gestured to the various positions, and the boldness to undertake them obvious. "Lannisport has fallen completely, as have Fair Isle, Kayce, the Crag, and Banefort. With the destruction of the Lannister fleet on the first day of the war, Casterly Rock is under siege."

Some groaned, some muttered insults at Tywin Lannister for failing to toss the Ironborn back into the sea - Tygett Lannister's death in such a regard was well known the realm over, as was Tywin's raven foisting the blame on him. Rhaegar, for his part, remained stoic. "Continue."

"The Redwyne fleet is crippled and at only a third of pre-war capacity." That was a disaster - aside from House Velaryon, they had the largest fleet in the Realm. The council looked upon each other with fear… apart from Ser Davos, who simply studied the map with a neutral expression. "Oldtown's docks have burned, and Lord Leyton is estimating at least three moons to repair them."

"What of the Riverlands?" Lyanna asked with a scowl.

"Seaguard has fallen to Rodrik Greyjoy. Lord Hoster has called his banners but the Ironborn reavers have already been spotted as far inland as Stone Hedge. We should move our personal banners to the Riverlands immediately to beat them back."

Lyanna shook her head. "No, Ser Richard." She took a staff from one of the servants and pushed the markers of Rhaegar's personal command straight to Casterly Rock. "Lord Hoster can hold them back until my brother marches south with his banners. It is Casterly Rock that needs the support of the Crown at the moment, as they are under siege from the entire Ironborn land army under Victarion Greyjoy." The Queen wouldn't under any circumstances legitimize House Greyjoy as a royal house.

Lord Alliser Thorne of Duskendale, one of Rhaegar's senior commanders in the Crownlands, frowned. "The Westermen have a martial tradition and well-defensible fortifications." He crossed his arms, not particularly keen on defending the Johnny Come Latelies. "They can hold till we finish off Rodrik Greyjoy."

"I beg your pardon, Lord Thorne," Master-at-Arms Gerion Lannister observed. "But the source of our manpower at Lannisport is currently under Ironborn occupation."

"Tossing our best forces at the strongest enemy force and prepared defenses is suicide," Thorne countered. "Best to blood our men on the weaker force and then relieve Casterly Rock with Lord Stark and Lord Tyrell's men when they arrive." No one held their breath for Elbert Arryn, Doran Martell, or Robert Baratheon. The former was unserious, the middle was devious, and the latter was even more unserious.

Rhaella - her strategic concerns augmented by the desire to protect her youngest daughter's paternal family, though not overpoweringly so - shook her head. "It is the largest enemy force you seek to destroy. Pin them down against the defenses of Casterly Rock and burn them with dragonfire."

That surprised all the non-Targaryens present. "Dragonfire, your Grace?" asked Lord Peake.

Meeting his mother's eyes, Rhaegar nodded. "Aegarax is large enough to ride into battle, and I believe Jaimexes is as well."

"I advise you to be cautious, your Grace," Barristan said. "Only the largest dragons are truly invulnerable to ranged weaponry according to the histories… though it only takes one good shot." The story of Rhaenys Targaryen and Meraxes needed not be said.

"That's right, your Grace," interjected Varys, who seemed quite keen on not allowing the dragons to fly into battle. "My birds have finally began to speak about the Ironborn high command." This drew Elia's attention, though her eyes gave away nothing as she scrutinized the Spider for sincerity or the lack of it. "Euron Greyjoy, the man who defeated the Redwynes and burned Oldtown, is the strategic mind behind the entire attack."

"It was he that undertook the bold attack?" Davos spoke up for the first time.

"Yes, Ser Davos," Varys replied. "He is known to dabble in the occult and is as cunning as he is without morals. I would not risk dragons against him."

Rhaegar sighed. "What use is a dragon if all they do is sit in the dragonpit for their entire lives?" He loved Aegarax - they shared a bond indescribable to any not blood of the dragon - but he was the King and his mount was the royal dragon. They had their duties. "We will ride into battle."

Lord Peake seemed curious. "But who will lead the army into battle on the ground?"

"That would be me, Lord Peake," replied Queen Lyanna. Her eyes were set in determination, even after an entire night of arguments with her loves over the decision. Naturally, the she-wolf won out.

While many were inclined to speak against the Queen's… disregard of propriety, none dared to draw the she-wolf's ire. "Where is Lord Lucerys?" commented Davos. "Shouldn't the Master of Ships be here?"

"He has been sent to move the Royal Fleet to Storm's End for assembly as the Manderly and Gulltown fleets trickle in," said Rhaella, letting the servant move the markers of House Velaryon into place. "Besides, we have found another Master of Ships, one his Grace, their Graces, and I believe would be far bolder against Euron Greyjoy."

Brows rose among the council. Only the royals knew of this decision. "Who?" Davos asked.

Lyanna met the gaze of her friend. "You, Ser Davos. Do not fail us." The newfound noble didn't hide his shock.

An hour later, the royals were the only ones left in the room. "Eventful," mused Rhaegar, finally allowing himself to slump from the stress.

"Davos will not fail you, husband," Lyanna said with conviction. "Do you trust me on this?"

"It is not on this that our trust wavers, my love," Elia observed across from her.

Frowning, Lyanna was more drained than angry. "I sat out the last war. I will not sit out this one."

Elia gave her another frown. "That's not fair… you carried our child inside you."

"To which I took my leave and stayed at Starfall to protect him, but now I cannot allow our husband to go into battle without me. Do you doubt my skills?"

"No one does, Lya," Rhaegar said. "We just worry for you. The Ironborn… female prisoners are particular favorites of theirs."

This she had to acknowledge. "I will not fall prisoner… but if it pleases your worries, I shall have Benjen, Arthur, and Jaime beside me the entire time." They just better keep up with me.

"All we ask." Elia rounded the table and took her wife in a tight hug, kissing her tenderly. "I wish not to be alone for too long."

Rhaegar chuckled. "Now you'll know how I suffered." He soon rubbed his shoulder after both women smacked him upon it.

---

"Loose!"

In one fluid movement, two dozen archers atop the sleek trireme unleashed their flaming projectiles upon the Ironborn longship. Peering out, Lord Gregor Forrester felt like whooping as the kraken sigil emblazoned upon the enemy ship's mast catching fire - flames that began to lick and spread across the entire longship. Slowly it began to groan in death throes, dead in the water as the screams of ironborn warriors were audible even aboard the Northern ship.

"My Lord! Starboard side!"

Gregor swiveled his head to see a bireme gunning straight for him, thick wooden ram cutting through the waves and swells in an explosion of white froth. "Hard starboard!" he bellowed, reaching out and grabbing the mizzenmast as the ship lurched from the sudden turn. "Get around em!"

Staggering along the deck, the fellow Lord's large black bear emblazoned upon his gambeson caught Gregor's eye before the man's face did. "We're faster than that fucker," Jorah Mormont breathed, his hand planted on Longclaw's hilt. "Why are you turning towards him?"

"Wheel amidships! Attack speed!" The banks of oarsmen - the finest lads of Ironrath and Bear Island - increased their pace, driving the trireme forward. "Gold crown upon the kraken," Gregor said, pointing to the sigil. "That's Maron Greyjoy's flagship."

Jorah blinked. "The young squid came out himself?" Their eyes both drifted shoreward. While the vast majority of the Ironborn ships were beached - on watch for the northern fleet they thought were nowhere near here - Ser Maron Greyjoy had clearly wanted to tangle with what he thought were just a few Mormont longships… not the entire fleet that Lord Rickard entrusted Gregor with constructing. Twenty against forty. For once the North would outnumber their enemies at sea.

"He'll get his death at sea rather than burn alive." Gregor drew his sword, taking one last glance at the beached ships being set alight by his and Jorah's land-based bannermen. They were caught completely by surprise. "Slow! Boarding speed!" A great clatter erupted as the oarsmen below retracted their oars, allowing the ship to glide along the surface. "Spears and shields!"

"With you all the way, father!" Twenty and seven and ten namedays, Rodrik and Asher were joining Gregor in their first brush with battle. They were eager with their longsword and axe respectively. Gods be with them.

Alysanne Mormont, built like an ox and hefting her longsword as if it were kindling, beat her chest. "Come at us, squids!" she screamed at the Ironborn ship, drawing ever closer. "Get a taste of the fuckin bear!" Her cousin Jorah grinned beside her, drawing Longclaw and twirling it, readying his wrists.

Gregor could see the panicked faces on the Ironborn bireme. "Rake them!" With a sudden turn, their trireme slammed into the enemy's side. Its prow tore through the bank of oars, splintering them as the hulls groaned and scraped against each other. "Drop!" Down swung the preplaced corvus gangplanks, spikes embedding into the wood of the enemy ship. "IRON FROM ICE!"

"HERE WE STAND!"

At the bellows from the northmen, the Ironborn unleashed their own scream, axes and blades glinting in the sun. "WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"

Captain of the ship and admiral of the fleet, Gregor was the first to leap onto the Ironborn ship. He snarled, practically jumping the reaver in his way and skewering him through the diaphragm. Blood frothed in his mouth, the man gasping for breath as he died. Behind came the Mormonts, more marines, and then his sons, all fanning out and engaging the Ironborn.

Drawing his blade back, Gregor wheeled around and parried a swing. His fist flew out and hooked the attacker in the jaw, breaking teeth and sending the man screaming into the drink. A sudden axe assault was only barely beaten back - the hulking Ironborn attacker with the surcoat of House Volmar laughed darkly and raised the weapon for another attack, only for Alysanne Mormont to cleave him in two. "There you go, tree boy," the warrior maiden grinned.

Gregor grinned back before leaping back into the fray. It didn't take him long to find another target. "Greyjoy!" The only warrior with a helm covering his face, Maron Greyjoy turned towards Gregor. "Time to die, Kraken!"

"Fuck you, Greenlander! The sea is my domain!" No further words were exchanged as their blades met, clashing together with the fury of centuries of hatred.

Maron was skilled, but lacking experience. Gregor was stronger, Gregor was faster, and Gregor had fought men far more intimidating than the Kraken. Bellowing at the top of his lungs, it wasn't long before the second son of 'King' Balon Greyjoy was disarmed, his sword skidding on the deck only to slip underwater.

He froze. "Mercy…" the once braggart boy murmured.

Lord Forrester's eyes darkened. "You deserve no mercy." Fishing villages burned, Bear Island raided with hundreds of northern women stolen as salt wives. He would take pleasure in getting revenge for each of them upon this worthless Prince - demand for hostages be damned.

Eyes wide, Maron reacted. Sucking in a breath, he dove overboard.

"Fuckin' coward," Gregor heard Alysanne spit behind him. "The ship's ours, by the way."

Gregor blinked, turning back to the shore. The fires had spread to so many Ironborn longships that it almost glowed as bright as a full moon. "Get her back to sailing. We still have squids to kill."

The North had returned to the Sunset Sea, handing King Balon his first defeat.

---

Smacking his hand upon the table, Victarion Greyjoy raised his tankard of juniper wine. "To the spirit of Harwyn Hoare, may we do the dead cunt proud!"

"What is dead may never die!" Bellowed the dozen throats of the gathered commanders, their drunken revelry echoing through the cavernous dome of the Sept of Gerold - built by King Gerold III Lannister eight centuries past, it was the second largest Sept in Westeros after the Starry Sept. while originally the manse of Lord Stafford Lannister was in his sights, the prospect of defiling the sept was too tempting for Victarion.

Alone amongst the others, Aeron sipped at his juniper wine, fingers twiddling the dried seaweed in his hair. Such open disrespect was anathema to him, but his brothers approved of it so he mattered nothing in such discussions.

Balon IX Greyjoy, sporting the Driftwood Crown at the head of the large table dragged into the middle of the sept, downed a spoonful of the hearty pork stew - all of them ate well on the bounty of Tywin Lannister's domain. "A toast to the future King of the Isles and Rivers, my dear son Rodrik. The victor at Seaguard!" Another round of cheers rang out for the young Prince, his successful storming of the walls of the Malliser keep soon to be placed among the annals of Harwyn Hoare.

"He is a good lad, your Grace," said Lord Blacktyde. "Far better than Prince Marlon."

Snorting, Balon waved the concerns off. "So what if my idiot son let those loggers and bearfuckers humiliate him? The North is a backwater of ice and wolf whores, while we stand on the cusp of taking the seat of the Old Lion himself!" While the death of House Hoare rested with the dragons, it was the lions that were the traditional enemies of the Ironborn. "When Casterly Rock falls, they will have no choice but to beg me for terms!"

"You sent the peace feeler by raven, your Grace?" asked Dunstan Drumm, himself a cautious man at his age.

"Pfft, I had Euron do that, insist as he did."

Aeron supposed that made sense. Balon and Victarion relished battle even if only the latter actually fought in it, while Euron was more calculating. Enjoy the game so he did, Aeron was sure his brother understood they couldn't win a long war.

The drowned god gave us the storm that defeated Tygett and Stafford before the city, but we cannot count on the divine to win.

"What were the terms, brother?" He finally asked of Euron.

Currently eying one of the women dining beside Victarion, Euron took a moment before looking at Aeron - though he spoke less to him and more to everyone. "I bartered the life of Tywin's flock and that of Lannisport in exchange for Seaguard, Fair Isle, Kayce, and recognition of the Driftwood Crown."

"What?!" Balon glared at his brother, hard eyes narrowed in anger. "I didn't authorize you to do any of this! That gold-shitting slug won't rule over an anthill if I have anything to say about it!" There were millennia of grudges and blood feuds between the Ironborn and the Greenlanders - Balon made no compunctions in choosing the side of paying all of them back in blood and treasure.

Dispassionate - a rarity among a people known for their passion and explosive tempers - Euron shrugged. "We make peace when we can do the next war can deliver true victory. Harwyn Hoare won the Riverlands because he faced House Durrandon, not all of Westeros."

"Hogwash," snarled Ser Harras Harlow. "They can't challenge us in our element, and we rule the sea."

"Ships cannot walk on land, my son." Lord Harlow spoke with the wisdom of many decades, many of them spent as a key ally of Aeron's father. "If this war becomes that of steel against steel, we cannot win. Not against the entire Targaryen army." He did not refer to them dismissively as 'Greenlanders,' holding a respect for those of the mainland from his fostering at Old Oak in his youth.

"What forces can they bring to bear that Tywin Lannister already marched to their deaths against us?" sneered Rodrik. Aeron's eldest nephew wasn't as arrogant as his younger brother but that was the only good thing to say regarding it. "We will crush them at land, and then crush them at sea."

"They have dragons," Lord Drumm warned. "We should understand their wroth more than any other." Harrenhal existed as a monument to Ironborn hubris against the dragons.

Then again, some didn't heed historical lessons. "They are puny, too small to be a threat." Balon pounded his chest. "By the time they ready their banners, the kraken shall fly over Oldtown and Casterly Rock."

"Brother…" Aeron leaned into him, out of earshot of most of the guests. "Heed the wisdom of father's councilors. We've won many victories… seek a lenient peace before we truly tempt our fate…"

"Your Grace." They turned to see a pale messenger proffer a ravenscroll. "From King's Landing, it bears the seal of the King."

A scowl found him. "I can see that, be away, boy." The lad took the advice and scurried away - Ironborn were known to blame the messenger. Fatally so if the rumors of Euron were to be believed.

"Is that the King's seal?" Victarion asked.

"Well, there's a three-headed dragon embedded in the wax, so I'm not sure," Euron responded, rolling his eyes. Their brother could be a dolt sometimes… the man was merely good at killing and fighting.

"Shut up - let me fucking read!" Balon barked, his eyes scanning the document slowly. His reading had never been the best but eventually he caught on.

Balon Greyjoy

To you and your bannermen, I must decline your overture and remind you of the words of House Targaryen:

Fire and Blood.

It comes for you.

Rhaegar I Targaryen

Balon crumpled it in his fists with a snarl before motioning for Euron. "The rest of you, take Casterly Rock! I don't care if you must wipe out all the Greenlander lords from here to the Golden Tooth, just get it done!" With that he stormed out, not halfway to the door before he and his younger brother were engaged in a heated discussion.

Taking the crumpled parchment, by the time Aeron finished reading it, he shook his head. Dread filled his gut. Oh, what have we wrought?

Darkness had already fallen upon the city as Aeron made his way towards the docks. There were few in the streets, leaving an eerie feeling predominating in a place where normally even the Hour of the Wolf would be bustling. The torchlight of his dozen reavers accorded to escort a Prince of the Iron Islands managed to banish the darkness, but only just.

"Please…" a fearful plea rang to Aeron's left, followed by a scuffle. "She's my daughter… a maiden."

"My lucky day, fucker." Out of a well-kept house - likely belonging to a knight or merchant - emerged a man with the sigil of House Stonehouse… well-dressed enough to be the Lord himself. He dragged out a redhead by her hair. "A perfect salt wife." She was screaming. "Shut it!"

"No!" A punch to the face sent the man sprawling, leaving Lord Stonehouse free to remove his prey.

The bodyguards chuckled among each other, muttering crude comments about how sore the woman would feel the next night and the like. Aeron shook his head. Disgusting. What was a woman in one's bed worth if she didn't choose to be there? Took all the fun out of it.

Balon wished to reestablish the Iron way, so there was nothing he could do about it. Shrugging, he hurried on towards the docks.

There was more activity there, sailors and reavers unloading crates of supplies either from the stores in the Iron Islands themselves or looted from Oldtown. They ignored the thick-bearded, seaweed covered priest of the drowned god. He must've made an interesting sight in Lannisport, Aeron mused, though by far not the strangest to dwell in these parts. King Loreon Lannister used to dress as a female prostitute and roam here looking for strapping men to fuck him. Just as degenerate as his own kind.

Leaving his bodyguards, Aeron waded into the shallows of the harbor - feeling an immense calm at being among the waves. Splashing the cool seawater onto his face and hair, he closed his eyes. Oh great one, please grant the safety of my house and my family. Allow for those truly destined to lead us to greatness to grow and prosper in peace, regardless of what may transpire in this conflict.

The placid waves suddenly began to smack hard against him… then returned to the calm of high tide once more.

---

The rhythmic chants of the choir echoed in the dome of the Great Sept of Baelor. Low clouds of incense left a smoky, sweet scent in the air of the nearly empty structure, the massive statues of the Seven who are One watching down on the single family knelt before the altar in a well built to hold a hundred times their number. A family of nonbelievers and apostates, having offered their prayers to their own gods in private earlier that day, nevertheless supplicent before the gods of the Andals in the most public display.

It was necessary for the realm to see them, but be damned if those of House Targaryen didn't feel a spiritual stirring in their breasts as High Septon Meribald recited the Warrior's Prayer.

"Oh Almighty Father, giver of light, Almighty Mother, all honor to you. Almighty Warrior, the strength of all warriors behind you. With you on our side, who shall we fear?"

The entire family was present here. From the King himself to the babes tucked in their mother's arms, under protection from the assembled Kingsguard they sought the glory of their House in the presence of the Gods as Targaryens past did in the march to war. A war against a foreign foe for the first time since Daeron I the Young Dragon.

"Warrior, give us your strength, might, power." In his own simple robes of the purest white, only a thin line of gold parting along the sleeves, Meribald stood tall as the Seven's emissary to the world. "You disperse the enemy even as they lie in wait for us, proclaiming your sons as the brave champions to fight those that do your children harm."

Rhaegar knelt in front, clad in his scaled armor and with Blackfyre clipped to his waist. He was helmless, as was Crown Prince Baelon on his right side - the little Prince wearing a copy of his father's armor but without a blade. He was awkward in the cumbersome plate, but now knelt true as befitting a proper Targaryen dragonlord.

Such Valyrian armor was also worn by Prince Aegon - his slender frame hidden as the violet eyes and silver hair exemplified his powerful blood - and Prince Viserys, a scowl marring his face as he stood at the edge of his family. The most junior of Targaryens in rank apart from Maester Aemon in his most formal maester's attire.

"In perilous times, when everything seems dark, we have the assurance that you are indeed the light. And by faith, we will be brought to the other side, victorious."

Right beside Rhaegar, her head bowed in respect for Meribald if not the Seven, was Queen Lyanna. Wolfsbane rested at her side and her crown on her head, the full northern armor of leather and chainmail contrasting with the massive Targaryen sigil emblazoned on her surcoat - the snarling direwolves of her birth house adorned her gorget. Fierce and proud, the warrior Queen of the North.

Equally fierce and proud were the other women of House Targaryen. Queen Elia knelt beside Jon, crown atop her head and red-black outfit of her adopted house fitting her body like a glove. Dressed similarly were Princess Rhaenys and Princess Daenerys, the latter fidgeting but both taking in the ceremony. Hand of the King Rhaella Targaryen wore a red-black dress as well, though far more severe.

Both Rhaella and Elia held Alyssa and Myrcella in their arms respectively, wrapped in red linen. All were here. A symbol of their united House.

Stepping down from the altar, Meribald dipped his finger in the holy oil. "King Rhaegar of House Targaryen, the Warrior tasks you to be brave and steadfast," he spoke, drawing a seven-pointed star on his forehead. "To be loyal to your bannermen as they are loyal to you." The process was repeated with Lyanna and Rhaella, the King glad they endured it with respect.

Raising their heads, the royals rose and made their way to the massive bronze doors of the sept.. Rhaegar moved to the van alongside Lyanna, but something was amiss. Behind him stood Crown Prince Baelon. He had stood, but shifted his feet and picked at his crimson cloak in distress. "Jon?" He inquired.

Jon looked up, eyes wide and lip quivering. "Kepa…"

Sharing a quick glance with his brides, Rhaegar sighed and walked towards Jon. Kneeling next to him. "What's bothering you, my son?"

He bit his lip, the adorable mini-armor contrasting with his sorrow - a sorrow he tried to well down. "Nothing, kepa."

"Jon." A comforting hand clasped his shoulder. "You may tell me anything."

"No, I's a strong dragon."

Of course. Rhaegar hugged him close. "Please, just tell me."

A single tear fell from Jon's eyes. "Dany hear grandmother talk… she say munas rule for me if you die." His voice quivered, clutching him tighter. "I no want to be King. You King."

They spoke only loud enough for each other to hear, but it was enough for Rhaegar's heart to clench. "I know you're scared, Jon. I am too." The Prince seemed shocked. "But I won't fall."

"Pwomise?"

A new voice spoke up. "Do not fret, young Baelon." The old maester ruffled his hair. "It is quite hard to kill a dragon."

Jon looked kindly at his uncle Aemon, disentangling from Rhaegar and hugging his legs. "Kepa is bestest dragon." A surge of pride coursed through Rhaegar at hearing his son's praise for him. I hope to live up to his admiration.

Rising, he took Jon by his shoulder and guided him to where the rest of the family waited - seeing them approach, they began to exit the sept with the Kingsguard screening them, blinding sunlight streaming through the entrance. Outside the roar of the crowd already echoed through the cavernous sept. Mollified as he was, Jon hesitated. The crowd and attention almost intimidating. Rhaegar glanced down. "Ready, pup?"

Even only just over three namedays, Jon sucked in a breath - standing straighter. He nodded, letting his father guide him out into the light. I's a dragon… I's a dragon… By the gods, he would make his family proud.

Outward House Targaryen spread out upon the dias, letting them be seen by the gathered crowd. Tens of thousands watched from behind the partitions of Goldcloaks, while columns of fully-armored soldiers all fell to their knees. The ten-thousand strong Targaryen Household Guard, joined with the collected banners of the Crownlands. All sworn to House Targaryen, ready to march for the Westerlands and crush the Ironborn menace.

Arm extending, Rhaegar motioned for them to rise. And rise they did, shooting their fists in the air. "LONG MAY HE REIGN! LONG MAY HE REIGN!" And a hundred thousand throats begun cheering for the royals, standing before them in the supreme beauty of Old Valyria, the First Men, and Mother Rhoyne.

Wingbeats cracking in the cloudless sky, Jaimexes and Maerys swept around the Sept of Baelor while Aegarax landed among the spires, neck craned out as he roared.

Notes:

So Catelyn is dead, but her child Rickard Stark survives. Poor Sansa though :(

Davos is now master of ships. Good luck, dear boy.

House Forrester makes its appearance.

Little Baelon is adorable isn't he?

Drop a review and be sure to check out Dragonshield and Bet of Dragons; the more people I see on those, the sooner I may update this fic :D

Chapter 74: Wolf of Oxcross

Notes:

Hey guys. Yesterday was the anniversary of the as bad as the Turner Diaries finale of GoT. Fuck you D&D for creating it and burn in hell for eternity.

Anyways, no better way to detoxify the bad memories than by flooding our minds with good GoT content, so here we go!

Be sure to check out my new stories, Bet of Dragons and Dragonshield :D

Enjoy.

As if befitting the turmoil that gripped the Westerlands, a crack of lightning illuminated the warchamber in a flash of white light mere moments before thunder shook the citadel of the Golden Tooth. "And dispatches from our scouts have confirmed Lord Varys' whispers," remarked Leo Lefford, Lord of this keep and the host for the Royal Family. "Prince Rodrik Greyjoy has transferred from Seaguard and is currently commanding the Ironborn division protecting Lannisport."

"Leaving Victarion and Lord Harlow besieging Casterly Rock," the King of Westeros observed, showing off his command of the tactical and strategic facts of the situation. He stroked his chin at the various icons splayed on the map. "It amazes me that they assembled such a powerful land force."

Hand of the King Rhaella Targaryen scowled. "Whispers point to Victarion and Euron's efforts in this regard, though the Ironborn - thank the gods - do not have the same projection power as they did at the time of House Hoare."

"They put all their efforts into dominance of the waves," Lyanna said.

"Aye, that." Rhaella couldn't help but brood. Why are these whispers only coming out now? She wanted to blame Varys - to assign all sorts of malevolent motivation to the man that kept her late husband supplied with all the whispers of 'treason' in court - but there were explanations. Even after Quellon Greyjoy's efforts at cooperation, the Iron Islands were an enigma that frustrated the toughest efforts to infiltrate.

Push my gooddaughter's efforts hard after this. Leave Varys where he was, but create another network. Rhaella hadn't lived the game of thrones for so long to allow matters to fester.

The royals and their top commanders had rode ahead of the main army, only currently transiting the mountain passes into the Westerlands. There waited the top Westerlords not currently barricaded in Casterly Rock - Lord Lefford, Roland Crakehall and his sons, Gawen Westerling, and Addam Marbrand - and Alliser Thorne, Richard Lonmouth, Brynden Tully, and Gerion Lannister of the army they brought with them. A force now doubled with the might of Tywin's domain. "They will undoubtedly know we're coming for Casterly Rock," Gerion observed.

Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, and the Greyjoys will march their entire force to stop us." He traced the main line of approach. "Which is why we divide our forces."

The Westermen looked in concern. "Pardon, your Grace?" asked Lord Westerling.

"We march in twos, myself and the Queen lead one force directly to Lannisport, while my mother leads a force down the Riverroad. That will force Victarion to divide his army rather than keep it unified, weakening him."

Lyanna nodded, seeing her husband's thinking. "They are recent to land combat, and won't be as efficient at fighting without large numbers as we are."

"And smaller formations are more vulnerable to our dragons, that aren't full-sized yet." Looking around, there weren't any dissenters, so Rhaegar dropped his hand - it was decided upon.

Much later, the rainstorm hadn't let up even as the darkness grew once the sun set. All that was left to banish the darkness were a few candles, but for the King and Queen it was enough. Bodies slick with sweat, the worries and fears of the war were nowhere in their minds at the moment as they succumbed to their passions - doing their best to roar louder than the roar of nature.

Rolling her hips, Lyanna took Rhaegar's hand and pushed the strong palm into her breast. "Please… please my love… ahh…" He began kneading the ample flesh, adding yet another tingle of pleasure to the delicious burn of his thrusts. "Right there… don't stop…"

Other hand gripping her hip, Rhaegar strained his legs for leverage in pistoning his length deep inside his she-wolf. Rocking up hard into the Queen as she kneeled astride him - one of the wonders of the world alongside the Wall or the Titan of Braavos in his eyes. "Cum for me, Lya," he urged, gritting his teeth.

"Gahs… yes, I'm close…" Half-lidded, Lya nevertheless looked straight at her husband's eyes. Illuminated in the orange candlelight, his silver hair sparkled. His strong jaw clenched powerfully. Hos violet eyes dark and gorgeous. This was the father of her children. So lucky, she was so lucky… "Fuck…"

He grunted, his spurts emptying in her just as Lya's walls pulsated around him.

Panting, Lyanna collapsed atop her husband, the sounds of their deep breathing the only noises that pierced the silence of the candle-lit bedchamber. Finding a long-healed scar from the days of the rebellion, the Wolf Queen kissed it lovingly. "Never ages, our couplings."

Rhaegar chuckled against her hair. "No, it does not. As wonderful as our wedding night." Their arms encircled each other, enjoying the moment. "I'm taking all of us to Dragonstone after this."

Lya sighed in contentment. "It has been ages since we went there as a family. The children love it there, as do the dragons."

"You truly are a Targaryen now, speaking of dragons in the same manner as our children."

She looked up and grinned at him. "It is lore that Starks of the past bonded with direwolves as the Valyrians did with dragons. If we had such creatures in our care, so too would I speak of them as such."

"So Rhaenys has been asking again?"

"She asks every nameday and all festivals for one, though I am of the same desire, my love." They moved closer, eager to kiss and reignite their passion.

"Kessa…!"

Eyes opening, the King and Queen's eyes shifted to the wall behind them.

From the chambers beyond, the muffled voice cried in desperate Valyrian. "My lion… please… fuck me harder!"

The noise was… entirely familiar. "Rhaegar…" Lyanna said softly. "Didn't your mother obtain the chamber next to ours?"

"Fuck your dragon!" Clearly a wail of a torrid climax. "Kessa, Jaime! Kessa!"

As if there was any doubt left… "Oh, Seven fucking Hells…" Rhaegar groaned, burying his face in her hair in disgust.

Unable to help herself, the Queen covered her mouth as she stifled a giggle. "Seems that Rhaella is enjoying herself."

"It's taking everything in me not to kill that golden cunt," grumbled the King.

"Not this again… you have to enjoy that your mother is finally happy?"

He faced her hard stare with a sigh. "In theory I do, but I'd rather not watch her be… intimate with him with even the little signs of affection." They were careful as befitting propriety, but Rhaegar often stumbled on them in the gardens or the corridors with her arm clutching his, him pressing a kiss on her temple, or his mother smiling adoringly up at him… "Then there's that smug grin he has."

"And what does that have anything to do with this?" Lyanna knew her goodmother adored Jaime's grin.

"Just… when guarding me, he often calls me his 'dear son.'" This time Lyanna couldn't stifle her giggle. He groaned. "It's not funny! Arthur and your brother think it hilarious no matter how much I scold them!"

She continued to giggle. "It is quite funny, my love." He continued to brood, so Lya cupped his cheek. "I'll just have to labor ever harder to kiss that frown off your face." It took a bit longer than normal, but Lyanna's efforts - as always - bore fruit.

---

Tyrion wanted a drink.

No, the dwarf son of Tywin Lannister needed a drink, staggering from the battlements with his stomach roiling. Boredom had drawn him to the site of the Lannister defense against the Ironborn siege, his father's banners withdrawing into the great Rock after the death of his uncle Tygett and wounding of his uncle Stafford. He was curious, wishing to see what the battle was like.

Big mistake.

Not one minute into his exploration did a succession of flaming projectiles from the catapults of Ironborn siege galleys crash into the battlements. Men were torn apart or awash with flames, the scent of blood and burnt flesh scarring his nostrils. Sandor Clegane, the Hound, basically shoved him out and Tyrion was more than happy to oblige.

Damn father and his rations… To conserve the stores of food, Tywin ordered all in the keep to the bare sustenance - including but one pint of wine a day. Since Tywin wasn't the sort of gluttonous Lord, he made sure his family obeyed the dictat… leaving Tyrion sober.

He did not like that.

"Please… Robb… sleep." Tyrion blinked, having now found himself in the residential quarters. Cersei. The sound of the attacking projectiles was a dull thud, but still loud. Wordlessly, he approached the door to the nursery - where Cersei's voice came from.

Even as the tiny crack of the door remained open enough for Tyrion to hear, he still pressed his ear upon it. The whispers were soft, Cersei's voice joined by that of his nephew. "Make it stop, momma," Robb whimpered, undoubtedly hugging his mother.

"I wish I could, cub," Cersei replied, her voice haggard - almost broken. "The armies will be here soon. The squids will be driven back into the sea."

"Poppa?"

The single word of Robb's made Tyrion's heart ache, as it undoubtedly did for Cersei. Robb didn't speak often of his father, Ned Stark - he always managed to avoid telling his nephew that which he was not familiar with, which was most. Gods know what Cersei told him. Tywin forbid discussion of Ned in his presence.

Cersei's voice caught in anguish, but she kept her composure. "I hope so." Move on, Cersei… for you as well as Robb… "Have I ever told you about the greatest of your ancestors?"

"Yes… Lann the Clever and Lancel the Lion! And grandfather." Tyrion chuckled sardonically at the boy's idolization of Tywin. I hope he never knows the Lord Tywin we all did.

"No, your poppa's ancestors." The dwarf's eyes widened, listening more intently. "Of the greatest of all the King's of Winter, Theon the Hungry Wolf."

Robb was silent, likely entranced.

"It was the Andal invasions," Cersei began. "Theon took the throne after the death of his father, Benjen IV, at the hands of the Andal conqueror Argos Sevenstar. Barely a man, he nevertheless forged an alliance with the greatest foes of your father's house… the Bolton Red Kings, and marched to confront Argos just before the ancient keep of Winterfell."

Tyrion was completely shocked. How in seven hells does she know this? When did Cersei care about anyone besides their own house? Somehow, she could still surprise him.

"Did he win, momma?" Robb asked, voice trembling.

"Aye, a great victory. Barely eight and ten, Theon defeated Sevenstar in single combat as the men of the north slaughtered the invading army."

"Wow…" Tyrion chuckled at the boy's awe.

Cersei kissed Robb's brow. "But surrounded by enemies on all sides, Theon did something that made every man and woman in Westeros and Essos tremble. Tying the defeated Argos to the prow of his ship, the entire might of the North sailed the Narrow Sea and attacked the Andal homeland of Andalos. They…" How was she to censor the goriest parts? "They struck such fear into the hearts of their foes that for centuries after, no Andal could think of House Stark and not shudder in terror at their might."

Voice soft… heavy with sleep, Robb still looked up at his mother. "Is poppa like that?"

The Rock of Harrenhal. Ned had certainly made a name for himself. "Yes, cub, he is." She stroked his hair. "You are of a proud and mighty mix of bloodlines, Robb. The blood of Lann the Clever and Theon Stark. Never fear, never despair, never allow those inferior to bring terror to your heart. Roar like a lion and howl like a wolf." There was no response, for Robb had fallen asleep - the thoughts of his illustrious ancestors and their current representation in the father he never knew comforting his troubled heart. "I love you, my son. Sleep well."

Tyrion tore himself away from the scene, anything more and his heart would burst. For the briefest of moments the dwarf imagined Cersei's voice to be his late mother's… the mother he would never know or even hold a memory of, and he couldn't take it. "I need wine." Perhaps he could persuade one of the kitchen maids for a double ration…

"N'uncle Tyrion?"

The sudden voice made him jump, but Tyrion composed himself. "Oh, Pod." Young Podrick Payne was the heir to father's most favored bannermen, but orphaned, he remained at Casterly Rock as Tywin's ward and Robb's playmate. Effectively Tywin's third son, but Tywin wasn't the warmest of fathers, so he was drawn to Tyrion. "Can't sleep either?"

Pod shook his head. "Loud." Another projectile happened to slam against the walls of the Rock, making Pod cringe and cover his ears.

"Come here." He wrapped his arm around the boy, who was still shorter than him - not for long though. "Let's get you to the kitchens. Maybe we can sweet talk one of the maids into dipping into the food stores." One way or another, the dragons are coming. This won't take long to end.

---

With one slice of his meaty fist at his armrest, Robert Baratheon sent a loud thunk echoing through the cavernous great hall of Storm's End. "It is settled then!" Laughing gregariously, he grabbed Stormbreaker - which had been leaning against the throne once sat upon by Durrandon Kings. "We march to war!" The more martial of the Stormlords in Robert's court whooped as their lord did.

For Davos Seaworth, he watched with the other Targaryen naval emissaries with a stony facade. He never met the Lord of Storm's End before, but the rumor mill was not kind to Robert. Marya had oft relayed to him in their private conversations the various insults the royal family dished out on the Stag. Queen Elia's words alone would have caused his father to beat him senseless for a 'smart mouth,' let alone what Lyanna or Rhaella were reported to say about the man that led Aerys' armies for him.

And the knight of Sea Lion Point discovered by that moment that all of what was said had validity… though he still wouldn't use the profanity. Brash, loud, uncouth, and utterly unserious about anything not involving cracking an enemy's skull. "You, Seaworth?"

Davos blinked and met the eyes of Lord Robert. "Yes, my Lord?"

"I was told that you were recommended to your post… to Rhaegar by my Lyanna?"

He tightened his fists at the possessive rendering of the Queen. As a man that beat back many other suitors for the hand of his wife - and a first hand knowledge of the Queen's devotion to both Rhaegar and Elia - he took the matter personally. "I was, yes. She trusts in my judgement in spite of my lack of experience." But he was smart enough to be diplomatic.

Robert clapped his hands together. "If my Lyanna believes it so, then I shall trust you." Completely stubborn and delusional. Queen Lyanna hadn't wavered on those points even as the profanity changed. "Stannis!"

Rising, the brother of the Lord stood. "Yes, Robert?"

"Deal with whatever this man wants, with my ships or otherwise. I have banners to call and squid to kill." With that, he was up - hefting Stormbreaker menacingly as he sang a war song from the Durrandon days, followed by the knights and other retinue that gathered in the keep.

"Forgive my brother," Stannis observed as they entered the private solar of the Lord. It was officially supposed to be Robert's, but the spartan appearance indicated to Davos that was far more Stannis' domain. "He can be a bit… eager."

"Not the word I would use, my Lord, but I'll refrain."

Stannis offered the tiniest of smiles. The way his lips curled, it was clear he didn't smile much. "A drunken, whoring oaf you mean? Aye, I've heard it all."

Davos raised a brow. The lad, likely no older than two and twenty, was the opposite of Robert but for the coloring. Lean and toned rather than beefy, his eyes bore a serious outlook - one of dedication, that earned respect rather than amity. "I was speaking more of how he referred to the Queen."

The younger Baratheon sucked in a breath. "Aye, that."

"I am to understand he hasn't yet taken a wife."

"That is true." Stannis took a seat adjacent to Davos, uncomfortable. "No woman and he have… connected past the basest sense. As of now, I am his heir… and apparently his naval commander."

Davos nodded. "Can you sail?"

"My parents died at sea, Ser Davos - I made it a point after that fact to master the art of sail so that my future children never endure the torment I went through."

"That is… a wise answer." The cause of the man's hardened attitude was obvious, one in which Davos could relate. But it was ultimately too… deep for the moment. "How many ships can you supply, Lord Stannis?"

Based on his reaction, he was glad to move on to matters of war as well - his reputation during the Rebellion was one of skill and competence and it showed. "Twenty galleys and fifteen carracks."

"The galleys… biremes or triremes?"

"Both. Our triremes were designed to fight pirates while the biremes are trading vessels."

"We'll have to convert them."

Stannis cracked a tiny grin. "I already gave the order as soon as hostilities commenced. They are all ready for battle."

Davos snorted. Mayhaps there was one Baratheon that didn't measure up to the Queen's low opinion of the house.

---

Staggering back from her private privy, Elia cupped her stomach gingerly. Not again… not now… While neither maester in her service had confirmed, the Queen's instincts were never wrong. With her loves marching off to war for gods' knew how long…

Don't jump to conclusions. It could always have been just a stomach malady.

Who are you kidding…?

"Muna?" Sitting up from his claimed play area, her son headed to her side - hugging her. "You alright?"

Straightening her posture, Elia placed a hand on Prince Baelon's hair. "I'm alright, Jon. I promise. Just a… something I ate."

The bright violet eyes of his father looked up at her. Innocent and concerned. "Kepa always say a hug go away the oowies." Jon reached up. "I's make better, muna."

Heart clenching from his supremely innocent, loving declaration, Elia fought the tears welling up in her eyes. Emotional… another sign of… She shook her head of the thoughts, guiding Jon to her desk and immediately pulling him onto her lap. "Thank you, my son," Elia breathed, hugging him tight. The dragonwolf had none of her features or blood, but he was hers in every way that mattered. "It did make me feel better."

Matters of state could wait a moment. Nothing ordinary in Elia's schedule took importance over her children.

While comforting her, slowly Jon's embrace turned into one seeking comfort. Elia wanted to ask, but waited. Letting him be the one to seek her out. "Muna?" There it was. "You knows I's strong dragon."

"Of course you are." Elia pulled back and nuzzled Jon's nose, making him smile. "You're just like your kepa." For her and Lya, such was the greatest of praise.

"I want be strong." Normally the bright Crown Prince was good with his sentences, but when distressed he tended to lisp. "But… I no King. Kepa King."

Her brows knit together. "Where is this coming from, sweetling?"

Jon bit his lip. "N'uncle Vis… he say kepa may fall to Squid, then I's King." He searched in Elia's eyes for comfort. "N'uncle Arthur and muna with kepa. They pick him up so I's no King, right?"

The boy still didn't understand the concept of death - the entire family keeping it away from him and Dany and Egg until they could truly grasp it - but the message was clear. Viserys… That boy would be the death of the entire family, Elia figured. "Your uncle shouldn't have told you that. Kepa and muna will return with grandmother, and the squids will be defeated, I promise." Jon, ever trusting, just smiled and hugged her chest, head resting on her bosom by chance… his father and mother's favorite spot.

I will need to have a word with Viserys. A very long one, where Elia would struggle to restrain her temper.

Without announcement, the door opened. Ser Oswell would have only let in a few certain people without informing her… seeing Maester Aemon shuffle in, it was clear why he didn't. "N'uncle Aemon!" Jon loved his great-uncle - all the children did.

"Where my eyes fail me, my ears never do," Aemon chuckled. While his chains were still draped about his robes, he did away with the normal dark burlap in favor of red trousers and a pitch black robe… the colors of his house. While a studious man before, the image was made just a bit fiercer with the Targaryen hues. "It's time for your lessons, Prince Baelon. Princess Daenerys and Prince Aegon are already there." Rhaenys, being much older, had separate lessons.

Jon pouted. "I wanna stay with muna."

While Elia fought a giggle, Aemon had a point. "Pup, you need to go learn with your aunt and brother." He looked to argue, but she shushed him. "For me. Please?"

He lowered his head. "Alright, muna. I do for you." Without further question, he climbed off Elia's lap and - pausing only to hug his great-uncle - headed out of the room to where Ser Lynn waited to escort him to the classroom.

Elia sighed. "There exists no sweeter boy in the entirety of the earth," she smiled, leaning back in her chair.

Aemon laughed. "Reminds me of my younger brother. Such a kind, exuberant lad without a malevolent thought. My kepa wasn't any of that, and my older brother inherited that very attitude without any of the stoicism." He closed his eyes, the thought of his family bringing him pain. "Prince Baelon would do well to take after my great-nephew."

"He will." Elia looked up at him. "But aren't his lessons a bit too… strenuous for a boy Jon's age, or Dany?"

"Baelon and Daenerys are keen and clever. Close to prodigy - that has to be nurtured early or they either become Aegon the Unworthy or Aegon Dragonbane."

No impulse control or no self-confidence. Lecher versus a… well, a bastard. The thought of Jon as either of those brought Elia to shudder. "Very well." She sighed. "I could actually use an experienced hand in this. Mind coming here?"

"Of course, great-niece." Aemon shifted to the chair across the desk from Elia. "I was old enough to remember my grandmother in her twilight years. While I went blind before seeing you, everything else reminds me of her."

Elia blinked. Myriah Martell, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A role model of hers growing up. "What was she like?"

"Sweet, but strong underneath. One had to be in the court of the Blackfyre Rebellion period - hate of Dornish was high. Not that the Dornish didn't deserve it on occasion, but she didn't. The most wonderful of souls." He had a wistful look about him. "My uncle's death at the hands of my kepa destroyed her. Died shortly after."

The Tourney at Ashford Meadow. A tale known all over the Seven Kingdoms. "That shall not happen with my children."

"Tessarion be good, they won't." He smiled. "Now, what do you need my help on?"

Looking at the papers before her, Elia found the ones she was perusing before her stomach roiled. "It concerns something my birds have told me… about Euron Greyjoy. He's… disappeared."

"Sources of your own?" Aemon wanted to explore further, but demurred. "Most Ironborn aren't hard to decipher. They are open and flagrant with their efforts… Euron is different. I suppose he's planning something."

"That's my supposition. The Iron Fleet has captured the Shield Islands and thus, an invasion of the Arbor or Oldtown is on the table… but Ashara relayed to me a message from her brother, Lord Alaric. A Dayne patrol found the remnants of what seems to be a cache of supplies on the coastline near Starfall."

Aemon pursed his lips. "It seems the Ironborn wish to raid in the Narrow Sea. Your brother should be warned."

She began to scribble an order. "Lord Bonifer Hasty intends to muster his Holy Hundred to march to war. I intend for them to guard the Red Keep… best not be too careful."

"Bonifer Hasty?" Aemon asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, he fought with Rhaegar in the rebellion… quite well from what I've heard. Is there a problem?"

Thinking for a moment, Aemon ended up shaking her head. "No, no problem." She isn't here, there won't be a worry there.

---

The weather was chilly that day as the sun began its rise behind the mountains to the east. Not cold enough to make one shiver but enough to nip at a person's nose. Luckily for the two least suited to such weather, there was a ready-made solution to the vexing problem.

"Easy, my sweet," Dowager Queen Rhaella Targaryen whispered to her mount Jaimexes. She stroked the warm scales of her neck, enjoying the heat seeping through her black leather riding armor. "Stay calm, girl, you will need your level head for today."

No need, muna. They won't touch us in the sky.

Rhaella sighed, a more dutiful child she could never ask for, but still brash with youth. "Caution and a sense of one's mortality go a long way." The dragon let loose a snort from its nostrils, but didn't challenger her statement. Rhaella patted the scales. "She isn't yet large enough to worry not of normal arms."

"I know not of the depths of your bond, but her inexperience is augmented by yours," replied the voice behind her.

Smiling softly, she turned - gazing at her lover. He dressed in the white cloak and black armor of the Targaryen Kingsguard. Handsome as anything, especially with his golden hair in the sun. "Your confidence serves to heighten my ego, Ser Jaime, so perhaps you should quit before I grow too imperious for you." Being around him made her feel younger than anytime in the last two decades, and she loved it.

Jaime stepped towards her, gauntlets gripping her waist. "I happen to enjoy such an attitude very much." The twinkle in his eyes left nothing to interpret.

She leaned up and kissed him, their lips melding. What had been simple lust soon turned into something more… intimate. Searching, begging but with their passion. Even as they broke apart - alone amongst the grassy fields behind the main army on the southern side of the rolling bluffs close to the rolling hills of Castamere - Jaime still rested his forehead against hers. "Come back to me," she whispered.

"Only if you reciprocate."

"Done." One last kiss before Rhaella made her way to Jaimexes, climbing the short distance to her back. Rhaella was as tall as the beast's graceful neck, her dragon just large enough to carry her into the air. She looked down at Jaime, smiling at his now helmeted form before saying the words. "Soves."

By the ironies of war, at that same moment fifty miles to the south, the second of the royal Targaryen armies marched to face the Ironborn before the town of Oxcross. Unencumbered by matters of propriety, King Rhaegar openly embraced his beloved Queen before the lines of the crack household guard. They cheered for their King and Queen, whistles and roars erupting from their throats as the two shared a passionate kiss.

Rhaegar eventually pulled back, frowning slightly. "Is it strange that I feel quite violated by this?"

"I wouldn't say no," Lyanna giggled. In her full set of armor, the noise contrasted greatly with the overall fierce impression she gave. "But this is fine… our bedroom stays private though."

"That is a given." They smiled at each other, only for the gravity of the situation to arrive like a ton of bricks. Rhaegar embraced her tightly. "Be careful."

A tear fell from Lyanna's eye. Damn emotional mess. "You be careful… I can't lose you, husband."

"Nor I." Another kiss, and another cheer from the army.

As Rhaegar ascended into the air, Lyanna mounted Winter, the horse neighing her greeting. "Commanders, to your posts," she ordered Thorne, Bronn, and Roland. "You know what to do."

"Yes, your Grace."

Each galloped off, leaving Lyanna alone with Arthur, Benjen, and Gerion Lannister. Horns blew, pickets having found the Ironborn army marching forward for battle from their camp to the still dark west. "And so it begins," said Arthur. His last battle in the castle of his childhood was enough to last a lifetime, but beside his Queen he would give his life.

"The beginning of the end, one way or another," said Queen replied. A snicker left Benjen's lips, to which Lyanna quirked a brow. "And what is so amusing."

Benjen tilted his head at her, smirk on his lips. "Just a thought I never figured I would hold… namely I worry whose wroth I would find more vengeful upon me if you fell on the field of battle. Your husband's, or your wife's?" At that, Gerion Lannister was in an open guffaw, while even Arthur chuckled.

Lyanna rolled his eyes. "I don't intend to die today." Her babes needed her, as did her loves. Wordlessly, she donned her helm, twin dragon wings rearing up to either side and a snarling direwolf jutting from the crest. Out she drew Wolfsbane, levelling it at the hills just south of Oxcross village. "Forward! Fire and Blood!"

"FIRE AND BLOOD!"

The Ironborn army was divided. Committed to hold the siegeworks at Casterly Rock while operations to the north were concluded, the sudden arrival of Rhaegar's army had both Lord Rodrik Harlow and Prince Rodrik Greyjoy marching with their own hosts towards the enemy to meet them at Oxcross. But in the wee morning hours, the bluffs south of the city were captured by Queen Lyanna, ending hopes for a quick victory.

House Targaryen had the initiative, to which both flanks under Lord Alliser Thorne and Lord Leo Lefford began their assaults on the second series of bluffs, covered by King Rhaegar atop his dragon.

To the north, the royal forces anchored themselves before the ruined fortress of Castamere with the Westermen on the left and center and the Blackfish on the right - an irony that Jaime Lannister quite appreciated to his chagrin. To the Westermen, many of them veterans of that conflict, it served as inspiration and groups of fiddlers began renditions of the Rains of Castamere. It greatly served to boost their morale.

Facing them were the twelve thousand men of Victarion Greyjoy's personal command, having marched north from the siege lines to take Ashmark… only to run into the royal army swelled with the banners of House Crakehall and Marbrand. In the van were the mounted forces… joined by an anachronism from the days of Harwyn Hoare's conquest of the Riverlands… chariots. Victarion used them well in his encirclement of Casterly Rock, and intended to use them here as well.

Before his infantry could arrive, he ordered a full charge. Whooping, the Ironborn charioteers and horsemen threw themselves at the gathered Targaryen forces…

Only to meet their deaths as hails of arrows - unlike before, the bowstrings dry and taut - and dragonfire from the recently arriving Jaimexes and Queen Rhaella to envelop them in a slaughterhouse of fire and steel. What few that didn't retreat were cut down by spears and swords. Enraged at the sight, Victarion ordered another charge as his infantry arrived. Blinded by fury, he didn't wait for them to actually form up before committing them.

"Loose!" At Lyanna's command, the archers let loose another volley, iron discipline of the elite longbowmen presenting a proper dueling partner with the Ironborn naval archers. "Fire at will! Pour it on!"

Riders with the banners of House Bell rode up, in the center of them being the Lord of Rook's Rest himself. "Your Grace," the former sellsword announced with a bow - a sprinkling of dried blood marred his surcoat, but he looked no worse for wear otherwise. "We've taken the central bluffs overlooking the Riverroad."

Lyanna nodded. "Good, Lord Bronn. Now…" She didn't finish her order as the green specter of Aegarax swept over the crest of the hill - none of the Targaryen guardsmen cringed or flinched even as the dragon flew low in its approach, so well were they trained to the Sunrise Dragon's presence. No sooner did Aegarax land did Rhaegar leap off his back. "Rhaegar…"

He greeted her with but a squeeze of the shoulder. "Lya, Thorne is in trouble."

"What, why?!"

"Fool attacked out of order and found himself trapped. Lord Bronn, send your cavalry to relieve his position."

Bronn blinked. "But what of the center, your Grace?"

One look shared with Lyanna had them both in agreement. "The reserves with me. Full attack through the center." Her tone was completely authoritative, leaving no room for dissent. "Until the battle is won, your Grace." She already had mounted Winter as Rhaegar remounted Aegarax.

"Until then, your Grace." He blew her a kiss and then was airborne.

Miles away, Jaime blinked in astonishment as the Ironborn readied another charge. "They can't possibly think of trying it again?" mumbled Tybolt Crakehall, heir to House Crakehall.

"That's Victarion Greyjoy's personal banner," his brother Lyle remarked to his right, gazing through the spyglass. "He's at the center this time."

"Three separate assaults and he's still coming for us? Yeah, that's Victarion Greyjoy for you." Jaime wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow before lowering his visor. Ironborn warcries boomed across the landscape as the Greyjoy line surged forward - chariots and the odd horseman mixed in with the berserkers and reavers. He glanced behind him to see the golden form of Rhaella's mount looping around, as if broadcasting to him her intentions. "At my command, full attack!" he called out.

"Ser Jaime…?"

"Sound the herald, ready for attack! Archers, fire at will!"

The berserkers, led in person by the axe-wielding Kraken Prince, didn't flinch to their credit. Oft plied with stimulant drinks and hallucinogenic mushrooms that grew in the soggy caves of the Iron Islands, they raised their shields and plowed through the waves of arrows. Froth gurgled from their mouths in the pure fury they deployed against those that had broke their cavalry and infantry in the last three attacks…

Arrows didn't faze them, but dragonfire did. Jaimexes may have been small and unable to create a second field of fire, but her tongues of flame did immolate dozens in her attack run across the center of the Greyjoy line, staggering the attack. Something Jaime was waiting for. "CHARGE!" he screamed, Brightroar flashing in the noonday's son. "BY THE GODS, CHARGE!"

"URRA!" Forward the Westermen charged, joined by the Crownlands banners of Lonmouth and Tully, hurling themselves on foot against the reeling berserkers.

Frequently had the Ironborn charged well entrenched positions and they were good at it. But never had they endured a countercharge directly upon them with as equal a fury, only now motivated by hate rather than greed and hallucinogens. Jaime could see it in their eyes, the sense of surprise and terror as Valyrian steel hacked through mail and leather alike. One snarled, bashing him in the chest with his shield before trying to stab forward with a short sword. But Jaime was quick. He leapt back and hacked off the man's outstretched arm. The reaver screamed, but his pain ended when Brightroar caved his head.

"Ser Jaime!" He just managed to evade the swung axe. "We meet again!" Victarion Greyjoy was before him, hair blowing in the wind and fire in his eyes. "This time you die!"

"Oh squid," Jaime laughed, charging. Brightroar meeting his axe till they were in each other's faces. "A cat has nine lives," he whispered menacingly. "While Krakens die out of water." With a strength belied by his handsomeness, the knight swung a right hook, catching Victarion in the jaw and sending him reeling.

It was a blur for Lyanna. Her first true clash, one that years of sparring and training were supposed to prepare her for… but couldn't come close to the reality. Rhaegar and Ned warned of it, and the brush with death at the hands of the Essosi sellsword at Starfall only happened to hammer it home. And here she was, charging at full tilt for the Ironborn lines following the crest of the bluffs. Alongside her were Arthur and Benjen, among a thousand crack cavalry of the Household Guard. Three thousand infantry followed behind, ready to support them.

Everything passed by in snippets. Benjen, her brother howling like a wolf. Wolfsbane, the blade glinting in the morning sun. A grasshopper leaping off a blade of grass, as if sensing the coming charge. Winter's tongue sticking out of her mouth, panting as she exerted herself. Aegarax, roaring as he unleashed a tongue of flame atop the milling Ironborn…

And then madness.

The Targaryen charge crashed right into the Ironborn formation, rolling over the front ranks as bodies rocketed back, twisted and broken from the force of the cavalry onslaught. Lyanna acted on instinct, screaming like a banshee and swinging hard with her blade. Valyrian steel struck true, slicing through leather and mail alike. Blood gushed from the wounds inflicted on the reavers around her, torsos sliced and shoulders hacked into.

A man charged her with a spear, but Lyanna maneuvered Winter quickly… allowing her to slice off the tip before a second swing beheaded the man. Quickly looking to her sides, she saw Benjen hacking at the enemy still astride his destrider. Arthur had been knocked from his horse, but was at no disadvantage - both blades were out, a fast-paced rush of swings and parries that took on half a dozen at once.

There was no time to dally, Lyanna narrowly missing an axe swing that knocked off her helm. "What buggery is this?!" a large Ironborn exclaimed, shocked that the beautiful face of a woman faced him.

The moment's hesitation was gone in an instant, but not before Lyanna slashed at him. The axe blocked it, but Lyanna doubled back with a spin and thrust… impaling him through the gut.

And as suddenly as the slaughterhouse began, Lyanna pulled Wolfsbane from the dying reaver to witness an all-encompassing quiet. There was a stillness about the field, men still living hunched over or collapsed in exhaustion on the ground. Lyanna couldn't blame them truly. Aegarax roared from the sky in triumph as the Queen spotted the columns of Ironborn retreating towards distant Lannisport.

Pursue they could, but their victory was total. Only misfortune could befall those so bold as to be brash.

Dismounting, the flaps of Aegarax circling round the hilltop, Lyanna gazed out at the vast battlefield. Corpses were strewn everywhere - every manner of broken, gutted, or decapitated bodies littering the once beautiful field of grass. Ironborn outnumbered their own colors by about three to one, but in death all men became one. The coppery tang of blood reached her nostrils, mixed with shit and piss. A sudden wooziness came about her…

Lyanna bent over, clutching her belly as she voided her stomach all over the grass.

"Your Grace…!"

"Sister!"

Both Arthur and Benjen rushed to her side, but were beaten there by the King, his comforting touch immediately encircling Lyanna. "Lya?" he asked with concern, no other words necessary.

She groaned. "I'm… I think I'm fine." The bile scorched her throat and disgusted her tongue. "Water… need water…" Her brother passed her a water gourd, which was eagerly drained… half-swallowed while the rest was gargled and spat out. "Gods… I don't know what came over me."

"You're alive and unharmed. That's what matters." Rhaegar tugged her to him and cupped her cheek. Lyanna sighed happily at reuniting with her love, and their lips met in a frantic kiss - as if proving to themselves that they were unharmed.

A second roar surprised them, the couple breaking their kiss as Jaimexes landed out of nowhere. A fatigued but satisfied Rhaella slid off the back of the dragon. "I take it we won here as well?"

Lyanna was too exhausted to laugh, but speak she did. "Close run at times, but decisive."

"Was never in doubt at Castamere," Rhaella shrugged. "Jaime fought Victarion Greyjoy, ending up wounding him, but they got away. Killed half their number but their ships evacuated the rest. Our dragons are too small for unlimited dragonfire reserves." All could see Aegarax and Jaimexes curling up beside each other, close to collapse. Rhaella looked on in sympathy before eying Lyanna - and the blood on her armor and trousers. "Any of that yours?"

"No. Squids can't fight on land worth a damn… they can only triumph by drowning their prey, cowards they are." Blood soaking her entire outfit, she crinkled her nose. "Fuck… get this squidblood off of me!" The moistness was getting irritating.

Rhaegar glanced in the distance, barely making out the top of the great mountain fortress in the distance. "We'll bathe in Casterly Rock," he said matter of factly.

Little did they know the surprises old Tywin Lannister had in store for them within his keep.

Notes:

Lyanna makes her battle debut. Visenya would be proud!

Poor Rhaegar, having to deal with his muna getting hot sex all the time and her lover flaunting it around him. Lucky Rhaella, but poor Rhaegar XD

Cersei is a good mother.

Jon still being adorable as fuck... and I guess jolly old Aemon is adorable as well.

Drop a review and be sure to check out Dragonshield and Bet of Dragons; if I get 25 comments for this story, I'll update in a week :D

Chapter 75: Marriage Alliances

Notes:

And here's part one of the two parts that everyone has been waiting for :D

Pray for my sick grandfather. Gonna fly to Cali to take care of him.

Be sure to check out my new stories, Bet of Dragons and Dragonshield :D

Enjoy.

"Apologies for the lingering stench of pitch and smoke, your Graces." Tywin Lannister kept his hands clasped together as he escorted his guests through the gardens. None of his guards were in sight, nor was his family - this was something he would need to do personally, having put it off till the right moment. "We've only been relieved from the siege for a day."

"You need not apologize, my Lord," Rhaegar replied. "It was we that relieved Casterly Rock." The remnants of the Ironborn army had barricaded themselves in Lannisport and would not budge, using the civilians as human shields against the dragons. It would take more men to force them out, so they would wait for Ned and the other Kingdoms before advancing further.

Lyanna forced herself to be here, and it was not just the innate discomfort that came from being close to Tywin Lannister that made it difficult. The upset stomach from Oxcross hadn't let up even after a bath and clean clothes banished the smell of piss and blood - she was almost convinced she knew what it was, but held off. Best wait for confirmation, and speculation didn't make her feel any less than walking wounded.

She wouldn't let the lions see her in any sort of weakness though. "It holds well for your keep, Lord Tywin, that even in spite of a siege the aesthetic holds wonder." The gardens remained colorful, fountains clear and sparkling as the birds darted in to drink and frolic.

"Thank you, your Grace." Tywin's expression was neutral, but he seemed genuine. "My mother enjoyed bringing beauty to the Rock, and it was something Joanna continued following our marriage." A flash of sorrow crossed his face. "An austere beauty, I believe, we don't have the same luxury of space that Dragonstone or Highgarden or even the Red Keep hold."

From his reputation in King's Landing both during Aerys' reign and now her husband's, the sight of Tywin Lannister genuinely loving someone was quite surprising. Apparently even the ruthless love. "She had excellent taste, though I've never seen Highgarden to compare. The Water Gardens of Dorne, yes. Much more extensive, though I can't really compare beauty for that reason." Lya would always hold the Water Gardens with fondness - she had truly fallen for Elia there.

Tywin stroked his chin. "Rare to see one from the North so worldly."

"I beg your pardon?" Lyanna narrowed her eyes.

"I don't believe a Warden of the North set foot in the south between Cregan and your Lord father, your Grace. Times… have changed." A true comment, one Lyanna couldn't refute.

Sensing the tension, Rhaegar interjected. "Times certainly have changed, Lord Tywin, what with new alliances and dragons returned to the world."

"Dragons… yes. I never thought I would see them." Your grandfather and father did, though the former had a much better chance of effectuating his dream. "But you raise a good point about alliances, and how House Targaryen is lacking in them."

The King and Queen shared a look as Tywin led them into a secluded alcove, one that nevertheless offered a good line of sight to those who might have wished to eavesdrop. "You have been active in the politics of Westeros since before I was born, my Lord," Rhaegar said. "So speak your mind."

He nodded. "Of course, your Grace." Tywin took a breath - now was the time he had patiently waited for four years. "You only have one Kingdom behind you in spite of all your alliances. The North. All others are tenuous at best."

Lyanna didn't like his tone - a confident superiority, as if his instincts were above theirs along with his experience. "You discount much, Lord Tywin."

"Do I, my Queen?" Tywin leaned against the stone walls, crossing his arms. "The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands hates your husband, while the Prince of Dorne is close behind - which makes your… joint marriage to Queen Elia not worth a copper star in terms of diplomatic leverage." Joint marriage. Lyanna had to admit he was more astute than most. "Lord Elbert of the Vale is not trustworthy, basically your late brother without the intelligence to grasp the futility of his attempts to rule. Lord Tully is an easily offended fool, while Lord Garlan of the Reach may be your ally but House Tyrell was never the top dog in his Kingdom. The Hightowers and the Starry Sept are." Tywin drew a bit of satisfaction for teaching the youths a lesson in politics. "To note, all you have is the North, your personal banners in the Crownlands, House Dayne, and whatever Houses in the Reach would follow House Tyrell if the Hightowers refuse to. You need a new alliance."

"And I presume such an alliance shall be provided by yourself?" Lyanna asked… well, she knew the answer.

"You need me, your Grace. The military, political, and financial might my Kingdom provides."

"Your mines are close to exhaustion, Lord Tywin," Rhaegar countered, testing the waters.

A chuckle. "Lord Varys is good, but not that good. His men do not penetrate deep enough into the mountains." The pun was not intended, but quite amusing to him.

Rhaegar and Lyanna grasped his meaning - House Lannister wouldn't be running out of coin. "Alright," Rhaegar conceded. "Let us dispense with the back and forth arguments, Lord Lannister. I am not so petty or proud to decline an alliance with you if the terms are agreeable enough. State them." Frankly, he didn't see their situation as bleakly as Tywin did, but since Doran wasn't at all in his camp in spite of Elia, a new alliance was desirable.

"Hand of the King. I want the pin back for myself."

"Out of the question."

Tywin gave him a patronizing look. "Come now, your Grace. Even the child that you were had to concede I was a competent Hand to your father… before the unpleasantness."

"I wouldn't call letting him stay in Duskendale and nearly ensuring his death there as competent," Rhaegar countered, though the argument was… weak.

Sensing a vein twitch in Tywin's temple, Lyanna jumped in. "Let's not bring up the parts of the past best forgotten." Aside from the feuds with Aerys now known to be instigated by dark forces beyond their comprehension - Lyanna herself knew that better than anyone - she pushed them elsewhere. "My goodmother is Hand, and a good one at that."

"Is she a competent advisor and administrator, I cannot deny such, my Queen, but…"

"My father used to say everything before the word 'but' is horseshit, my Lord."

That stopped Tywin - for a moment, Lyanna's bit of northern wisdom took the words out of his mouth. Lya smiled genuinely while Rhaegar stifled a chuckle. It wasn't often that Tywin Lannister was at a loss for words.

"Your father was a wise man," Tywin finally said before continuing. "...but there remains a flaw in her thinking. She is a zealot for the return of old Valyria. I will not argue against the merits of that philosophy because ideology doesn't matter to me." The royals believed him. "But idealogues do not have the necessary finesse to conduct the matters of diplomacy and unpleasant dealings a Hand must. Only loyalty is needed, and as I was once loyal to my friend your father I am loyal to you."

"We'll see." Rhaegar moved on. "Even if I was to make you my Hand, alliances are forged with marriages usually - I presume my mother and your son do not count even if there is a child."

"My granddaughter has the Targaryen name. As far as the world is concerned she is fatherless." Cold, but Tywin Lannister was known for that. "Jaime will not marry anyone not Queen Rhaella and that is impossible, while I wouldn't wish my other son on anyone."

Lyanna exhaled. "Lord Tyrion is quite a delight to be around," she felt compelled to say.

Tywin snorted. "You may be the only one who thinks so… your Grace," he added, derisive but never overtly insulting. "But such is a distraction. My daughter Cersei will be the offering that seals the alliance."

Distasteful as the bartering of daughters was to Rhaegar, Tywin was that sort of man and he had to deal with it. "Alright, your daughter Cersei."

"She will not be marrying my husband," Lyanna put her foot down, posessively. "I and Queen Elia do not share."

"Except with each other, I find." Tywin actually chuckled. "Do not fret, your Grace, such wasn't what I was asking for. Someone without any marital commitments will do."

"My brother Viserys?" Rhaegar asked. "Because I will not allow a betrothal of any of my sons, they are far too young to be betrothed to someone of their own age, let alone someone already flowered and grown."

"While my sympathies are with such a sentiment given how my father sold my sister to the Freys, it wouldn't work on a practical level for the marriage needs to be now. I was thinking of your goodbrother, Lord Stark."

"My brother?" Lyanna blinked - Ned was freshly widowed and with two children already, though from what she knew of this a marriage with Cersei Lannister wouldn't be so easily rejected by him.

Tywin found great amusement in this. He decided to hold back the last bit of information, for now at least. "I wouldn't see why not? He is without a wife, and from what I've heard his relationship with Lady Catelyn wasn't a love match. Given his past with my daughter, I would think it is perfect."

"Ned's feelings notwithstanding, Lord Tywin, I draw back to the political considerations here." Rhaegar knew Tywin would approve of such a cold-blooded view on things, and he had a dynasty to protect. "My goodbrother has a daughter and a son already, and I do not believe your bannermen will accept an alliance that doesn't stand a chance at producing an heir to the North."

Pursing his lips, Tywin nodded with a sigh. It is time. "I knew that would be a complication, which is why I ask that you legitimize Lord Stark's bastard son by my daughter as part of any agreement between us." He wouldn't have to wait long for the reaction.

---

"Rock of Harrenhal! Rock of Harrenhal!"

Riding atop his destrider, Lord Eddard Stark looked out as both his own bannermen and those of the Riverlords cheered him. A modest man, he eschewed forms of braggart but did smile and wave to the men - flattered at their appreciation.

Ice had tasted blood in the last weeks, the final raiders dispatched and the Ironborn confined to Seaguard itself. The Riverlands were close to free and all knew Ned was the cause of such a victory.

Swinging off the horse with the help of Jory Cassel, Ned was greeted with his own battle commanders. Jorah Mormont, Roose Bolton - as cagey and emotionless as always - Gregor Forrester, and a quite upset Jason and Jeffory Mallister. This is not going to be pleasant. "Follow me, my Lords," he instructed, motioning them to enter the tent.

A map was hastily tacked to a camp table in the center, positions crudely drawn upon it. "My Lord," stated Roose to begin. "The last of the Ironborn have been dispatched at the Teats." Ned was glad no Bracken or Blackwood was present to argue over what was the proper name of those cursed hills. "All of the Greyjoys are relegated to Seaguard itself."

"A feat not even the King could arrange," spoke Jorah. "They still hold Fair Isle, the Crag, Kayce, and Lannisport in the Westerlands even after Oxcross."

"Watch yourself, Lord Mormont." Jorah quieted down - he was absolutely loyal, but Ned would have no badmouthing of his goodfamily even if it was simple Northern ribbing of southerners. "Oxcross and Castamere were major clashes, while these were raiding actions."

"My point, Lord Stark," Jason Mallister said. "My keep and lands still rest under the Ironborn yoke."

"It's invested on all sides, Lord Jason," spoke Gregor Forrester, commander of the Northern Fleet on the Sunset Sea. "Nothing's getting through from the water either."

A snort from the young Jeffory, one of Brandon's former bosom companions. "Tough shit. They're Ironborn. They can smash trough your piddling fleet as if it was kindling."

Gregor narrowed his eyes. "I defeated them once, and I can do it again."

"Enough." The arguing was giving Ned a headache. "My goodsister the Queen informs me that the Ironborn are gathering their main fleet in the Shield Islands, while the rest are supplying their footholds in the Westerlands. We need not worry."

"It isn't your subjects starving or brutalized, Lord Stark." Jason was insistent. "We need to attack."

"Out of the question."

"I wouldn't have taken the Rock of Harrenhal for a coward."

Ned glared. "It isn't about that. We are going to need our strength for when the Iron Islands themselves are invaded. The siege stays, dismissed." He wouldn't tolerate further discussion. "I said dismissed." One by one, the other Lords exited the tent to their own commands.

Collapsing in his camp chair, Ned picked up the letter he'd been dreading to read since it arrive two nights ago. Might as well get it over with, he shrugged.

Lord Stark,

Thank you for your return of my daughter's body to her childhood home. I have interred her in the crypt of Riverrun beside her mother, much as it pains me to think that I will never see either of their faces again for the rest of my life.

While my grief is immense, as Lord of Riverrun I must bring up matters of state. My hope is to confirm from you the inheritance of my grandson Lord Rickard to Winterfell and the North, while additionally making the offer to gladly foster my granddaughter Lady Sansa as my daughter ultimately wished.

In addition, I would like to ask your permission for a potential marriage alliance between our Houses or our bannermen in order to continue the amity and accord we created during the Rebellion.

Regards,

Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, Lord Paramount of the Trident.

Setting down the letter, there were conflicting emotions running through Ned's mind. He was glad that Catelyn was laid to rest with her mother and family - given all that had happened and his own assessment of feelings in Winterfell, laying her to rest in the Crypts was not an option he could afford to consider. Too many would take it as an affront.

In regards to the rest, Ned couldn't help but feel affronted at Hoster's demand. Sansa was his designated heir by virtue of time of birth, and that his goodfather repeated the same demand Catelyn did was a nonstarter.

Do I wish to continue the alliance with the Riverlands? Given the situation he and Rhaegar were in at the time, Ned needed to marry Catelyn but everything was different now. Priorities changed.

There was one alliance he truly wanted, but Ned doubted that option was available to him. Lord Tywin likely has better alliances to be made, and Cersei's moved on. Of course she would move on, being the most eligible unmarried woman in the Realm not named Targaryen. Ned had missed his chance.

Perhaps a northern bride would be best, but what kind of life could he give a woman he did not love? Catelyn became embittered because of it and one look at Elbert's marriage to Lysa Tully showed what an embittered marriage could do. Father never took another wife after mother died. Mayhaps that was the fate for Eddard Stark?

Sighing, he walked to his cot, laying down upon it. As was the usual, his dreams were filled with emerald eyes. Both a pleasure of the joy he experienced and a taunt for what he'd never again have.

---

The candles had long since burned out and were replaced with new ones, wax still close to tallow from how fresh they were. But the three royals - two by blood, one by marriage and love - still were without sleep. Their eyes were sunken, heads aching from mental and physical fatigue, but still they sat as the entirety of what was told to them in the past day sunk in.

"A nephew." Lyanna still couldn't believe it. "All this time I had a nephew the same age as Baelon and I never even knew."

"No one knew outside these walls," Rhaella mused. "Jaime certainly didn't…" She snorted. "Leave it to that old cunt, Tywin. Joanna used to tell me that he could fool the greatest mind reader in the world, and she was right. He was saving young Robb Hill for his bid to restore himself to power and he struck at the best possible time - at least the best for himself." The former Queen had to hand it to him. It fit even the Tywin she knew.

Rhaegar could only think how this affected Ned, his friend and goodbrother. Well… he's gonna have to marry the girl. "Perhaps this isn't a bad thing?"

Lyanna blinked. "Excuse me? How is this possibly positive?"

"Ned is not someone to jump into bed with just anyone." The idea was laughable from anything Rhaegar knew of the honorable northern fool that was his best friend. "So either Cersei plied him with intoxicants or he genuinely loved her."

"Knowing that bitch, she probably did," the Queen crossed her arms.

Rhaella shook her head. "I know Lannisters intimately, Lya. Cersei is more like her father than her mother, but she still has Joanna in her. And from personal experience, even a strong person cannot resist a lion's charms if they truly don't wish to." She couldn't resist a smirk as comprehension dawned as a pale horror on Rhaegar's face at the thought.

"Must you?" he croaked out. "I try not to think of that,"

"Oh relax, we're all of age - I'm sure you heard us."

"Enough." This time both women giggled at Rhaegar's discomfort, easing the tension.

Lyanna wiped her eyes. "Alright, let us suppose that Cersei's motives were pure in regards to my brother and the marriage is well-received by both." Certainly Cersei would be better than Catelyn in terms of the north - if loyal, the Tywin cold-blooded ruthlessness had its advantages in dealing with the stubborn and wild northern Lords. Ned has the honor and the reputation, but not the savvy. Cersei could provide that. "But we cannot seriously hope to bow down to Tywin's request. It is too much of a concession."

Mind thankfully ending revolting images of his mother and Ser Jaime engaged in torrid coupling, the thoughts of his own small council and the ruling of the Realm led Rhaegar to only one conclusion. "No, I think I shall accept."

"You can't be serious."

"I am, Lya. He was right, we need allies besides your brother. Robert and Doran hate us, Elbert is weak, and the Tullys are unreliable. Only Garlan can be counted on but he likely doesn't have the loyalty of his grandfather sewn up. We need Tywin, and this is the best option."

"He was a capable Hand to Aerys," Rhaella agreed. "The Realm operated well under his tenure, at least until the madness took hold and first Owen Merryweather and then Connington fucked things up royally." Not good memories, they were. "A good choice, provided he's watched till he proves loyal."

"Would you resign your post, goodmother?"

Silent for a moment, Rhaella sighed quietly and reached for her pin, unclipping it and setting it on the table in front of her son. "Mayhaps I am a bit inflexible with our heritage - with our birthright. Tywin would be better than I."

Rhaegar looked her in the eye. "You'll always have a place on my council, muna." She nodded before mother and son embraced each other, the moment a sweet one. Lyanna hoped and prayed that Egg and Jon would have such a similar, close relationship with her and Elia. That they'd live long enough to take such a mantle for their sons.

She knew perfectly well the hole in one's heart without one's mother.

As they pulled back, Rhaella bit her lip. "I got this after dinner, tonight. While I should have given it to you then, we needed this conversation first." She handed an opened ravenscroll with the Targaryen seal upon it. Elia. Only she in King's Landing had the authority to use it.

Reading it quietly, Rhaegar's eyes soon glassed over. "Elia's with child."

"Yes, apparently she is."

Lyanna was quiet, digesting the news. "And so am I," she murmured.

Her husband was floored for the second time in ten seconds. "What?"

"The maester here confirmed what I already knew… seems it was the same for our wife." She looked at Rhaegar, who had an unreadable expression. "My love?"

Hesitantly, Rhaegar reached out and placed a hand on her stomach - their babe currently small inside her. "You're going to King's Landing as soon as possible. I shan't have you in danger." His tone was firm, but there were tears in his eyes.

Lyanna couldn't hope to argue. "I know."

"I should leave the two of you to this," Rhaella smiled, rising and smoothing out her skirts. This was a private moment for her son and gooddaughter.

Barely moments after Rhaella left to spend the night with her lover in his ancestral home, the King and Queen embraced. A desperate love driving them as they laughed joyously. "I can't believe it… I can't believe I am so blessed," Lya whispered into Rhaegar's ear.

"I'm gonna be a kepa," Rhaegar murmured into her hair.

Lyanna giggled. "You were a kepa before meeting me."

His hold tightened. "Then I'll be a kepa again… I suppose we can call our new babes twins."

Pulling back, Lyanna scrunched up her nose and lips. "I don't think simultaneously getting two women with child is the same as having twins, silly dragon."

"What if we conceived them in the same intimate assignation. I do enjoy spilling my seed into both of you after the other." Rhaegar wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Gods, you're such a lecher. You're lucky that I love you."

It was in a japing tone, but Rhaegar's smile changed. He reached up to cup her cheek. "I love you," he murmured.

Her heart clenched. "I love you too." They kissed, sweetly and tenderly. "Rhaegar, sing for me. Sing the same song that made me fall for you."

Jenny of Oldstones… looking after me even after your death, Aunt Jenny. "You need not ask, my love…" But before he began, Lyanna covered his mouth with her finger.

"Just promise… you'll sing for…" Her voice caught. "Both Elia and I when you return?"

A heavy question, implying much. "I promise." He meant it.

---

"The cub is down for his nap," commented Malera, brushing her raven hair behind her ear. "He won't stop cuddling the lion cub, the boy's obsessed with it."

Cersei smiled at the thought of Robb - her son was as much a lion as he was a wolf… Fitting he'd have a connection with the sigil of House Lannister. "I think the cub prefers his cuddles to mine, though mayhaps he is too young to raise a mighty creature."

Jeyne raised a brow. "Thinking of taking the cub for yourself?"

"Why not?" Cersei shrugged. "I could finally scare my brother away when he torments me." The three young ladies laughed as Jeyne poured a cup of Crag sweetwine for the three of them.

A brusque knock on the door startled them. "Let them in, dog," she instructed Sandor. Gods, he has no tact…

The door opened to reveal her father. Both Malera and Jeyne stood and curtseyed. "My Lord."

"Get out, I wish to speak to my daughter alone." Tywin's voice left no room for maneuver. "Lady Genna has tasks for you both, so go." They didn't hesitate to obey.

Apart from his own children, no one disobeyed a direct order from Tywin Lannister.

Cersei, looking at him, didn't stand. "What do you want, father?" The siege was lifted and fresh food finally allowed in the keep, she didn't want to deny herself a good meal to listen to whatever he would be ranting about.

"You're to see your Aunt too, after this. Plan your wedding however way you want, as long as it doesn't bring shame to me."

Her eyes widened. For the life of her, Cersei didn't expect that. "Wedding… you've found a betrothal?" No… gods, please no.

Tywin huffed. "I am not as heartless as you and your brothers make me out to be. Of course I'd tell you before the fact." Even still, it sounded like a barter in the market from his lips - he likely considered it such.

"And why is this to happen now? After all this time?" Since his failed attempt to begin betrothal talks with Robert Baratheon, Tywin didn't bother trying to find a man for her. Cersei thought the worry was behind her, but apparently not.

"An arrangement with King Rhaegar. A marriage to connect his house with ours and to seal my return as Hand of the King, so I shan't have you fuck this up for me." A clenched fist showed how far Tywin Lannister would go to make it happen.

"I shall not marry some fool or old man so that you can make nice with the King!" Cersei knew what would happen to Robb in that, forget about herself. Either raised here in Casterly Rock as a normal highborn bastard, or essentially treated as a dog or gutter trash in whatever keep her husband ruled over.

Her father looked her over. "I would think you'd be glad to marry Eddard Stark."

For the second time in less than five minutes, it was as if Robert Baratheon's warhammer slammed into Cersei's heart… only this time the shock led to warmth rather than pain. "Edd...edd...Eddard Stark?" Ned… my sweet Ned… please let it be true.

"The father of your bastard, aye. He's a widower now and needs a Lady of Winterfell - I need an alliance with his goodbrother the King, so it works out." Since her mother died, sentimentality was wasted on Tywin Lannister. "That is unless you are truly opposed…"

"No!" Cersei bolted upright, seeing the look of amusement in her father's eyes - of course he took pleasure in humiliating them. "I mean… I consent to this."

He chuckled. "Not that I care for your consent or not, it does make matters easier." He eyed her over and sighed. "If the King or Queen come by, make sure you are presentable. Until his damn cloak is on your shoulders, I can't have you being the stupidest Lannister again." With the gruff last, he was out - leaving Cersei alone.

Collapsing flat on the bed, Cersei covered her mouth - breathing deeply. "It happened… my prayers have been answered." She closed her eyes, imagining Ned. Her Ned, smiling at her, his hands warm as they danced at the wedding. How he looked with enchantment at her at the Tourney of Harrenhal. His look changed to love as they coupled, when they made Robb.

Robb will finally know his father… have siblings of his blood, both half and full. Cersei cupped her belly, imagining the future lionwolves that would grow there.

"Gods, Ned, I cannot wait to see you." Her smile faltered slightly. "I hope you still love me."

---

Tomorrow they would leave on dragonback.

Lyanna was resigned to it, cupping her still flat stomach as she walked through the halls of Casterly Rock. Within nestled another dragonwolf, a sweet babe conceived by the love she and Rhaegar felt for each other. Elia holds a babe in her womb as well. Two babes, and they would need their munas. At least this time she was able to fight, to show the world that Lyanna Targaryen was a warrior Queen.

In this she was content to head back with Rhaella to King's Landing. A smile crossed her face - she and Rhaegar already celebrated the life inside her, and Lyanna was looking forward to doing the same with Elia.

But first thing's first. "Turn here, your Grace," Ser Jaime remarked, guiding her left at the crossed corridors.

"Thank you." This was Jaime's childhood home, and she deferred to him on the path from the guest wing to the residential chambers. "Surreal, isn't it, to be back home for the first time?"

"Aye, your Grace." Jaime was quiet, mostly masking his emotions, but they were alone. "Father hid my nephew from me."

"I know Rhaegar doubts you didn't know, but I agree with Rhaella." His lover believed him, believed that Tywin would hide the fact from him in order for political leverage.

Jaime sighed. "Tyrion said he wanted to tell me, but father refused. All for the benefit of House Lannister, I suppose." He snorted. "Your brother was more wronged than I, though."

Lyanna nodded. "It's why I and Rhaegar are making the stop at Seaguard. We need to tell him."

"Likely the best approach. He needs to know what he's dealing with." Jaime stopped in front of a door. "Here we are, this is where Tyrion said he'd be. Good luck, my Queen."

Entering the chambers, Lyanna's breath hitched. Sitting on the bed, playing with wooden figurines of horses and knights, was a young boy the same age as Jon. At first glance he was completely Lannister - golden hair, green eyes, and the same beauty as Jaime had - but Lyanna was a Stark. She knew. He is Ned's. Of this she held no doubt at all upon seeing him.

My nephew.

Seconds passing, the lad finally noticed her. "Hello," he called out.

"Hello," Lyanna replied. "May I join you?"

The boy, Robb, looked a bit… hesitant. "Who are you?"

Lyanna bit back a smile. Smart boy. "I am your aunt."

"Oh… I guess it fine."

Lyanna took the opening and walked to the bed, sitting on it next to her nephew. "Your name is Robb, correct? I must say you look like your uncle Jaime."

"N'uncle Little always say so." He eyed her curiously. "I see Aunt Genna, but no you before."

She didn't hide her smile this time. "I'm your aunt Lya… your father's sister."

All sort of heistance evaporated from Robb, his eyes widening and jaw spreading wide. "Poppa? You poppa sister?"

"Aye. He's my older brother."

"That mean poppa coming?" There was so much awe in the boy's voice for a man he had never before met - it told Lyanna that Eddard Stark was a revered presence in the Lannister household when it concerned Robb at least. "Momma tell me so so much of poppa, how he great hero of North. Big big wolf."

That was truly funny, in a good way. "A quiet wolf, but yes, very very big." The boy was a delight. Already Lyanna could imagining him best friends with Jon and Egg.

"He coming?"

"Yes, he is."

The door suddenly opened at that moment, and both direwolves looked up as the lioness entered. Cersei didn't look too immediately shocked - likely having guessed it was one of the royals due to Jaime's presence outside the door - but she did seem surprised at the fact Lyanna was here.

Robb beamed. "Momma!" He ran to her and hugged her skirts. "Aunt Lya says poppa is coming! Is that true?!"

Still reeling from the enormity of it all, Cersei nodded as her eyes met Lyanna's. "Yes, pup. Poppa's coming." Robb whooped with glee, bouncing up and down in pure joy. "But you need your sleep."

He pouted. "No sleep. I wanna see poppa!" But even in his excitement, the young lad's continence reared its head as he yawned.

Gods, he was so like Ned it was uncanny - while much quieter, Lyanna could see the same mannerisms. "Your poppa would want you to grow and get your strength, nephew. A wolf can't hunt if he's not rested." That seemed to work for Robb, as he didn't complain and instead dutifully trudged to bed. Cersei tucked him in and pressed a kiss to his head. "We need to talk, Lady Lannister," Lyanna said softly but firmly.

"I know." Golden hair pulled into a loose bun, Cersei motioned at Lyanna. "Follow me."

They were soon in Cersei's private chambers, the lioness taking a seat on her bed - the skirt of her red dress puffed up round her legs while Lyanna crossed her arms and stood above her. "I won't ask about why you said nothing about my nephew to my brother or the Crown. Your father's nature speaks for itself."

"He is a predictable man when you know what to expect… if not exactly how it manifests." The situation was profoundly awkward, but Cersei was handling it well. Why not? Her dream was on the cusp of becoming reality. "Not a day has gone by that I haven't told Robb of his father… of the other half of his heritage."

"I can see Ned in him, even if he looks like your brother in all the superficial aspects." Lyanna noticed the ever so slight sparkle in Cersei's eyes when she mentioned Ned. Could Cersei Lannister of all people actually love my brother? Ned falling for her was surprising but explainable - the converse was shocking to anyone that knew of how Cersei had been. "Let's cut to the chase, Cersei."

"Aye, that is reasonable." Swallowing, Cersei looked up - her greens locking with Lya's greys. "I'll put this out right now. I love your brother and cannot think of anything more wonderful than marrying him."

Lyanna nodded. "Good." But her expression didn't change. "That doesn't address the depth of my concern."

"What do you want me to say, your Grace?" Cersei sighed. "I cannot erase my family's reputation just like that, much as my father couldn't erase his father's reputation for the longest time." Everything was uncomfortable for her, but Ned was worth the loss of composure. He is always worth it. "But I can only say that all of my feelings for your brother are genuine."

"He's endured so much loss in his life, Cersei." It seemed as if Lya's statement brought sorrow to Cersei, and it lessened her coldness. "My father and Brandon's death hit him hard, and he didn't have the support structure in Winterfell as I did in King's Landing. Sansa was but a babe and could only do so much, while Catelyn…" It was unwise to speak ill of the dead. "She was never the warmest of persons."

Cersei shared no such compunctions. "That cold trout cunt never deserved him." For years it drove Cersei to the greatest anger that her of all people shared Ned's bed - she knew that he got no love from the arrangement and it broke her heart. "He needs someone that loves only him and can be a proper partner. I've heard of the issues the North is having because of her incompetence."

Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "I am, yet how are you familiar?"

She shrugged. "Call it glutton for punishment, I suppose. Needing to know about the man I love even from afar."

At this point, Lyanna was convinced that Cersei's feelings were genuine - it was obvious. Only the best mummers could fake that level of adoration and Cersei was not as skilled in that regard as she might think. She would be devoted to Ned, but… "He has a son and daughter."

"I am aware." Cersei stiffened as well. "Sansa and Rickard, his children of the Tully bi…" She stopped herself. "The Tully."

Lyanna caught what she was trying to say, and though she shared her characterization of Catelyn based on her experiences with the woman and what Ned bemoaned in his letters to her, in the context of speaking on Sansa and Rickard it was not something she liked. "I haven't seen Sansa since she was a babe, and Rickard is newly born and hasn't left Winterfell, but I love my niece and nephew very much. Only my children hold a superior place in my heart." Her eyes narrowed at Cersei, the same gaze as she gave the Ironborn or Robert Baratheon when the wolf emerged from her den. "I will not allow Ned to marry anyone who would hurt them, his feelings be damned."

Cersei was quiet. Ice seeming to cross her leonine features - green eyes darkening, only accentuated by her beauty. "Is that what you think of me? That I'd become Alicent Hightower?"

"It sounds like something your father would do… ensure there are no threats to his grandson becoming Lord of Winterfell." Knowing Ned, he'd make Robb his heir so the issue would be if Sansa or Rickard were cast aside and embittered, a power struggle would ensue. She would not let that happen.

And truly, neither would Cersei. She stood up, glaring at Lyanna. "I hated Catelyn Tully, yes. I think she was a horrible fit for him and I was jealous that she had him while I didn't - not that she appreciated the gem she was given in Eddard Stark, but I am not Alicent Hightower. Sansa and Rickard are of Ned's blood and I could never hate them… or force Ned to forsake them."

They stared at each other, neither giving ground. "And if I don't believe you?"

She crossed her arms and held her ground. "If so, then fuck you… your Grace," Cersei added.

The tension in the room doubled, dropping several degrees colder from the pure ice in both their glares… until it was too much. Both women simultaneously burst out laughing, the seriousness of their discussion changing to unseriousness almost immediately. "Oh…" Lyanna ground out in between chortles. "That was good…"

Cersei shook her head, almost bawling over so she sat. "Forgive me for that, your Grace."

"No need." Laughter tapering off, trying to compose herself, all answers needed had been given. Interrogation over, Lyanna took a seat next to Cersei, taking the woman's hands in hers. "I still can't believe it. You love my brother, truly?" It seemed so… unlikely.

Cersei let out a tiny giggle - the sound quite unlike her. "It's hard to believe for me as well, considering how I was, but I do." Not a day went by that she didn't think of him. Dream of him.

"I mean… how? You danced at my wedding to the King, was that when it happened?" Lyanna was genuinely curious, and Cersei would be her goodsister after all - the Queen wished to have a good relationship with her. It had been the same with Catelyn, only those efforts pretty much immolated themselves when the Tully showed she was unsuited to be the Lady of Winterfell.

"That was when I realized it, your Grace…"

"Lyanna. We're soon to be family, so you have leave to call me by my name."

She smiled, eyes kind. "Lyanna." Cersei had for so long been the dominant in her friendships… it was oddly refreshing to have one on equal terms… mostly equal. "It did happen fast, and that shocks me considering how we met."

An eyebrow. "How was that?"

"I…" She hesitated, remembering what precipitated it. "Umm… I had left the Prince's solar at Harrenhal." Lyanna adopted an expressionless look. "It was the last time I… pursued the Prince, the day after the announcement of your betrothal."

Lyanna frowned. "Was that the last time?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Good… I'll forgive just this one time." No use in being needlessly jealous, though perhaps she'd need to 'claim' Rhaegar just to be sure. "So when did my brother enter the scene?"

"Right after. I wasn't looking and… ran into him." Cersei blushed. "I called him a 'Northern Fool' and stormed up."

Lips curling up, Lyanna laughed. "Knowing my brother, he probably fell in love with you right there."

Cersei sighed happily. "Not that I deserve him, but I thank the gods that he did." She bit her lip, suddenly withdrawn. "I worry… will he never forgive me for keeping Robb from him?"

"That…" Lyanna thought for a moment. "He may hold a grudge against your father, but just as he doesn't blame Rhaegar for what Aerys did he won't blame you - that's if he still loves you." That didn't mollify Cersei. "Robb will be his heir, no doubt though. Ned is… too honorable to deny his eldest."

"Lord Tully won't like it, though fuck what he thinks." Cersei was serious.

Another grin from the Queen. "You're already thinking like a northerner." The two of them chuckling, perhaps this would work out well.

Until they told Ned, though, everything was up in the air. And no one in the mix found comfort in that fact…

Notes:

Tywin certainly knows how to negotiate.

Drop a review and be sure to check out Dragonshield and Bet of Dragons; if I get 30 comments for this story, I'll update in a week with the Nedsei reunion :D

Chapter 76: Star-Crossed

Notes:

Hi all. Good news, my grandfather is out of the hospital and back to his old self - he's 93 so as well as he can be. It was touch and go for a while but all's good now... thank God.

Anyway, here's the long awaited Nedsei Reunion!

Be sure to check out my new stories, Bet of Dragons and Dragonshield :D

Enjoy.

Aegarax roaring as he landed upon the grassy soil, Lyanna bit back a grin at the surprise of the Northmen and Rivermen at how she and Rhaegar arrived in the army's camp outside Seaguard. "Your Graces!" Jorah Mormont, a familiar face, bent the knee before them. "You honor us with your presence here."

"We wish to speak with Lord Eddard," Rhaegar replied, not wishing to delay what they were about to do.

Ned could react in a myriad of ways, which was why Lyanna accompanied him. It would be easier for the two of them to comfort him if something went wrong.

Jorah nodded. "Of course, follow me."

In his tent, Ned hugged his sister and clasped his goodbrother's hand. "Gods, it is good to see the two of you again. Lya…" He beamed. "Another niece or nephew for I?"

"Two of them," Lyanna laughed. "Elia is with child too."

"Effectively twins," replied Ned, all of them sharing a merry chuckle. "But I do not believe that it is what you requested of me for this meeting." They all took a seat. "Now, tell me."

Rhaegar didn't wish to do this - it was quite awkward, but necessary. "Ned… what do you know of Cersei Lannister."

Ned went silent, all joviality leaving his demeanor and changed to… a guarded look. "Why do you ask?"

"You loved her, didn't you?" Lyanna asked, though knowing the answer. It was written on her brother's face.

There was no denying it. "Aye. Long time ago, I did."

Lyanna gaped - that she knew the answer wasn't to say it wasn't still shocking. "You love her still!" Gods, it made so much sense. While Catelyn's piety and pining after Brandon were clearly the main reasons there was no closeness between them, Ned pined too. His heart belonged to Cersei Lannister. "Don't try to deny it!"

"What do you want from me?!" Ned snapped at Lyanna, to which she momentarily flinched at the rarity of it. Rhaegar stepped forward with a hand on Lyanna's arm, as if to protect her from all harm. Ned calmed down from his ire, but was still bitter. "Years have passed, and such memories are nothing but pain to me. Nothing shall ever come of it." My son will grow without ever knowing me.

"That is not true," Rhaegar announced.

A snort. "And how can you possibly know that?" He was barely paying attention, playing with a copper goblet with a thin neck. "How, brother?"

Rhaegar shared a look with his bride, who gestured to Ned with her eyes. Tell him. "I know because as per her father's hand, you are now betrothed to Lady Cersei."

The stem of the goblet suddenly snapped, ale spilling onto the table and dripping down onto the grassy ground below - but Ned noticed not. Slowly, he looked up at his goodbrother. At his sister. "What did you say?"

"Lord Tywin wishes an alliance between himself and the crown, and alliances are procured through marriage." He'd omit the political issues - those weren't of importance now with Ned. "Given there are none of my family old enough to marry Cersei, he suggested you and I agreed." The King raised an eyebrow, expectant. "Do you have a problem with this, brother?"

There was a long silence, a myriad of emotions playing out within Ned's grey eyes. Often they were too complex to derive, even for Lyanna whom had known Ned her whole life. Finally, he spoke again. "How does she feel about it?" His voice gave nothing away.

Lyanna, clearing her throat, locked eyes with her brother. "She wishes very much to be married to the man she loves… and the father of her son."

For the life of them, neither the King nor the Queen could have imagined the breadth of the wide smile that formed on Ned's lips. "I accept." He stood. "We could ride for Casterly Rock today if you wish."

Blinking, Rhaegar just managed to keep his jaw from going slack. "Ned… are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I wish this done as quickly as possible."

What could they say? What could either of them say? Lyanna spoke first. "Husband, why don't you confer with the other commanders on the status of the siege. Allow me to speak to my brother."

A sigh. "Alright." He reached forward to clasp Ned. "You are my brother, Ned, and I wish for you to be happy. Take this bull by the horns and do not look back - marry for love."

"I intend to, brother," Ned replied. The two shared a smile before Rhaegar left - his wife and his goodbrother remaining. "I know what you're going to ask, Lya. And I'll tell you that yes, I knew of my son with her." At her wide eyes, Ned quickly explained. "I only figured it out moons ago, and most abruptly."

"I figured." Lyanna sat beside her brother. "Tywin obviously kept him under wraps, but how did you find out?"

"Catelyn…" Ned frowned. "She confronted me of it. I think the shock of it caused her to trip and lead to her death."

The Queen didn't need to ask over why he didn't seek out Cersei then. Guilt… guilt and self-loathing. Now though, there were no traces of it. "You didn't think Cersei would want you, brother? Don't deny it."

"Am I that transparent?" Lyanna tilted her head, as if asking if he was serious. "Aye, I suppose I am."

"But it is no matter. She wants you, desperately I would say."

"You spoke with her?" At her nod, Ned grew quiet. "And my… my son?"

Lyanna smiled. "A beautiful boy. He resembles Ser Jaime exactly, but is a Stark through and through. One can tell." She leaned forward and clasped Ned's hands. "I know now, Ned, you are going to finally have the happiness denied you for so long. Don't fuck it up."

"I won't." Ned was no surer of anything else in his life.

---

"D-a-r-i-a V-i-s-e-n-y-a T-a-r-g-a-r-y-e-n." Quill scribbling slowly on the cheap parchment, Princess Rhaenys spelled out each High Valyrian word. "D-a-r-y-s A-e-g-o-n Targaryen, v-a-l-o-n-q-a-r esh Daria Visenya…"

"No, Princess." Maester Aemon Targaryen tapped her on the shoulder. "It's Dare Visenya in that context."

Groaning, Rhaenys set down her quill. "This is dumb, Uncle Aemon. I already know Common Tongue. Can't we learn about the big dragons instead?"

Shaking his head, Aemon nevertheless didn't scold her. "My dear, I know you want to go on adventures and learn about your heritage, but you are of the royal house. Your lessons are important, lest others take advantage of you. Aegon IV Targaryen didn't bother learning to read High Valyrian and could barely speak it, thus allowing his…" Those tales weren't those he wished to broach to his six-nameday old great-niece. "...Court to trick him. You don't want that."

"No. I don't." Jon and Dany often tried to trick her and it was annoying. She thought for a moment. "Uncle, what does valonqar mean?"

"Most teachers say that it means 'little brother' in Valyrian, but the correct translation is 'little sibling.' Egg, Jon, and Alyssa are your valonqar."

"Krim...vo." She beamed at how Aemon clapped at her correct pronunciation. Those at the Citadel were of the theory that young children picked up language stronger than other age groups, leading Aemon's insistence in High Valyrian lessons for Rhaenys. "Jon and Dany won't trick me."

The words likely meant nothing - classic sibling rivalry that amounted to nothing. But for Aemon, a student of their family's painful history and one that lived it, he had to assume the worst. "Rhae, can you promise me something?"

She looked to him with innocent eyes. "Yes, uncle?"

"Prince Baelon is the Crown Prince and your father's successor. I know you've accepted it but… you cannot try to hurt your brother, ever. Promise?"

Rhaenys peered up at Aemon in confusion… and not a little sorrow. "Why would I hurt Jon? He's my brother, I love Jon." Her lip quivered at the thought of hurting her little brother - hells, any of her siblings.

"I know you wouldn't, sweetling." But Aemon very slowly knelt in front of Rhaenys, placing a hand on her shoulder. It was as if his eyes had returned their sight to stare deeply yet warmly at her. "But there are those that… will want you to, since your muna of whom you were born is not his. Do you understand?"

"Yes, uncle… I think so…"

"You have to protect him, Rhae. You two are the future of the dragons, and we must stick together."

She nodded. "I promise uncle. I will protect Jon."

Chucking her affectionately on the chin, pinching her cheeks, Aemon laughed. "You remind me so much of your grandmother. She was a ball of fire just as you." It brought Aemon so much joy to witness Rhaella claim the dragonrider mantle that his brother always hoped for her. If only Dunk, Rhaelle, and Aerys were around to do the same. Especially Aerys, Aemon sometimes shedding a tear for what his sweet nephew had become.

Not wishing to get too emotional, Aemon was saved by the distraction of Queen Elia entering he impromptu classroom - he didn't see it as he didn't see anything anymore, but she wore a pleated dress of orange and black, but in the northern style. Warm and form fitting. "Muna," called Rhaenys. "Is something wrong?" Elia never interrupted her studies - Lyanna did, sometimes taking her on rides into the city or on the beach when they were on Dragonstone.

"No, my love, nothing is wrong." She smiled at her daughter in reassurance. "How is she doing, Uncle Aemon?" The royal family did its best to reassert Aemon's royal ties in spite of renouncing them upon entering the Citadel. All the guards and servants addressed him as Prince Aemon, while the family itself called him uncle.

Aemon, ruffling Rhaenys' hair much to her protests, chuckled warmly. "A bright girl, my dear. Quite precocious, but headstrong and stubborn. For the life of me I cannot determine which part of her bloodline that comes from."

That was amusing to Elia. "Everyone says they are Targaryen traits, then they meet my brother Oberyn." A thought came to mind - Rhaenys with the Targaryen fire and Oberyn's zest for life… Poor Rhaegar. He's gonna be beside himself trying to keep her well-behaved. The Queen moved to her eldest child, leaning down and kissing the crown of her head. "Enjoying your lessons, little dragon?"

"I wanna play with the dragons, muna," she replied.

Elia laughed. "Perhaps later, but please answer the question."

Rhaenys sighed, exactly as her father was when boxed into a discussion he didn't wish to have. "Letters are boring… both common tongue and Valyrian? Why must I learn either?"

Why were all her children adorable? Elia knew she should soak it in while they were still little and innocent - and pray they didn't take after her brother once they hit puberty. I don't want grey hairs. "Do you want to be a dragon like your father?" Rhaenys bobbed her head up and down. "Then you'll need to learn Valyrian."

A sigh. "Alright, muna."

"That's my little Princess." She bid her to stand, hugging Rhaenys. "Some good news, your muna is coming back." Good news all around - Elia missed her she-Wolf something fierce. Won't be her and Rhaegar, but one is better than neither for now.

Her eyes lit up. "Really?! We won! But…" She made the connection. "If we won, then kepa come too?"

Elia looked at Aemon. "Should I tell her?"

"I think you should," Aemon smiled.

Looking at Rhaenys in the eye, Elia cupped her cheek. "Because she is with child and needs to be safe… as am I."

Widening, Rhaenys understood. "A valonqar, both of you?" The smile on her face could melt the moon. "I want to play with them now. Where are they?"

"They're still in our bellies," Elia laughed. Rhaenys mumbled something unintelligible at that, to which the Queen grinned. "But I have something else for you. Remember that Uncle Oberyn couldn't come to your nameday feast?"

"Uh huh," Rhaenys replied, still sad about it. The fact that Oberyn was ordered to Volantis at Doran's bequest wasn't something she wished to worry her daughter about.

"I know, sweetling, but his gift for you arrived today." From where her uncle Lewyn carried it outside the door, Elia took it and gave the gift to her daughter. "Here."

"What is it?"

"A perfect replica of Princess Nymeria's fighting spear, both ends tipped with blades… for your size that is. Your uncle is going to start teaching you how to fight just as she did." The family knew how she idolized Nymeria, and this was perfect.

Rhaenys squealed and jumped up and down. "Thank you, muna! Thank you!" Her happiness was completely worth it.

---

Today was the day.

The day long part of Cersei Lannister's sweetest dreams… and filthiest fantasies when the tension became too intense to ignore - many a sleepless night only endured by picturing this moment as she worked at her nub and gash…

Flushing, Cersei shook her head. Stop it. If she got worked up, the time would be interminable rather than the greatly irritating but bearable it was now. Taking a deep breath, the surreal smile returned to her face at the thought of it.

Eddard Stark would be riding into Casterly Rock today. His army left at Seaguard, a small retainer of Northern Lords and Stark Guardsmen would be escorting her love to the Rock as news of his acceptance of her father's terms reached her. He said yes! Not for the first time that morning, Cersei twirled around, letting her dress fan out around her. "He still loves me!" The prospect he did it simply because of Robb came to her mind… and the nervousness did eat at the fringes of her mood, but Cersei didn't believe it.

She chose not to believe it.

She probably didn't believe it.

Putting aside such thoughts, she shut herself in her chambers with only Malera, Jeyne, and Aunt Genna attending to her. Cersei insisted on looking her best and most ladylike, and her friends and family didn't disappoint. A dress of a pure crimson - gold lines fanning out like sunlight along the skirt - fit her waist like a glove while exposing her neck, shoulders, and just a hint of cleavage. The once fashionable deep sleeves were discarded in favor of a more form-fitting sleeve that Queen Lyanna made popular among the King's Landing court. Jeyne insisted on styling her golden hair, forming a pleated updo with two braids trailing on either side of her face - all accentuated by a gold necklace of three lion's heads her aunt supplied.

"He'll want to strip all of it off you the moment he arrives," Malera declared as soon as it was all done. Looking at herself in the mirror, Cersei knew she was right - few men could resist the Light of the West at her most seductive.

And now the waiting game.

Sitting on the bed with her back to the door, Cersei watched the ticking of the new device her father imported from King's Landing - a Braavosi device, some sort of mechanical timekeeper - each passing second adding her her nerves. Bringing out her deepest fears now that her aunt and friends were gone. Does he love me?

Cersei hated being weak-willed, but Ned Stark was the one chink in her armor. What if this is just political? Robb was in his chambers ignorant of the whole matter, but Cersei had elevated Ned so greatly to him. If the love wasn't there for either of them, merely duty to his blood and King, the boy would be crushed.

At hearing the door open slowly, Cersei took in a breath as she stood. This is it. Allowing the thoughts of her love to fill her mind, a smile spread across her face and Cersei began to turn. "My love…" At the image before her, the smile died.

"Are you trying to tell me something, sister?" Tyrion wore a grin, though it was more subdued than his usual drunken leers. "Or did you mistake my entrance for someone else?"

Everything prepared in her to see Ned, anger crossed Cersei's face rather quickly. "You awful little demon monkey!"

He mimed an arrow hitting his heart. "You wound me."

"Oh shut up. Playing with my emotions on this day of all days?" She crossed her arms, trying to not grab a hairpin and stab him through the throat with it. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Just wished to see if you wanted some refreshments from the kitchens." An obvious lie… one he couldn't even cover up this time as he fought a giggle.

"Get out!" she shrieked, and to his credit he did before Cersei threw something at him. Huffing, she plopped back on the bed with her back turned, shaking in anger. That monster… why must he torture me on this day? Tyrion undoubtedly knew how worried she was.

Perhaps he just wishes to get your mind off the whole thing? The voice sounded much like her mother, calm and collected.

Even so, while it may have been kind, Cersei wouldn't forgive her dwarf brother for a while for this.

The door opening again - not a minute after he left - drew a groan from her. "What is it, you little monster… come to torture me more…?" As she stood and turned with fire in her eyes and a snarl on her lips, it died just as quickly as her smile did earlier.

As biting as her words were, the mind of Eddard Stark didn't associate them with hate. "Well," he spoke, voice soft. "Much like our first meeting, this is." It was… quite nostalgic if he thought about it.

Cersei's entire expression and stance softened at the sight of her long-lost love after nearly four years. "Ned…" Voice taking a quality that would surprise anyone that knew the Cersei of the Aerys court, she rounded the bed and dashed quickly across the floor. Ned barely had time to extend his arms before she leaped into them.

"Cersei," he breathed, an immense weight on his shoulders he hadn't known he'd been carrying for years just disappearing. Ned's arms held her tightly round the shoulders, face burying in the perfumed golden locks. "Cersei."

A tear fell from Cersei's cheek - one of a profound joy that dwarfed any feeling the Light of the West ever held before apart from holding Robb in her arms for the first time. "Ned, my love." His scent was the same, arms the same refuge that made her so safe and so loved. Why did I worry? This was the embrace of a man whose love hadn't dimmed in its ardor and adoration.

He chuckled, trying to keep composed himself. "You're more beautiful than I remember."

Pulling back, Cersei cupped his cheek - looking over her wolf. He was the same comely, proud man she knew, but he'd changed as well. For the better. "You're… you're the Lord I'd always known you'd be." His rugged northern features had hardened, any youthful innocence lost in a firm build of a warrior. This man had been through it all and survived. Survived to come back to me, even if it took years. "I love you."

He reciprocated, cupping her cheek. "I love you too."

"Never stopped?"

"Not one day."

Practically both beaming and crying, Cersei's only response was to close the distance between them - mashing their lips together finally. Gods, it was better than her dreams or memories could even hope to be, how he sweetly invaded her mouth. Pulling her flush to him with his powerful arms.

She could feel the heat growing between them - an unquenching need to both luxuriate in their reunion while also proving it real. Proving it lasting. Proving that they were finally together forever and never to be apart again… His hands lowering to her waist, her kisses growing in ardor, the moan as his hips pushed against her dress…

But he wouldn't be her Ned if he didn't stop himself. "Cersei… please wait," he mumbled against her lips.

Breaking the kiss, Cersei's chest heaved. That kiss had been amazing… her best one. She'd had many bests with this man. "Why?" she asked, a smile curling on her lips as his beautiful grey eyes lay locked on her cleavage. The dress does work wonders. "I'm sure we have many important matters to discuss here." Not that they'd have much discussion, Cersei thinking of better uses for their mouths. "I finally have you and I won't waste time on horseshit." Without another word, she reached for the ties of his cuirass.

Only for his hands to stop her. "My son… our son." Ned looked at her, worn with sorrow. "I want this too, my lioness, but I need to see him. Please."

Any ire in her went away, replaced by pure love. "Of course." She took his hand, guiding him to the door. "I've told him all about you - his favorite stories are of the Kings of Winter," she laughed lightly, still feeling as if this was a dream.

No, she could never dream something this purely wonderful.

As for Ned, his heart pounded out of his chest. What was his child like? Did he look like him? Like Cersei's side? Her words lifted much of his worries, but the facts were he hadn't been in Robb's life - there stood the real possibility that they could never form a true relationship as he had with Sansa. "I pray he accepts me as his father… I may not measure up to the stories."

"You do," was her only response. I do not deserve this perfect man. Cersei knew she would need to take his other children as her own once she arrived in Winterfell - it was what Ned deserved, and she would give him everything he deserved and more if she had anything to say about it. They arrived at the nursery door, and by that time Ned had grown white and was shaking. "Did you have the same fear in battle, love?" It was so easy falling into such affections.

He shook his head. "No, I was calm then. This is much more frightening."

She giggled and kissed his chin. "You'll be fine. You're a good father already, from what your sister told me." Leaving it at that, Cersei pushed open the door.

Robb was as she left him, only instead of playing with his model knights and dragons he was about the floor, ticking the lion cub. The cub meowed, batting at Robb's hands playfully with his paws. "Good lion, you are," the golden lionwolf giggled.

Grinning at the sight, Cersei looked up at Ned, who stood transfixed. Unable to speak. He was rooted where he stood, simply staring at the boy. His son. Their son. Breaking the moment, Cersei cleared her throat. "Robb, sweetling."

His mother's voice immediately getting his attention, Robb looked up. "Momma." Smiling, the smile turned to confusion at the strange man next to him. He had dark hair but was clearly not Sandor or Uncle Emmon. "Who this?"

He was perfect. Ned looked the boy over from head to toe and back again - he held the Lannister coloring, but the Lord of Winterfell knew this boy was a direwolf. His son, his flesh and blood son with the woman he loved more than anything. Just as he knew Sansa and Rickard were his, so was Robb. Just as learning of his existence tore his heart apart, seeing him healed Ned of such pain.

"This is your…"

But Robb was perceptive. As soon as he caught a glimpse of the direwolf sigil emblazoned in Ned's cuirass, he gasped. "P...poppa?" That was the sigil on his aunt Lyanna's pin. He'd know it anywhere. "Is…"

"Yes, son," Ned croaked, getting on his knees. "Poppa's here."

"Poppa!" Robb ran into his arms much as his mother did, both tears and excited babble leaving his mouth. "I knowed you come! I just knowed it!"

With the love of his life by his side and his son in his arms, Ned felt complete. "Aye, pup. Not the greatest blizzard could keep me away." When Cersei joined them on the ground, her arms inching their way into the embrace, everything was perfect.

---

"Your Grace." Elia turned from the window to see Ashara enter, a smile playing at her face. "The gold dragon has been spotted."

Her breath caught. "She's here." Lya's here. Gods, the little clench in her heart could finally be released… well, partially released. Rhaegar was still in harm's way, but there was no way she could change that. Best enjoy my blessings, then. "Where are the children?"

"Dacey and your uncle are getting them."

"Good, let us go greet my wife."

Through the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast did the two Dornish beauties walk, Ser Arys and Ser Oswell trailing behind them. Ashara spoke to the Kingsguards and on occasion Elia, but the Queen's mind was elsewhere. Her hands clasped over her stomach, they ended up just tracing the slight swell of her newest babe. My babe…

Her fourth of her own womb, one of six if Elia counted her children by Lya's as well. They were hers as much as her own blood were, but this was different. Never was I to have a child other than Egg. My womb was rotted, destroyed, shriveled away as Pycelle then told me. But no more. A cruel memory but a memory nonetheless. It was all restored to her, the life dwelling inside of her as a manifestation of her love for Rhaegar and Lyanna - all for protecting Jon.

Elia would have done it even if it meant her death, but the favor of the gods was blessed upon House Targaryen. She would make it so that such a blessing always shone on her family. The thoughts played at the edge of her mind as Jaimexes swept down upon the courtyard, landing with a shriek.

It was a clearly tight fit atop Jaimexes' back - the golden dragon seemingly large but nowhere near even a modest draconic size - and Lyanna looked to be relieved upon swinging off and plopping atop the courtyard. Her boots clicked on the stone, maze of mail and plate armor form-fitting across her still slim waist jostling from the movements. "Gods, it's good to be on the ground," she announced to no one in particular, immediately going to the ties of her hair and pulling them out. Releasing her chestnut locks to tumble across her shoulders.

That was the last straw for Elia. With Wolfsbane clipped to her hip, Lyanna was a magnificent vision - the perfect mix of martial strength and feminine beauty. Seeing her hair fanning out, the Queen's feet moved automatically. Abandoning propriety to run to her.

Lyanna saw this, and her reaction was similar. She rushed to Elia, opening her arms and accepting the tight embrace. Lifting her up and twirling around with a happy laugh. "My love," she breathed, lowering Elia enough to place a passionate kiss on her lips.

Moaning, Elia melted into the kiss, raising her arms to loop around Lyanna's neck and opening her mouth for the she-wolf's invading tongue. Moments later they pulled back, breathing hard. "Lya…" Their eyes met, foreheads resting. "I was lost without you and Rhaegar."

"At least you have me back," quipped the Northern Queen, the two of them chuckling happily. Lyanna's hand lowered to cup her belly. "A babe?"

Elia nodded, grinning. "Same for you?"

A nod in reply. "Pregnant together… a dream of mine come true." They pecked each other's lips again.

Hearing a throat cleared, Elia peeked over Lyanna's shoulder to see Rhaella with a smirk. "Goodmother," she blushed.

"I shan't be offended, for I know what love can make one blind to."

Hearing Lya laugh, the Queen snorted and smiled bashfully. "Come." Elia guided her wife forward, melded to her side. Watching as Dacey led the cluster of children - both theirs and Rhaella's - towards Ashara. "Let's greet the children."

As soon as they caught a glimpse of Lyanna and Rhaella, the children were unable to be restrained. Mobbing their munas. Both women greeting them with beaming smiles and tears of joy.

"Have you minded your uncle, Daenerys?" Rhaella asked her daughter, holding her up.

She nodded. "Yes, muna."

Rhaella kissed her cheek, setting her down on the ground. As expected, the Princess immediately returned to her nephew Baelon's side. Their special bond remained unbroken.

An eye kept on her gooddaughters, Rhaella could tell just how… close they were. How they inconspicuously tensed and brushed their fingers over patches of skin. It wasn't hard to deduce what they wished to do, but with a gaggle of hatchlings it would be tricky. "Think I should put them out of their misery, my lion?" she whispered in Jaime's ear.

The knight kept his hands behind his back. "I do recall that the Queens did help keep the King occupied while we had our fun upon the Painted Table, your Grace."

Rhaella moaned softly, remembering that day - it had been a very good day indeed, fulfilling one of her longest sexual fantasies. He's right. I owe them. "Please, gooddaughters. I have missed my grandchildren quite much." She hefted Baelon into her arms, flicking his nose to giggles from the Prince. "Dear Prince Baelon, have you missed me?"

"Yes grandmother," replied the dutiful Prince. "Tell me dwagon stories."

"Of course that's what he misses," Rhaella laughed.

"Dragon stories, grandmother," begged Egg.

"Yes, please muna?" added Daenerys, her eyes wide and innocently pleading.

Rhaella smirked at her gooddaughters. "Seems they are insistent. It'll probably take until suppertime, so you'll have to find something to make due."

Their eyes sparkled as they understood. "Seems we do, goodmother," Lyanna mused, taking Elia's hand and wrapping their fingers together. When they thought Rhaella was out of sight, Lyanna picked up the pace, pulling a giggling Elia towards the royal chambers.

But the Dowager Queen had seen it. Ah, young love. Eyes flickering to Jaime, his green eyes twinkling at her, she felt a twinge in her core. Even I suffer from it, and I am no longer young.

Not that she minded.

---

Family came first. Both of them agreed on that point. The long afternoon found Ned and Cersei spending their time with their son, Robb exhausting himself in his pure joy at his father finally arriving in Casterly Rock. Whatever wishes for a more… intimate reunion were dashed due to their son, but they didn't mind it. Not when their son was involved.

A dinner hosted by her father and the King to celebrate their betrothal - joined by the senior bannermen of House Lannister and House Stark - was less enjoyable, but the joyful air and Tywin allowing them to sit alongside each other made it more tolerable. Rhaegar and Ned swapped stories of the past, while Tyrion's quips once he was deep in his cups were more irritating to the Lannister patriarch than the happy couple. Neither Ned nor Cersei ceased contact once, even if it was merely their fingers brushing against each other.

This was a sentiment they carried long into the night, all pretenses and duties banished away. Officially granted chambers in the guest wing next to Rhaegar's, the King nevertheless bid Ned goodnight at the end of the feast, winking as he explained that he wasn't likely to see his goodbrother until the morrow. Rhaegar was proven right when Cersei took Ned's arm and led him to her chambers after putting Robb to bed.

One look at her eyes, her smile that could melt the Wall, and all hope of resistance died as Ned followed her.

"Oh, Ned." All had led to their current configuration - Cersei threw her head back, hands fisting in Ned's long hair. He worked on her cunt with gusto, as if a man dying of thirst. Mayhaps he was, both of them were. Thirsty for each other after so long. "Fuck, don't stop…"

Shifting up, Ned lashed at her nub. Groaning at her wonderful taste, how Cersei so willingly gave in to her pleasures and made sure that he knew just how she needed him. Made him want to give her such pleasure. How had he ever endured without this? Remembering what she liked from their torrid few weeks together years ago, he angled two fingers and speared through her gash - curling them deep inside her.

Cersei's eyes flew open. "Fuck!" Biting her lip, she screamed silently as her climax washed over her.

Ned lapped up all she gave. Nearly a quarter hour had passed since her direwolf stripped her dress off of her body and ever since, his tongue had been lapping at her. Tickling her inner thighs with his beard as he peppered kisses across the creamy skin. He chuckled at her breathless expression. "I take it you enjoyed, Cers?"

She smiled at the pet name for her. It was so delightfully domestic… but now what she wanted wasn't domestic. "Come here, my Lord," she husked, tugging at his shoulders. Cersei moaned in contentment when his weight was draped over her, kissing her neck and shoulders. But it wasn't enough. "Ned…" Her legs wrapped around him.

"Impatient are we, my lioness?" Ned asked, his hand running down her bare leg - making her shudder. His eyes smoldered at her reaction. "You are."

"Only with you," she replied. "No one else." Even her youthful indiscretions with Jaime were nothing compared to what she felt with Ned. Cersei bucked her hips into him. "Please don't make me wait…" She didn't finish because Ned was on her again - cock spearing deliciously into her. "Ahhh… fuck… yesssss…" Gods, she missed this. Denied for years, only for providence to bless them.

Ned rocked into her, groaning at the sensation of her wet walls sheathing him - impossibly tight and supremely inviting. "I dreamed of this, Cersei," he whispered to her. "Every night I would sleep thinking of you. Missing you." It used to shame him, married to Catelyn at the time. But Ned had done his duty by her, and now he was reunited with his true love. He would never be ashamed again for his love for her.

If it was possible, her cunt grew even wetter from his words. "What did you… gods… miss about me?"

His eyes darkened, looking her in the eye as he pistoned into her harder - pinning her arms down. "Your eyes, your mouth, your smell." Ned leaned down, nuzzling her breast. "Your teats…" he said almost bashfully, but voice thick with desire. "Your cunt, your taste."

Cersei screamed as he suckled on her nipple, timing it with a deep thrust. "Yes, Ned!" It was so good. "Cum in me! Make me a mother again!"

His duty screamed to stop, to wait for their wedding night to accomplish the task every part of himself desired - but Ned was right. He couldn't stop. She was sin, his sin, a long-awaited dream finally reached that he'd be damned if he wouldn't enjoy and cherish.

Cersei had been right after all. They were to marry, and the presence of Robb dashed any pretense of chastity on their part - not that he had it, given a previous marriage and two children with her. But there was no comparison between Cersei and Catelyn. Never in his marriage did his wife wrap her legs around his waist. Never raking her nails down his back, bucking her hips as she whispered filthy urgings and sweet nothings into his ear, begging for him to finish her.

To finish inside her.

Yanking his head up, Cersei greedily sought out his mouth. Their tongues battled, Cersei screaming her new climax just seconds before he erupted inside her. Fingers digging hard into the muscles of his back, the two of them skin to skin as they rode out the intense pleasures of their coupling.

When they were done, Cersei rested her head on his chest. Giggling contentedly, she couldn't stop pressing feather-light kissed on the scars littered on him from the battles of the Rebellion. "My gods… better than I remembered."

"I would hope so, my lioness," Ned chuckled, utterly relaxed. "I love you."

She swooned. "I love you too."

He absentmindedly toyed with her long, golden hair - one of his favorite features of her. "Thank you, Cers."

Cersei looked up into his grey eyes. "Why are you thanking me, my wolf?"

"For taking care of our son. You've raised him so well…" A sad look crossed his eye. "And I wasn't here for any of it."

Cupping his cheek, Cersei kissed him. "You have no reason to hold shame, Ned." It was her father's fault… and hers to an extent. Tywin Lannister inspired much fear, even to her apparently. "He loves you, as does his mother. That will never change."

"Were you serious earlier, Cers? That you want more children with me?" Four were enough for his father, and he had three healthy babes - Ned would be fine had Cersei wished to end here.

But she nodded firmly. "Yes, my love. Many children." From what Tyrion had told her of the North, House Stark was in a precarious state. Catelyn's boneheaded decisions were going to lead to ruin as the years went by, and her wolf needed intelligence and strength. Steadfast leadership, cunning subterfuge, and a large family of plenty of heirs and spares to provide him added security. All combined with her love for him to make her certain. "Plenty of beautiful babes, a mix of you and I." Grinning, she swung atop him, straddling his hips. "I want them, Ned. I want you to give them to me."

Feeling her warmth grinding into his crotch, Ned's mouth grew dry. "Cers…" The discussion was an important one, but the quiet wolf could feel the blood rush down to his lower half - hands going to her waist almost automatically.

Eyes sparkling, Cersei moaned softly as she felt him rise back to the occasion against the join of her legs. "Yes, my wolf?" She rolled her hips, loving just how his breath caught.

"If you keep going, then I won't be able to control myself."

"Perhaps I don't want you to control yourself." She grabbed his hands, bringing them to her breasts. Grinning madly as he began to knead them without prompting. "I want another babe, Ned. Another lionwolf that will bring House Stark glory and prosperity." Cersei felt his head poke at her entrance, gladly lowering herself onto Ned's hard cock to the gasps of both of them. "Spill your seed into me, Ned."

All hope to stop was gone - not that Ned wished to stop. He never wanted to stop.

The wolf in him growled, wanting just what Cersei did. It mattered not, they'd be married before the moon was out. He grabbed her hips, rocked his own, and reveled in her shrieks of pleasure.

Ned knew how lucky he was that he'd hear these noises for the rest of his life.

---

With a friendly wave, the fishing vessel signaled over to a longship. It bore the colors of House Velaryon of Driftmark, the white seahorse on a field of turquoise, emblazoned on its sails. Not an uncommon sight on Blackwater Bay, though with the majority of the fleet departed for Shipbreaker Bay there was an oddity to it.

When his son voiced it, the elderly fisherman laughed it off. "Probably out here fishing just as we are." An august house, the Velaryons enjoyed the bountiful luxuries of the sea as did all other coastal highborn families, and he made several large chunks of coin from providing it to them. "Toss lines!"

Throwing the ropes across the gap, it took only a few minutes for the expert crews on both ships to draw the two alongside each other. "Greetings, friend," said a slender, brown-haired man with a strong posture - likely a highborn. "First time we saw anyone since passing Massey's Hook."

The fisherman laughed. "Aye, storm's comin'." He pointed off into the distance, where black stormclouds churned and fulminated over the expanse of the Narrow Sea. "Will likely hit 'ere by evenin'. Trying to get a bit of harvestin' before that, no others competin' with me that is." Both of them shared a laugh. "How's about yourself?"

Shrugging, the man looked to his ship, three other men stepping long to join him on the fishing boat. "Going to King's Landing."

"Oh? Gonna try to make some gold dragons sellin' to the dragons? Ser Davos at Sealion Point too thrifty for ya?" He laughed again.

This time, the other man didn't laugh. Only grinned… something evil flashing in his eye. "Gonna take the Red Keep, and capture the Queens for myself." He enjoyed the confusion and then horror in the fisherman's eyes before shooting his arm out - the hidden dagger in his sleeve slicing through his belly like wood through butter.

"Father!" the son cried, only for one of the hidden reavers to draw a short sword and behead him where he stood.

"Clear them out!" Euron Greyjoy shouted, laughing in an altogether different form of humor. Wordlessly, he kneeled and cleaned his blade off of the man's coarse wool shirt. Filthy, but it got the blood off.

The three men returned from below decks, their swords smeared with blood. "We finished the rest off," the lead told Euron.

"Scuttle the boat. They'll all be crab food within the week."

"Already done, my Prince. Bashed a hole in the hull myself."

Euron nodded. "Good, back to the ship." Leaping from the hull of the rickety fisherman, the Demon of Oldtown saw a flash of lightning crackle in the not so distant open seas to the east. A storm was a coming, and with it the providence of their god.

They won't fuckin' see us coming. Screw his idiot brothers. They brought defeat, but Euron Greyjoy would forge himself into a legend.

Notes:

And I hope I did the reunion justice :D

Rhaenys is so wonderful, loving her siblings so dearly.

And uh oh... Euron's in Blackwater Bay!

Drop a review and be sure to check out Dragonshield and Bet of Dragons. More reviews I get, sooner an update comes out :D

Chapter 77: Crow's Eye

Notes:

Hi all. Things are in a bit of flux right now. Changing jobs and moving, so yeah.

Can I just say... Emilia is awesome! I knew she thought the same as us about season 8, but is too classy to go full medieval on D&D... that's our job in her stead XD

Now to see Euron in action.

Some news. In the near to mid future, I will be writing a Jonerys modern AU co-authored by the great Libradoodle. Hoping to see y'all there when it comes out!

Enjoy.

Biting her lip, Queen Elia Targaryen stifled a moan of delight at the sensations rocking her core. Legs trembling, she gripped onto the headboard of the massive bed she and her beloveds shared. Her beautiful King wasn't here, preoccupied with fighting the Ironborn, but after so long her wife had returned… and here they were, celebrating the lives that dwelled within their wombs.

Her gorgeous Lyanna, chestnut mane of hair fanning out like a halo, was lapping up her cunt hungrily while she straddled her face - a position they both adored. Laughing throatily, Elia tossed her hair back and glanced behind her to see a wonderful sight. Lyanna worked her fingers in her gash, desperate to cure the ache between her legs. Getting a naughty idea, the Dornish Queen leaned back and pulled Lya's hands away, replacing the fingers with her own.

The reaction was instantaneous. Lyanna stiffened, crying out into Elia's cunt from the probing. Worried she overstepped her bounds in the midst of passion, the Queen began to withdraw her digits but was stopped by Lya's hand. Breathless, she looked down. "Do you want me to stop?"

But Lya shook her head, as well as she could, anyways. "No," she murmured, her hand gripping Elia's and holding it there. "I have no objections." Her eyes stared up at Elia, the darkest of greys brimming with lust and silently pleading for her to continue.

Licking her lips at the lusty look from her wife, Elia looked back. Watching as her hand began to thrust her fingers between Lya's legs. When she curled, Lyanna screamed into her core, suddenly grabbing Elia's hips with dug in fingers and pulling her tighter against her mouth. It was Elia's turn to bite back a scream as in one fluid motion the northern Queen's tongue buried itself as deep as possible into her wet cunt. "Oh fuck… right there…" she gasped, voice warbling.

Even in her desperate urge to taste Elia, Lyanna kept whimpering and shivering once the two… oooh, now three fingers started a firm pace into her cunt. No, Elia couldn't reach as deep as Rhaegar's cock but it was her beautiful Dornish ruby fingering her. That counted for much, and left Lyanna a pile of goo that could only grip Elia's ass tighter - fingers undoubtedly leaving indentations in her olive skin - and continue to lick like a woman dying of thirst. Lyanna's attention was thus torn. Her beloved's flower, all wet for her, was a delicious sight, but her gaze kept flicking up to the Queen's face. Elia's lower lip was trapped between her teeth, eyes closed and cheeks flushed as she concentrated on both rocking her hips and thrusting her fingers. "Goddess," Lyanna murmured, although she doubted Elia heard her.

But Elia did, and smiled sultrily down at her wife. "You… are…" she ground out when Lya's tongue stroked a sensitive spot of her inner wall.

With another push of her hips, Lyanna took Elia's fingers as deep as she could. She wept into her cunt, raking her nails from her ass to her hip and urging the beauty into a quicker rhythm. Eyes opening, she chuckled sultrily as Elia - forehead pressed against the headboard of their bed - rubbed furiously at the nub of her core. "Little, filthy whore… can't resist..."

Desperate to keep her balance, Elia was beyond caring. She was desperate - desperate to climax, desperate for Lya to climax. "You love it," she said, breathlessly.

Lyanna moaned, licking harder. "I do," she admitted, though in the midst of their tryst a sight softened her heart. Letting go of the claw-like grip of her wife's supple ass, she reached up to press her palm on the swell of Elia's belly. Caressing the proof of their growing child lovingly before sliding up between her breasts. Right over her heart.

Somehow, that tender gesture was worth more than a hundred filthy words or furious thrusts of the tongue. Elia gasped once, froze with her eyes flying shut, and threw her head back in a silent scream. Her fingers pistoned into Lyanna frantically as her core released its pent up juices in a hot flood, her inner walls shuddering around Lya's tongue as she felt herself spill over.

Her own walls sucking at the digits, milking them of seed they'd never release, the desperate bucking of Lyanna's hips as she slurped up her wife's release brought Elia's thumb ghosting over her nub. It was too much. Lyanna screamed into the Dornish Queen's cunt when she felt her own climax ripple through her, the muscles in her legs and ass tightening as she bucked and impaled herself on the fingers - riding out the aftershocks.

Finally, each of them went limp. Elia let out a low moan, slowly disingangling her legs from Lyanna's head before bonelessly falling atop the bed. "Seven hells…" she murmured, trembling as she clutched at Lya desperately - chest mashing into her side, head resting between the valley of Lyanna's ample breasts, and palm on her pregnant stomach.

Both of them were breathing heavily, but Lyanna smiled. "Aye," she panted, stroking the small of Elia's back. Making her squirm with the ticklish touches. "I missed this."

A scoff. "You had our husband every night. Don't complain in my presence." Elia still happily nuzzled the mounds she loved, moaning in contentment. "I am still glad you are back, lover."

"I am glad to be back." Lya pressed a kiss to Elia's soft, silky hair before leaning down as best she could and pulling the goose down covers to cover their bare bodies. "We're gonna be mothers again," she murmured, feeling her wife rub circles in her belly.

"It feels like a dream." Elia sighed. "As if any moment, I'll wake up and find out that Alyssa isn't real and my womb is still a rotted husk." She wouldn't cry over it, in sorrow or in joy - it had been long since Elia accepted the wondrous blessing the gods had granted her, even if she would have done what she did regardless of what happened to her. "But I'm delighted that he or she will have a sibling their own age from their other mother."

"That is something to be thankful for… though a bit premature considering I don't have the best track record."

Elia shifted her head off Lya's chest, looking in her eyes. "You better not be insulting the mother of my children, because I love her very much."

While Elia's words made Lya's heart flutter, melancholy still filled her resulting smile. "Two pregnancies, my love. Only one resulting in a babe of my own womb." Rhae, Egg, and Lyssa were hers, but not ones she created and grew and nurtured within her. Only Baelon fit that… and Visenya… "I failed her, Elia."

She hugged her close. "You did not fail her, Lya."

"It feels I did. And this new babe…?"

"Will not be threatened. Aerys is dead, and Rhaegar will kill anyone that even tries to threaten us… if you don't do it first." Her eyes shifted to Wolfsbane resting on the dresser across the room.

Looking at her brown eyes, Lyanna chuckled. "You know just what to say." They settled together, simply enjoying being together, each nurturing the newest little dragon. "I couldn't bear losing another babe."

"You won't, Lya. Neither of us will."

---

"Here, Dany!" Young Baelon slammed the little figurine onto a series of wooden blocks that represented the walls. "King on front with men!"

Rhaenys could have sworn that her three and a half nameday-old aunt rolled her eyes at her brother. "No, Jon." Never one to be deterred from anything, Daenerys grabbed the figurine and set it atop the large stack of blocks - all of the non-infant Targaryen children were gathered in Rhaenys' room playing 'Aegon's Conquest' with the carved blocks and figurines. "Black Harren go on top tower. He's coward."

"Kings no coward," Jon shot back, shoving Dany.

"He no dragon. He's coward." Dany shoved him back.

Laughing at the scene, Rhaenys waded into the brewing spat before it turned into something worse. "Stop it." She was but seven namedays, but the eldest and therefore most mature of the lot - one didn't grow up witnessing the things she did without imbibing a sense of wisdom, even at seven. "No fighting, please."

The thing about toddlers, their fights could be loud, but grudges never lasted. "Sorry, Dany," Jon murmured.

Dany bit her lip, tear welling in her eyes. "Sorry too." They hugged, crisis averted… until the next time. The two of them were always either running about together, tumbling around together, or fighting. To her parents and grandmother and aunts and uncles, it was adorable. To Rhaenys, it was either funny or annoying, depending on when.

This time it was funny.

Familiar with the stories her kepa and munas would read her before bed, the Princess decided to take pity on the confusion of her brother and aunt. "Valonqar, aunt, gotta get it right. Harren wasn't in Kingspyre tower or walls, but here." She gingerly took the figurine and set it in the middle of the large keep, where the Hall of a Hundred Hearths would be. "Right in the middle for Balerion to torch." Hearing its name being called, Balerion the cat looked up… only to lazily go back to sleep from her perch on top of Rhae's bed.

"I call the dragon!" Dany beamed, running to the carved figure of Balerion the Black Dread.

"Nuh uh! I call Balerion!" Jon shot back.

Whittled by the craftsmen of the Street of Steel as a gift from Rhaella to her grandson, the figure was one of seven dragons personally done for the Targaryen brood, alongside Vhagar, Meraxes, Vermithor, Silverwing, Caraxes, and Meleys. It was so well-made that there was even a tiny Aegon the Conqueror carved on the beast's back - Jon and Dany considered it their prized possession and treated it as if they were glass.

"I think," Rhaenys suggested, looking to the bed, "That Egg should hold Balerion." Both younger than her, she only called Baelon 'Valonqar,' instead referring to Aegon by his childhood name. "Egg, come and play with us."

Absentmindedly stroking the black fur of their cat, the quiet Prince Aegon - all of five namedays - looked up at his sister and shook his head. "I'm fine, Rhae." After a particularly bad morning in which both Aemon and Qyburn had to tend to him, his aches had subsided, but he was not keen on them returning if he joined his sister and little brother's rather boisterous play.

Rhaenys knew all of this, but gave him a cross look - one much like their shared mother did when scolding them. "Don't be an old fussy britches."

He may have been quiet, but Aegon was still a dragon. "I'm not a fussy britches!"

"Then come play with us. We'll let you be Aegon the Conqueror."

Torn between his worried and his sister's pleading, Aegon looked outside. A heavy rain bracketed the Red Keep, but was kept out of the bedchamber by an overhang. Every now and again, a bright white streak of lightning illuminated the sky… the resulting thunder making Aegon flinch involuntarily. He closed his eyes - he hated being so jumpy and afraid, knowing he was the son of a mighty dragon, but he couldn't help it. There was just so much pain.

"Egg." He looked down seeing Baelon look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Come play with us."

With both Rhae and Jon pleading him - and Dany likely to do so as well - Egg sighed. "Alright," he murmured, easing himself off the bed.

Jon was elated. "Come, brother." He grabbed Egg's hand and started pulling him towards the model of Harrenhal. "Dragon win."

"Here." Dany held out the dragon model to Egg. "Burn the squids!"

"Just like, kepa," Jon couldn't help but add.

Taking the dragon from his aunt, Aegon couldn't help but smile. Unable not to feel the dragonblood inside of him as he began to recreate one of the most infamous battles of House Targaryen.

Before long, all of them were laughing and running around, Harrenhal burned several times over as Egg brought Balerion on many attack runs. Rhaenys was the happiest she had been for a while, feeling that this was… just right. I can't wait for Lyssa, Cella, and the babes in munas' bellies to grow up. They'd have many more choices to play the Targaryens of history.

Usually, Baelon was Aegon the Conqueror and Daenerys was Visenya. Rhaenys oft chose to be her namesake, the Queen who Never Was, while Egg picked Jaehaerys the Conciliator. But two that never got picked were Orys Baratheon and the original Queen Rhaenys. Try as she might, Dany and Baelon refused to allow anyone to play them. 'No one right for them,' her aunt always insisted. Didn't matter, they were enjoying themselves regardless.

Her great-uncle Lewyn opened the door from outside to reveal their aunt Ashara with a tray of sweets in her arms - and Artie running in behind her. "I bear treats for the growing Princes and Princesses of House Targaryen," she announced with a flourish. "Nothing much, just a few fruit tarts." Something that the cooks loved spoiling the children with, and that the Queens insisted on rationing. Ash was about to ask if they would play with her nephew while she went on her other duties, but there was no need.

"Bend the knee, Torrhen Stark," giggled Jon in his best imitation of a kingly voice.

Gods, it was so wonderful to see the royal house so happy and tranquil.

---

"Steady! Steady!" Blinking, Euron Greyjoy had to cover his eyes with a cupped palm to keep the freezing rain and sleet tossed about by the intense storm. "Tiller amidships! Full ahead!"

Behind him, the two dozen oarsmen pushed the longship forward - oars slicing at the choppy sea doing its best to send the Ironborn back to the Drowned God. Not fucking today! Euron didn't wish to be fed on by the crabs. Neither did his men of the four ships braving the storm. They were going to make history today… and planned to live to tell the tale.

Ahead, he couldn't see past ten feet - he couldn't even see the rear of the longship - but Euron could see the glow of the city. The largest city in Westeros threw enough fire, candles, and gaslight to match the moon itself, and even through the winter gale he could spot it. A perfect beacon, damn them all. And through it all, finally the cliffs of Aegon's High Hill emerged… as well as the small strip of beach battered by the waves. "Let's go! Let's go!" As soon as the longship hit seabed, Euron was out into the waist-deep water. It froze his stones, but he grabbed the hull. "Beach them!"

The reavers and half the oarsmen followed their commander, the heaves of two dozen men managing to pull the ship onto the sandbar. Enough to keep it firm during the storm while easy enough to push back into the sea. "The others are coming, your Grace," proclaimed Blacktyde, hand on his sword. "Shall we go through the caverns?" Looming on the beach were two large maws of cave systems, infamously connected to the tunnels and crypts Maegor the Cruel had built centuries before.

"Get the archers!" Euron bellowed. "We won't be doing it. We're goin' over the top." His grin was wide.

Blacktyde looked at the towering cliffs and walls above, partially masked by the horrid weather bracketing the stone sides. "You're mad!" he gasped.

Euron's eyes shone. "We'd get lost for sure down there, and who knows how long this storm will last. Need to hit them quick and with the greatest surprise." All around him, the archers deployed their massive sea-bows. Instead of arrows, each had a grappling hook attached. Not even waiting for Euron's command, they fired their payloads directly at the walls. Each hook arced upwards, ten out of the twelve fired hitting true and dangling taut ropes down for the men to climb.

"We're all gonna die," Blacktyde muttered.

But Euron heard him, bringing out his hands and grabbing the man by the chin. "What is dead may never die, Blacktyde dear." Seeing the fear in his eyes and greatly enjoying it, Euron drew his blade. "What is dead may never die!" As the archers fired another half dozen ropes and hooks, the men shouted their approval… each bellow swallowed up by the storm.

Racing to one of the ropes, Euron gripped it tightly with his rough leather gloves and began hauling his frame up the cliffs. First one up, first blood would be his that day.

We don't sow. In that moment, Euron knew the true meaning of his House's words.

---

Rhaella was miffed. Well… more annoyed than anything major. With the late afternoon banished away by the sudden gale not unlike that which heralded her late husband's demise, Rhaegar's victory, and Daenerys' birth, her plans to watch the sunset with Jaime was dashed. Considering the former Hand of the King was more used to dealing with the vagaries of ruling the Realm, it seemed minute but it was important to her.

Jaime, damn him, found the whole thing comical. "Is my Queen truly saddened by the gods' foisting of her plan to seduce a member of the Kingsguard?"

"Shut up," she glared, scowling.

"Oooh, if Princess Rhaenyra acted like this, no wonder Criston Cole rejected her."

She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "Of course you'd partake in that particular interpretation." Rhaella went by the family lore that Cole was the father of the Velaryon sons rather than Harwin Strong, but such wasn't important now. "Don't tell me you weren't looking forward to our evening under the stars?"

Jaime smiled and leaned over to kiss the crown of her head. They were both walking, arm in arm, to her chambers for a private dinner alone followed with spending time with their beloved Cella - Daenerys was a treasure, but it would be an ordeal just to get her away from Baelon - delighted to openly express their affections once more. "I love you, my Queen, and I would be delighted to simply spend my time with you no matter where."

A snort, followed by a smirk. "You know just what to say, my lion." Rhaella leaned against his shoulder, arm wrapping around his waist. It was simply perfect… her happy ending, just as the songs. Quite ironic, given the circumstances. It took three decades, but I finally found my shining knight.

"Your Grace." Leaving Jaime's embrace at the call, Rhaella turned and was confronted by a ghost of her past. "Lord Varys informed me that I might find you here."

Feeling Jaime tense beside him - he knew her history as well as she did, and it wasn't shocking to her that the green-eyed monster of jealousy reared its ugly head in her green-eyed knight - Rhaella squeezed his hand. 'It'll be alright, I'm yours,' her smile said. He nodded, kissing her forehead. "I'll await you in your chambers, your Grace. There is no doubt that Ser Bonifer can protect you in my absence."

"Thank you, Ser Jaime, I shall see you then." Her violet eyes never left his form until he turned the corner, sighing as she fell upon the arrival. "Bonifer…" Given how close they had been, informality seemed the best tack. "It heartens me to see you well." Rhaella walked to him and took his hands, smiling.

He smiled in return, the once dashing face worn with years of battle and piety, but was still quite handsome. Not Jaime, but one who any maiden could want. "It is the greatest of joys to see you as well… and you haven't just survived, you are thriving."

She chuckled. "Aye, I cannot deny it, though it hasn't always been the case."

"I heard the rumors of what that… monster did to you." Closing his eyes, he willed the anger away. The Warrior didn't appreciate it of a true knight. "Often, I think of that moment long ago, during the tourney of your father…"

Rhaella took a breath, nodding. "I remember that tourney as well." It was right at the time that her kepa announced the betrothal of her to Aerys based on Jenny's prophecy - a prophecy that she was convinced now would come to fruition, but one that destroyed both her happiness and that of Aerys, denying him the hand of Joanna for eternity.

"Never a day goes by that I regret not taking you with me. Going to find happiness away from this filthy city and duplicitous court."

"It never would have worked out, Bonifer. My kepa would have moved heaven and earth to find me." Taking his hand between hers, she looked him in the eye. "You were my first love, Bonifer and I will always treasure the moments we shared, but the gods fashioned the two of us for different fates." His gaze was pained, but he understood. "Given what the Most Devout feel for my son, I am most glad you are as loyal to him as you were to me."

He snorted. "Fools, all of them. Rhaegar is favored by the gods, his victory at the Trial of Seven proved it." That had been a sight to witness - and he was there at Highgarden that day. Rhaegar taking down his enemies without even a drop of blood spilt by him. The Warrior favored him that day. "It was my honor to fight alongside him." Her smile never ceased to make his heart flutter… even if Bonifer would never know her affections again. "Ser Jaime Lannister?"

Of course the question would come up. "Yes, Ser Jaime."

"I don't think less of him… for killing Aerys as the others smear him for. He did what had to be done."

She sighed. "I know."

"Did you fall for him after, or before?" Sensing her discomfort, he clarified. "I am merely curious."

Nodding, Rhaella bit her lip. "We only acted on it after… but I felt it before."

"I'm glad you're happy… even if it isn't I."

She was happy to hear that. "As am…"

Suddenly, a clink came from the window. Not the patter of rain, but the distinct sound of metal scraping on stone. Head swiveling to the window, Rhaella saw a grappling hook embed itself on the window ledge, quickly straightening as the rope at the edge grew taut. "Your Grace…" Bonifer began but Rhaella was already close to the ledge, looking out into the swirling blackness of the storm… down at the depths of Aegon's High Hill. There was nothing but the clouds, though Rhaella swore she could see shapes moving about on an outcrop on which the walls of Maegor's Holdfast were built…

Out of the darkness burst a sour face, knife clenched between his rotted teeth as he hauled himself up the window. Eyes almost… hungry as they caught a glimpse of Rhaella. She screamed in fright, but the threat was over in a heartbeat as Bonifer's sword thrust straight into the attacker's middle. With a grunt of pain, he pitched out the window and into the void.

Rhaella was near collapse at the sudden fright, Bonifer at her side. "Your Grace?"

"The Ironborn…" She recognized them anywhere. "They're here."

And it was then that the bells of the Red Keep clanged, a booming cacophony that meant alarm. Alertness. Attack. Bonifer's warrior instincts were immediately fortified, especially as the noises of more reavers ascending towards the particular stretch of hallway filled the air. "Let's go!" he grabbed Rhaella and led her away.

Each hallway brought more chaos. Running servants and equally fast guardsmen, the former racing towards the gatehouse furthest away from the sea while the others ran towards the bayside. Occasionally the clashes of steel could be heard, joined by the salty cries of Ironborn as they brought the Iron Way to the Red Keep. How did they get here in such numbers?! Rhaella didn't have the answer to that, but it was too late for what ifs at this point. Bonifer dragged her past rooms in which they were in, either pillaging, killing, or in the process of taking the young maids and serving girls. She wished to stop them, but knew Bonifer alone couldn't stop them…

Turning the corner, they ran right into… "Jaime!" In an instant, she was wrapped in her love's arms. "It's alright. I wasn't touched."

He, on the other hand, was covered in blood. Not his blood. "Thank the gods." Joined by Ser Arys and Ser Lynn, their swords were encrusted in dried crimson. "Has to be Euron. Only he would be stupid or mad enough to scale the Red Keep with grappling hooks."

"They're going to burn the whole thing to the ground, send a message," Lynn Crobray hissed, cracking his knuckles nonchalantly.

Jaime shook his head. "No, Euron wouldn't just come here to burn, he's…"

Both he and Rhaella came to the conclusion at once. "The babes!"

"Arys, take the Queen away! The rest, with me!" Without hesitating another moment, the Lion of Lannister raced towards the holdfast while Bonifer, Ser Lynn, and the other guardsmen chased after him.

With dozens of Ironborn already in the keep, they stood a staggering chance. Rhaella closed her eyes as she ran, making the connection. Girl… can you hear me?

Yes, muna… are you alright?

Jaimexes' voice was a balm to her. I'm fine, but they're not. Dracarys.

You sure?

Kessa. Dracarys, burn all of them.

A loud screech echoed through the night just as a bolt of lighting crisscrossed the sky.

---

Locked in a tight embrace, the Queens had just come down from the high of their third round of carnal pleasure when the commotion echoed through the door. Elia felt her beautiful wolf tense, as if on instinct. Sometimes she forgot that Lya was a warrior Queen first and foremost. "Lya?"

"Stay here," she replied firmly, the 'wolf voice' returning though not in a pleasurable context. She disentangled herself from Elia's embrace and raced to where her tunic rested, pulling it over her bare body. No sooner that she did than Ser Barristan burst in. "What is going on?" she demanded of him.

He looked harried, and wore his helm - only the fact that the Queens knew each of the Kingsguards almost intimately that they could tell it was him. "The Ironborn have scaled the cliffs." Lyanna stiffened while Elia pulled the covers to hide her nakedness. "They're in the keep."

"The babes!" Elia cried, her mind going to the worst of places.

"I'll kill them all myself!" Lyanna quickly drew Wolfsbane from its sheath, fire in her eyes. "They won't touch my children!"

Barristan took her hand gently. "Please, your Grace, stay here. The guards are coming, and Ser Lewyn, Lady Dacey,, and Ser Oswell guard the Princes and Princesses."

Elia by now had risen from the bed, slipping on one of her dressing gowns. It wasn't see-through as some of her more… enticing pieces were, but its length and neckline left little to the imagination. The worst sort of thing to wear in a battlefield, but she had little time or choice. "Love," she murmured, hugging Lyanna from behind. "We need to protect them."

Before Lyanna could countermand Barristan, a great warcry echoed through the hallway. "Ser Barristan!" cried one guard. "They're storming the royal quarters!"

"Seven fucking hells," muttered the Lord Commander. "I must go, my Queens." He drew his blade. "Stay here and do not open the door for anyone but I or the other sworn brothers." He made his way for the door. "We will survive this yet."

His confidence died the minute he left the royal chambers, entering a nightmare. The once thought impenetrable walls of the High Hill had been scaled by a large number of Ironborn, enough to overcome the few guardsmen that were stationed in Maegor's Holdfast at any time. The four that Barristan had with him were overcome by at least a dozen Ironborn, discipline overcome by rage and hallucinogenic frenzy that left them butchered upon the ground. "We gots us another one!" hooted one of them, a particularly salty looking fellow with a slender neck and a scar about his face. "A fuckin' Kingsguard!"

"You shan't get past me." Barristan readied his sword.

A larger thug, eyes wide and muscles twitching as he hefted an axe, laughed maniacally. "Fuck off, old cunt!" Just as Barristan expected, he charged, axe held high - ready to cleave him in two.

But Barristan wasn't called the Bold for nothing. Out jabbed his left hand, steel gauntlet crashing into the Ironborn's arm and stalling his swing. Barristan took the split-second opportunity to run the blade through the Ironborn's gut up through his heart, killing him instantly. But his momentum and bulk plowed straight into the Lord Commander, sending them both sprawling.

No! No! No! Head spinning, Barristan heaved with all his strength. Pushing the corpse off of him in what had to be a quick pace, but interminable in the heat of the moment. Springing to his feet, it was too late. The Ironborn were at the door, while another reaver charged at him - this one with shield and less crazed, followed by three others. His heart pounded as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stood his ground, powerless at the moment to protect his charges.

"Stay behind me!" Lyanna barked to Elia, voice leaving no room for argument. "Do not risk yourself or the babe." Imagining another precious dragon lost drove Lyanna's fury higher.

Another bashing hit the door, close to busting it at the hinges. "You either." Sharing a tender look for the moment, Elia kissed Lyanna deeply. It was over just as the Ironborn burst in, each drenched in blood and seawater - looking like demons.

And it would be up to Lyanna to stop them - unlike with Vargo Hoat, squeezing the hilt of the Valyrian steel blade, she was ready to.

Once the men saw the Queens - two young, beautiful, scantily clad Queens at that - their hard savagery was replaced with an almost manic lust. "Well well," said the slender reaver in his soaked bearskin vest, clearly the leader. "The Drowned God has blessed us today."

"I'll take the tall one!" cried one of them. "A perfect salt wife to bear my babes." His leer made Lyanna want to vomit.

"Tis fine. The Dornish lass belongs to me." The leader eyed Elia with undisguised lust.

Lyanna hefted her sword. "I am Queen Lyanna Targaryen, and if you know what's best for you then you'd leave right now."

Laughs. "Ooooh, yer gonna fuck a Queen, Bluetooth," one hollared, slapping the leader on the shoulder.

"My lucky day," Bluetooth shot back. "Don't swing that sword, sweetheart. Not becoming of a lady."

"You'll die today," Lyanna retorted in a wolf growl. Elia, obeying her wife, saw at least seven men entering their chambers - dirtying the place that she, Lya, and Rhaegar called their refuge. Anger began to overpower her fear… anger and the Martell spirit. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. Eyes frittering to the bed, they widened as she realized what she needed to do.

"Feisty, I like em feisty. Much better fuck." He didn't even go for his sword. "Get em. Alive, but get em." The men didn't hesitate in charging…

Only for Lyanna's furious slash to disembowel one before he could even get his sword up. "Who else wants some!" she screamed at them, howling like a wolf as she countercharged.

Diving towards the bed, Elia felt her ankle grabbed at roughly. "Oh no you don't!" yelled Bluetooth, rotted teeth on display as he pondered the veritable Dornish feast before him. "Why so coy, pretty thing?" Attempting to drag Elia back, he suddenly cried out from a well-placed kick to the face. "You bitch!"

Not wasting time, Elia scrambled to right over the headboard. Grabbing the ornate spear hanging overhead. It had been a gift from Oberyn to Rhaegar - a commemoration of the first time the then Crown Prince beat the Red Viper in a first blood spar. And now it would serve House Martell once more.

"I'm gonna enjoy painting that cunt with my seed," Bluetooth leered, not bothering to care what Elia was doing trying to scramble up the wall…

He should have. With a scream, Elia grabbed the spear off the wall and turned around - lunging blindly. Only thinking of her and Lya's babes. The spear struck true, tip slamming into Bluetooth's neck. His lustful look turned to surprise, and then to agony as blood frothed in his severed throat and mouth. Elia withdrew the spear, spitting at the man as he collapsed to the ground.

---

When her great uncle entered the chambers, Rhaenys immediately knew something was wrong. "Uncle…" she began, only for him to shush her.

"Niece, get underneath the bed."

From where they were all playing on the floor, the others stilled. Jon and Artie stood alongside Dany, while Egg froze to the floor. They all stiffened when a cry of agony echoed through the hall, followed by manic cheers. "Ser Lewyn…" Dany melded herself to Jon's side. "What happened?"

"The keep is under attack, get under the bed and stay there." At Rhaenys' nod, he exited, shutting the door behind him. She swore she could hear his sword being drawn amid the chaos.

It spurred her to an innate action, contained in her dragonblood. "Get under the bed."

"Sister?" Jon was but four namedays, and looked frightened.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do it, valonqar. Protect Dany." He nodded firmly, joining Artie who was urging Egg with him. Beyond, Rhaenys could hear her uncle shout, followed by a furious clash of metal. Eyes frittering about frantically, her eyes fell on the training spear her uncle Oberyn gave her. She grabbed it on a whim, quickly joining her siblings, aunt, and friend underneath her own bed.

"Rhae… I hurt," Egg whimpered, scrunched tightly against Artie.

But Rhaenys thumped him lightly, miming to keep quiet. Her great-uncle was fighting hard given the scuffles and muted clash of steel from outside the door… She let out a gasp as a large sword punched through the door, bright blood coating it and oozing from around the edges of the hole. No… uncle Lewyn… Soon the blade was pulled back, followed by a slump.

Daenerys whimpered - the precocious four nameday-old could piece together something was truly dire. "Jon…"

She heard her brother hug Dany tighter. "It's alright. We'll be fine…" Perceptive as well, it sounded to Rhaenys as if Jon was trying to believe it himself. Unlike the last time this happened, there was no Dacey to save their lives with Lewyn dead.

"Shhh," Rhaenys urged, ears peeled to muffled voices outside the door.

"This is a fucking Kingsguard!" The voice sounded like her kepa, strong and authoritative - but without any of his warmth. "He wouldn't have died to protect a fucking maid's quarters!"

"Fuck this! I want some gold!" A muted gurgle followed. Rhaenys guessed the speaker wasn't among the living anymore.

Outside, a piercing shriek thundered above the storm as the window began to glow a bright orange-red. "That's the fucking dragon! They're gonna regroup!" At the sound of the doorknob turning, Rhaenys stiffened and flattened herself even more against the floorboards. It opened, revealing two dark-grey boots dripping wet from the outside. "You cunts find the Queens and the brats before it's too fucking late! I'll take care of these chambers." Puddles squelching as they pooled on the floor, the door closed and the intruder began stalking through the chambers.

It seemed as if the temperature around the children fell to below freezing, the sweat clinging to their tiny forms as their eyes tracked the walking intruder. Rhaenys' hands tightened around her uncle's gift, trembling even as she tried to be brave.

"I know you're here," the Ironborn stated, his voice syrupy sweet but no less malevolent. He toyed with the Harrenhal model with his boottip. "A good recreation of Harren the Black's death, one that made House Targaryen infamous, so I know you're King Rhaegar's brood." With a cackling laugh, he kicked the entire model into a pile of rubble. "Come out!"

Dany murmured a cry behind, while Egg shook with pure terror. Looking back, Rhae placed a finger over her lips. 'Quiet,' she mouthed. Jon helped bury their aunt's face in the crook of his neck, while Artie clamped a hand over Egg's mouth. They had good instincts.

He threw open the closet. "Where are you!" His voice was rising. "Too many have died tonight. Come out and it'll stop. You have my word of honor."

Every word this man spoke was a lie. Rhaenys had a knack to know who to trust, and this wasn't one of them.

The boots grew closer. "Hmmm… perhaps there is no one in here."

She felt her heart ease. Perhaps this would end without trouble…

Suddenly, the man's face bent down to peer under the bed, closely shaved black beard matted with saltwater and blue eyes shining with a manic hunger. "There you are!"

Her aunt screaming in terror behind, Rhaenys acted on pure instinct. The training spear shot forward, blindly even, but just as her muna elsewhere in the keep its aim held a seemingly divine power. The tip punched into Euron Greyjoy's left eye - not deep enough to pierce the skull but it pulverized the once beautiful eye that charmed many a woman and put at ease many a target. For once, Euron's composure dissolved as he screamed in pain, pitching back on the floor with his palms covering the bleeding eye.

Rhaenys pushed her siblings, aunt, and friend back as far as they could, clutching the spear frantically. "I'm gonna fucking butcher you alive!" he screeched, still thrashing about.

The door then opened. "Your Grace, we must leave!" The reaver burst in, only to see his commander wounded. "Your Grace!"

"Begone!" Euron bellowed, gritting his teeth and close to losing it.

"They're overwhelming us, we must go!" More boots plodded into the chambers, Rhaenys watching as they dragged their commander out kicking and screaming at the top of his lungs. But they didn't budge even as the chaos ceased, the chambers growing quiet. Rhaenys rooted in her position, the others too terrified to do anything. Daenerys still buried in Jon's embrace, Artie gritting his teeth and repeating the alphabet over and over again, while Egg trembled and cried softly…

"Children!" A familiar voice matched the boots, armored and a silvery grey in color. "Daenerys! Prince Baelon?!"

Jon's eyes widened. "Ser Jaime!" Rhaenys almost fainted in relief, guiding the others out from under the bed. "Ser Jaime, we're here."

Quite worse for wear and his sword bloody, Jaime let out a deep breath. "Praise the gods above." When he saw Ser Lewyn's corpse outside, blood pooled around it, he feared the worst had happened to the children. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Rising to her feet, Rhaenys had a haunted, faraway look - reminding Jaime of Rhaella after Aerys had… visited her chambers. "He… he… he came looking for us. Ironborn with blue eyes. I… I…"

"Rhae saved us," Egg murmured, grabbing at his leg and squeezing it to alleviate his aches.

"She stabbed bad man!" Artie proclaimed, a clear warrior of Bear Island in his bombast. Still comforting his aunt, Baelon nodded.

Looking at the bloodied spear resting on the ground, Jaime put the dots together. "Good show, Princess." The dragons continued to surprise him.

A blood and ash covered Barristan took that moment to enter, joined by an equally haggard Dacey holding her blood, brain-spattered mace. Artie raced to his mother, who dropped the weapon and embraced him tightly. Right behind were Lyanna and Elia, the former holding Princess Alyssa. "Muna!" Jon and Egg immediately raced to Lyanna, their little arms encircling her waist tightly.

"My sweetlings," Lyanna gasped, kneeling with the little one to accept their hugs. "Thank the gods."

Daenerys approached, the only one to notice how much dried blood covered Lyanna's tunic. "My… my muna?" she warbled, lip quivering.

"She's safe. She's alright." Dany exhaled in relief and joined the embrace, very close to her two goodsisters - almost like aunts to her.

"Where are they?" Jaime hissed to Barristan, voice low so that the children wouldn't hear. "Where is Euron?"

"Escaped," Barristan replied. "We killed about half their number, though they butchered nearly all the guardsmen on duty and a third of the keep staff - Lord Manderly also perished."

"Fuck." A chilling thought came to Jaime. "Princess Myrcella?"

"Alive." His heart unclenched at Barristan's words. "Lady Dacey and Oswell protected the nursery." Sighing, Jaime collapsed against the wall, head gazing towards the ceiling as the tension left his muscles.

Kneeling to hug her precious darlings across from Lyanna, Elia noticed that her eldest wasn't among them. "Rhae?" She looked to the side to see her standing there, face like stone. "Come, little dragon. Muna's here."

Composure cracking, the weight of it all finally sunk in on poor Princess Rhaenys as she fell into Elia's embrace, wailing uncontrollably.

Notes:

So now Euron Crow's Eye is born, thanks to Rhaenys.

Hope the battle was up to expectations.

I'll publish this next Friday with 40 reviews :D

Chapter 78: I Take this Man

Notes:

Hi guys... I'm numb right now... Things were good earlier, but they collapsed into crap. My grandfather, the closest person to me in my family aside from my parents... he's on his last legs. Days at the most. It feels like my soul has been ripped apart right now.

On top of that there was that hate comment I talked about in different updates, the one that both insulted me as a person and racially dehumanized me and my Persian culture, so that can't have helped matters. I've been discriminated against before on account of being middle eastern, but somehow this was the worst (perhaps the timing, IDK).

Update (6/29/2021): my grandfather has passed away.

Posting this chapter to get some semblance of joy I need to cope, so I hope everyone enjoys this. Our characters will be getting the happiness right now that I don't have.

Enjoy.

They stared. Oh, they tried not to, but Euron Greyjoy could see the looks. They were the same looks he gave himself through the looking glass, just without the boiling cauldron of rage that accompanied his revulsion.

The eyepatch helped, but it just served as a reminder of what happened to his eye. Of who happened to his eye.

Nevertheless, the war went on. Would he be no better than some weak woman had he sulked and raged alone rather than plotting his next victory? Yeah, I wouldn't be. "Our scout ships report the royal fleet now gathering near Sunspear."

"How many?" asked Cragorn, the new captain of Euron's flagship. With stealth no longer an issue after the failed raid, Euron transferred his command to one of the larger triremes. For actual naval battle, there was no better.

"Bout one fifty, though larger ships overall than us." His scouts varied on the size of the fleet but on the latter fact they all agreed. "Combine that with the Redwyne survivors, that's two hundred to our two-thirty."

"Not much of a numerical advantage," mused Lord Blacktyde, stroking his beard. Euron wanted to beat him over the head, but refrained.

"Won't matter worth a damn, cause I know what's gonna work." In self-imposed exile on the entire journey from Blackwater Bay to the warm waters of the Summer Sea, Euron plotted his counterattack. The big stroke that would rejuvenate the entire war effort after his family's failures and his bad luck. Foiled by a fuckin' girl… "We go for the Arbor."

Cragorn blinked. "We capture it?"

"Aye, it's an island so it should be ours." Perhaps even he would rule it. "But that's secondary. It'll make the royal fleet come to us in the straits and myself, my brother, and all our best captains will be ready."

"You sure facin' the entire royal fleet's a good idea?"

Tensing up, Euron turned to see Lord Blacktyde staring at him, eyes firm. As if he'd finally found his spine. Cracking his neck, the prince of the Iron Isles took a step forward. "Why wouldn't it be?"

For a moment, Blacktyde lost his nerve, gulping… but he found it again and straightened up. "They won't be foolish like Lord Redwyne this time. They'll have cunning and tact behind their strategy."

"Some jumped up smuggler from the slums turned into an admiral?" Euron had heard about this Davos Seaworth and someone of his circumstances was the one sort of individual he didn't bother to overestimate in his planning. "My idiot nephew could take him on and crush him, even if he had Nymeria's fleet for a command."

"You won't have the open sea if you choose the straits. Our maneuverability will count for nothing if there's no room for maneuver. They'll have galleys and longships and triremes too."

A dismissive huff of air. "You worry far too much, Blacktyde."

"I worry you underestimate them and overestimate ourselves."

"Oh, so you think you could've arranged this war? Of how we doubled the realm of my brother practically within a sennight? Defeated two of the greatest greenland houses upon the sea in victories that make Redgrass Field look like a stalemate?" Euron approached Blacktyde, getting in his face but without raising his voice. Seeing his fear, Euron gave a tiny grin. "If you feel that way then feel free, the command is yours."

He began to walk back to his cabin when the Lord of Blacktyde stopped him in his tracks. "At least I wouldn't have had by eye taken out by a fuckin' six-nameday old girl."

Euron faltered in his step, immediately halting. He turned around, face impassive. "What did you say to me?"

A dark smirk formed on Blacktyde's lips, finally finding something that could rattle the unflappable Euron Greyjoy. "You heard me. What kind of weakling woman could find himself unable to beat a wee little girl…"

With the entire crew watching in disbelief and shock, Euron had closed the distance in what seemed a split-second. No one knew where the knife came from, but as quickly as it appeared Euron buried it again and again into Blacktyde's gut. The poor bastard couldn't even scream, so sudden it was. Blood began spraying and oozing everywhere all as Euron kept stabbing with a crazed look in his eye.

Letting the still alive but now screaming Lord fall in a pool of his own blood, Euron went to the railing and grabbed a tied mooring rope. "Your Grace…" called Cragorn, but Euron didn't listen. Instead he wrapped the rope around Blacktyde's shoulders - the wounded man too in pain and weak to resist - and tied it.

Blacktyde didn't realize what was happening until Euron started hauling him up. "Wait… please! Mercy!" His eyes were wide and face desperate.

"Better hope the blood loss kills ya' before the sharks do." And with a shove, Euron sent him into the water - the rope was soon taut, dragging him along in the warm summer seas. Wiping his hands of the blood, Euron looked at his men with a nonplussed expression. "Anyone have anything else to add?" There was silence. "Good. Send a raven to the Shield Islands. We have ourselves more greenlanders to send to the drink." That at least perked up the crew.

Once secure in his cabin, Euron let the mask slip. "Aaaaaaahhhh!" he grabbed a chair and threw it at the bulkhead, watching it smash into a dozen pieces. "FUCKING GIRL! FUCKING BRAT!" After years cultivating his image, after moons making himself the most feared name in the Seven Kingdoms, all of it crashed down due to a tiny little girl who was lucky enough to be holding a spear. "I'll fucking rend her alive when this is done!"

But suddenly his rage seemed to vanish, a warm, calming sensation coming to him. It was sudden but gentle, as if the warm seas slowly enveloped his body as he submerged into the water. With them brought calm… but also resolve.

It brought clarity. "She'll be my salt wife. By the drowned god, she will be my prize."

And that would begin by sending this jumped-up Flea Bottom turd to the floor of the sea.

---

The last time Ser Davos Seaworth of Sealion Point had been to Sunspear was on a smuggling run. Dorne hadn't been the problem vexing him at the time, Tyrosh was. Getting the pilfered silks and spirits into the Sunspear harbor was the easy part of the voyage, allowing he and his men to enjoy the pleasures Dorne had to offer.

What Marya didn't know couldn't hurt her… and he hadn't done it again.

But never in his wildest dreams did the knight of Sealion Point - seven bloody hells, never did he dream of being a landed knight either- imagine that he'd dine with the Prince of Sunspear himself in the palace banquet hall. All of it was… quite surreal.

"Once again," began Prince Doran, who no longer hid the stiffness in his legs as he hobbled in with the aid of two attendants at the start of the banquet. "We of Dorne grant our thanks and well-wishes to the Royal Fleet. May they engage the pirates upon the seas and send them to their god."

"Here here," chorused the other Dornish Lords present.

As admiral of the fleet, Davos obtained the place of honor directly adjacent to Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn and Princess Arianne right across from him - apparently, Princess Mellario was again in a spat with her husband and had departed for Norvos. Doran didn't look to unbothered by it. Perhaps he has a mistress or lover? Given Oberyn and Queen Elia's nature, he couldn't discount it in his curiosity.

"Ser Davos."

The admiral looked up from his plate of shrimp in a spicy sauce and rice to see the Princess smiling at him. "Yes, Princess Arianne?" He was polite, but still showed off his Flea Bottom accent.

Many would look at him with derision due to that no matter what finery he dressed himself in, but not the Princess. The cousin of the Targaryen brood. "Your wife, she is the Lady in Waiting to Queen Rhaella, no?"

He nodded. "Aye, she is." Quite a step up for the both of them, it turned out to be. Davos had to admit she looked ravishing in the fine silks and lace that his newfound wealth could buy for her.

"Did that mean she was caught in Euron Greyjoy's dastardly attack on the Red Keep?"

Chewing on the rather hot flavors of the shrimp, his heart clenched and not because of the spice. "I'm afraid so, but by the grace of the old gods and the new she was safe in the nursery with Lady Ashara, protecting Princesses Alyssa and Myrcella."

"Grace of the gods indeed, Ser Davos," replied Prince Oberyn, polishing off an oyster. "I wouldn't imagine what I'd do if my beautiful Ellaria was threatened by such a brute." He reached out to squeeze the hand of his paramour. She smiled back at him, kissing his cheek. Davos could tell she was with child - Oberyn's second with her and… fourth overall if he remembered correctly. What is it with the Dornish?

"Euron's not a brute… not in the sense that he's stupid." Davos scooped up a forkful of rice and used it to lessen the fire of the spice. "I've been studying everything I can get on him, from his personality to his battle tactics. He's probably the best mind for battle since Bloodraven or Daemon Blackfyre."

"He is bold, I'll give him that," Arianne mused.

Shaking his head from beside Davos, Ser Stannis Baratheon took a sip of watered wine. "Not simply bold, Princess." Much as the Stormlords and Dornish disliked each other going back millennia, he was polite. He had no grievances beyond those against his elder brother. "Victarion is bold without mind. Rodrik and Maron are bold without mind, that's what caused their defeats at Bear Island, Castamere, and Oxcross. Euron is… intricate."

"Please explain," the young Princess replied, crossing her arms. She was barely two and ten yet already with the hallmarks of a great beauty.

"He's plotted this entire war to the last detail, and extended the Ironborn beyond their capacity of attacking and holding."

From beside Ellaria, the young Quentyn Martell scoffed. "If he did that, then why has he won every engagement until the Red Keep?"

Stannis frowned at the arrogant reply. "Because it's a calculated gamble. He bet on the Seven Kingdoms being unprepared for such boldness, and he was right."

"In short," Davos finished. "He wants to bloody us enough so that we seek peace. They cannot win a protracted war, even from the sea, so he's captured what he could and is destroying our fleets piecemeal. First the Lannisters, then the Hightowers, then half the Redwyne fleet. He's marshalling the entire Iron Fleet right now in the Shield Islands to finish us off, something I am duty-bound to stop."

"Which is why I'm prepared to offer you a gift, Ser Davos." The former smuggler raised an eyebrow - in Flea Bottom, one learned early in life to be wary of gifts from strangers. One of his friends in youth accepted an apple from a man once, and they ended up finding him the next day violated and throat slit. Is it truly different in the halls of power? "King Rhaegar requested ships from Dorne to bolster your fleet. However, due to the proven threat of Euron Greyjoy's raids I cannot deliver them to you."

"You call this a gift, Prince Doran?" Stannis was not amused, glowering at the Dornish Prince.

Doran chuckled. "Ser Stannis, that is not the gift. While I cannot offer the royal fleet my ships, I am offering you three thousand crack spears of my banner to serve as marines for your fleet. My brother, Prince Oberyn, will command them."

"What, me?" Davos looked at Oberyn, who seemed shocked. Had his brother not talked to him beforehand? He's not a novice at this… his confusion is genuine. Was all not alright in House Martell?

"We need the swords and spears, Prince Oberyn," Davos informed the Prince as they walked into his own bedchamber hours later. "Lord Robert's decision to take the entire Baratheon banners to Casterly Rock left us deficient."

A chuckle. "Somehow that sounds exactly like that oaf." He leaned against the wall. "I feel… unprepared for command but it's not exactly outside my ability?"

"You saved our asses back at Starfall, so I have personal experience there." Just as he sat down, Stannis entered the chambers. "Yes, Stannis?"

He was frowning - well, frowning more than usual. "Raven from Casterly Rock - with the King's seal." Davos nodded and had Stannis hand it over before allowing him to depart.

Ser Davos,

Set sail. Crush them.

Take Euron alive. He is mine.

Rhaegar Targaryen

King of the Seven Kingdoms

Falling back on his chair, the five lines on the parchment proved to be more ominous than a thousand ironborn ships.

"So?" Oberyn asked. "What did my goodbrother say?" Davos handed it to him, and the Dornish Prince was through with it in moments, rising to pour himself a goblet of Yronwood red. He downed it in one gulp, and then poured another. "Euron is a fucking idiot."

"An idiot with over three hundred ships at his command, all manned by a battle-hardened crew." He motioned for one of the goblets, which Oberyn obliged him with. Unlike the Prince, Davos only sipped his. "It's up to us now."

"Let me think." Oberyn tapped his cheek. "A hodgepodge fleet of every seafaring house in the seven kingdoms all led by a smuggler plucked from Flea Bottom and given command of a fleet based on doing favors for the Queens? That's who the tide of this war hinges on?"

Silent for a moment, Davos snorted. "Aye, I suppose it is."

Oberyn laughed. "Gods help the dragon then."

Davos rose, a smirk on his face. "In Flea Bottom, we always had a saying that I believe dated back to the Dance of Dragons… though how the fuck would I know?"

"I'm all ears."

He held out his goblet in a mock toast. "If you pull the dragon's tail, you better have a plan to deal with its fuckin head."

Oberyn found that even more amusing, chortling uproariously. "You may just be enough of a jumped-up bastard to pull this off."

Hopefully. Finishing his wine, Davos slammed his fist on the door. "Ser Stannis! Round up the admirals. We're settin' sail!"

---

"... you look six hundred miles to the north, that's still the North. Three hundred miles to the south, five hundred to the east, two hundred to the west, that's all the North."

Robb looked up at his father with wide eyes. "Wow, is the North really that big, poppa?"

Ned grinned and rubbed his son's shoulders. "You bet, pup. It's larger than the rest of Westeros combined."

"Even grandfather's land?"

"Even that. And it's all mine to rule over."

"Wow." Just two days ago was Robb's fourth nameday, and with Casterly Rock safe from attack by the armies of the Crown and the dragon of the King they could have a proper celebration among the denizens of Tywin's keep. But Robb already had his best nameday present - his beloved poppa, finally here with him and momma. "You just like grandfather." For him, that was the biggest of compliments.

For Ned it was a mixed bag, but he smiled anyway. "But you have to know, Robb. Being a ruler of a land doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."

"Why not?" He was curious, not defiant.

"Because you have a duty to those you rule. Those of the smallfolk, they want land to work, food to fill their bellies, and healthy wives and babes. It is your responsibility to give that to them, not just to take. Understand?"

Blinking, Robb nodded. "I do, poppa."

"He was always a smart lad for his age," Tyrion said from across the room, feet propped up on his chair as he read a book. "Reminded me of me from that age."

Ned rolled his eyes. "I'd rather not have him be like you, Lord Tyrion." His smirk belied it's half-japing nature.

Tyrion laughed. "My sister has rubbed off on you, goodbrother, though I don't have to worry about a cobra being shoved in my cupboard from you," he jested in reply.

"Why a cobra in your cupboard, n'uncle Little?" Robb asked. "Cobra's danger?"

The two adults looked at each other before laughing at his innocence. "Forgive me, nephew, a bad jape."

"You shouldn't take your n'uncle too seriously, my son. He has a golden heart but a devious mind." He tickled Robb's sides, making the boy squeal with laughter. Gods, he couldn't wait till the boy could meet Sansa and Rickard back in Winterfell. His life would be complete at that point.

"That's not all I could say about your uncle," Cersei said as she entered the chambers. "But I shan't say them in front of a child."

"You are most generous, sister," Tyrion said.

Robb beamed at his mother. "Momma, poppa tells me North is bigger than all! Can we go? Please please please?"

Leaning down to kiss his brow, she cupped his cheek. "Soon, my love. Soon." The smile widened at her betrothed. "My love."

"My lioness." Ned kissed her lovingly.

She moaned. "Much as I would love to continue this, we are needed in the war council." Ned nodded. "Tyrion, be useful for once and watch Robb."

"I'll have you know my quick wit livens many a conversation."

"We laugh so we can be rid of you quicker," Cersei shot back. "Just watch him."

"Alright, alright."

Letting Ned kiss his son's cheek, she wrapped an arm around his. "Our wedding is to be in a sennight, my love."

Ned kissed the crown of her head. "I cannot wait, my lioness."

Rhaegar was already present in the meeting chamber, as was Ned's prospective goodfather. Lord Tywin stood ramrod straight with his hands behind his back, the picture of confidence and nobility. He likely was always like that, but Ned was sure the Hand of the King emblem pinned on his gambeson contributed to that feeling. Certainly doesn't waste time, does he? "Lord Stark," he nodded respectfully. "Daughter."

"Lord Lannister," Ned replied.

"Father," said an equally formal Cersei, curtseying shallowly. It was known that Tywin did not approve of Cersei attending the strategy meetings alongside her betrothed, but Rhaegar had no qualms about it so he kept his mouth shut. The future Lady Stark made her way to the King, who pushed himself off of where he leaned against the window ledge, brooding like mad. "Your Grace. Lord Eddard has told me what that beast nearly did in the Red Keep. My deepest relief that the royal family is safe." Ned had told her days before what occurred, shaking as he recounted the close run thing Lyanna spoke of in her letter, but Cersei hadn't seen the king since before.

He understood it all, and Rhaegar gave a tiny smile. "Thank you, goodsister. Your relief is greatly appreciated." But he shifted his look to Ned, violet eyes hardening. "Only the destruction of the Greyjoy 'Kingdom,'" Rhaegar mocked, "Will ensure my family's safety, so it must be done."

Ned could not disagree. "Alright. Let's get this done."

There were two banners for the three realms represented there. Lords Bronn and Thorne for the Crownlands, Jorah Mormont and Roose Bolton of the North, and Roland Crakehall and Ralph Spicer of the Westerlands. "Now," Rhaegar began. "First thing, I gave Ser Davis Seaworth the order to sail his fleet against the Ironborn. This morning I received a raven telling of his leaving Sunspear port."

"Your Grace," cautioned Lord Roland. "Is this a wise move? The Ironborn are best at sea, and the Admiral of the fleet is a common smuggler…"

"Watch what you say, my Lord. Ser Davos was my choice to lead the fleet." Lord Crakehall visibly shrank back against the Sunrise Dragon.

Tywin intervened for his bannerman. "I am sure Lord Roland is merely concerned for his lack of combat experience, your Grace."

A snort, this from Bronn Bell. "Not like any of you highborn cunts were able to land a blow against Euron on the sea."

"You will speak to Lord Tywin with some fucking respect…"

A raised hand cut them off. "Their fleet is their power," Rhaegar spoke, leaving no room for dissent. "With it, it doesn't matter what sieges we make or assaults we launch, they can simply draw out their forces and take them somewhere else." He pointed at the Iron Islands. "When this is over, I want the dragon banner waving from the top of Pyke, and to do so necessitates we engage the Iron Fleet in a decisive battle and defeat them in detail. Then, we can crush them on land."

"And you believe Ser Davos' fleet is of enough size?" The question was from Roose Bolton, his tone impassive - giving nothing away. "From the reports I have seen, they are slightly outnumbered by the Iron Fleet."

Silent so far, seated next to Ned with her hand inconspicuously squeezing his, Cersei studied her betrothed's bannerman. She was not daft enough to not know the history behind House Bolton and House Stark. This man was not Jorah Mormont, a loyal subordinate. He was a snake, a mongrel fox that looked at envy at the wolf that ruled the forests. Cersei need not know Roose personally to make that conclusion. She would have to keep his House close… if only to watch over them. "I have seen those reports too, Lord Bolton," she interjected, drawing attention. "Our ships are larger and more powerful than theirs."

"That may be, Lady Lannister," Roose replied, "But that means they aren't as maneuverable."

"Euron Greyjoy's decision to attack through the Arbor straits make that irrelevant," Tywin dismissed. "What he does is to him. On land, what we ourselves face is Lannisport. My subjects are dying, your Grace. We need to retake it."

"As your brother tried to?" grumbled Thorne, drawing glares from the Westerlords. "I'm not wastin' my men on good fortifications. They won't be your meat shields, Lannister."

Again, Rhaegar interjected. "We will wait until the banners from the Stormlands arrive to reinforce us," he said, a slight undercurrent of pain and rage underneath his tone. "Until then, we maintain the siege."

Cersei leaned over to Ned. "This will not end well," she whispered in his ear.

Her love looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Lord Stannis is with Ser Davos." Never would she gloss over anything anymore - her wolf needed her to be a smart, vigilant wife. "Robert Baratheon leads the Stormlands."

Even Ned couldn't miss the significance of that. "Oh…" He watched Rhaegar, the King brooding darkly. "Aye, that will be a problem." I hope Robert's in a contrite mood.

---

"I still think she's too young," Lyanna said, hands clasped together over her heart. Stiffening each time Ser Barristan guided his wooden practice blade at her daughter, regardless of how slow and gentle he was.

Blinking, Elia looked at her with a raised brow. "You actually think that? You?"

The Queen met her wife with annoyance. "I can care about my daughter's welfare too."

"Oh?" Elia remarked, looking incredulous. "And how old were you when you first started begging to be trained?"

Lyanna bit her lip, looking away. "Five."

"A whole two years younger than our little dragon," laughed the Dornish Queen. She wasn't worried for Rhaenys, admiring her enthusiasm as she kept trying to master the stances even at such a young age. Rhae won't be the same cloistered weakling I had to be. "You are a hypocrite, my love."

She sighed. "I just worry for her. She's too young and too precious to lose her innocence." Eager to spar and ride though she was, Lyanna never knew violence or fear in her childhood at Winterfell… "Though perhaps such innocence would keep her ill prepared for the realities of the world."

"Does the fact that she managed to be the first to defeat the dreaded Ironborn Prince that burned Oldtown?" Elia asked with a smirk.

"That does help… I just hope she doesn't harden. That she remains a happy girl filled with love."

"We won't let her know a day without it. Neither of us, nor Rhaegar, nor her siblings and uncles and aunts and grandmother." Leaning up to kiss Lya's cheek, the she-wolf responded by shifting her head and capturing her lips. The two of them moaning into the kiss, hands caressing their growing bellies.

A distinct thunk of wood on wood broke them apart. "Very good, your Grace," Barristan remarked. "You are growing to be a prodigy." Rhaenys beamed at the praise from the old knight - a war hero, he never gave praise lightly.

Both her munas were the proudest in the world, watching her perform with clasped hands and wide smiles. "When will she start with the spear?" Lya asked. While the stances were applicable anywhere, it was clearly the preference of her Dornish family that she learn the spear - a little diversity in the skills of House Targaryen.

"I've discussed it with my brother. He and Ellaria will come to the Red Keep after Pyke burns." She said it nonchalantly, as if it were preordained… which it was, they both had full faith in Rhaegar to make it happen. "He will teach her."

"I do enjoy having them as our guests. They always make things livelier."

Elia giggled. "Be careful what you say, or else he'll invite half of Chataya's into the Holdfast and our Baelon will ask a hundred awkward questions." That caused Lya to groan but grin at their beautiful son - he was always the most inquisitive, curious Prince. "Speaking of our brothers, I still can't believe Ned's getting married… to Cersei Lannister no less."

"She… she's perfect for him." Lya shrugged. "I saw her in person, and she loves him. As much as we love Rhaegar. And he… he's besotted."

"He fathered a child with her. I wouldn't doubt it." How did I not know? How did Varys not know of Robb Hill? A question for another time. "I only wish we could be there for his wedding. We are definitely going to Winterfell on our first royal progress." Best satisfy her curiosity at Cersei Lannister being her goodsister.

Lya wrapped her arms round her wife. "You're going to love Winterfell, and I shall love you and Rhaegar huddling with me to keep warm." They grinned at each other.

The patter of feet on the stone floors caught their attention. "There, Dany!" Prince Aegon turned the corner, followed close behind by the little silver sprite. "There they are."

Lyanna took in their fearful faces. "Egg, Dany, what's wrong?"

Their son was sheepish, almost as if sorry to have bothered them. He had been actively trying to be more active than he was before the Ironborn attack, and while his munas were delighted they worried of him exerting himself. "Dany thinks something's wrong with Jon… oww…" he rubbed where Dany had thumped his arm.

"There is something wrong with Jon!" Daenerys shouted, ire mixed with fear. She was a girl of heavy emotions, wild and fierce as her dragonsblood. "He's sad."

Elia sighed. "What is he doing to make you think that?"

"He won't play with me. Just sits by the window. I'm scared he's sick," said Dany, trembling with fear as her eyes teared up. "I love him. He's my King and I'm his Queen." She fell into Lyanna's arms, sobbing softly.

Lya and Elia shared a look. Safe to say we need not search hard for a betrothal for Jon?

Aye, it's just meant to be, I believe. The romantic side of Lyanna - built as a girl while reading the tales of the dragonlords - wanted to believe that and Daenerys didn't make it difficult to. "I'm sure Jon is fine, sweet goodsister," she said, patting Dany's back. "If you would like, I'll go speak with him. You and Egg can watch Rhaenys train, sounds good."

Egg clapped. "Yay."

Dany smiled weakly, sniffling. "Can I?"

"Of course." Elia guided them to the railing before leaning in to Lya's ear. "What is bothering our Baelon?"

"I think I know," Lyanna replied. "Watch them, I'll get this fixed." They kissed sweetly and Lyanna was off to Baelon's room.

As Daenerys told them, her son was sitting in front of the window. His hands were on his lap and not a word passed his lips - eyes staring blankly ahead. He looked so much like his father while brooding, though the melancholy was alien to Lyanna. She hadn't known Rhaegar back when he was alone and pained, much that it hurt her that her beloved was ever in that state.

And now her son was as well. "Baelon?" she called out. He didn't respond. "Jon, my love." Walking to him, she picked him up and sat in the chair - letting Jon rest on her lap. "What's wrong, my pup?"

He looked away. "Nothing, muna."

"No, something is wrong, Jon. Please tell me." Just like his father, always stubborn and closed off with his emotions. Rhae and Egg were more like Elia in that regard. "Jon?"

"Muña, I wanna train."

She sighed - it was as she figured. Euron's attack drove his sister to fight, and so to did it for Jon. "It's too early, my son. Wait till you're Rhaenys' age"

"NO!" Lyanna stared at her firstborn slawjacked - Baelon seldom raised his voice, if ever. Violet eyes went dark with emotion. "I'm tired of being weak, of seeing Dany scared while all I do is hold her." Unshed tears began to well under his lids. "What dragon cowers? What dragon I be if I can't help?!" He began crying.

Lyanna hugged him tightly. "What happened was not your fault, my darling boy." There was a fluttering in her stomach, as if Jon's brother or sister agreed. "You will be a strong and powerful dragon as your father and a mighty wolf like your grandfather and uncle. Just give it time, you are but a boy…"

"I don't want it to happen again!" He clutched Lyanna tighter. I need be stronger than bad men. Stronger than anyone, so I can save Dany and Rhae and Egg, and Artie!" He was the Crown Prince. The heir to the Sunrise Dragon, and he couldn't even protect his aunt… his best friend… "She's my future Queen, muna. I must protect her."

She kissed his brow. "You're going to be the strongest Prince. The perfect King." Her long ago dream of that strapping man, she was completely sure it was her Baelon she had seen. "I'll speak with Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime, see what I can do."

He smiled up at her, still hugging her close. "Babe," he told the swell in her belly. "I'll protect you and Dany and Rhae and Egg. I'm going to be the very best! Like no one ever was!" Baelon declared, fire evident in both his voice, eyes and spirit.

"I know you will, my son. I know you will."

---

"The tables have turned, goodbrother."

Ned wiped his hands on the gambeson underneath his cuirass, clearing it of sweat. "Aye. It was you that was nervous at your wedding."

Rhaegar frowned. "I was not nervous, marrying your sister." Ned looked at him wryly, making Rhaegar sigh. "Perhaps I was, but Lyanna is… gods, what isn't she? The divine would be entranced by her."

"As it is with Cersei."

"You really are in love." Rhaegar chuckled and smacked his goodbrother on the back. "The wolf tamed the lion as its sister did the dragon and viper. That's the stuff poems are made from."

"I don't think I could write a poem, Rhaegar."

Another laugh. "Don't worry, I'll do it for you." They grinned at each other, enjoying the brotherly moment.

Soon, Ned was standing alone before the heart tree of Casterly Rock, deep within the Stone Garden - the Rock's not widely known godswood. He never realized it existed, only coming across that information when Cersei insisted on a marriage in front of it. You chose the right woman to love, Ned. He could almost hear his brother tell him that, smacking him on the back. The twisted weirwood's tangled roots choked out all other growth in the cave so it wasn't as pleasant as Winterfell's, but he could still feel the magic.

It grounded him, for all his dreams were to come true today.

The Northmen and Westermen were all assembled within the cave, his banners and Tywin's banners. Rhaegar trotted up to the tree, volunteering to officiate. Ned nodded his thanks at his goodbrother, which Rhaegar dismissed with a modest wave.

And then he saw the most beautiful sight in the Seven Kingdoms.

Cersei wore a gown of blood-red crimson fringed with gold underneath her cloak. It exposed the top of her chest without revealing cleavage, fitting out her waist perfectly while hips and legs disappeared under ruffles of lace and wool. Gods, she looked heavenly. A golden goddess, hair falling free in a simple northern style.

Her breath hitched as she spotted Ned in his armor, forcing Cersei to hold her father's arm tighter to steady her gait. Warmth flooded her as their eyes met. It had been a moment she had pictured for years, and now it was at hand. Getting closer, taking in his smile, she returned it, completely in love with her handsome direwolf.

Finally, the bride had reached the base of the heart tree. Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

"Cersei of House Lannister," Tywin said, voice professional and composed. The pin of the Hand of the King felt heavy, for the arrangement had to be sealed tonight. "A woman of age and true of birth."

"Who gives her away?"

"Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, and Hand of the King." With that, he squeezed Cersei's arm and made his way to where he would stand next to his brothers, sister, and younger son. He kept his gaze up, not giving Tyrion a second glance. The dwarf still smiled, genuinely enjoying himself.

"And who comes to wed her in the sight of the Gods?" Rhaegar continued.

Nothing could dampen the joy Ned was feeling - it cut through his normally dour exterior. "Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Lord Paramount of the North." Thanking the gods Cersei went without a veil, he reached out and took Cersei's hands in his - staring into her green eyes. "I take her to wed."Some would mock him for being sentimental, but he didn't care.

Cersei had to struggle to breath, so overjoyed was she. "You may now cloak the bride," she heard Rhaegar say, one tradition of the Faith she insisted on keeping for the symbolic value. "...and bring her under your protection."

Turning, Cersei shivered with desire as Ned's warm fingers brushed her bare neck, slipping the crimson cloak from her shoulders. No longer a Lannister. Soon, a grey and white cloak replaced it, warm and comforting around her. Now I am a Stark.

"Do you take this man to wed?"

"I take this man," she said without hesitation. The love of her life, the father of her beautiful boy. All was finally as it should be.

Rhaegar slowly took a strip of grey cloth, tying it around their joined hands. Literally tying the knot that would seal their marriage. "In the sight of Gods and men, I hereby bind these two souls together for eternity." And it was done.

Ned barely had a time to move before Cersei surged forth, kissing him with all the love she had held for him in their time apart. Not complaining in the slightest, he did the same.

---

"Grandfather?" Robb asked, looking up at the older man that he never understood why people were so tense around. He was nothing but a lovable old lion to him. "This is itchy."

Uncharacteristically gentle, Tywin lowered himself to his knee, clasping Robb's shoulder. "Grandson, you are a Stark and must look the part." He was clad in boiled leather armor and a direwolf gorget specially made for a boy his size - an ape of his father apart from the coloring of his hair and eyes. "You know what's going to happen tonight, correct?"

He nodded. "King Rhaegar make me a Stark like poppa."

Tywin smiled. "Just remember what I and your uncle told you and you'll be fine." Rising, he kept his hand on Robb's shoulders and guided him into the great hall.

It was a celebration worthy of a northern wedding. Ale and wine flowed freely, whole roasted hogs and aurochs being carved up by serving girls for the gullets of boisterous knights and warriors. But all fell silent as the young lad and old lion marched towards the head of the hall… where the table of honor lay.

Rhaegar stood, clapping his hands. "It was my honor to officiate the wedding of my goodbrother and friend, Lord Eddard Stark, to the woman he so desperately loves." He gestured to the happy couple, very much in love. "Which is why I now bestow to them my gift and the gift of the crown itself."

"Brother, what are you…?" Ned asked first, only to be silenced by Cersei. Seeing their son, she knew exactly what was happening.

Standing before young Robb, Rhaegar held out his hand. "Robb Hill, do you swear your undying loyalty to myself and to House Targaryen as your father and your mother's father have?"

Robb slowly bent the knee. "I do… your Grace." Ned's eyes widened as realization dawned on him.

"With the will of the gods bestowed upon me I, Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, First of My Name hereby declare you to be Robb Stark." He rested his hand upon Robb's thick golden curls. "Trueborn son of Lord Eddard and Lady Cersei Stark, and as their eldest child and son, Heir to the titles of Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Lord Paramount of the North."

Knee hurting on the ground, Robb somehow felt the gravity of the words the King was granting to him. He ignored the pain and struggled to remember the words his grandfather and n'uncle Little made him memorize. "You… honor me, your Grace. I… will always be… loyal." Shifting in his place, now he was facing his poppa. The man he had idolized for so long, now finally here in the flesh. "Father… I swear to up… uphold your name and your tra...tra..tradition." His poppa looked to be close to tears, while momma smiled wider than he had ever seen her do so. "I will… make you proud, poppa, and be… worthy. I swear."

Unable to stand it, Ned stood and rounded the table. He grabbed Robb and hauled him up into his hold. "You already make me the proudest father in the world." Ned kissed Robb square on the cheek, showing the beautiful boy off to all his bannermen. "My son!"

"Robb Stark! Heir of Winterfell," Rhaegar boomed, smacking the table.

"Heir of Winterfell!" The Northern lords threw up their fists in raucous cheers. Golden complexion of a lion or not, Robb was healthy, he was bright, and a strapping specimen that would clearly grow up proud and strong. No better man to take over for his legend of a father. "Huzzah! Huzzah!"

As if struck dumb by how happy she was, Cersei watched her now husband begin making the rounds of his banners. All men she had seen at the wedding, and those who had come to the head of the table to congratulate her, Ned, and her father for the successful betrothal. Too enamored with the fact she was finally Cersei Stark, the Lady of Winterfell hadn't caught most of their names yet… but she would. He doesn't deserve or need another Catelyn Tully. Cersei would be a worthy wife for her handsome direwolf, she swore it to herself.

"Well well, father finally gets what he wanted." Cersei looked over to see Tyrion pull himself into the seat next to her, goblet in hand and reaching for a chicken leg.

Cersei was too happy to be bothered by her brother. "Aye, a grandson of his in control of the largest Kingdom in the realm. Not the Iron Throne, but still impressive for him."

"Not just him, sister. You as well." She eyed him curiously as he chewed on a bite of the drumstick. "The Starks are effectively Kings in the North with all the autonomy they get, and you therefore are effectively a Queen."

'You shant wed a Prince, but you will wed into a House of great Kings.' It had come true, the first part of the witch's prophecy. Cersei closed her eyes to ward off the rest. "I am, and I will not let the vultures of the world harm my Ned or my family."

Tyrion nodded. "I wouldn't have it any other way." But he was still quizzical. "By family, I presume Ned will include Robb's two half-siblings."

"Aye."

"And you?"

Cersei shrugged. "Any child of Ned's will be my responsibility as well." Truth be told, she could never hate anyone of Ned's loins. He hadn't betrayed her, and the child of his was part of him.

"That is… quite noble of you, sister. I am pleased to see it." Tyrion dropped the bone on the plate, picked clean. "But even though Robb is older, he wasn't legitimized until after his trueborn baby brother. The Tullys will have words with the babe being supplanted."

"If the Tullys have any problems with our son being heir," Cersei said, the smile on her face bringing a shiver up Tyrion's spine. "You don't need to be Jaehaerys the Wise to know who would win between a lion and a fish."

Tyrion ended up laughing. "That's right, we eat fish, they fear us." He raised the goblet. "Good to see love hasn't make you any softer, dear sister."

She raised it in return, looking out at her two beloved men. "You know what father says, you win or you die." I don't have any intention of letting any of us die.

Witch be damned.

---

Entwined, the two lovers tumbled around the bed. Sheets rustled from their passionate movements. Two powerful beings of the most august, fierce blood in the seven kingdoms lost in each other, driven by lust and love to ravish the other. Years had passed since they fell hopelessly for each other, and only hours since they were bound in the sight of the old gods.

Neither could wait any longer.

Pinned under his powerful form though she was, Cersei kissed him fiercely. Desperately clawing at his back and shoulders. "Stay with me, Ned," she begged into his ear before pulling the lobe into her mouth. Sucking on it harshly.

"Fuck, Cers…" Ned stared into her eyes, reaching for his length and positioning it at her entrance. "I'm here." Never would he need to deny himself again. This beautiful lioness was finally his, and Ned felt it right to be selfish for once.

She gasped, biting his muscular shoulder as her husband slid deliciously into her. Cersei held on for dear life at Ned's steady thrusts. He was well endowed and stretched her wonderfully. "You… won't be…" Thoughts bounced back and forth between dread and wondrous pleasure. "You go off to war…" She was cut off as Ned kissed her thoroughly.

The passion, the hunger in how she kissed him, it drove Ned mad with desire. His wife, one that came to his bed willingly and happily. Only for him, only his. "I must," he husked, kissing down her cheek until he nuzzled her neck, sucking the pale skin as Ned thrust harder into her. Needing to devour her as her cunt closed around his length like a vice. "It is my duty."

"Your… gods… duty…" Cersei couldn't keep her eyes open, the pleasure overwhelming her. "Your duty… is to me." One hand raked down the planes of his back, the other worming between their bodies. Finding her nub. Needing to rush this because Cersei was burning up with need. He did this to her. "To me and to our son… our children."

"I do this for them, my love." Lifting onto his outstretched arms, Ned jerked his hips. Slamming into her, going as deep as he could. "Wrap around my hips," he begged, and she complied. Letting him go so much deeper inside her. "So that you may know peace."

"You and I," she chanted, almost like a prayer. "You and I… and the children… please Ned. Finish me." Cersei bucked up into his thrusts, screaming as he scraped against places she never knew existed. "I love you, husband… I love you… I love you… oh fuck… my wolf!"

White filled his vision. "Cers!"

They held each other tightly, bodies driven to exhaustion by the acts they engaged in. Sweat covered their flushed skin, pressed together in a tangle of limbs and torsos. "Please don't go fight, Ned," Cersei urged, her voice a murmur after such screaming earlier. "You need not prove anything."

"I cannot let my brother down, Cersei." He played with her golden hair, never thinking he would ever see it again all those years ago. "The Ironborn must be stopped or else they'll reave more. Burn more. Kill more."

"They cannot reach Winterfell," she urged. "What if you fall in battle? Your son can't lose you… I can't lose you…" Tears filled her eyes. Never did she care for anyone this deeply since her mother died. Not until she met Ned and had Robb. Now they were everything to her.

Ned held her close to the chest, rubbing her back. "I will return to you. I promise." It was a promise he fully intended to keep.

He found his love. His family was finally complete. No man or god would stop him from returning to Winterfell.

Notes:

Hope y'all liked Nedsei finally marrying.

Chapter 79: The Sea Lion

Notes:

Hey everyone. The funeral for my grandfather was yesterday, and it was... a good one. Very loving. Still numb a bit, so I'm getting this out. Hope you really like it. Kinda need this boost right now.

Enjoy.

"...And the result of this was…" A raised hand cut off Rhaella in mid-sentence. Her first instinct was to grow annoyed and snap at whomever silently interrupted her, but she wouldn't. No, she loved this interrupter too much. "Yes, Baelon?"

The young Prince was seated in a chair in the lesson chamber, hands folded on his lap. While these rooms were usually used by Uncle Aemon in teaching the children their knowledge, for today it was the Dowager Queen that utilized its facilities. "But…" Jon spoke, pausing. Anyone else would have mistaken it for hesitation or weakness, but Rhaella knew what it was. Her grandson was a perfectionist, and was making sure he used just the right words. "I believe that King Viserys, First of His Name, had a dragon. He was the last rider of…"

"Balerion!" finished the pupil sitting next to him, beaming widely at knowing the right answer.

Rhaella let out a sigh. "Daenerys, I know you are excited for the lessons today, but do not interrupt your nephew when he's speaking." The little sprite was just as smart as Baelon, but less reserved. She wasn't like Rhaegar in that way, more like her brother Duncan, always seeking to impress others and be the first to answer, even if it sacrificed a little accuracy that Baelon wouldn't think of doing.

For her part, she hung her head. "Kessa, muna."

Kissing the crown of her hair, Rhaella chucked her cheek, which brought a smile to her face. "In any case, Daenerys, you were right. It was Balerion. And yes, Baelon, Viserys, First of His Name, was the Black Dread's final rider. But it wasn't truly a bonding experience with them because Balerion, having survived since before the Doom of Valyria, was at least three hundred years of age and on his last legs."

"He died after Viserys rode him?" Rhaenys asked, just as inquisitive as her aunt.

"Sources vary," Rhaella shrugged, "But it is commonly determined by both historical texts and our family's oral history that it was at least a few weeks. Balerion rode through the skies with Viserys once, was unable to fly again, and passed away before a proper bond could be formed between him and the future King."

"A bond like you have with Jaimexes? Or kepa with Aegarax? Or n'uncle Vis with Maerys?"

She nodded. "Aye, Baelon. That very bond." After hearing about the changes in the Targaryen brood following the Greyjoy raid on the Red Keep that very nearly ended in disaster, Rhaella felt it prudent to expand their lessons. Not just simply learning the history of their House, but the understanding of it in relation to their greatest gift - dragonriding. It was difficult for Rhaella since much of it was lost to history along with their first dragons, but her own experiences plus family lore gave her enough. "None of you have bonded with your own dragons yet, so I cannot begin to describe what such a bond feels like."

"When will we bond with a dragon, muna?" Dany asked.

"You and kepa keep six eggs," Rhae insisted, smiling. "Can we hatch them?"

Rhaella shook her head. "Sweetlings, a dragon isn't a playmate or a weapon like a dog or a horse. A dragon is…" She closed her eyes, thinking of the right words. "A dragon is as much a sibling or uncle or aunt as all of you are to each other. They are intelligent, sensitive creatures, often smarter than men, but only one of dragonsblood can even begin to feel such intelligence."

Baelon blinked. "You mean we can talk to the dragons?" Dany and Rhae listened intently for Rhaella's answer, as did Egg… though the eldest son of the brood remained quiet. He wanted to learn, but rarely spoke.

"Yes, Baelon, you can."

"How? All they do is growl or hoot or scream or roar."

A good question, but one that vexed the Dowager Queen because she didn't know herself. "I can only describe it as innate magic. Somehow a dragon can understand you and you it, though familiarity helps make the process easier." Having raised Jaimexes and Maerys from hatching, Rhaella found it easier to speak to them than to Aegarax. "But nothing can compare to the bond one forms with your own dragon."

Dany's eyes sparkled. "Tell us, muna." Her mind was thinking of all the things she would do with her dragon when she obtained one. A beautiful beast, just like Syrax or Meraxes or Silverwing… Jon and I shall ride as high as can be. The thoughts were magical and brought her great happiness.

Her mother encouraged such thoughts, but found it her duty to keep them from growing too idealistic or brutal. "Your bonded dragon is like the bond between your love, or your child… but there's something more. It's almost like you share a mind - you know what your dragon feels and your dragon reciprocates."

"Uncle Aemon says that one with the dragonblood and wolfsblood can warg into a dragon? Is that true?" Since he was the only dragonwolf among them, Baelon obviously was referring to himself.

"I'm not sure," she replied honestly. "I am not an expert on… warging." Truth be told, she barely knew what it was and resolved to ask Aemon or Lyanna later. "But the most important thing to remember is that just as a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, a Targaryen without a bonded dragon misses a key part of their soul."

"How so, grandmother?" Rhaenys asked.

"Viserys, First of His Name, rode a dragon once and then when Balerion died never rode again. He was a competent king and a good man, but without a dragon… he was blind to the depth of the rift between his loved ones. Failed to use decisive action to stamp down the feuds between them, and it led to ruin." Thinking of all that their family had lost during the Dance, it made Rhaella's heart ache in agony.

Rhaenys crossed her arms. "That pig Aegon should've let Rhaenyra take the throne as Viserys wanted." Given their mother was Lyanna and they were raised on a steady diet of her favorite novels and histories, the brood-was decidedly pro-Black.

She was as well, but also realistic. "Mistakes were made on both sides, Rhae. From Aegon and Aemond to Jaecarys and Lucerys. All failed to heed the most important rule - dragons can hold the greatest anger or hate in their hearts, but they are strongest when united together. Such anger derives from passion, which can create the deepest love."

"Like the conquerors… or Jaehaerys and Alysanne," Dany beamed.

Rhaella smiled. "Aye, which is why you need to make sure your own bonds are secure before even thinking of seeking out a bond with dragons."

Baelon rose, rushing to his grandmother and hugging her. "I promise, grandmother."

"Me too!" Dany was right on his heels, followed by Rhaenys and finally Aegon, all hugging her. "We won't fight like the Dance. I promise."

A merry laugh tumbled from her lips as Rhaella hugged them back. "Of that I have no doubt, my loves."

Such a good mood her brood had given here was only bolstered as Rhaella entered the nursery, finding Marya Seaworth tending to Princess Myrcella - her youngest son Maric was playing in the corner. "Oh," Marya exclaimed. "Rhaella. I did not see you there." Friends now, they were on first name bases."

"Tis fine, I just wished to see my darling dragonlion."

Seeing her mother, Myrcella immediately reached for her, squirming within Marya's arms. "Mu-na, mu-na!" Her first words, said only a few moons before. Gods, Rhaella was so proud as she took her in her arms.

"Hello, my sweet little hatchling." Nothing was going to stop her from enjoying Dany and Cella grow up, a priceless eventuality she knew the gods had blessed her with. "You look just like your kepa - yes you do, yes you do." She tickled Cella's stomach, the babe squealing happily.

"There's no denying it, your Grace," Marya chuckled from behind her. "That babe is clearly a Lannister by blood, if not by name." Her hair was a golden flax that shone in the sunlight, contrasted with eyes of the purest indigo.

"I wouldn't have minded for her to be a Lannister by name." Rhaella would have married Jaime in a heartbeat, but alas his oaths to the Kingsguard needed to be respected - true adherence to form would have been ending their couplings, but she'd burn any Septon or Septa that demanded it of her. Jaime was hers, and Rhaella wasn't giving it up. "She's a mix of dear Joanna and I believe my father. A perfect mix of lion and dragon." Another kiss to her chubby cheek, which made Cella babble.

"Mu-na! Mu-na!"

Tossing a ball against the wall, young Maric pushed himself up. "Momma, can I go?"

Marya turned to look at her son. "And where do you wish to go?" Her boys would burn down half the Red Keep if they were left unsupervised.

"Prince Baelon wants to show me the dragon skulls," he said excitedly. It wasn't every day his mother took him to the Red Keep, and getting picked by the Crown Prince as a playmate was an honor even a kid from Flea Bottom could recognize. "Please?"

On the one hand, the Prince would be accompanied by Princess Daenerys and they would burn down the entire city if left unsupervised in their mischief. On the other hand… Ser Jaime was assigned to guard duty and he was a good chaperone. "Alright, you may go. But be back on time for supper." He couldn't be told twice, shooting out. "Gods," Marya snorted, running a hand through her brown hair. "Four boys just like their father, and another on the way." She cupped her belly. "I'll be grey of hair by the end of next year."

Rhaella smiled at her friend's consternation. "Do not fret, Marya. Your husband will return from his command at sea a hero and likely a Lord. I see no reason why you wouldn't obtain enough nursemaids to ease your burden." No maid could remove the wonder that a mother felt when cuddling her babe close, but in taking the laundry or preparing meals, they served an invaluable purpose that even the modest Rhaella wasn't willing to part with."

"True… true…" A tear came to Marya's eye. "If he returns."

Setting Cella down, Rhaella embraced her friend. "Do not think of such things. He will return."

But Marya shook her head. "This isn't smuggling, which had its own risks. Davos is sailing against the greatest seafarers since Corlys the Sea Snake."

"Didn't you say Davos was the greatest since Corlys?"

"I did, but he's never fought in a true battle before. I… I… if I lose him…" Rhaella simply stood there, letting Marya vent her worries out on her shoulder. Any day now, even likely this very moment, the two great fleets would be clashing in the Reach if the reports were accurate from Rhaegar and Oldtown. You better come home, Ser Davos. I shall never forgive you if you leave my friend a widow. A dragon answered to neither man nor god… what was stopping her from going to the seven hells and exacting her revenge.

You better send Euron Greyjoy there.

---

"And so it begins," stated Ser Davos Seaworth, looking at the crew of his flagship - the Sea Lion. Above atop the mainmast fluttered the banner of the three-headed dragon, also emblazoned on the sails while the mizzenmast flew Davos' personal sigil of a roaring sealion. "Say your last fookin' prayers and then get to position."

"Aye, my Lord," came the reply, a reply soon shared across the assembled royal fleet as it steamed westward through the Arbor Straits - bugle calls and horns signalling the beginning of the advance. Those of the Seven prayed to the Father and the Warrior, the Northmen their silent prayers of the old ways, while the few fire and Valyrian worshippers conducted their own rituals.

Gripping the railing of his carrack, sails unfurled in all their glory, Davos breathed in the sea air. Watched the sunlight sparkle atop the blue-green waves, a few dolphins breaking the surface as they fled the coming battle. On each side of him were the wall of sailing and oared ships assembled for this day, and ahead were the eight surprises he had in store for the enemy.

"Gods protect us," he murmured, to which gods… he did not quite know. Whichever one would get him back home to Marya and the boys.

Miles away, a different sort of ritual was taking place. "Please! Mercy!" The screams of the thrall were cut short as Denys Drumm brought his blade across his neck. Instead, a rasping gurgle emerged, blood slowly filling his throat and lungs. Death would come soon, but the Ironborn lieutenant tossed him into the drink. A gift for the drowned god.

Euron looked at the tiny stain of red blood before it passed by in a blur. Similar offerings were being done in every flagship of the fleet, heralding the future where thousands more would satiate the hunger of the drowned god of their enemies. "Here this, you cunts! Any man that doesn't fight will join that bastard in the drink!" He slammed his booted foot against the metal grate to the thralls manning the oarbanks of the King Harwyn. "You win, you get your freedom!" He drew his sword and held it in the air. "What is dead may never die!"

"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"

From the massive spire of the Citadel and tower of Hightower, dozens of Maesters and the entirety of House Hightower could witness the coming clash between the Iron Fleet and the Royal Fleet - recording it for the annals of history. For the Ironborn, Euron commanded the center of ninety triremes and carracks with his nephew manning the reserve a mile behind him. On their left was Rodrik Harlaw with sixty smaller longships and biremes to navigate the shoals closer to shore. Prince Victarion had the majority of their sailing ships, powerful carracks and caravels ready to turn the royal flank.

Davos, approaching from the east, advanced without the same lighter vessels that had served Ironborn reavers so well over the centuries. Lucerys Velaryon's fifty galleys anchored their right, while the thirty carracks and forty cogs of House Redwyne sought vengeance for Oldtown on the left. The Sea Lion commanded the center personally, forty galleys and twenty carracks, and kept Wylis Manderly and Stannis Baratheon behind with thirty and twelve galleys respectively.

But ahead of his ships were Davos' secret weapon. Eight former grain merchentmen under the Velaryon flag, equipped with banks of oars and packed with firepower. He dubbed them the 'galleass,' while the men of the fleet preferred the colloquial term 'whale.'

It wasn't until midday that the two fleets met each other, and by then a stiff wind bracketed the ships from the east - advantage given for the Targaryen fleet. Keeping his ships tight together, Euron planned to fan them out when they were close to the enemy to prevent them from reacting to his penchant for envelopment. His galleys were fast and nimble, but the sudden advance of the massive Galleasses forced him to fan them out far earlier than intended. "Fire!" At his order, the rapid-fire naval catapults hurled their flaming projectiles at the lumbering whales. They were slow to maneuver, but their banks of sails made them faster than imagined and soon they closed to the still tightly packed galleys.

Each ship was tightly-packed with catapults, scorpions, and archers, and they unleashed the seven hells all across their broadsides. Three Ironborn triremes practically disintegrated under the onslaught, while the faster carracks labored under multiple fires.

But as soon as the carnage unleashed by the galleasses was wrought, they passed through the two line deep Ironborn center. Slow, the whales couldn't effectively turn with the winds hurling them westwards, not with the few oars they had. Savaged, Euron's center was now meeting Davos' on even terms.

Each fleet simply crashed into each other. The faster Ironborn sailed in groups of three or four, trying to maneuver around gaps in the royals while the larger carracks and galleys unleashed vicious broadsides, crippling ships for boarding. Minutes ticked by as one by one, all ships began engaging each other in a furious melee. Grabbing his spyglasses, Euron saw the lead carrack of the royal fleet. "That's him! That's the smuggler!" It was in the middle of a furious broadside with a carrack of House Orkwood, superior firepower taking its toll… but leaving the Sea Lion vulnerable. "Set course to ram them!"

"What is dead may never die!" The Ironborn motto was useful in all occasions.

"Loose!" Two dozen longbowmen released their flaming arrows, bracketing the Ironborn ship. It's masts had been felled, fires awash on the deck. Davos watched it with a tired smile. Not half-an hour in to the battle and already the exhaustion was near overwhelming. Already the Ironborn were surrounding his ships and vice versa, all semblance of coordinated maneuver lost as the former attempted to ram them while the latter preferred broadside raking and boarding.

His ship had notched three kills so far, but the worst was yet to come. "My lord!" Davos' captain, his former quartermaster from the smuggling days, was frantic. An arrow had grazed his temple, covering half his face with blood. "King Harwyn off the port fore! Moving to ram us!" Sure enough, the golden kraken trireme was heading straight for them, steel prow ready to break their back.

Davos acted quickly. "Hard port! Meet em head on!"

The hopes for a quick kill from Euron died as the Sea Lion lumbered around to face them… but not enough to miss. Ironic, the carracks were far faster but in short bursts his triremes had the advantage. "The Iron way, boys!" Euron could have sworn he spotted Davos as the ships converged.

"The Iron Way!" Both ships shuddered as King Harwyn's ram crashed into the forecastle of the Sea Lion.

In the rear of the Ironborn line, the captains of the eight biremes and thirty longships readied their advance towards the gap opened between both the royal left and center and the royal right and center - its captains eager to envelop Davos' command or finish off the Velaryons in the north…

"Your Grace! We must advance!" Gylbert Farwynd begged his Prince. Their ships were fast and could easily close the gap Euron ordered them to hold for just this eventuality.

Had it been Euron, Victarion, or even the brash young Rodrik, the aggressive assault would have been preordained. But it was Prince Maron Greyjoy in command, still smarting from his decisive defeat at the hands of Gregor Forrester at Bear Island. "We can't afford to! Look at those fucking monsters!" He pointed to the four galleasses, all turning around to attack Euron's rear.

Lord Gylbert was incredulous. "They can barely maneuver, your Grace." He could see how slowly they lumbered, massive sails overcoming their few banks of oars and hurling them west away from the fight. "Ignore them!"

Maron, heart pounding and sweat drenching his forehead, shoved his captain aside. "Overwhelm the monsters! I shan't let them destroy my uncle's line!" Orders were orders, the reserve swarming the beleaguered former grain and cattle transports.

Leaving the rest of the Iron Fleet on their own.

---

Slamming his fist against the railing, Lord Lucerys Velaryon cursed the very gods above. "How the fuck did they navigate the shoals?!" Hugging the shallow water of the coastline, the Velaryon galleys expected that the Ironborn couldn't flank them… but they were wrong as a dozen longships managed to traverse the shoals and sandbars to near envelop them.

"Longships, Lucerys," Oberyn Martell replied, holding onto his spear as if it were a holy relic. "Shallow draft. Of course Harlaw would put them closer to the coast." A large projectile from one of the Ironborn ships slammed into the sea off the side of the galley Sea Snake, Lord Lucerys' flagship. It showered the men with seawater as each force continued its medium-distance bombardment of the other.

Cursing again, Lucerys shook it off. "Fuck all of this. Full attack! Ramming speed!" The Ironborn had already rocketed forward towards them so it was their turn. "Signal right flank. Stay at war speed and turn thirty degrees port!"

"Aye, my Lord!" came the signaller, rapidly shifting the signage flags for the Velaryon right. If the Longships managed to hit them from the rear, it was all over.

The ships slammed together, whatever order in their lines of battle disappearing. Missiles traded sides from both fleets, rams hitting into hulls while gangplanks dropped, creating a dozen boarding actions within the first ten minutes of the battle joining. Included there was the Sea Snake, its oars entangled with Rodrik Harlow's own ship the Sea Song.

With a crash, the spiked gangplank pierced the hull of the Ironborn trireme. Both the Sea Snake and Sea Song grappled with each other, firmly connected. A bugler pierced the din. "Forward men!" screamed Lord Lucerys, waving his sword like a man far younger than him. "Kill the kraken fuckers…"

Oberyn watched as the commander of the Targaryen right collapsed, an arrow piercing through his eye where the visor had once been - splattering the Red Viper with blood. Ah fuck… "The Lord is down!" screamed one of the banners, sea-green surcoat identifying him as with House Velaryon. "Fuck, we're doomed!"

"Your orders, my Prince?" asked Ryon Allyrion.

Steeling himself, the Red Viper grabbed the bannerman and yanked him forward. In his hands waved the sun and spear of House Martell, while its scion held one of those symbols personally in his grip. "Charge!" Oberyn screamed. "Unbent unbroken!"

"Unbent Unbroken!" Lacking the discipline of the stronger Targaryen household guards staffing the ships in the center, the lighter Dornish spears nonetheless were lightly armored, and their curved swords proved excellent for marine combat. The Ironborn had the idea to use the chaos after Lucerys' death to charge the gangplank, but the lead berserker found Oberyn's spear thrusting through his open mouth. Crossbows pelted the crazed warriors, which didn't fell them but slowed them down long enough for the Dornishmen to disembowel and toss them over the side.

Kicking a felled man upside the temple, Oberyn emerged onto the Sea Song to witness a thing of carnage. Velaryon missile fire had left it burning in many places, while marines and reavers raced about as another Velaryon galley assaulted it from the opposite side. A pitched melee, plain and simple - only by brute force of the sword could a victor be declared from this.

He held no ability to further think as a reaver charged him. Oberyn raised his spear and parried the downward thrust, quickly spinning and cutting the speartip across the Ironborn's heel. He screamed and fell, slipping on blood to disappear into the drink. Another thrust to his stomach, but the Red Viper dodged it, butting the man in the head before rocking the spear back and stabbing through his throat.

From the south, fifteen galleys of House Celtigar surged towards the Velaryon left, having detached on their own accord from Davos' center formation at the sight of the still outnumbered right flank. Scorpions trained on the engaging Ironborn, the longships shattered upon impact of the six foot-long, steel-tipped bolts while the larger biremes found massive holes punched into them and started taking on water.

One by one they were sent below the waves, catapults and flaming missiles joining the fray to help those Velaryon ships locked in a toe to toe struggle of sword and spear. The Dornish fought like cornered rats, stabbing and clawing at their foes with a ferocity that stunned invaders of centuries that sought to plunder the land of the never-ending sun. Many clusters of ships came so close to each other, it formed an almost continuous melee of hand-to-hand fighting that stained the seas red with blood.

Oberyn snarled as a sword stabbed his side, the pain almost burning. Out came his dagger and stabbed the reaver in the stomach. The man, breath putrid from a set of half-rotted teeth so close against him so Oberyn could smell it, merely grunted but didn't budge so he stabbed again and again - turning the gut into a bloody pulp before the reaver collapsed. Wounded, his legs and arms moved so it wasn't fatal or too serious. The Red Viper's blood was up so he barely felt the pain as he charged back into the fray.

Aboard the Sea Song, the thralls manning the banks of oars had mutinied. Their cries of anger added to the carnage, grabbing whatever weapons were at hand to assault their masters. The tide was clearly turning.

Eyes narrowed, Oberyn spotted a large man with a steel breastplate of a scythe beheading one of his sworn swords. "Harlaw!" he screamed, catching the man's attention. "Come and face me!"

Lord Rodrik gripped the longsword in two hands, charging at Oberyn. His slashes were parried by the spear but only just. He pressed the attack, but the Red Viper was to form as he danced out of the thrusts and swings. Lacking armor, it just made him all the more maneuverable - as if even a dragon would struggle to catch him. "Get back here, cunt!"

"I would think you're the cunt," Oberyn laughed, blocking a strike. "Soon my spear will thrust inside you."

The lewd taunt seemed to enrage the Ironborn. "Fuck you, buggerer!" He snarled and charged, sword held high…

Only for Oberyn to draw his dagger and stab his arm. Harlaw dropped his spear, screaming just as the Red Viper buried his spear through his stomach. Tsking, Oberyn chuckled. "Told you. Wish me met in peaceful times - you are quite comely." Reaching down to pick up a scimitar off the ground, he pulled off Harlaw's helm and swung. Yanking the severed head of the Ironborn commander, Oberyn shouted at the top of his lungs. "This is what they sow!" he bellowed, playing off the words of House Greyjoy. Cheering, the Dornish spears, Velaryon marines, and freed thralls continued on in their struggle as the Ironborn left began to disintegrate from the pressure.

---

From his own heavy carrack the Iron Victory - a full three masts and six banks of sails making it the fastest ship in the fleet, Prince Admiral Victarion Greyjoy surveyed the battlefield. Already, he could spot the burning mess that had been Rodrik Harlaw's battle line, while his own brother was in the midst of a chaotic clash. "Where the fuck is my nephew…" At his rear, Victarion cursed. "That fucking, fuckface idiot!" The massive Galleasses were burning, bombarded over and over by the biremes and longships, but at what cost? Half of Maron's command had been sunk or stricken, all to fight four ships.

And finally approaching was the Targaryen left, grape banners of House Redwyne standing proud atop the massive ocean-going fleet. He turned, finding the helmsmen. "Full ahead! Right for the center of them!" Hornblows sounded the attack.

Paxter Redwyne had been chomping at the bit to win vengeance for his defeat outside Oldtown that cost him half his fleet… until he actually reached the battle. An attack of caution had overwhelmed him at the sight of the Iron Fleet, making him hesitate. This force he had was the last of the great Redwyne fleet that so provided the strike arm for the Reach kings and ensured his own massive wealth and influence. Losing it again would… he wished not to know the consequences and thus ordered his force to advance to the south.

The damned Ironborn wouldn't flank him!

Victarion hated reacting to the enemy. He wasn't a strategic planner or manipulator as Euron was, but he did hold a zeal for the to and fro of battle. What Redwyne was doing made him want to laugh, but the fact he couldn't ignore a large force of capital ships coming straight for him was frustrating in the extreme. He had to continue to sail south to catch them, taking him further and further from the rest of his brother's command.

But the command came, and the Iron Victory led his sailing ships straight at the enemy. Outnumbered and outmatched, the Redwyne ships could only turn and face the onslaught head on.

Barely fifteen minutes had passed before a quarter of the ships were on fire. Iron Victory headed straight for the Arbor Gold, Lord Paxter's flagship. Catapults bracketed the vessel, knocking the mainmast down like a snapped twig. Dead in the water, the carrack was brought alongside the caravel by the way of grappling hooks… which shredded the remaining sails.

Axe in one hand and shield in the other, Victarion was the third man to board the stricken Arbor Gold. He bashed a charging knight in the helm, axe swinging down to crush the man's skull in a crunch of steel and bone. Reavers and berserkers poured onto the vessel, Victarion leading them forward as he sunk the battleaxe into the gut of a man-at-arms. "What is dead may never die!"

Panicking, Lord Paxter had already boarded a skiff bound for one of his unengaged ships, abandoning his flagship to the fate of the Ironborn.

Salvation came in the form not of their Lord but from the galleys flying the proud Merman of House Manderly - returned to the Reach after centuries. Built rugged to withstand the harsh winds and blizzards of the north, they rushed out of the reserve to make for Victarion's command. Unlike with Lord Paxter, the white hot anger for the death of Lord Wyman didn't waver for a heartbeat. Discipline held long enough to keep them in reserve alongside Ser Stannis, but it broke at the perfect moment for the Targaryen navy.

Just as Victarion captured the battle standard of Lord Paxter's flagship, the first Manderly ship rammed into an Ironborn carrack, the Mermen fighting for the Reach once again.

---

Davos Seaworth would not abandon ship. Though trapped and under assault from hundreds of ironborn all around, he wouldn't seek refuge. No swordsman, he remained in the castle of the Sea Lion, firing crossbows at whomever crossed his path while barking orders to his captain and signaller. Stilling his breath, Davos' finger depressed the trigger. The bolt sailed forth and embedded in the neck of a reaver.

"Reload!" he bellowed, handing the crossbow to one of his squires as he picked up a fresh one. Information still flowed to him, telling of the destruction of the Greyjoy left, of Maron's stupidity in attacking the Galleasses, of Victarion being the only force still close to victory. He could break them decisively, he just needed more ships in his line. "Signal the reserves! Send them in the center!"

"The Manderlys have shifted south, my Lord!"

"Send whatever you can!" Aiming again, he fired once more.

Euron barely felt the blood that spurted onto his face as the man next to him was caught in the neck by a crossbow bolt. Truth be told, there was so much of it soaking him from the battle that a little more wasn't a fuss. "Keep it coming!" he shouted, burying his sword into the stomach of a Targaryen marine. "Make them pay the Iron Price!" All around him his own reavers and berserkers were battling over the Sea Lion, slowly pushing the Targaryens back from the bow towards the castle. Archers and more galleys that joined the battle were making it hard, but he could taste victory.

Such a taste dimmed as Cragorn grabbed his shoulder. "Your Grace! The enemy has committed their reserves!" Peering over the side, Euron could make out a dozen or so Baratheon war galleys hurtling towards them, unleashing hells on his ships - one was headed directly for the King Harwyn.

"Fuck." He'd have to deal with this personally. "Men! On me!" They scrambled over the gangplank just as the lead Baratheon galley crashed into the side of his own trireme.

Leaping onto the deck of the King Harwyn, Stannis unsheathed his blade - the same bastard sword Lord Lyonel used at the trial of combat against Ser Duncan the Tall. Slender and toned unlike the massive figure his ancestor had been, the azure blue eyes blazed a hard determination. The fire of redemption of himself and his house. Ours is the fury!

Spotting his antlered helm and stag-emblazoned surcoat - modest unlike the garish display Robert insisted on - the Ironborn swarmed him. A common smuggler was nothing in the scheme of things. House Baratheon was intimately connected to the Targaryen crown and would fetch them a massive haul of loot when they presented his head to Euron.

Stannis sidestepped an attacking reaver, bringing his blade down upon the fishing hook thrust at him. It snapped in two, joined as Stannis rammed his armored fist into the man's head. The Baratheon knight ignored the fallen man and moved forward, parrying a thrust before spinning his blade and slashing. Leather armor split open like lace, the Ironborn crying out in agony as his spine was severed.

Ignoring all around him but the clashes of steel on steel, Stannis braced himself as a Berserker charged at him with but an axe. A quick chop found the man's hand severed but he kept coming, ramming right into Stannis and nearly staggering him. Pushed back, Stannis raised his blade and thrust it down the Berserker's neck and shoulder. A vicious scream of anger rang in his ear. It took a moment before Stannis realized it was his own.

Another Ironborn fell to his sword and fist… then another and another. His stern expression broke for the barest moment as he smirked, feeling the same rush that Robert undoubtedly felt when in battle. Slashing across the torso of a salty-looking reaver, Stannis was just about to kick him to the ground when a flash of steel crossed his eye. He turned and parried the coming attack, just preventing it from beheading him.

"The Stag joins the battle!" Eyepatch over the Ironborn's eye, Stannis knew he could only be facing Euron Greyjoy himself. He was intimidating on his own with an almost sociopathic calm and bloodlust in his eye… the eyepatch only enhanced it. "Seems you are mine."

Stannis narrowed his eyes under his helm and thrust with his blade. Euron's leap back was anticipated, his fist crashing into the Greyjoy's chin and sending him to the ground.

But Euron was nimble. He leaped up on his feet like an acrobat, blade raised up to parry Stannis' blow before breaking off. "Best you got, stag? Even your whoring brother could fight the King toe to toe." Tossing his blade from hand to hand, he spread his arms to taunt the stag.

Charging again, Stannis felt the blade dent his shoulderplate, but the steel held as he crashed into the Greyjoy. Another punch slammed into his abdomen, Stannis barely feeling the knife stick into his side before he pushed back and sliced across Euron's chest.

"Argh!" cried the Ironborn, cupping his bleeding chest protectively. "You're gonna die for that!"

Stannis pulled out the blade, not even grunting as the haunting blue eyes narrowed at Euron through his vision slit. "Only one of us dies today." Silent, he charged again just as Euron did, their blades meeting in a furious clash. Strike, parry, strike, slash, slash - the attack continued for time interminable, both men fighting each other to near exhaustion. The battle raged around them but all that mattered to them was the other. Time slowed, and wounds piled up. Some minor, others… not so minor. But neither gave up…

Until Stannis' armored palm caught a slash, the sword failing to pierce the plate. Almost disbelieving his good luck, Stannis uppercut with his bastard blade… cutting a long stripe up Euron's face. It stung, and with blood and gore still coating his cheeks and neck it was agony. "You motherfucker!" he bellowed… but only then did Euron see the situation around him.

All across the decks of the various ships, hundreds of Ironborn lay strewn in broken or dismembered heaps. Some still fought, but were outnumbered by the rallying Targaryen and Baratheon marines that poured from the intact vessels joining in. Atop the mast of the King Harwyn, a trio of Baratheon men-at-arms has torn down Euron's personal banner - the golden kraken - with raucous cheers.

Stannis merely cracked his neck. "It's lost, Euron. Surrender now and perhaps the King will spare you death." He didn't count on it, but there was always a chance.

Euron made his decision quickly. "What is dead may never die." He leapt, diving head first into the sea.

Notes:

And Davos the Sea Lion is born.

Battle was based off of the Battle of Lepanto.

New chapter comes in a week after 30 comments.

Chapter 80: Playmates

Notes:

Hi all. Been busy so couldn't get this out yesterday. Here it is though and I hope you like it :D

Good news... in the near future I'm gonna be publishing a smutty one shot for the Empire of Ice and Fire universe. Hope y'all will check it out alongside my other GoT stories.

Enjoy.

Pushing open the wide doors - paneled with fine panes of glass rather than the solid wood other keeps would use - Stannis inhaled a breath of the fresh sea air in pure relief. The atmosphere inside was stifling, both literally and figuratively. Over four hundred guests pouring into the great hall of the Hightower to toast the great victory Davos Seaworth, Oberyn Martell, Wylis Manderly, and he won over the Greyjoys was already heating up, the event of the decade for the Reach and it attracted all sorts of social climbers.

Stannis couldn't stand any of them.

The victory was one to be celebrated, for sure. Over three fourths of the enemy fleet sunk, captured, or damaged, only the squadrons of Victarion Greyjoy and Maron Greyjoy having escaped in any sort of good order with minimal losses to their own fleet. Euron was missing, presumed dead but Stannis didn't hold his breath. Roaches always survived. But the highborns of Oldtown and the Honeywine were using the victory as an excuse to basically act like degenerates and claw their way up the social ladder. Prince Oberyn and his paramour were greatly enjoying themselves - Stannis was sure they had led two highborn ladies and a recently knighted lad out of the great hall for… whatever they were supposed to do together - but the hero of the hour Ser Davos…

The Baratheon knight had stopped counting the number of maidens and ladies that tried to seduce the victorious admiral when he ran out of fingers. Davos politely declined all offers being happily married, but the actions said less about him and more about the ladies of the Reach - supposedly pious and kind but just as immoral and scheming as they said those of Dorne or Lys were.

"Gods," he muttered, "How can anyone stand these flower knights?"

"You get used to it after a while," a light, airy voice said from behind him.

Stannis turned to see a beautiful young woman approach him in a dress of white and green. He knew this woman from when Lord Leyton welcomed them at the docks. "Lady Lynesse," he bowed. "Please forgive my words…"

She waved him off, giggling. "No, I prefer a person who has no airs. I may be used to the way things are done here, but that doesn't mean I like it." Lynesse was truly gorgeous. Her golden hair was silky smooth, skin the color of cream. Except for the light brown eyes and the hair just being a shade darker than silver, Stannis could've mistaken her for a Targaryen. "So you're the great Stannis Baratheon, hero of the Arbor."

He shrugged. "Ser Davos is a hero. I am but his subordinate."

"Modest, also something not seen much around here… and I suppose not at your home either." She raised an eyebrow, daring him to make the connection.

Stannis smirked in spite of himself. "My brother can be quite larger than life, I agree. Many are in disbelief that we are actually related."

"I can believe it. Blue eyes." She pointed to Stannis' face. "Azure blue, all Baratheons have such a color."

"Have you met many Baratheons?"

Lynesse gave a coy smile. "Only one, and he's standing before me." She giggled as he snorted. "But I read in a book that all Baratheons had blue eyes… a trait gotten from the Durrandons."

Now this surprised him. "You're well read?"

"A woman can be well read, Ser Stannis. While those…" She looked inside, seeing yet another maiden giggle at something Davos said. "...Friends of mine prefer embroidery to books, I am not one of them. My family's wealth allows me to live comfortably and have access to knowledge on interesting places and people, so why not indulge myself?"

Sounds like Lyanna Stark in a way. Another girl Robert's own notions would have suffocated. "And if a future husband of yours would rather you be the type of meek wife that embroiders and acts as a hostess?"

She didn't hold back. "I would hope a future husband of mine would seek to indulge both my lifestyle and my knowledge."

Reentering the great hall, Stannis saw that several of the tables had been refilled with desserts rather than the main courses of meat and stews and breads he had seen before leaving. How long was I gone? Apparently his conversations with Lady Lynesse were much longer than it felt.

"Ser Stannis." Lord Leyton Hightower approached him, a goblet in his hand and a merry smile on his lips. "The second of the Avengers of Oldtown," he proclaimed, a title he bestowed upon the admirals that faced the Ironborn. "Here I am having spent much of my toasting with Admiral Seaworth, but never with the man that actually faced Euron Greyjoy blade for blade."

His shoulder twinged from the blow of Euron's sword, bruise still quite painful - but Stannis refused to let anyone see his pain. "I am sure the bards shall exaggerate it to the level of the Battle Above the God's Eye, but I can offer my victory was to superior plate and the fact that a strategic mind doesn't automatically translate to being a skilled fighter."

Slapping his back, Leyton bellowed a laugh. "Modest, I see. Quite a rare trait to see from a Baratheon of Lyonel's line, especially since I knew Lord Lyonel in my younger years." My father was quite modest and loyal - led him to his death. But unlike Robert, Stannis knew enough tact to not speak up. His victory over Euron would do well to elevate House Baratheon after many embarrassments and he wouldn't dampen it. "I have known many clever men, and often they use such cunning to cover up for their lack of battle prowess."

It was then that Stannis noticed that the Lord of Hightower was leading him away from the other revelers. Not that he minded - the feast was rapidly approaching the stage where the guests would disappear to the privy in order to… clear their stomachs for further indulgence. Fuckin' Reachmen. But it did raise an eyebrow. "Is there something you wish to speak with me about, Lord Leyton?"

"Aye, Ser Stannis." The man's attitude changed, all business now. "We're both light in our cups, so I wish to discuss it here rather than elsewhere." Stannis could appreciate it - Lord Steffon always said to seize the initiative rather than wait for better ground. "I wish to unite our houses in marriage."

Stannis blinked. "What?"

"I've given much thought on this. Given what we've lost in the last decades our house needs fresh blood and marital strength, while I am sure after his Grace's ransom price following the Rebellion House Baratheon is in need of coin."

He couldn't deny that the last few years in Storm's End had been lean ones - especially counting Robert's profligacy - so he just refused to speak. "I presume you've already had a particular union in mind?"

Leyton did not mince words. "Your brother, Lord Robert, and my youngest daughter Lady Lynesse."

Eyes widening ever so slightly, Stannis felt like his knees were about to buckle. Lady Lynesse? Only moments before did they share their only conversation, but imagining the sweet maiden of the Reach being pawed at by his lecherous brother made him burn with jealousy. "I must decline, Lord Leyton, though House Baratheon is honored by your offer."

That, the Lord of Hightower hadn't expected. Surely perhaps a haggling over terms, or perhaps demands that his other daughters divorce their useless husbands so as to satisfy Robert's tastes - his sources indicated the Lord of Storm's End enjoyed women with very dark hair, and Lynesse was closer to blonde than black. But he never expected outright refusal. "Decline without even consulting your brother?" Leyton crossed his arms.

"Intuition on my part, but he would refuse as well. My brother is not desirous to marry any time soon and I am certain he would reject Lady Lynesse." Wishful thinking on Stannis' part, but he had no doubt Robert would deflower her once and then leave her bed cold and empty forever more.

"Perhaps another of my daughters…"

"I would sully myself if I demanded that they end their marriages." Things were progressing fast, but ultimately he had no choice. Lynesse… he fancied her, and there were worse things that could happen to him. "May I propose an alternate that would satisfy all of us, given I find your offer of union between our Houses to be beneficial to my House."

Leyton nodded. "Go on."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Let the betrothal be between Lynesse and me."

Blinking, Leyton was again surprised. "Do you fancy my daughter, Ser Stannis?"

Another steeled breath. "She is beautiful, Lord Leyton, I cannot deny. But that is not the reason." He thought quickly. "She and I are closer in age, and it is bound time for me to marry and I am amenable to it unlike my brother. Additionally, I am equally maritally inclined as Robert with the added advantage of holding naval experience." He hoped it would sound reasonable.

"You make good points," Leyton remarked. He stared at Stannis pensively before smiling. "Alright, I see no problems with it." Clapping his hands, he grabbed Stannis on the shoulder. "I have a feeling I've just accepted the true Lord of Storm's End as my goodson." Laughing, he moved to rejoin the feast.

Sheen of sweat covering his forehead, Stannis glanced over at where Lynesse sat with her sisters and friends, giggling over something or other. Her eyes, he noticed, were focused on him rather than any other - the pools of brown were warm. Friendly… inviting. But looks could be deceiving. Gods, what did I just land myself into? The dour, plodding Stannis Baratheon leaping into a decision out of pure passion. Robert would have bellowed out laughter at seeing this.

But shifting his gaze to where Selyse Florent looked at him, he was forced to ease on himself. Could have been vastly worse. Seeking out his captains, Stannis resolved that for tonight he would get completely drunk. Best to bury the swirling thoughts before they consumed him.

---

Today was a day for symbolism. Banners dotted the parade ground outside of Casterly Rock, the keep itself not spacious enough to hold such ceremonies. The black and red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen centered on the King and was therefore most prominent, but were outnumbered by the red-gold rearing lion of House Lannister that heralded most of the soldiers present. Also joining were the grey direwolf of House Stark, less numerous but equally respected as the birth house of the Queen.

Many eyes were on House Stark's colors that day, for the new Lady Cersei Stark wore them. Not a hint of her house colors apart from the golden hair styled to perfection graced her body, the form-fitting bodice and frilly skirts of her dress embroidered in greys and whites - direwolves stitched into them. Her new house, her new husband's house.

"I love that dress on you," Ned murmured into her ear.

Cersei shuddered at the subtext. "I am glad," she murmured, knowing he'd prefer stripping the dress off her much more. Part of her wished to just drag him back inside and have her way with him, but that wasn't in the cards. Ceremony had to be followed… and their son was there.

Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell. He looked the part too, outfit a miniature of his father. "I'm bored, papa," he complained. "Can we go inside?"

Ned laughed and lifted him up in his arms, not caring for propriety. "Why doesn't papa tell you about each of the banners arriving today?" That calmed Robb down, and made Cersei fall just a bit more in love with her direwolf.

The King and Lord Hand Tywin were already up to greet the first Lord Paramount, arriving with the vital reinforcements to make up the Army of the Seven Kingdoms. "Garlan!" Rhaegar laughed, embracing his former squire with a fatherly fondness. "You've become a man and I haven't been there to see it! Such deserves my apology."

Tall and dashing as any knight of the Reach, Garland Tyrell waved his King off with a chuckle. "You need not apologize, your Grace. I hold no ill will."

"And yet I hear you are a father to a beautiful young lady." Rhaegar draped an arm around his shoulder, smiling broadly. "Any more along the way?"

"Unfortunately not, your Grace. But I feel like the father to my younger brother and sister, so I have my hands full."

"With your grandmother living there, I should think so," Tywin stated blithely, drawing a chortle from the King. It wasn't often that the brooding King Rhaegar was so easily drawn to open amusement… let alone Lord Tywin Lannister.

With the Reach knights parading through, the next arrival was more formalistic. It wasn't until the Lord Paramount of the Vale reached Ned and Cersei was there some personal greetings. "Ned, you look like a fresh new man," Elbert remarked, shaking his hand. "And I believe I know who to thank for that." He eyed Cersei.

"She makes me a new man, Elbert. I couldn't be happier."

Elbert nodded. "Take care of this man, Lady Stark. He is like a brother to me."

"I will do my best, Lord Elbert." Something she heard came to mind. "I was informed about your wife. My condolences to your lost babe."

"Aye, it was a problem for Lysa." Lysa Tully… it says a lot that she is considered worse than her idiot sister. "She insisted that I deposit her at Riverrun with her father and brother, much as it was risky for her." More likely that he didn't wish to hear her whining, but Cersei kept her mouth shut. "In any case, I look forward to the hospitality of House Lannister. Ned. My Lady." He bowed in respect before moving on.

The Lord of the Eyrie was polite and charming… He also fathered bastards all over the Vale and likely would here as well, but unlike some Elbert knew how to be discreet.

Others… did not. "Cousin!" If there was one greeting that all members of the royal household wished to forego as Robb wished, it was this one. Leaping off his massive stallion, Robert Baratheon looked like a mountain of muscle and steel in the full plate armor of his ancestor Lord Lyonel, Stormbreaker slung across his back. He strode over to Rhaegar, enveloping him in a bear hug that nearly had Arthur and Benjen skewering him. "It truly begins, cousin! The sport of Lords and Kings!"

"Robert," Rhaegar said without emotion. Not since the ransom price was paid did the King pay him any heed, the image of the man who tried to steal his beloved Lyanna and cave his chest in with Stormbreaker not leaving Rhaegar's mind. And yet… he looked absolutely eager and friendly. Almost too friendly. "I am glad you brought your banners to this fight." He had the largest and most battle-hardened host, so much as all of them wished to… none could antagonize him.

"Are you kidding?! I've been looking forward to this for moons now! Just as mi'father and yer'father would've wanted! Cousins marchin' off to war together, cavin some squid heads and burnin' the fuckers to the ground!"

"I'd hope that the burning would be saved for after Lannisport is liberated," Tywin mused.

A snort from Robert. "Classic lion. When in a bind, call in the dragons and stags." While Robert laughed and Rhaegar tried not to look awkward and uncomfortable, Tywin was expressionless.

Which Cersei knew to be when he was the most angry and humiliated. Not a slight he'd forget, though it might be decades before he exacted his payback.

Rhaegar quickly gravitated to greeting the lesser lords that had arrived with their men, from Baelor Hightower to Selwyn Tarth to Yohn Royce. Garlan and Elbert went with him, but Robert gunned for the one man he was most itching to see. "Ned! Ya' ol' son of a bitch!" The bear hug was even tighter, lifting Ned off the ground to contemptuous stares from many of the northmen… and Cersei. "It's finally happened, thank the seven! You and me, brothers in battle!"

"Aye, Robert," Ned choked out, trying to catch his breath from the bone-crushing hug. "Just like when we were little."

"Cept now the squids we fought are real now. Just remember, you slash, I crush." He punched Ned's arm, laughing. "And I 'ere you got married again. Never figured you got 'round with the ladies." Robert gave him a lecherous grin.

"Um, yes." Ned took Cersei by the hand. "My bride, Lady Cersei Stark."

"A pleasure, Lord Baratheon," Cersei lied. The only good things she could say about Robert was that he was pledged to fight the ironborn and that he didn't reek of booze that moment.

Robert regarded her with an… appreciative eye. "First that Tully beauty and now the Light of the West." He slapped his knee. "I should get tips from you now, Ned. I must say your quality is top notch." His eyes were zeroed in on Cersei's breasts while he said it. "And yah didn't waste any time either?" Robert crouched in front of Robb. "And who might you be, little one?"

The scion of two proud bloodlines, Robb held himself straight. "Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell."

"Ah, so Rhaegar legitimized your bastard son?" Cersei wanted to slap him, but Robert squeezed Ned's shoulder. "He's a strong one, Ned even if he's all lion. Raise him well, and maybe we can unite our families as should've been." The lioness' eyes widened. Over your dead corpse.

"I shall endeavor to raise him right, Robert," Ned replied, saying nothing else. It took all of her willpower not to glare at her husband.

At least until they were snug in their chambers for the night. "How were you even friends with that pig?" If the servants once had any ill words for Cersei sharing a bed with Ned during their betrothal none voiced it. Now that they were married, there was no need to even give a second thought to what others would think. While other ladies her age would've blushed madly when Malera or Jeyne giggled at a particular loud moan she gave during the night, Cersei merely smiled proudly. Everything with Ned regarding their private lives was enjoyable… even the simple act of undressing before bed.

His friendship with Robert Baratheon was the notable exception.

Unfastening the straps of his leather cuirass, Ned sighed. "Cers…"

She sat at her vanity, brushing out the braids and tangles in her golden locks. "No, he's atrocious, Ned. How in the seven hells can someone so kind and honorable ever have anything to do with the likes of him?"

"I grew up with him under Lord Arryn since we were boys only able to play at being men. He was my only companion during those early days." The boys of the Vale, calling him a 'northern barbarian," other than the busy Lord Jon it was often only Robert that would grant him companionship. Ned, honorable as Cersei said he was, couldn't set aside such childhood loyalty even with all that had happened. It wasn't how Jon raised him to be. "He's not so bad once you get to know him."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, working on a particularly painful knot in her hair. "I very much doubt it."

Hearing her scoff, he simply sat and toed off his boots. "Please Cers, give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Like you did when he nearly raped your sister?" she countered back, setting down her brush and standing. Once she turned and saw the anguish on his face from that bitter memory, Cersei immediately regretted the biting tone... but not that she said it. "He did that twice, if I recall, and almost killed the King simply due to the fact she chose his Grace over him."

Ned looked like he just bit into an unripe lemon. "That's not the Robert I grew up with." Sure, he had been a gregarious lecher, but never once did he force himself on anyone. The simple fact that the maids and peasants were not in a position to resist a handsome, young highborn didn't register to the honorable Ned Stark - it did to Cersei. "I'm sure he's gotten better since, given the peace."

Cersei offered him a wan smile, walking forward and merely kissing him on the cheek. "You are a noble man. Eddard Stark." She journeyed to her side of the bed, slipping out of the woolen robe. Leaving her in simply a thin shift of red silk Cersei enjoyed wearing for him to bed. "There are few in this world who would be so loyal to their friends and family and I love that you are one, but thank the gods you have me now."

Blinking, distracted by how beautiful his wife looked with her curves accentuated so sultrily by the red fabric, Ned took a moment to process her words. "And what does that mean?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Slipping under the thick covers, Cersei leaned forward - letting her cleavage on full display for him. "You are strong and true, my wolf, but I'm afraid you're still blind to how the game of thrones truly is." Catelyn Tully was an idiot and unable to be the wife Ned needed. Cersei didn't plan on being an idiot or shortsighted - she was a Stark now and she would ensure House Stark prospered.

Ned took no offense at that, he knew it was true. "You are a more comely version of your father, that is true." He slipped off his tunic, leaving his chest bare for her eyes.

She did not bother to hide her ogling. "I dare think I am a bit more sentimental than my father, and far warmer as well." Cersei opened her arms, inviting him into the bed.

"Thank the gods you love me, Cers." He gave a false scowl, pulling back the covers to step in. "Had we been opponents in the game, I have no doubt you would have had me executed the second I wronged you."

"Executed…" Cersei frowned at the thought. He was teasing, but the image was painful. "No, of course not." She made herself smile, shifting to happy thoughts. "You have too many uses to get rid of you as such." She runs a hand down his side, meaning obvious.

"Oh?" Ned leaned in, beginning to kiss her neck. "And what use am I to you?"

"Ohhh," she moaned. "You… you keep me from becoming my father." Cersei purred, his hands moving up her sides until they cupped her breasts over the silk. "You… you gave me love… a son… a reason to live and be happy."

The smile was now back on his face. "And you keep me from proving right the saying about the starks in the south." Ned peeled down the straps of her shift, exposing the ample chest and rosy nipples to his attention. "You bring light into my life, my lioness." He sucked one into his mouth, feasting as a starving babe would.

"Perhaps," she smirked, trying not to collapse into a lustful mess at his attention. "Though by now your sister is… mmmm... largely seen as, oh yes... among the dragons."

"That she is," Ned chuckled against the nipple, switching to the other. "And hopefully we will stand proud alongside them as their most loyal bannerman."

Unable to resist his attentions any further, Cersei grabbed his head and yanked him up to hers. "Stand later, my Lord. Please your wife instead." He said nothing, only kissing her deeply. His underclothes were quickly crawled off, while Ned rather enjoyed slipping the silk nightgown off her supple body. Cersei sometimes wondered why she wore them - they always ended up pooled on the floor sometime during the night

Not that she complained.

He had her pinned beneath him, too impatient to bother with the slow lavishing of attention Ned normally partook in. Yes… "Please, Ned. Take me hard." Cersei wanted it hard, wanted to be dominated and beaten down by her strong wolf. She reached down to claw at his rear, urging him forward… "Ahhhhh, yes!"

Ned made her mewl into his mouth as he entered her. A feeling neither of them would ever truly lose reverence for. "You're mine, Cersei," he growled, a wolf in every respect. "Never…" A grunt as he thrust hard, bottoming out inside her. "Letting… you go."

"No… I couldn't… fuck… live without you…" No further words left Cersei's lips, the lioness losing herself to the pleasure.

---

Huffing, Jon let out an exhale of breath and crossed his arms. "Muna, this is boring. Why do I have to be here?" They were both seated upon the Iron Throne, hearing petitions being brought forth to the crown.

He was irritated, but Elia couldn't help but smile down at him. When her little Baelon was miffed, he acted just like Lya did and the Queen loved him for it. "Oh, pup. This will be your duty as a King, and a Prince of Dragonstone before that. Hearing the cases of the petitioners that come before the court."

"But what's the point? Hand can do that. I wanna train and fight and be a dragon like kepa! I wanna see the world that n'cle Aemon reads about with us."

A sigh. Rhaella's told him too many stories about great dragonlords while Aemon's filled his head with a sense of adventure with his books. Elia was glad her son was blossoming into a proud dragon and honing his intellectual curiosity, but to be a good ruler one had to be adept at the game… however boring it was. "My son, you often see kepa sparring or riding or going on trips around the city, no?"

Jon nodded vigorously. "He's the best King."

Again, her boy simply was perfect to Elia. "He is, my love." She hugged him tightly, kissing his cheek to which he giggled - Baelon was still at that stage where he craved a mother's sweet affections and Elia wasn't about to take it for granted. "But oftentimes, he spends his days mostly doing this. Hearing petitioners and sitting in meetings of the Small Council."

He looked shocked, purple eyes widening. "Really? But it's so boring."

"In all honesty, your father thinks so too. But he is the King and he does what he must for the good of the Realm." Kissing his brow, Elia cupped his cheek. "As the future King, the safety of every man, woman, and child in the Seven Kingdoms will be on your shoulders, my beautiful boy. Can you handle that?'

Staring at her for a moment, face initially overwhelmed, Jon took a deep breath and nodded. "Aye, muna. I'll make you and kepa proud."

You already do, sweetling. Elia ruffled his raven curls and leaned back on the Iron Throne. "Bring in the next petitioner."

Barristan motioned to the guards at the doors and they hauled them open just enough for the two new figures to walk in. "Lady Mel," Jon exclaimed, recognizing one of them. Elia stiffened - she owed the red priestess everything, but there was still an… unsettling feeling she endured whenever she was close. But she trusted her nonetheless, and the children liked her. "Who's this?"

Melisandre smiled at Jon, curtseying. As always, she looked gorgeous, exotic looks swathed in a crimson dress that hugged her curves and showed off plenty of cleavage. This wasn't new, she was a fixture of the Targaryen court. What drew varying levels of interest was the other woman with her. Dressed similarly in a long-sleeved dress of darker crimson, this woman had jet-black hair and looked… innocent. "Your Graces," curtseyed Melisandre. "Allow me to present Kinvara, the newly elected High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. The Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, and First Servant of the Lord of Light."

Studying her, Elia knew the position conveyed much influence without much actual authority. Not someone she could afford to antagonize in any case. "I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, Lady Kinvara."

"The pleasure is mine, your Grace," replied Kinvara. Her voice was childlike, adding to the allure of innocence. Elia didn't buy it. This woman is dangerous if one is her enemy. Her opal eyes set on Jon. "And this is Crown Prince Baelon. Melisandre has said many things about you, of how strong a King you will be."

He stood straight, acting composed. "I will be a King like my kepa."

"King Rhaegar the Sunrise Dragon. I cannot think of a more honorable royal to model yourself on." Approaching the Iron Throne, Barristan moved to block her but Elia waved him off. This was… intriguing. Kinvara ascended the steps, kneeling in front of the young Prince. "In my city, we are ruled by a collection of kings that do not compare to the wisdom of your father."

"You mean the tri… tri… tria…"

Kinvara smiled. "The triarchs, aye. Smart as well as handsome and dutiful." She pinched his cheek. "The Seven Kingdoms shall be in good hands."

"What do you wish of us, Lady Kinvara?" Elia was growing impatient. This woman was in no way the innocent beauty she portrayed herself to be. "Our time is quite precious and Lady Melisandre's sponsoring of your claim only affords a certain amount of consideration."

She stood and eased herself down the dias, impressed at Elia's grace and power. "You truly have grown from your frail past, my Queen."

"My muna isn't frail. Take that back."

Kinvara bowed. "Forgive me, my Prince. I mean no offense."

"Your Grace," Melisandre cut in. "The Red Temple requests your authorization in order to build a temple on Westerosi soil… namely in King's Landing."

"In King's Landing?" Lord Varys, behind the throne, stepped out. "I must advise against this, your Grace. Tensions with the Faith are strained enough without inviting the Red God to our capital any further than…" He looked at Melisandre. "We already have."

"But the old gods are here," Jon countered, looking at the Master of Whisperers. "How is this different?"

Varys smiled at the Crown Prince. "There were followers of the old gods in Westeros since before the Andals. The followers of the Red God… are newcomers. We cannot harm the fabric of our society, especially with tensions as they are. Besides." He looked at Kinvara. "They are notorious for misreading prophecy for their own gain."

"Everything is the will of the Lord of Light, Lord Varys. But men and women make mistakes. I do not feel myself omnipotent or above being judged by the will of the Lord and of his champions… nor the champions of his wife."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "His wife? Your Lord has a wife?"

"Oh yes, I do believe you are familiar with her." Kinvara smiled sweetly as Elia's eyes widened. Stunned that she knew that.

Clearing his throat, Baelon spoke up. "There's plenty of land south of the city, muna… could they build their temple there?"

Brought out of her surprise, Elia parsed through Jon's words. "Why my son, you are wise beyond your years." He smiled widely at the praise of his mother. "Then it is settled, you shall be permitted to build a temple on the south bank of Blackwater Rush, outside the city limits."

"But your Grace…" began Varys.

"I have made my decision, my Lord," Elia cut him off. "It is so decided."

He sighed. "Of course. I live to serve." Varys bowed and stepped back.

Shaking her head, Elia looked at the two Red Priestesses. "Naturally, I would expect someone the crown trusts to be the Head Priest."

"You are correct, my Queen. I am planning to appoint Thoros of Myr, but given his… let's just say adventures and eccentricities." Kinvara smirked, glancing over to Melisandre. "I am certain that Lady Melisandre will be truly in charge… if that is acceptable?"

She is officially the spiritual advisor to the crown, so she can't hold official rank in the Red Temple. Elia was pleased at Kinvara's candid attitude. "That is. Thank you."

At that moment one of the side doors opened and the patter of feet echoed off the tile. "Jon! Jon!" There was Princess Daenerys, bounding towards the Iron Throne… only to stop at seeing what was going on.

"Dany!" Jon beamed. "Look, I'm being like kepa!" Modest as he was, he always liked showing off in front of Dany.

"Forgive me, your Grace," Ser Jaime trotted in behind the Princess. "She insisted on finding Prince Baelon."

Kinvara inspected her curiously, eyes intense and stilling Dany where she stood. "Melisandre? Who is this darling creature?"

"She's Dany," Jon proclaimed.

"Princess Daenerys, Light of Wisdom," Melisandre addressed her High Priestess. "Daughter of Dowager Queen Rhaella."

Her eyes sparkled with recognition. "So you are Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of the Mother of Dragons herself." Slowly she approached the young Targaryen, drawing wary looks from Ser Jaime. "Relax, Ser Jaime Lannister. I shan't harm her." With a gentle hand, she cupped the girl's cheeks.

Dany was uncomfortable, looking to Jon on the Iron Throne before shifting back to Kinvara. "Who are you, then?"

"I am merely an instrument of the Lord's chosen, at the service of the House of the Dragon." Meeting Dany's gaze, Kinvara's eyes were almost spellbinding. "You have quite the future ahead of you, Daenerys Stormborn. I see broken chains... I see fire spreading… and I see something blackened by evil turned to light by your hand." As soon as it began, the moment stopped and Kinvara drew back. "You handle the spiritual studies of the royals, Melisandre?"

"Yes, Light of Wisdom," replied Melisandre. "Though her Grace the Queen Lyanna instructs them on the old gods and High Septon Meribald that of the Faith of the Seven."

Kinvara waved that off. "No consequence… just… keep an eye on this one. She, as her nephew, are destined for greatness." Turning back to the throne, Kinvara curtseyed low. "Thank you my Queen, my Prince. The Red Temple will always be grateful."

"Your Graces," curtseyed Melisandre right afterward, herself following her High Priestess out the doors… and leaving everyone a bit shellshocked.

Luckily, Daenerys had enough spirit for all of them. "Nephew, nephew." She bounded to the Iron Throne, taking Baelon's hand in his. "Auntie Elia, can Jon and I go play in the gardens?"

Jon looked eagerly at his mother. "Kessa, muna. Can we?"

Chuckling, Elia put aside thoughts of the Red Priestesses and pinched both their cheeks. "Just be back in time for lunch in the dining hall. Alright?" When they both nodded, she let them run off. Smiling widely as they laughed together.

---

"You're bringing her to ruin."

"We're making sure the pup is raised properly."

"She hasn't prayed in days, she's neglecting her lessons…"

"I've taught her every day. What are you speaking of?"

"Not that balderdash, her proper lessons. How can she be a true lady without them?"

"Lord Stark entrusted me with her care. You may instruct her at the times I have designated, but otherwise she is mine to care for."

"I knew this cursed land would bring ruin to Lady Catelyn and her progeny."

While few thought of children to be perceptive, they hadn't met Sansa. She heard it all, understood… most of it, at least the tone and gist. The arguments, morning, noon, and night they dragged on between Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, and Septa Mordane over how she needed to be cared for since poppa left. Old Nan would comfort her with stories and tasty dishes, taking her to see her little brother, but Sansa was lost.

Poppa, please come back. She wanted to be held by him again, wanted to meet her long-lost brother spoken of in his letters. But as the weeks turned to moons, there was no sign of him returning and it was taking its toll on the redheaded girl. Not as vibrant as she once was, Sansa was quiet, withdrawn, spending most of her time in her room looking at the picture books her aunt Lya had sent from King's Landing for her nameday.

The only balm Sansa Stark had was imagining herself the beautiful maiden or radiant Queen displayed by the images, loved by her family and cherished by a dashing prince. An escape, it was. She didn't fully realize why she felt better looking at them, but they were an escape.

Such cloistering worried the household. Mordane demanded more time in the sept and some was given to her to cease her whining. Old Nan thought different, and so brought her to the godswood. "Run along, sweetling," Old Nan said, smiling at the tiny lady. "Go on, we'll be right'ere when yer' done."

Looking up at her and Rodrik, who allowed a smile of his own on his normally taciturn expression, Sansa nodded and ambled through the snow to the heart tree. Already, a calm she never fully understood washed over her. Warmth from the hot springs, but also something innate. Something spiritual.

'We are the blood of the wolf, pup. The gods have a special love for us.'

She trembled, not from the winds that still hit her with tendrils of freezing cold but from the loneliness. Nothing was the same since poppa left. All the love was sucked from their home - not just for her but for her baby brother as well. Sansa always loved going into the godswood with her poppa, but with him not here she had to face it alone.

Even for something as calming as this, it was heady.

Teeth chattering, Sansa thought back to the lessons her poppa taught her. Lessons she memorized even as she stumbled and mashed up the prayers her mother and Septa Mordane tried to drum into her - oftentimes with a smack on the knuckles from the latter. Kneel, eyes kept low before the gods… forehead and palm resting against the bark…

Speak true, and never break a vow before the old gods.

"Please," she murmured, barely audible. "Please protect my poppa, my little brother, and my brother I never met. I's your forever servant if you do." Sansa meant it, swearing herself in her youthful innocence to the old gods in order to protect her family…

When her eyes opened, Sansa gasped, nearly falling on her bum. The pristine whiteness of the godswood was gone, replaced by something different. A field of green grass, chilled from the wind off a big lake… was that an ocean? Sansa hadn't ever seen one before, but it was massive.

"Who're you?"

Blinking, Sansa turned to see two children - children her age. Behind them was a large black castle, taller than Winterfell and more ominous. More imposing. "I… I's Sansa," she replied, slightly wary of the strangers.

One of them was a boy. He looked a bit like her poppa, but with eyes the color of the purple flowers in the glass gardens. Sansa was mesmerized by them. "Hi Sansa, I'm Baelon." He smiled at her innocently. "Wanna play?"

She did, Sansa did want to play. Mordane long kept her cloistered and away from the 'dirty smallfolk boys,' and so she was starved for friends. But poppa always warned her about the danger of those she did not know. "Um… I don't know…"

The other, a girl, giggled and skipped to Sansa - boldly grabbing her arm. "Come on, Sansa." She was even more strange and mesmerizing than the boy, than Baelon. While he had the same Northern features as her poppa, she was completely different, hair the color of fresh ice and eyes the same sparkling violet as Baelon's. "I'm Daenerys, and you can be Rhaenys."

"Rhaenys?"

Daenerys regarded her curiously. "You know, silly, the conquerors. I'm Visenya and Baelon is Aegon. You're our Rhaenys."

"Oh." Sansa knew the story of the Targaryen conquerors. "Sure!"

It was honestly the most fun Sansa had in her life… apart from when she spent time with her poppa, never did she giggle or smile more than with Baelon and Daenerys. "You're the best Rhaenys," Baelon declared, and for some reason it made Sansa quite proud.

Hugging her, Daenerys giggled with a radiant smile. "Best playmate ever."

For the first time since poppa left, Sansa felt at peace and truly happy…

Only for it to end as abruptly as it began, brought back into the godswood. Sansa noticed it and immediately felt a hole in her heart. She whimpered, falling back onto the snow.

"My Lady?" Rodrik picked her up and placed her on her feet. "Are you alright?"

Biting her lip, Sansa fought tears and nodded. "I's alright." Something in her said neither of them would understand… she didn't really understand herself. "Can we go in? I'm hungry."

Nan kissed her forehead. "I'll make you that stew yeh' like. Ow's that sound?" It did sound good - maybe the stew would help take Sansa's mind off of her departed poppa and the new playmates she already missed… at least for a little while.

---

"The last of their ships left harbor today." Rhaegar pointed at the Lannisport docks, arranged on a well-drawn map of the great city of the Westerlands dating to when Tywin and later Tyrion oversaw the reconstruction of the city's sewer systems. "They're not retreating, we're gonna have to root them out house by house."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Alone with the King, Lord Hand Tywin Lannister pushed back a cowlick of his thinning golden hair - rapidly turning to grey. His stamina and physical prowess weren't the same since he last put on the pin of the Hand when Aerys called him, but he found the role was quite easy to slip back into. He didn't forget all the tricks, and having a King not inflicted by madness and bitterness truly simplified matters. "Varys' whispers have put Victarion Greyjoy back in the Iron Islands. His surviving vessels are all fast craft. If they want to pick up their survivors, they will do so quickly."

Rhaegar and Tywin were alone in the war room of Casterly Rock, going over last minute preparations. They had ample men, but were not going to have them uselessly slaughtered like the first attempt to relieve Lannisport. "They still cannot give up Lannisport to us so easily. It's their last foothold on the mainland and their leverage over us."

"We'll need to wrench it from them." As 'Sheild of Lannisport,' every day the city languished was a day he was humiliated. "I'd advise we avoid the main thoroughfares."

"What, why? If we're going to capture the city, best move quickly."

"They'll expect that, your Grace, but we have the advantage in manpower so I suggest we use it." Tywin pointed his finger at the map, forcing in… following with a scythe cut with his other finger. "Prince Rodrik can't defend the entire city."

Visualizing the movements within his head, Rhaegar nodded slowly. "If you are at the vanguard, where shall I be?"

Tywin's smile was slow and quite promising. "Delivering unto them your House words." Not long after, the King matched Tywin's smile.

A King could not afford to be stuck in the moment. Rhaegar had seen this first hand as well as from his studies of history. Jaehaerys I and Viserys I had ushered in massive prosperity through ensuring peace within the Realm, but the former hadn't seen the consequences of his callousness towards his children while the latter's sentimentality and exact opposite tack from his grandfather unwittingly sowed the seeds of the Dance of Dragons. It was up to him to imagine things many steps ahead, which battered Rhaegar's mind as he walked through the halls of Casterly Rock, escorted by Ser Arthur.

"You're brooding particularly hard, your Grace," Arthur said bluntly. "Anything you wish to unburden yourself with?"

Another facet of Kingship… trust was both fungible and had to be closely guarded. The list of people that Rhaegar could absolutely trust was small, but Arthur was one of them. "The Iron Islands, Arthur. How many times have we or the other Lords of Westeros have fought them only to see the Iron Way still adhered to?"

The Sword of the Morning pursed his lips. "More times than I can count. House Targaryen ended its periodic invasions of the mainland till now, but that can be corrected. Fire and Blood, as Aegon did to Black Harren."

"Still not that simple, Arthur. I could kill the Greyjoys and elevate someone else, but the Iron Way would never end. I need to stop it, bring them into the fold… but how?"

"You could take stock of how the North was truly integrated into the Realm." Rhaegar looked at his loyal guard, the man that had been with him and his family through thick and thin. "Sure, the Lords of Winterfell paid their taxes and once contributed troops, but it was always apart from the rest… till you married her Grace. Now, the Northmen are all over the place." Including my bed. Gods, Arthur missed Dacey and their little one, the lights of his life.

Catching his friend's homesickness, Rhaegar chuckled lightly before continuing. "What do you propose I do then?"

Arthur shrugged. "Find a way to bring them into our fold rather than annihilate them and hope for the best."

"It's too late for the sons of Quellon Greyjoy."

They turned the corner into the residential wing. "I wasn't referring to them, your Grace."

Pondering Arthur's advice, Rhaegar noticed Ned Stark's personal guard standing outside the nursery. On duty with sword and spear, but preoccupied with something else… or namely someone else, a pretty brunette that seemed to hang onto his every word. "Well, do you consider this a proper protection of the Warden of the North and his family?" Rhaegar barked, breaking the couple out of their shared laughter.

Jory Cassel, initially planning on telling the busybody Lannister guard where to put his tongue, paled at the sight of the King… as did his companion Malera. They both fell to their knees. "Your Grace…"

Sharing a look with Arthur, the kingsguard merely rolling his eyes, Rhaegar bit back a grin. "Queen Lyanna and the royal family were attacked in the Red Keep, and you would risk the same happen to Lord Eddard because you can't keep your cock in your pants?"

Close to pissing himself in fear, Jory kept his head down, trembling. "Forgive me, your Grace."

"We were just talking," Malera murmured, equally fearful. "Lady Cersei dismissed me for the night and I just wished for a pleasant conversation."

Getting a thump in the arm from Arthur, Rhaegar decided he had tortured the poor youths enough. "Get up, you two," he stated. They complied. "I can see she's rather beautiful, Cassel, so I understand. Feel free to speak with her but make sure to keep vigilant."

Jory gulped. "I shall, your Grace. I promise."

"Good, now may I have entry?" Jory scrambled to let in the King.

"You're sadistic," Arthur quipped under his breath.

"Lya always said I brood too much," was his whispered response.

The scene made him smile. Ned was lying on the ground, laughing with his son as he helped the boy play with a series of war figurines and direwolves and lions upon the floor. Cersei was seated and watching it with her own delight, as did Benjen perched on the wall. He was dressed casually, but still held a blade at his waist.

When they saw him enter, Benjen snapped to attention and bowed. "Your Grace."

Cersei rose to curtsey, but Rhaegar waved her off. "No, goodsister, you are family. No need to be so formal when it's just us." Unbuckling his own sword belt and handing it to Arthur, Rhaegar crouched right next to his goodbrother and nephew. "Ned, you look like you're having a lot of fun."

"Stark and Lannister protecting Westeros from the Andals," Robb chirped, miming a lion and wolf mauling a man-at-arms.

Looking at Ned with a glint in his eye, the Lord of Winterfell shrugged. "House Lannister is discovering its First Man roots again. What can I say?"

"You need not say anything, my love," Cersei interjected. "You are rightfully proud."

Rhaegar grinned. "Oh, she's good for you, brother." It felt to him that Ned had finally obtained a happy family as he had… all that was left was Sansa and Rickard fully bonding with their new stepmother. Ned didn't have the luxury that I had, Rhaenys bonding almost instantly with Lya before our marriage.

"Uncle?" The King found Robb looking quizically at him. The same green eyes as his Lannister uncle - the elder uncle specifically.

"Yes, nephew?" This child was Lya's blood, so Rhaegar felt a bit of affection for him.

"Do I have cousins my age? In the Red Keep?" He bit his lip. "Momma and Poppa say I do."

He could see it in his head, the heir to Winterfell as close to his brood as Orys Baratheon was to the three Conquerors. House Stark and House Lannister forever bound together with House Targaryen, shaping the realm together. "You do, nephew. Two, as a matter of fact, only a few moons behind you in their namedays - if you count those that are a little older or younger than you, then three others of my line and one from your uncle Jaime's." Myrcella was by blood a Lannister as well as a Targaryen, in spite of holding the latter name.

Robb looked intrigued… and hopeful. "Can you tell me about them?"

Rhaegar nodded. "My son Baelon, the Crown Prince. He's just as much a budding fighter as you are, and I know you'd be good friends." Jon had his siblings and Artie Mormont if he needed friends, but Rhaegar wished him not to be cloistered. He needed to know plenty of young lords and knights his age, able to call on many to serve and give counsel. Who better to start with than his blood cousin? "And my sister, Daenerys. She's your age as well and very spirited."

"Sister?" Robb seemed confused. "But… you're old."

Sharing a look with Ned and Cersei, it didn't take much silence before all three of them burst into laughter.

Notes:

So Sansa, Jon, and Dany finally met for the first time in a manner of speaking. Instant connection, no?

Jon and Dany are continuing to be cute together, though Kinvara gives a heady prophecy.

Stannis and Lynesse - thoughts?

Robb is adorable, while Robert is the same as always.

New chapter comes in a week after 30 comments. Big battle scene.

Chapter 81: The Kraken Slayer

Notes:

Hi all. My favorite chapters are the battle ones, and here we have a battle one!

Big shoutout to my friend WhiteDragonWolf. He's going through some health issues and is standing strong. This chapter is for you, bud. Keep on kicking ass!

Good news... in the near future I'm gonna be publishing a smutty one shot for the Empire of Ice and Fire universe. Hope y'all will check it out alongside my other GoT stories.

Also, I'll be publishing on Ao3 a short modern au of Jonerys... nothing dramatic, just some fluff. More details to come.

Enjoy.

He still had fight left in him.

A veteran of many battles, Lord Tywin Lannister's bravery had been proven - his blade having tasted blood on more than one occasion. He had nothing to prove, not to himself and certainly not to the world. The world trembled and quaked at his reputation, the smoldering wreckage of Tarbeck Hall and the flooded caverns of Castamere giving testament to that very fact.

No, he did this because he could. Because his sense of honor as the Lord of the Westerlands and duty as Shield of Lannisport mandated him to lead the assault to reclaim his city. Aye, Tywin Lannister had honor… or at least the intelligence to know what honor demanded. As the new Hand of the King, he couldn't afford to risk any blemish to his reputation.

And thus found him in the fight, drawing his sword back from a gasping Ironborn - wheezing for breath as blood filled his lungs. Join your drowned god, you little shit. "Brother!" It was Gerion. His own Valyrian Steel blade was covered in blood, the lad as brave as his pedigree insisted. "We're being bogged down in the streets, there's too many enemy crossbowmen."

Tywin dragged him till the cover of a large stone house provided safety. All around them, Lords and Knights led the heavily-armored men-at-arms into the chaotic fighting. "Return fire with our own archers."

"We can't. They're too well entrenched." Gerion winced as he saw a bannerman fall to the ground, crossbow bolt sticking out his neck. "We need to send in the reserve."

"Fine, do it." Tywin was tired of delay. "Send them here."

Gerion blinked. "The Tully's are just as bogged down as we are…"

"Send them here!" Tywin roared. "They aren't assaulting the thickest defenses. Make haste, brother or we all die."

Clicking his heels, Gerion put aside his normal penchant for insubordination and cheeky comebacks to agree. "Yes, my Lord." A Prickly bunch, the children of Tytos Lannister, but in battle they all knew their roles.

Nothing was taken to chance. The forces of the Westerlands, eager to reclaim the great city of their homeland from their traditional enemies, had marched towards the walls of Lannisport with their weapons held proudly and banners flown high. Tywin personally had minstrels among the columns of men playing the Rains of Castamere as a psychological tactic. It reminded his men of their past glory, while doubly serving as a morale killer to the Ironborn. They faced not fools or tourney knights, but a man that had single-handedly destroyed houses that had been around for centuries.

Most of them were likely hopped up on hallucinogenics anyway, but any advantage would be taken.

The assault from the east was but the anvil in Rhaegar and Tywin's grand strategy, but against the vast majority of the remaining Ironborn they weren't going to make it a mere sideshow. Truly beginning with the roar of Rhaegar's dragon, Aegarax loosed a tongue of flame at the main gate leading out to the Goldroad. It disintegrated, leading to cheers from the men. More cheers followed as hidden caches of wildfire placed in the night were ignited by the dragon's second pass, blowing three massive gaps into the walls as Aegarax bathed the battlements in between with dragonfire.

They charged, assuming an easy victory after that… Tywin didn't, and his instincts proved right as Rhaegar departed for the main assault and the Westermen and Rivermen became bogged down in the brutal house-to-house fighting.

"Lord Gawen!" Dismounted, Tywin found a marching column of men-at-arms led by the Lord of the Crag. "Have you met the enemy yet?" A formality, since the men were clean and in good order.

"No, my Lord," Lord Westerling remarked.

Tywin drew his sword. "Then follow me, men of the Westerlands. Hear us roar!" The men, awed that they were personally being led by their infamous Lord Paramount, didn't need any more words. They collapsed their shields together in a tight formation, drew their swords and advanced proudly, charging towards the ragged lines of Ironborn intermixed with their own countrymen.

Things were being bogged down, but the blare of horns brought fortitude to the Westermen and fear to the Ironborn.

Crashing into the lines, the Stormlords joined the fight where it was the thickest.

Stormbreaker swinging around with the fury of the gales by which Durran Godsgrief so battled, Robert watched in satisfaction as the Ironborn's helm caved in. The face beneath was completely obliterated into a stew of blood, bone, and brain matter. "Kill every fuckin' one of 'em!" he bellowed to the men around him, laughing as he yanked back the warhammer and thrust it forward, impaling another reaver in the chest. Gods, he hadn't had this much fun in years!

Gritting his teeth, Tywin thrust the greatsword through the mail armor of the reaver. He took no pleasure in the man's screams, kicking the dying Ironborn to the ground and scrambling over the barricade - the most recent of the many his column had bled and crawled over in the furious streetfighting. Crossbow bolts and arrows flew through the air, whizzing on their deadly mission. Wet slaps rang out as they met their mark, screams following… some were only followed by a deathly silence, but the Lord of Casterly Rock couldn't be bothered.

Urging the men to follow him, marshal behind the newly forming shield wall that marched from this barricade to the next, Tywin caught a sight that made his blood boil. "Emmon, you cunt!" His goodbrother was slumped in a seated position against the barricade facing east - shielded from the arrows and bolts. Tywin marched to him. "Get your cowardly ass out of this and march forward…!"

Grabbing him by the shoulder, it was only then that Tywin noticed the crossbow bolt. It had buried itself through Emmon's eye. The helm he wore was untouched, so it hadn't exited… an almost perfect punching through the front but not the back. His slumping wasn't from cowardice, but from death.

Tywin had no reaction. Well Genna, looks like you're free of father's mistake.

---

The clouds of inky black and green smoke could be seen from all the way back in Casterly Rock. Feeling the blast wave blow against her, greater than the sea breeze. Her nails dug into the railing of her balcony, face pale and trembling from pure terror. Ned is there… Her beloved husband could be among those pyres reaching into the sky, burned beyond recognition.

Or decapitated…

Or riddled with arrows…

Or...

"You have to stop, niece." Cersei turned to see her Aunt Genna walk in, hands clasped over her dress. "You're going to drive yourself mad with worry."

"I can't help it." Biting her lip, Cersei looked back at the city. If she squinted, she could just make out the green blur of Aegarax, King Rhaegar's dragon. He flew across the city, releasing dragonfire on the malevolent invaders below him. It was… mollifying. "He's out there, aunt. He's fighting those scum and I'm not there to protect him."

Genna sighed. "You're not Queen Lyanna, dear niece. You know not the ways of warfare… once he returns to Winterfell, then you can provide the shield to him and make sure he cannot be manipulated or hoodwinked."

"That's if he returns." Suddenly, Genna smacked her head. "Ow! Aunt Genna."

"No, you stop that. No thinking of his death, it shan't happen."

She rubbed the back of her head. "You don't know that, aunt. Uncle Tygett is dead. Uncle Gerold was wounded. Ned could be the victim of some fucking reaver from some godsforsaken rock at the shit end of nowhere and I'll have lost him the moment I've gotten him back." Clasping her hands over her face, Cersei began to sob. We can't lose him again… I can't lose him again… The terror was like a vice over her heart and she hated it.

Cersei hated the thought of losing Ned even more.

Gently, Genna hugged her niece, silently letting a prayer leave her lips as the poor child cried in her shoulder. Don't take him, Stranger. For the first time in her life, Cersei was finally content with her lot. The sense of dread and bitterness that hung over her niece since Joanna died had finally dissipated thanks to the Lord of Winterfell. The direwolf had set her free, allowing Cersei the bliss of a happy life in the position she deserved to be in.

Gods, if she had married someone who shattered the illusion of her beauty and superiority - any other man would've battered her into bitterness… or been a doormat and allowed her ego to rise so high as to fall. Not Ned. Her goodnephew was the perfect man for Cersei, this Genna knew. Which is why she let Cersei cry it out.

When the sobs changed to mere trembling, Genna kissed her temple. "Would you like to see Robb in his chambers?" Her son always cheered her up. Silently, Cersei nodded, letting her aunt guide her. Jumping off the bed, the little lion cub - one both Cersei and Tyrion had named 'Lann' after the first Lannister - jumped off and scampered after his mother.

Robb was where Genna had said, seated upon the large rug in the middle of his chambers, playing with the wooden knights alongside young Podrick Payne. "See Pod!" the heir to Winterfell beamed. "This is Moat Cailin!"

"Where's that?" the other boy asked.

"In the North, silly," Robb giggled. "Brave Northern warriors stopped the Andals here. Theon Hungry Wolf."

Her son's innocence and adoration of his father managed to put a smile on Cersei's face in spite of her apprehension. Robb truly was the light of her life. "My son, come to momma." She opened her arms, but Lann scampered out, mewling at Robb.

The boy rose, smiling widely as he ran to the cub. "There you are!" He cuddled Lann in his arms - soon he'd be too large for even Cersei to cuddle, but for now the family indulged. "Momma!"

Cersei yanked them both up in her arms, burying her head in Robb's golden curls. "I love you, my sweet cub." She, him, and Ned, finally a family - the Ironborn could take this bliss away from her this day and it was driving her to tears.

Robb blinked, confused. "No cry, momma. What wrong?"

His sweet innocence only made Cersei tear up harder. Genna put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and it managed to steady her enough. "Your father, my son. He's fighting to free Lannisport from the Ironborn."

"He in battle? Like Kings of Winter?"

"Yes sweetling, just like them."

Robb reached up to cup her cheek. "No worries, momma. Poppa'll beat all the squiddy squids!" There was no reason to why he couldn't. Poppa is the best. No one can beat poppa!

"Don't forget your grandfather, dear nephew," Genna kissed Robb on the crown of his head. "Never pull the lion's tail if you don't have a plan to deal with the teeth." She darted forward, nibbling on his fingers.

Giggling, Robb squirmed, making Cersei smile again. "And n'cle Rhaegar. He burn the squids."

"Aye… that's true." She hugged him closer. "Thank you, my son. I love you."

"Love you too, momma."

Come back to us, Ned. I can't lose you again.

---

Throat parched and armor roasting in the sun, Ser Benjen Stark of the Kingsguard nevertheless urged his men forward. "To the hill, split into assigned positions!" Overall in command of half the northern host - assigned by both his goodbrother the King and his brother Ned, Benjen personally chose the Umber and Forrester men to lead into the next phase of the battle. It had been they he fought and bled aside to take the northern gate from the Ironborn and they would be the ones who would take the palace of House Lannister of Lannisport from them.

"You sure this'll work, Stark?" boomed Greatjon Umber. His own greatsword was caked in blood, but held high spirits.

"Aye, they'll never expect it." The hill upon which the palace was situated was fortified by hundreds of Ironborn. Archers and scorpions from the building could savage the mounted columns Ned and Elbert were leading towards the harbor itself, and thus needed to be taken.

This is for you, Lya. To avenge his family's near death. To avenge the near death of his brother in white, Lewyn Martell. Euron Greyjoy may not have been here, but any Greyjoy would do.

Climbing the hill, Benjen shouted for them to halt just before reaching the parade ground in front of the palace. Motioning for Greatjon and Gregor Forrester to follow him, Benjen shimmied to the lip of the summit and looked at the fighting breaking out.

"The fuckers are taking the bait!" boomed Greatjon, grinning like mad.

"Shut it," hissed Benjen. "Don't give it away!" He kept himself flat against the slope of the hill, watching with squinted eyes as the Ironborn charged at the Glover, Mormont, and Flint forces arraigned on the large parade ground ahead of the Lord's Palace. Outnumbered they were, and noted enemies of the Ironborn. The clash of the initial forces began, reavers smashing against the ragged shield wall that proved such a tempting target. Exactly what Benjen counted on. He rose, unsheathing his sword. "Forward! For the North!"

"For the North!" bellowed the Umber and Forrester men behind him, men-at-arms waving blades and flashing axes as they charged at the palace. On the other side, the hoots of the Bolton bannermen joined to complete the double envelopment.

Staggered as they were, the rear of the Ironborn managed to notice their enfilade and began to withdraw to the palace. Fuck! "Greatjon, close the trap. Gregor, with me!" The Northmen peeled off, half hurling themselves at the Ironborn mass itself while the rest raced for the palace. Roose Bolton visibly did the same, Benjen unable to deny his tactical sense.

If the Ironborn could bar the ironwood doors of the palace, then they could hold it for fucking forever.

Luckily, the Vale archers that were joined to the northmen were led by someone competent. The arrows arced above the crest of the hill to slam into the Ironborn, felling two dozen as the Umbers and Boltons completed the envelopment around nearly two-thirds of the withdrawing Ironborn. Benjen's legs pumped, white cloak caked in dust and his own plate chafing against his skin. Still he ran, lowering his body and running faster.

About half the remaining Ironborn had advanced through the gates of the palace before Benjen plowed into one of the reavers. The tackle knocked the man to the ground, sword quickly beheading him as Benjen swung around. Gregor Forrester thrust his blade into another, driving the corpse to the ground while the Forrester bannermen began to clash around the gate. "Don't let them enter!" the Lord of Ironrath bellowed just as three-dozen Boltons came at them from the rear. It would be a slaughter.

But Benjen was frantic - he saw a bigger threat. "Hold the gate!" he screamed. The Kingsguard threw himself into the doorway, ironwood crashing into him and wedging his body in between that and the stone. He gritted his teeth, blade deflecting a slash as five Ironborn tried to crush him, pushing hard on the door.

He nearly felt his shoulder dislocate against the pressure, but suddenly it slackened. Lord Gregor and his men were pushing from the back, a dozen men overcoming the Ironborn and throwing the door open. Benjen's entire body ached but he couldn't rest now. Howling a wolf-howl, he charged with his men through the large halls of the palace, marble floors where centuries of Lannister Lords had thrown sumptuous feasts now soaked with blood as the Northmen and Ironborn vented millennia of hatred against each other.

Parrying a blow, Benjen crashed his mailed fist into the jaw of his attacker. Teeth showered out of his mouth as the Ironborn collapsed - the Kingsguard twirled his blade and stabbed it downward, blood spurting on his cloak. He had just withdrawn the sword in another spray of blood when an axe crashed into his shoulder armor. Benjen screamed as the armor was split, leaping back.

"Stark!" A massive figure was holding the axe, a large golden kraken adorning his surcoat. Benjen immediately knew who this had to be. "Fitting I fight you."

The wound burned in pain, but the Kingsguard could already tell it was just a superficial gash - the armor had held in a manner of speaking. "Rodrik Greyjoy, you die today."

"What is dead may never die." Roaring, the heir to the Iron Islands swung his axe at Benjen's side, only just missing as the Kingsguard deflected the blade. Rocking back on his heels, Benjen righted his bastard sword and attempted to stab Rodrik in the belly. The Greyjoy batted it aside with the staff of his axe, swiping down. Adorned with a smaller edge, the back of the battleaxe sliced through the unprotected part of Benjen's shin. The direwolf grunted but reacted quickly, lashing out with a punch that caught the Greyjoy on his temple… just underneath the lip of the naval helm.

Pulling back as Rodrik staggered, Benjen could feel his own blood soaking his tunic and trousers, but with the fighting still intense around him and the Greyjoy heir out for blood he couldn't allow for any respite. Quickly and suddenly, Benjen lunged. He swung his blade upwards to deflect the axehead before reversing course, grabbing the hilt with both hands and hammering down on the Greyjoy's plate armor. It held, but forced the Ironborn to his knees from the sheer force and ferocity of the wolf knight.

Even hurling his axe up didn't faze Benjen's attacks, so Rodrik quickly unsheathed a knife from his belt and stabbed forward. Benjen cried in agony as it sliced through his side between his ribs, but the attacks didn't slacken. An instantaneous swing of the wrist missed the axe, reaching the unprotected join of the Ironborn's neck and shoulder.

Rodrik was the one screaming now, blood gushing over his armor as the Kingsguard's sword bit through more flesh and crushed bone beneath its steel. It was a fatal wound, no doubt about it, but Benjen wasn't about to take any chances. Yanking it back, he grabbed the Greyjoy's helm and ripped it off his face. "This is for my brother Lewyn," he hissed, stabbing… running Rodrik through from eye to the back of his head.

His wounds finally began to take their toll, Benjen collapsing to his knees and then to his back. "Ser Benjen!" Gregor Forrester was by his side. "Get a healer here!"

"Did… did we win?" Benjen gasped out, the pain starting to turn agonizing.

"Aye," Gregor responded. "They died or surrendered. The palace is ours. Already your brother and Lord Elbert are advancing to the docks."

Benjen nodded. "Good… very… good." His voice dropped to a murmur, unconsciousness overcoming him.

---

"Dracarys!"

Aegarax shuddered in midair, his neck rearing back even in the sharp dive. Wings extending about a third of the way to both bottom out and slow his attack, his maw glowed and a tongue of orange-red flame lanced out. Rhaegar could hear the screams of Ironborn below him being enveloped by his dragonfire.

"Boy, climb!" He yelled in High Valyrian. The harsh wind and cacophony of battle muffled his voice, but from Aegarax's roar and frantic wingbeats, he heard loud and clear. A few arrows arced towards them from the Ironborn archers below - trying to avenge their roasted comrades. The arrows missed their mark. The Sunrise Dragon was already too high.

Hair tied back into a northern-style bun, Rhaegar felt the wind in his face. He felt the glare of the sun and furious thumping of the heart. Gods, it was magnificent. War was hell, but this was the very epitome of wonder.

Rhaegar could see the vast expanse of the city below him, framed by the sparkling Sunset Sea and the massive spire of Casterly Rock in the distance. The clouds of smoke from Aegarax's wake reached into the sky like gnarled fingers and stung his nose, but otherwise it was a pristine day. As if the gods were blessing House Targaryen and condemning the Ironborn.

'Kepa, ships in the harbor.'

To all others, it sounded like Aegarax was roaring. Through their bond, Rhaegar understood him perfectly. "Let's teach them the true meaning of fire and blood. Dive!"

'My pleasure.' With another roar, he dove again.

Eyes tinging red from the speed, Rhaegar grinned viciously as the dragonfire set one ship after the other alight. This is for my children. The thought of his babes cowered under their bed, of his pregnant Queens fighting for their lives and those of his unborn children, it made the fire burn in his very blood. He wished no Ironborn to survive his wroth, for nothing left of the Iron Islands to even be graced with life.

There was the madness of his father, and then there was this. The heat inside of him that surged as Aegarax let out another get of flame. Was this what the great dragonlords of his family felt?

'I'm tired, kepa.' His thoughts were staunched as Aegarax whined, his wingbeats growing less powerful in ascent. 'The fire… I can't breath more.'

Initially concerned, the King remembered that Aegarax was still a small dragon. He hadn't reached adulthood, even the size small enough to constitute coming of age - let alone the size of Vhagar or Balerion the Black Dread. "Set me down, boy. I'll fight them on the ground."

'Be careful, I won't be able to face our family if you fall.'

"Don't worry about me." He stroked the dragon's neck as they made their descent, spotting the banners of the North marching past the Lannisport Palace, Targaryen three-headed dragon waving proudly from its tower. "I'll be just fine." Aegarax replied with a hoot.

A courtyard filled with troops made for a perfect landing place, Aegarax beating his wings and setting down. Rhaegar slid off, rubbing his dragon's neck before bidding him farewell. All around, men bowed their heads. "Your Grace."

Rhaegar recognized the bear sigil. "Jorah Mormont," he greeted their lord, who had removed his helm. "How goes the advance?"

"We're in the van, your Grace," Jorah answered, face covered in sweat and dust. "Lord Stark and Lord Arryn are mopping up the remaining defenses while we advance to the docks."

"Mnd if I join you boys?" Rhaegar asked the rest, drawing Blackfyre for the first time that battle. The men of Bear Island cheered their King, roaring as they charged back into the fray.

An older man was shouting orders at the docks, loading men onto the longships for quick flight - taking advantage of the departure of the King's dragon. But as the northmen arrived on scene, launching themselves at the desperate Ironborn. Half charged at the attackers with abandon, the rest stampeded for the boats. "Get into the attack you scum!" shouted the commander, drawing his blade. "Defend your fucking lives!"

Blackfyre swiped down, hacking off the swordarm of an Ironborn reaver. He screamed in agony with blood spurting out the stump. Rhaegar punched him in the face, grabbing his foe by the scruff of his collar and throwing him against another reaver, knocking him to the ground. The King was in the center of a mass of humanity, leading the Mormont men as they slammed into the packed Ironborn for control of the docks. He stabbed forward, skewering another berserker through the gut. He was clearly under the influence of the hallucinogenics, continuing to thrash at Rhaegar with a large knife. It streaked across his helm and left a large gouge in the metal, causing the King to kick him back. The Berserker roared and readied to charge but was halted as Rhaegar beheaded him.

"Do not let the boats leave!" Rhaegar bellowed, hacking off another arm. "Fire and Blood!"

"Fire and Blood!" screamed the northmen, more than willing to serve the husband of the She-Wolf, especially one that bled alongside them.

Suddenly, a flash of steel crossed Rhaegar's vision and he brought up Blackfyre to block. The bastard sword that clashed against it was shorter than expected, clearly a thrusting weapon. It's smoky blade and sharpness belied Valyrian steel. Only one Ironborn fought with Valyrian steel. "Lord Drumm." Rhaegar pushed forward, staggering the man. "Surrender now and I will spare your men!"

"Fuck you, Targaryen," was the reply from the bald Lord Dunstan Drumm. His bushy beard was drenched in blood, eager to add Rhaegar's to it. He thrusted forward, only for Rhaegar to dodge and swing Blackfyre - a move just barely parried.

Rhaegar readied another swing when his vision exploded in pain. "Argh!" An Ironborn had jammed a pike through the gaps in his shoulderplate, stabbing through skin and muscle. But before he could push it further another Valyrian steel blade sliced through the wooden staff.

Twirling Longclaw around, Jorah Mormont cut across the pikeman's chest, spilling blood. "Beside you, my King!" he told Rhaegar, advancing further.

Flank covered, the King pulled the pikehead from his shoulder. His arm could move so it wasn't broken, eyes narrowing with fury as he reengaged Lord Drumm. Hammering at his blade, the Valyrian steel held but the wielder was tiring. His many decades of life leaving his strength ebbing, even the greatest of warriors unable to withstand the equally skilled stamina of youth. Rocketing his knee up, Rhaegar collided it into the man's groin. Lord Drumm howled, bawling over from the blow and letting the King thrust up. Blackfyre ran him through, Drumm's Valyrian steel blade clattering to the wooden boards below.

At that moment, Northern reinforcements under the banner of Eddard Stark emerged onto the docks. Wolf howls piercing the din, they fell upon the Ironborn to relieve the exhausted Mormonts, turning a brawl into a slaughter.

Picking up the blade as Stark bannermen surrounded him - pushing back the Ironborn to leave him protected - Rhaegar sheathed Blackfyre and inspected the bastard sword of House Drumm. The infamous Red Rain, stolen long ago from a Lord of Castamere during a raid on the Westerlands. My son shall wield this. One of them, at least. Valyrian steel was wasted on Ironborn.

"My King, you must withdraw. The battle is won."

Looking at Jorah, Rhaegar nodded, allowing the Lord of Bear Island to escort him to the rear. "You fought well and saved my life, Lord Jorah."

"Simply my duty, your Grace."

"No, I reward those who have earned it. That shall be you today." It was he who kept Baelon, Rhaenys, Aegon, Alyssa, and the babes in his brides' wombs from being without a father. Gods, did he wish this war to end.

End it would soon - the trap had been set, all escape cut off for the Ironborn army within Lannisport. Now nothing stood between the forces of the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Islands themselves. Only the open sea. Something that the Sea Lion himself now ruled - wrested from the kraken.

---

While the remaining leaders of the Iron Islands continued their arguments with each other, from an alcove high in the rafters of the solar two small figures watched and listened to the whole thing. Built by a Greyjoy of old who wished to spy on his councilors, the recently christened prince and princess of the Ironborn trembled at every new nugget of information spoken by their father, brother, and uncles.

"Rodrik is dead," gulped a pale Maron Greyjoy. It looked like he was close to collapse - now he was the heir to his father and it terrified him.

Listening, both evesdroppers gasped silently. Rodrik, dead, surely not?

"Does it say how he died?" asked Prince Aeron. The seaweed in his hair had long since withered into a dried out husk, but he didn't bother changing it. Much too much was weighing him down.

"Slayed by Benjen Stark of the Kingsguard, uncle."

Scowling, King Balon tightened his fist. "I shall have his head on a spike for this. His innards will feed the crabs of my personal sea farm so I can eat his remains."

"Forgive me, brother, but how?" Aeron gestured to the maps. "We've lost all our positions on the mainland. We've lost our armies."

"We still have ships." Victarion insisted. "I can lead them far better than Euron ever could, the cowardly shit." While it was known only to them that one of Maron's longships pulled him out of the drink, Euron had disappeared since. No one knew where he went.

Maron was shaking violently. "We're all dead… all of us…"

Balon smacked him. "Shut it!" The scowling King pointed to the map. "Not even Aegon Targaryen could conquer our islands. We shall hold the greenlanders back."

Aeron was incredulous. "This has gone long enough, brothers. We must sue for peace! Take whatever terms they offer!"

"Are you fucking mad?! They'll butcher us alive like the Reynes and Tarbecks!" Victarion bellowed.

"They'll do what they do regardless!" Aeron shot back. "At least save our lands from burning!"

"We're all gonna die," wailed Maron, who was beginning to shake. "Get in the longships and flee! Someone will take us in!" He cried out when Balon punched him in the jaw.

"I said shut it, before I start cutting off fingers, you gutless worm!" the supposed King of the Iron Islands hissed, causing the two evesdroppers to tremble. "We stand and we fight like proper Ironborn! Never do we bend, never do we sow!" He banged his fists on the table. "What is dead may never die!" To anyone of rational mind listening to him, it was clear he was approaching Aerys Targaryen levels of insanity.

But he was still the King, and his word was law.

Above, the two withdrew from the alcove into the more secluded tunnel… which led back to their very bedchambers. "S...Sis," murmured Theon, hugging his sister as he shook with apprehension and fear. "What will happen to us?"

"We're all at the mercy of the dragons…" Asha said back. Her pudgy features were pale, tears welling in her bloodshot eyes. "They'll burn us like Black Harren."

With moons of great victories trumpeted in jubilation all throughout Pyke, the twin hammer blow of the Arbor and Lannisport shattered it. Especially for the youngest children of Balon Greyjoy, who had to contend with their hero elder brother's death. Apart from their uncle and their mother, Theon and Asha were the only ones who mourned for him. The rest were either too scared, too preoccupied, or too callous like their own father.

"I don't want to burn…" Theon cried in silence in his sister's embrace, soon joined by her as they wept together as silently as possible. They knew that if any of his other family saw them, the worst would follow. Their father would beat them, Uncle Victarion would beat them… even Maron would beat them - granted, he would probably beat them anyways to vent his humiliation.

Let alone what their uncle Euron would have done. Both were grateful he disappeared - his very nature made them afraid.

Soon, however, they were all cried out, merely shaking. "Why were father, Uncle Euron, and Rodrik so stupid sis?" Theon asked. He excluded their favorite uncle, Aeron - as eccentric as the man was, he was the only child of their grandfather to adhere to his wishes. Things were happier then.

"It's in our blood," Asha remarked quietly, always a bit braver than Theon - she never had to put on an arrogant face like he did, and was the only one he could trust with his fears as a result. "To fight the Iron Way"

"Bu...but Granpa Quellon tried to change it," Theon said in a sad whisper. "He knew the true Iron Way." Theon didn't truly understand his grandfather's mindset, the poor man having gone too ill to even see him since before Theon could remember - but anything was better than what was happening.

Asha wanted to ease her brother's torment, her own torment, but she didn't know how. She felt useless. "I don't know, Theon..." She closed her eyes. "I just don't know." They just hugged each other again, arms tight. Trying to ward off the images of dragonfire that danced in their minds.

Notes:

Benjen the Kraken Slayer. Put that in the White Book!

Battle based on the Battle of Monterrey in the Mexican-American War.

New chapter comes in a week after 30 comments. Some cute Jon moments :D

Chapter 82: Come Back to Me

Notes:

Hey everyone. Happy August. Big month for me. My birthday is Thursday and on the 20th I'm getting married :)

Big shoutout to my friend WhiteDragonWolf. He's going through some health issues and is standing strong. This chapter is for you, bud. Keep on kicking ass!

Published a one shot in the Empire of Ice and Fire series on Archive, called "poor Rhaegal." Be sure to check it out.

Enjoy.

The doors of the Casterly Rock great hall were thrown open by the Lannister Household guards, revealing a cluster of armored figures. Each were different states of filthy and blood-drenched, but they walked with the purpose of victory.

Cersei, holding Robb close, immediately rose. "Ned!"

"Poppa!" Robb was hot on his mother's heels as she practically lept on his father, sobbing in his shoulder. "You're back!"

"Promised I'd be," Ned laughed softly, enjoying the embrace of his loved ones.

Rhaegar watched with quite a bit of enjoyment… and envy. He missed his beloveds with all his soul, but they were in King's Landing. Their victory at Lannisport made the reunion sooner to happen. Watching Tywin converse with his sister, suddenly he heard a groaning sound behind him. "Careful with him!" bellowed Ser Arthur. "Where's the fucking maester?!"

"I'm here, Ser," the old man stammered, walking to the stretcher that carried the moaning Benjen. "Ooooh, that's quite the collection of injuries."

"You can patch him up, Maester?" Rhaegar asked.

The old man squinted. "Oh, your Grace. Of course, but he'll be bedridden for a while. These wounds are survivable but serious."

"Just see to it that he's healed," Tywin huffed. "He and Lord Forrester took back the palace and made this victory possible. They are Heroes of Lannisport."

"To Benjen!" bellowed Jon Umber. "The Kraken Slayer!" The northmen cheered. Rhaegar shook his head. Heroic names and titles won't placate Ash or Lya. Only him living would.

Shutting the door, Tywin locked the latch. "No one disturbs me in my solitude and I don't take chances anyone would."

Taking a seat and toeing off his boots, Rhaegar nodded. "I would think that people learned not to fuck with you a long time ago, Lord Tywin."

A snort. "You'd be surprised, your Grace." Thatch of golden hair beginning to thin and grey, Tywin Lannister nevertheless gave off an imposing aura. There was no doubt in Rhaegar's mind he had chosen a strong Hand… that could be a double-edged sword, but he'd give his father's former companion the benefit of the doubt. "Did you know my goodbrother died in the battle?"

"Oh?" Rhaegar knew not what to say. "My condolences."

"Please, save that for someone who gave a fuck about that pussy." Tywin sat, easing off his cloak. "Damn Ironborn." It was covered in rips and tears in the fabric. He sighed and grabbed at something under his desk - a small box. "My idiot father married my sister to that insect for absolutely no reason. Debased House Lannister and I couldn't stop it."

"Then… congratulations, I suppose." The King cracked his knuckles. "You're one cold-blooded man, Lord Tywin."

The man smirked. "Means I'm doing something right." Removing a needle and thread from the box and cutting the thread with his teeth, Tywin threaded the needle through the hole. Noticing Rhaegar's confusion, he grinned. "What?"

Rhaegar was surprised. "You sew your own clothes?"

"Don't be ridiculous, your Grace. I have no time for that… I just stich the tears." Sure enough, he began… with decent skill. "You deny yourself the simple tasks and you'd end up some fat oaf like Mace Tyrell… I never understood why you shouldn't smear the dead. Oftentimes they're dead because they were such idiots."

"I… I can't really fault you on either point, Lord Tywin." They sat in silence for a long time, Rhaegar pouring himself a goblet of Lannisport white while Tywin slowly stitched each rip and tear in his cloak. "Lord Hand."

"Yes, your Grace?" Tywin replied, teeth clenching a needle.

He sipped at his goblet. "If you were me, what would you do to the Ironborn?"

Tywin looked up. "Are you asking me for my counsel as your Hand, or asking that I make the decision for you." He held up a hand. "Don't deny so easily… your father was sometimes indecisive like that, not to mention some of your ancestors." Aenys and Daeron II came to mind.

The King sighed. "Your counsel. I don't have an issue making decisions."

"Good. People will walk all over you if you do so." They'd walk all over the young King regardless, but Tywin could see he was different than Aerys and Aegon V. Firmer, more powerful. If only you were here, Steffon. "So what I'd do? Well, I already did what I would do."

It didn't take long for Rhaegar to understand. "The Rains of Castemere."

Tywin nodded, finishing off a rather jagged stitch. "The Ironborn have been a menace to peace in the Realm for centuries. They produce nothing but skinny fish, filthy seaweed cakes, and even filthier inhabitants keen on raping, reaving, and killing… in that order mind you."

"So you'd have me kill them?"

"No, too impractical." Tywin dismissed the thought as if he were deciding what to order for dinner. "Fire and blood all their keeps, then sell the survivors to Volantis or Meereen or one of those shitholes," he mused nonchalantly.

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "Slavery is illegal in Westeros."

"The Ironborn have declared themselves free of Westeros… if they don't want your laws, then you don't need to follow them." He clicked his tongue. "A message to the world that you won't hesitate in punishing traitors, and you're rid of a boil before you have to lance it again in the future."

"I'm not going to stoop that low, Lord Tywin. I'd be derided as the second coming of Maegor the Cruel."

"A dragon doesn't care for the opinions of sheep, my King. I'd suggest you learn that." He stabbed the needle into another gash. "You're The first dragonrider in centuries, and that gives a power to you that all the Kings of your generations past could only dream of. But it only matters if you use it, my King. If you're weak and dithering, then they'll go after you, dragon or not."

A clenched fist. "I refuse to believe that I must burn all my enemies as my father would." Tywin was silent at that. "The Ironborn cannot be hoped to reason with in their current form, but there has to be a way to actually integrate them as we did Dorne."

Tywin shook his head. "Oh, Rhaegar." He looked… disappointed. "Dorne was the biggest mistake your house made since Jaehaerys allied with the Faith and tossed his children down the privy. Daeron II tried to secure a peaceful solution with a realm that kept its pride and defiance… and now look at you. Having to deal with a goodbrother that thinks your word is worth the same as the stick he uses to clean his ass."

"I care not what Doran says as long as he obeys…"

"No, your Grace." He set down his needle and thread, eyes firm on Rhaegar's. Gods, he looked the King Aerys could have been. "War is inevitable to the human condition. As long as some bastard covets something another bastard has, he'll take a rock and try to bash the other's head in. A King or Lord is merely that bastard with the ability to command armies of others to steal that which he covets."

"And your cynical view of the nature of humanity matters how, Lord Tywin?"

"The only thing more powerful than greed, your Grace. Fear… and hope. If a person fears for their life or their safety, that which provides them with hope to emerge alive and prosperous will be who they turn to with everlasting loyalty. And with your dragon, you provide that for even Kings and Lords." He crossed his arms. "If you want to have peace… then you need to be ready to deliver a war so terrible that they would choose the hope you give them than the greed of taking it all."

"Once again, Lord Tywin, you have a very cynical view of the world."

He closed his eyes. "When you grow up under a fool of a father, willing to allow his bannermen to mock him while he whored around with some harlot and sold off his daughters to men undeserving to lick her shoe, you'd understand." A laugh, one devoid of mirth. "Innocence was not something I was afforded as a child… nor you I have to admit, much as your mother tried."

That was true, but Rhaegar wouldn't mire himself in thoughts of his childhood, coming of age as Aerys descended into madness. But another thought came up, one far darker. "My children lost their innocence this war. The moment the Ironborn stormed our keep and my daughter had to defend her brothers and aunt herself."

Tywin's hard emerald eyes softened slightly. He wasn't a complete automaton. "Innocence is something that true royalty cannot afford, my King. Too many count on you… enjoy the moments of levity when they come." He inspected his cloak, checking the strength of the stitches. "I didn't have that chance, Aerys didn't, and your mother is only now taking that to heart."

Rhaegar held his goblet, simply staring into it. "I thought sometimes I would lose them, the both of them. That fate would revoke the blessings I was granted… In an instant it almost came true." His eyes shut, filled with dragonfire. "I want to burn it all to the ground, Lord Tywin… but I can't. I can't allow myself to look my children in the face if I fall to such madness."

"My children… for so long I thought them disgraces to House Lannister." He shrugged. "Well, one of them at least is still a disgrace. At least for once I can face them without being disappointed." They were silent once again, Tywin pouring his own goblet of wine. "You are the King, your Grace. Ultimately the decision is yours. You'll have to live with the consequences, but I can assure you the consequences of you delegating such decisions is worse than those."

"The throne is a curse." Rhaegar stood. "Without the dragons, the game isn't worth it."

"You win or you die, your Grace. And you have much to lose if you don't win."

He nodded. "Aye. Nothing will stop me from winning the game." He finished his wine and set the goblet on the table. "Goodnight, Lord Hand."

Tywin bowed. "My King." Watching Rhaegar leave, he sighed. "Aerys, wherever you are, you better hope that boy turns out nothing like you."

---

Hand placed on her back, Dacey Mormont sat beside the woman who was effectively her goodsister - gently comforting the poor dear. "He's gonna be fine, Ash."

Hunched over, Ashara Dayne's head was in her hands, the tears freefalling. "How can you possibly know that? How can anyone?" A strangled sob escaped her throat.

Sighing, Elia heard yet another wave of cheers from the center of the city. Thousands had gathered in Visenya's Square below the Sept of Baelor in celebration of the Ironborn's defeat. Lannisport was free of the invaders, and now no part of the Westerosi continent lay under the dominion of the hated reavers. Everyone celebrated, including most of the Red Keep and royal household. Deep down, so were the Queens. But with Benjen grievously wounded after a clash with Rodrik Greyjoy, Ashara couldn't sleep easy. She couldn't cheer or celebrate… not until he was recovered and out of the woods.

Elia shared a look with Lyanna and Dacey. All were worried in equal measure. Already Lord Commander Gerold and Ser Lewyn had died in the line of duty. The White Book couldn't lose another Kingsguard so soon, especially one that was dear to all of them.

Sitting beside Ashara, Lyanna hugged her close. "I fear for my brother too, goodsister." Gods, when will House Stark be free of such pain? "But we Starks are tough. We can survive many things, and the letter says the maester expects a full recovery."

"I know… gods, I know." Ash's face was pale, eyes bloodshot. "They tell me all this and I take it to heart, but I can't be secure unless he's here with me. I haven't even told him…" Her hand dropped to her belly.

All three other women stared in shock. "You're with child again?" Elia breathed. Ash bit her lip and nodded. "Why didn't you say anything?"

A shrug. "I found out after Ben left… with him in harm's way I was in denial for the longest time, but I couldn't tempt fate by telling him. And now he could die without ever knowing…" She sobbed again. Ashara was a strong, intelligent woman of court, but this was her weakness.

It was all their weaknesses. Bellies round with their own children, Lyanna and Elia knew this better than anyone. "I'll write Rhaegar, see if we can have Benjen transferred here as soon as he's ready to travel," Elia said soothingly. "Or would you rather travel to Casterly Rock?"

"I don't know," she murmured. "I can't begin to know…" The three women hugged their friend and goodsister, providing whatever comfort that they could for the poor dear. At that moment, young Allyria - practically as pure a Dayne as her mother - woke and demanded attention. Ash immediately rushed to her, and while her pain wouldn't go away each woman was glad she had her daughter to grant her something to keep her going through the worry.

Neither Dacey, Elia, nor Lyanna could've handled the worry for their men in battle if they didn't have their beautiful babes. It wasn't lack of strength… but more a keen understanding in what they cherished and the risk that it would all be taken away.

Fears over Benjen's injuries and the still potent worry of something happening to their beloved husband, the Queens met each other in a torrid passion as soon as their bedchamber doors were closed. Desperate to temper their apprehension in each other's bodies, Lyanna and Elia fell into bed without even removing their nightdresses, never once breaking their frenzied kiss. Their pregnant stomachs made it… tricky, but soon Elia was screaming as Lyanna exerted herself with powerful thrusts of her fingers. She needed not wait for her own pleasure after Elia shattered, riding the Dornish Queen's wonderfully skilled tongue until she soaked her wife with her juices.

Sated and shaking from the aftershocks, the two Queens were wrapped tightly around the covers. Elia was buried in Lyanna's embrace, one arm thrown about her while the other caressed her stomach and the precious babe nestled within. Elia swooned at the contact, one she reciprocated with both of her palms splayed on Lya's abdomen. It was a dream, the family they had and would soon add to.

Lyanna ran her fingers along Elia's slender curves and the smooth skin of her back. "We should be proud of our husband… of the men in our lives." She had faced battle, and for them to come out alive and triumphant was something deserving of glory and praise. "If only they weren't at risk of death or injury."

"I feel that is the most important part, my love." Elia kissed her neck, seeking out the warmth of life. "I want our children to grow in a world where they need not fight in order to be great. Prepared to, but not have to."

"I understand, Elia." Lyanna inhaled her spicy scent. "Hopefully the fall of the Ironborn will make that a reality… all Kingdoms of Westeros fighting under Rhaegar's banner, beneath the dragon, it gives me hope."

"Stannis Baratheon has arranged a marriage alliance with Leyton Hightower." One of the nuggets of information Varys supplied her before the official notice was received by raven. "It is a good match for him."

Lyanna frowned. "Not sure how I feel about that." She didn't have anything against Stannis, per se - he seemed decent enough, but that family… "Robert didn't marry the Hightower girl."

Elia raised her head to look at Lya. "You think he's still pining for you?"

"Not thinking, knowing," was the reply. In any case, Lya didn't want to talk about it. "I'm worried about Dorne."

"Me too," Elia bit her lip. "The North and Dorne are so much alike, both outsiders in Westeros. Through Rhaegar we had a chance to bridge all three sides together in an alliance, yet Doran dug in his heels." Her brother's behavior baffled Elia. Not only did she not understand it, but it was also impossible to predict. "Perhaps another alliance can be made."

Lya thought about it. "Jorah Mormont is without wife and he's of prime marriageable age." Dacey's brother was ever dutiful, and an accomplished leader of men. "Dacey always plays up his virtues."

"I don't know… Bear Island isn't the richest of holdings so a southern woman - even from Dorne - may not fit there."

A reasonable thought. "How about one of your brother's girls? Obara will be of age in a few years."

Elia pondered it for a moment. "I see no reason why not. Obara isn't a… traditional lady. She'd fit well with the Mormonts." They smiled at each other, ever impressed with their savvy in these matters of love and politics.

The standing order to the Kingsguards and other soldiers guarding the Red Keep was to not let any close to their chambers lest a member of the royal family or senior royal household. Prince Aegon Targaryen certainly counted, and both Queens were glad they retained their nightgowns in their desperate lust when his shadow appeared in the open doorway. "Muna…"

First out of the bed, Lyanna had ran to him and lifted him in her arms. "What's wrong, my sweet hatchling?" she asked her son. He was already too big for Elia to lift, while for Lyanna it was a struggle.

"I hurt, muna." He looked inconsolable. Silver curls tousled from sleep, eyes bloodshot from unshed tears, and face red with agony. Even in her arms, he would constantly reach for his shins, squeezing them and clenching his teeth. "It won't stop, muna. Help… help me…" he half-gasped, half-hiccuped.

It was heartbreaking, and the fact he looked much like Rhaegar only made it worse. Lyanna walked him back to her bed and laid him down between herself and Elia, who was now sitting up in their bed. "Oh, my dear sweet boy." Elia brushed his hair from his face, kissing his brow. Egg's breaths weren't in wheezes, so thank the gods for small favors. "Did you take the medicine Maester Qyburn gave you?"

He nodded. "It help, but not much. Hold me, muna." Egg pleaded so desperately, both Queens wanted to cry but stayed strong for their son. Pulling the covers over him, they cradled the sweet Prince between them, giving what comfort they could.

Lyanna kissed the crown of his head. "Sleep, my sweet pup. You'll be fine, I promise." He had such bouts of pain… part of his condition, and while Qyburn assured them Egg was healthy in the long-term it was still heartbreaking to see him this way.

Silence passed for a while, only broken by Egg's soft breathing. Elia and Lyanna looked at each other, the latter biting her lip while the other's eyes glistened with grief. But apparently Egg hadn't yet fallen asleep. "Muna, I ask something?"

"Of course, Egg. Please," Elia insisted.

"Am I worthless?"

Both were shocked at the question. "Of course not," Lyanna insisted. "Why would you ask that?"

"Men say it… men and women - they say I'm a worthless prince compared to my brother." He looked up at his munas with pained eyes. "They say he hurt me and make me not matter. I love Jon… why would he hurt me?"

"Who says these things to you?" Elia insisted, her anger rising.

"I… I don't know. Men and women, they walk by when I'm playing - don't see me. One was talking to uncle Vis once."

Of course one of Viserys' friends would be such an unsavory sort, Lyanna figured. But she couldn't afford to be angry at this moment. Not now, as they were touching a very sensitive subject for their little boy. "Well they're all wrong, my love. You are not worthless - you're a dragon of House Targaryen."

"But, they say Jon hurt me?"

Elia shared a glance with Lyanna. It was troubling that their little boy was already experiencing the smears and slander of court politics. They tried to keep their babes away from that. "Listen to me, darling," Elia cooed. "Your brother loves you, as do your sisters, aunts, and the babes in our bellies." She hugged him tight. "We all love you, and none of us will allow you to come to harm."

"I love you, muna," they heard Egg murmur, drifting to sleep.

"We love you too."

Both Queens fell into a restless sleep… how could their family survive what was coming? They were happy, but still monsters lurked in the shadows to tear them apart.

Each hoped that the war would end soon and Rhaegar returned. Their family needed their King.

---

"You look in pain, husband."

Ned looked up at his wife, her emerald eyes gazing at him from across the table. "I've had worse, wife," he replied cryptically, tearing off a chunk of freshly-baked bread.

Cersei frowned at the answer. "Don't be dismissive, Ned. I can't see you in pain." This man deserved nothing but happiness in his life - oft it seemed to her that those in the North sought out a dour existence… as rugged as the snows and barren soil of their home. Such was a lie at worst and a generalization at best, but that didn't mean she wished not to give him some light. "We should go home, my love. Perhaps it's time. The south doesn't agree with you as well as it does your sister and brother."

A sigh from the Lord of Winterfell. "I cannot leave my brother. It is my duty to stand with him until this campaign finishes."

They were alone, eating their supper in their private chambers after an afternoon spending time with Robb in the countryside. Rhaegar had no compunctions in giving the commanders he didn't need in the logistics of the planned invasion leave to blow off steam. Elbert headed for the brothel, Robert loudly headed for the brothel, Garlan went falconing with Tyrion Lannister… and Ned spent it with his wife and son. There was nowhere he'd rather be, but was mindful of his duty.

Cersei knew that she couldn't challenge his nature, nor did she try. It was her duty to complement him, not berate him. "The Ironborn should buckle soon. They have no fleet and no army."

"I've yet to see a worse position of any foe, aye."

His words were that of confidence, but Cersei could tell that he felt different. "And yet you aren't confident."

Chewing on a cube of auroch steak, Ned washed it down with a sip of ale. "Two wars, Cersei… two wars in the last five years. First one drove us close to ruin. Close to losing it all, and at its times so did this bloody one…"

"You didn't lose it all," Cersei insisted. "And times are changing. The dragons grow and mature… and I am certain there will be more." Queen Rhaella will assure it, given the way she is. "Ultimate peacemakers unless the dragons turn on each other."

"Lya won't let that happen." Another Dance, from her letters Lyanna said that such things often kept her up at night.

A wan smile. "Sometimes it still surprises me she could love Elia's children as she does her own." She'd never seen the Queen with the Targaryen babes, but in meeting Lyanna that one time all the smears that banded around of a woman usurping the firstborn of her husband all came to her as just that - smears.

Ned chuckled. "She loves Elia as she does Rhaegar. I've come to accept it, queer to me as it was at the time. Elia is a lovely woman and a good mother - no better goodsister than her."

"The royal family has been dysfunctional for so long, it's hard to imagine them a loving entity." Cersei bit her lip, stabbing a fingerling potato and slice of meat with her fork. "I worry I cannot be that way for your children."

It was obvious as to whom she was referring to. Sansa and Rickard. "Why do you say that?"

"Nothing in particular. Just a fear of mine. I want to love them, they are your blood just as much as Robb and I adore you." She was quiet, knowing Ned's gaze was upon her and not wanting to meet his eyes. "Tell me about them."

Thinking about his daughter, Ned smiled. "She was my only source of joy for the longest time. Beautiful like her mother was, but there's a spirit inside her that reminds me so much of Lyanna. She'll act like a proper lady for hours then demand for me to take her riding into the Wolfswood." He laughed, ever so happy. "My son… he had just been born when I had to leave. A sweet boy from what I remember and I love him too."

Cersei smiled. "I hope to be good to them."

"You will be." He reached over and clasped her hand. "I know you will, just as with Robb and our future babes."

She swallowed. "Those will come along sooner than we thought."

This time, it didn't take long for Ned to catch on. "Cersei…" His eyes widened. "You're with child?"

"Wolves are very fertile," she grinned.

"I love you." Ned didn't know when he had been happier… likely not since his mother, father and brother were alive and the family all together. But soon this war would be over, Sansa and Rickard in his arms again, and the most beautiful woman in the world in his bed - carrying his child. "I love you so much, Cersei."

Her heart clenched for him, tears playing at her eyes. Damn babe… Robb had wrecked her emotions and the new little wolf was doing the same. "I love you too, my beautiful direwolf." Rising from her chair, Cersei leaned down and kissed Ned. Meant as a little peck, but one that invariably deepened to the point where they were greedily seeking each other out as if dying of thirst. She had to pull back… "One moment." Sleeping cub tucked into her arms, Cersei walked to Lann's wooden cage and slipped him inside. The cub usually slept at the foot of the bed, but best not to have him disturb them during… what Cersei hoped to happen.

Watching this with interest - especially when his wife bent over and showed off her tight rear for his viewing pleasure - Ned raised an eyebrow when she latched the cage and turned around. "Cersei?" Her emerald eyes were sparkling, lips curled mischievously. "What are you planning, wife?" He couldn't help but grin back.

Eyes alight with love and lust, Cersei reached behind her to loosen the ties of her dress. Letting it hang… only just about her shoulders. Her intimate parts… just a tug away. "Let us celebrate our new child, my Lord."

Ned rose, regarding her with a restrained hunger. Always stolid and brooding, but Cersei knew his lusts and his tells. "And how should we do that?"

In lieu of an answer, Cersei stepped into his arms, pulled him flush against her, and crashed their lips together to resume their heady kiss.

This time there was no lion cub to break them apart, no dinner to distract them. Her hands tangled in his hair and at the nape of his neck while Ned assaulted her dress. Tugging down and succeeding in seeing it slowly slide off her body - exposing new flesh for his wandering hands. Breaking for air, the Lord of Winterfell kissed across his wife's cheek to her neck, feasting on her with abandon as his hands pushed the dress further down.

Cersei bit down on her lip as Ned kept running his hands all over her body. They trailed down her sides and then back up, tickling her skin before his calloused palms planted themselves on her breasts. He squeezed them ever so tenderly, causing more pleasure to swirl through her body. "Yes, Ned…" she moaned in his ear as he continued to suck at her neck. Cersei sucked at his lobe, licking the shell of his ear just to ground herself. "Please… take me."

Her words electrifying him, Ned shoved the dress off the last of her body, leaving her completely bare for him. He shucked off his own tunic, enjoying how his lioness eyed him as a cat would a steak. She yelped as Ned picked her up. "To the bed."

But Cersei had other ideas. She tugged on him, causing Ned to swerve and plant her against the wall. "Here, husband."

Ned raised a brow. "You sure?"

Growling, Cersei frantically attacked the belt loop of his trousers - needing to see his powerful cock. "Fuck your pregnant wife, Lord Stark. She commands it."

Grey eyes darkening, the wolf came out to play. Ned roughly pushed her flat against the wall. He swallowed her grunt of discomfort by kissing her madly, the grunt quickly changing to a moan of pleasure.

Cersei felt his tongue plunging into her mouth like a sword, dominating her. Trousers kicked off, his thick manhood was pushing against her slit, making her even wetter. Please… please Ned… I need it. She wanted to push him inside but rather enjoyed his show of dominance. Her alpha wolf claiming her.

Pulling back, Ned stared into her eyes. "Cersei…"

Her entire body shuddered in pleasure. "Please…" Finally, the lioness felt her wolf's manhood slide into her. Gods… was he so big, stretching her in all the best places as only he could do. "Yesssss…"

Ned felt her hands lock around him, her walls closing against his cock as he pushed into her. He searched out her mouth again, kissing the mother of his children sloppily. She grunted each time Ned hammered the golden-haired lioness against the wall. Cersei bucked and moaned like a wanton whore, squeezing his shoulder with her sharp nails and exhorting him faster and faster with her ardor for his body. Cat never made him feel this way… absolutely needed and desired. Him and only him.

Her walls clenched against him, desperate to milk his cock dry of his seed. "By the Seven... oh gods…..." Cersei gasped, head falling against the wall as she lost herself. Was this to be her life now? Belly swollen with his children, days ruling the North alongside her handsome direwolf and nights contorted in the greatest pleasure she had ever known.

Cersei never prayed harder in her life, begging that it never end.

---

To those that would try to find Prince Baelon Targaryen, it must have been quite the quandary. He wasn't in the gardens, or the cellar where all the dragon skulls were located. He hadn't crowded himself into the training yard to watch the Kingsguards spar or Viserys and Rhaenys train, nor was he in the kitchens enjoying the fawning attention of the staff there. Most would despair, thinking the Princess Daenerys had dragged him on some adventure… or Rhaenys sending them off on an adventure for her own amusement.

Never would they think of finding him in his own chambers, playing quietly. That was where he was now. Ironically, he'd be here more often with his blocks and figurines or trying to read through the picture books gifted to him by his grandmother and uncle Aemon if it weren't for the mischievous influence of his aunt Daenerys.

Had someone surprised themselves and come upon the Crown Prince, they would've been doubly shocked to see the Princess resting on the bed upon her stomach, legs dangling in the air as she doodled on parchment with colored pencils. The two of them? Quiet and playing indoors? Impossible.

But it was reality.

Having built what he believed to be a fair approximation of Weeping Ridge with his black-painted wooden blocks, Jon was busy placing his archer figurines atop it. But… he was missing something. "Dany? Have you seen my Bloodraven figure?"

Biting her lip as she drew, Dany looked up to see Jon's consternated face before dropping back to her task. "Where'd you put it last?"

"If I knew, Dany, I no ask you for it."

"You probably put it somewhere stupid." That was Daenerys alright, blunt and filled with the Targaryen fire alongside the ethereal Valyrian beauty that the first of her name held. It was no wonder she chose to play Visenya in all of their games. "Did you look in your pocket?"

Jon glared at her. "You think I'd put it there…" Reaching into his pocket, when his fingers curled around a figurine the Crown Prince went red, averting his gaze. "I'm stupid." Pulling it out of his pocket, there was the archer figure of Brynden Rivers.

Daenerys softened. "You're not stupid, Jon. Just… abs-minded."

Placing Bloodraven atop Weeping Ridge to coordinate arrows upon the army of Daemon Blackfyre, Baelon looked at his aunt, confused. "'Abs-minded.' What that mean?"

"Muna said it about your kepa. Means he forget a lot."

"Kepa the best," Jon said with finality, hauling himself to his feet. The model done, he decided to look at what Dany was drawing. "Make room." He jumped on the bed, shifting to be right next to her, both on their stomachs. "What you drawing?"

Dany rolled her eyes but didn't truly mind Baelon being so close. It was nice. "Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys." She tapped the parchment. "See, silly nephew. Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes." Gods, maybe he was 'abs-minded' like her muna said Rhaegar was. "I draw them all together, like before Field of Fire."

Inspecting the drawing, Jon could appreciate it. There were the dragons, one a shade of black, one of white, and one of a glittering emerald blue - no one had told him what colors Vhagar and Meraxes were so he couldn't fault Dany for picking the colors she liked. But there was a difference. Visenya had silver hair and purple eyes, but the Aegon had black hair and purple eyes while the Rhaenys was red-haired and grey-eyed.

He put the pieces on the first two together quickly. "You drew you and me?"

"Aye," Dany nodded. "You Aegon, and I'm Visenya, your loyal wife and Queen." She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek as she saw her muna do with Ser Jaime all the time. His blush made her giggle. "And this is Sansa," she pointed to Rhaenys.

"Who?"

She rolled her eyes again. "No, Jon. Don't be stupid, Sansa's our playmate. She's our Rhaenys, don't you remember."

Furrowing his brows, Jon was confused… up until he wasn't as recognition dawned in his eyes. "Oh… Sansa. Yeah, I remember." That had been the most fun he'd had with anyone since his kepa had left to fight the Ironborn. Playing with all three of them in his dreams. Waking up the next morning he could've sworn it wasn't real… at least until Dany started jumping on the bed and gushing over their new playmate.

It had been real, even if he was asleep while they played on Dragonstone.

"She was so much fun to be around… do you know who she was?"

Dany's head shook from side to side. "No, I don't know who she is… and I no see her for two weeks." It made her sad to think about… their favorite playmate and Dany only remembered her from one dream. She hadn't even told her muna, or goodsisters… or even Rhae or Egg. What if they thought she was mad? "I miss her. We finally have a Rhaenys to play with."

Jon patted her shoulder. "I'm sure she'll come back… at least she probably will." He quieted down, looking away.

If there was one thing that hurt Dany more than her own sorrow, it was seeing her nephew's sorrow. "Jon… what's wrong?"

"It nothing."

Suddenly, he was rolled over - pinned down on the bed by Dany. Her free-flowing silver hair framed her face, violet eyes firm as they gazed down at him. "No, you tell me, what wrong?"

Squirming, it became clear to Jon that Dany was not gonna let go without him forcing her off… and he didn't want to do that. "Fine. If I tell you, you get off?" She nodded, head bobbing up and down. "My nameday is coming up in a moon."

Dany blinked. "Huh? What's wrong with that? I hear your munas and my muna will throw a feast. You're getting lots of gifts."

"I don't want lots of gifts." Dany got off of him, both of them sitting upright while Jon looked away. "I only want one gift."

Outside, a plate of gingerbread squares in her hands as a treat for the two hatchlings, Queen Lyanna heard the muffled voices of her son and goodsister talking to each other. "So what's the only thing you want for your nameday, Jon?"

Lya pressed her ear against the door, suddenly quite curious. What her son said next broke her heart. "I just want my kepa back." Jon sniffled. "I miss him so much. If he no come to my nameday, does he not love me anymore?"

Dany hugged him close, pressing her head into the crook of his neck. "I know your kepa love you, Jon. Jus' like my muna love me." One firm constant in their life… their elders loved them dearly.

"I know… I jus' scared, Dany." He held her tightly. "I pray to heart tree every day for kepa to come back. I jus' wan' him back."

Wiping her face free of tears, Lyanna didn't know how much of her own sorrow was the babe playing with her emotions or the genuine sadness of what her son was feeling - likely both. Fucking Ironborn. She needed to make his wish a reality…

The door opened and both Targaryens looked up to see Lyanna entering. "I bear treats for the little dragons." For now… all pain and sadness was forgotten at the prospect of something sweet and dusted with powdered sugar.

---

"Jorah Mormont, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves?" Rhaegar raised Blackfyre to arc over Jorah's head and tap the other shoulder. "To protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

Jorah, head bowed and on his knee out of respect and obedience to his King, nodded. "I so swear, your Grace." He hadn't ever expected such an honor, but was in no place to deny it.

"Then I name thee Ser Jorah Mormont, Lord of Bear Island and Hero of Lannisport." To the northmen, knighthood was the mark of the south as the First Men knew no knights… but as the man that saved the life of the King and the first to take action at the Lannisport docks, both Rhaegar and Tywin felt a reward was necessary. None objected to his knighting, a high honor in the remaining Six Kingdoms. "Rise, Ser Jorah."

The Lord of Bear Island rose and was showered with claps and cheers from the others gathered in Casterly Rock's war chambers. All the commanders of the various forces now camped within and around Lannisport were here for the planning of the final stage of the battle. Jorah moved to his place by the other Northern Lords, while Rhaegar advanced to the head of the table. On one side was Ned, on the other Tywin… with Ser Davos beside Tywin. "Shall we begin, your Grace?" the Hand asked.

"Aye. I must begin by announcing that Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Stannis Baratheon, and my goodbrother Prince Oberyn Martell have arrived from the Arbor, where they defeated the Ironborn fleet in a decisive engagement." Letting the claps die down, Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Now, considering the fact that no admiral without dragon support has ever annihilated an entire Ironborn fleet in a single engagement since Lancel IV Lannister centuries ago, I have taken it upon myself to raise Ser Davos' status to Lord of Sealion Point." He smirked as the aforementioned Lord Davos' eyes widen in shock. "And with the death of Lord Lucerys Velaryon in battle, as of now Lord Davos is appointed Master of Ships."

"Congratulations, Lord Davos," Ned announced. Any man that saved Lyanna was a friend of his. "May the old gods and new shine upon you."

"Lord Davos." Announced Oberyn - he was privy to Rhaegar's decision to make him Master of Ships, but raising his station was a bonus. "May he lead us to victory." A sentiment even the most snobbish of the Lords could agree to. He had proven himself in battle, and at least the ones here would respect that.

"Thank… Thank you, your Grace." The newly-minted Lord Davos Seaworth leaned in over the map of the Iron Islands. From smuggler to Lord in five years, what a life. Marya would be quite excited, he felt. "Alright, my Lords. The Iron Islands produces tough fighters but not enough of them. Most of their trained land warriors were captured with the fall of Lannisport so they'll be hurting."

Robert Baratheon snorted. "Hope not fucking completely. I'm looking for another good fight." The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands had been bragging for weeks about the number of scalps he had taken during the Battle of Lannisport. While his spirit was appreciated, it was growing irritating.

"There will be a fight, Lord Robert, but instead of committing our forces piecemeal, we need to attack all at once." Darting in, the map servants began pushing the various markers forward from the coast of the Westerlands straight towards the various islands that made up the Iron Islands. "We overwhelm them, take their keeps and make them dance like a chicken with its head cut off."

The Lords mumbled to themselves about the plan, studying it. "And who will lead the attacks?" Asked Lord Bronn, arms crossed.

Lord Tywin cleared his throat. "We have decided that Lord Tyrell will assault Harlow, Lord Bell has Blacktyde, Lord Arryn neutralizes Orkmont, Ser Brydnen Tully takes Saltcliff, and the Wyks split between Lord Robert and Ser Stannis Baratheon." all had been carefully chosen for political considerations. Each side getting a piece of the pie.

"And what about you, your Grace?"

Looking at Davos, Rhaegar nodded at him. "After the attack begins in three weeks, the final attack will happen two weeks after with myself leading the naval contingent. Lord Hand Tywin, Lord Stark, and Prince Oberyn will command the ground forces, while his Grace gives support from the air. Take Pyke, and it will be over."

"To victory," Rhaegar proclaimed.

"To victory!"

A Lannister bannerman entered the chamber and approached Ser Arthur. The Kingsguard accepted a dispatch - it bore the seal of Queen Lyanna, a blended three-headed dragon and direwolf. He approached Rhaegar. "Your Grace, a message from the Queen."

Rhaegar's eyebrow rose, but he nevertheless smiled. "Thank you Arthur. One moment, my Lords." Few begrudged him the urgency to read Lyanna's words, though Robert frowned and averted his eyes… it was still rather raw for him. Rhaegar sat and broke the seal, eagerness to read Lyanna's letter dying as he reached the contents.

My beloved husband,

Words cannot express how proud I am of you and your victories, but you need to come home. Your children need you.

They saw you off with smiles and dreams of glory, but since the storming of the Red Keep there's been great tension. Elia, Rhaella, and I can only do so much. They desperately want you back. I even heard our sweet Jon say tearfully to Daenerys that all he wants for his nameday in a moon is his kepa to return.

Don't sacrifice best laid plans for this, but bear it in mind. Please come back soon.

Your loving wife and Queen

Lyanna

He stared at the letter quietly. Outwardly the King seemed calm to his war council, but for those that knew him like Ned or Arthur - or those who were simply observant like Tywin - they could tell there was a maelstrom of emotions raging inside him. Anguish, self-loathing, anger, hate… fire and blood.

My son… He was failing as a father, his young son having his innocence torn away from him and forced to live alone. Without his father to protect him.

Without Rhaegar to protect him… all because of the Ironborn.

To his credit, the military wisdom didn't completely leave him. In his anger he still considered the timeline - the army was ready. Caution wasn't out of unpreparedness but simply that, caution. Determined to end this once and for all, Rhaegar didn't change the dynamic.

"Lord Tywin, Lord Seaworth!"

Both men stood, looking expectantly at the King. "Yes, your Grace?"

Rhaegar's face was hard, eyes blazing with fury. "Ready the ships. We launch the invasion within the next three days. Pyke one week after."

Davos' eyes widened. "Now, your Grace? We're just preparing…"

"Didn't you tell me that all the ship crews are rested and the supplies loaded or ready to be loaded at a moment's notice."

"Aye, I did say that…"

"Ten follow my command. Are we clear?"

"Yes, your Grace. I live to serve," Davos stated. It was always discomforting to do things on the fly, but he had no doubt that victory would be theirs.

Rhaegar's eyes shifted to Tywin. "Any comment, Lord Hand?"

Raising his brow, Tywin nevertheless demurred. "No, my King. Whether in three days or three weeks, the Iron Islands will fall."

"Good."

"Time to roast some squid!" Robert bellowed, smacking his palm on the table. "To victory!" The northmen, Stormlanders, and many others cheered Robert's jingoist gusto. Few things united them - hate for the Ironborn was one of them.

Broodingly silent, Rhaegar still looked at the letter in his hand - rereading Lya's scrawl over and over again. I will be back, my son. If he had to move the earths and tame the oceans… if he had to bring fire and blood to every keep in the Iron Islands Rhaegar would do so. Your kepa will be at your nameday, this I promise.

Notes:

Rhaegar has every reason in the world to get home now.

Next up, fall of the Iron Islands. Be sure to check it out, cause 30 comments gets an update in a week.

Chapter 83: Nameday

Notes:

Hey everyone. Hope y'all are doing well. With work, wedding, and moving this week, I'm a walking corpse at the moment.

In any case, the thrilling conclusion to the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Good news, with Bet of Dragons done, my one shot done, and Targaryen Dynasty wrapping up (check them all out, I promise you'll love them), I shall be starting a new project: a modern romantic comedy (with plenty of smut) starring Jon and Daenerys :D It'll be posted on Ao3.

Enjoy.

Sweeping up through the air, Rhaegar felt the salty sea breeze shower him with droplets. He blinked them away, guiding his dragon to hover so he could see the destruction below him. In the distance, Lordsport was burning as the royal armies poured through its harbor and ravaged center. Crack forces charged towards the defenses of Pyke itself while many Westermen and Northmen dispersed to loot and plunder.

Many bastards would be born in nine moons - such was the terror of war. Rhaegar blamed Balon Greyjoy for making it come to this.

Among the battlements, smashed through by artillery and siege pieces from the landing force and the ships, the Targaryen army cut their way through the palace. Thoros of Myr, flaming sword alight as he crested the walls. Gregor Clegane, a massive mountain of a man that threw all of his power into the fight. Caving a man's head in with a single punch and decapitating a trio with his claymore. Ned, Ser Arthur by his side as the two of them pushed a shield wall through one of the breaches slaughtering all that opposed.

'We must help them.' Aegarax hooted towards a large tower, bristled with artillery pieces and firing waves of arrows and projectiles against his army.

Seeing the shield wall stalling, hundreds of armored knights and light cavalry milling behind the lines rather than launch through the fusilade of fire, Rhaegar tightened his lips and gripped his dragon's spines. "Dive upon them! Dracarys!"

Rhaegar could've sworn the dragon's snout curled into a grin. 'With pleasure.' Shrieking, Aegarax dove straight for the tower.

The heaviest artillery pieces were surrounded in a circular wall around the tower - three trebuchets and a dozen smaller catapults that looked to be taken from a ship and installed there haphazardly. Boulders and flaming jaws of pitch sailed out towards Rhaegar's armies at as fast a pace as the engineers could launch… their hectic tenacity drawing attention away from everything else. And they paid for it when the Sunrise Dragon unleashed the seven hells upon them.

The stream of dragonfire breathed back onto Rhaegar, a sheet of heat that enveloped him. Anyone else would've roasted, but Rhaegar basked in it. Felt it surge in to his very blood and soul. It felt invigorating, eyes glowing with power and fire as the Ironborn disappeared into the flames below - their artillery reduced to ash and charred timber.

Suddenly arrows began to pepper the two of them. Rhaegar's armor and Aegarax's scales managed to keep them out, but one embedded itself into the dragon's back and caused him to roar in pain. "Swing up! Burn the tower!"

With a flap of his wings the green dragon thundered upward. Again did the dragonfire emerge in one long jet, scorching the walls. Shooting through the windows to incinerate the archers and crossbowmen before they could even scream. A fire that traveled up the tower, fueled by the unending jet that would immolate through every window and firing port at each floor. Rhaegar soon saw the top, a man whose surcoat was displayed with the golden kraken of House Greyjoy itself.

Prince Maron, his knees shaking in fear. For my son. Rhaegar knew he looked a demon and reveled in it. "Dracarys!" Thus ended the life of Maron Greyjoy, enveloped in dragonfire that recreated the destruction of Kingspyre Tower by yet another Targaryen King.

Deprived of any form of defense, Pyke was as helpless as Lordsport had been. The armies surged forward, slaughtering their way towards the keep. No mercy was given nor was it expected. Archers and crossbowmen shot down the Ironborn trying to destroy the rope bridges across Pyke's keeps, while men with grappling hooks scaled the walls. Nothing was going to stop them from their vengeance.

Watching all of this play out, the King finally guided his dragon to land before the final keep. An overhang provided the perfect landing platform, dozens scrambling out of the way for the Sunrise Dragon.

"HEAVE!" Rhaegar's ears rang as the battering ram crashed into the thick Ironwood door. "HEAVE!" Another crash, the wood only groaning but holding firm. "HEAVE!"

The King rested his eyes on his Hand and his goodbrother. Tywin was rather clean, his armor untouched by the battle as he merely directed troops from the rear… no mean undertaking considering the complexities of their rushed attack. Ned, on the other hand, was covered in grime and dried blood. His armor was dented in places and there was a gash on his forehead but he looked otherwise unharmed. Thank the gods… Their family had lost enough. "Problem here?" he asked loudly.

Ned looked to him and gave a tired smile, while Tywin merely cast his eyes before glancing back at the task at hand. "Finished off the last of them," the Lord of Winterfell commented before pointing to a man bound and gagged, writhing at the hold that two Northmen whose boiled leather cuirasses were emblazoned with the sigil of House Forrester. "Rodrik Forrester and Royland Degore. The two of them found Victarion Greyjoy trying to escape in a skiff. Didn't end well for the cunt."

"They didn't kill him? I admire their restraint." Rhaegar moved to Tywin. "So what's going on here?"

"Balon's barred himself in his throne room like the cowardly insect he is." The ram crashed against the door again, but the wood failed to budge.

Rhaegar cracked his knuckles, a frown on his face. There was no patience left within the Sunrise Dragon. 'Let me burn them, kepa.'

Wait, my son. "Everyone out of the way!" the King bellowed. There was a moment's hesitation before the dozens of bannermen of various houses retreated - Rhaegar's intention clear as Aegarax ambled forward, his teeth bared and smoke exiting his nostrils. "Dracarys!"

Aexarax screeched and let out a burst of sustained dragonfire upon the door. Flames billowed out in a cloud around it, and at first the Ironwood held - a strong and sturdy wood of the North, ironically enough. But eventually it began to give, splintering and charring from the immense heat given off by the sunrise dragon. Aegarax didn't hold back, the gout lasting interminable seconds until finally the hinges snapped from the wood and the door came crashing down.

Without delay, Rhaegar drew Blackfyre from its sheath and leapt into the still billowing cloud of flame. The dragon stopped, and it soon changed to but a haze of smoke. Edges of his red cape smoldering with orange scorches like some sort of fire demon from the pits of the seven hells, the guards of the Salt Throne trembled or pissed themselves in sheer terror of the Dragon King - silver locks free and violet eyes glowing.

One charged, screaming madly. Rhaegar dodged the blow and brought Blackfyre about his back. Another came with axe held high, but Rhaegar threw himself forward and buried his sword through his middle. Blood coated his armor, his face, but Rhaegar didn't care. A powerful dragon in his own right, finishing off all that would threaten his family.

A dozen guarded their King, but all were felled. Some by Rhaegar, some by the crossbows of the Lannister men-at-arms, some unlucky souls by Aegarax's dragonfire, the forces of the Iron Throne storming the throne room. Soon, all that was left was Balon Greyjoy himself, stubbornly clinging to his throne and his crown as if they could grant him protection.

They wouldn't.

"Balon Greyjoy!" Rhaegar leveled Blackfyre to the traitor, Aegarax directly behind him. "You are vanquished, surrender your crown!"

The so-called King of the Ironborn gave him a hateful glare on his hardened face. "You got what you wanted, didn't you? Valyrian shit! Burning my family as your demon ancestor…"

He was cut off as Rhaegar simply closed his mailed fist around Balon's robes and yanked him down. Throwing the old man to the ground in an unceremonious heap. "Look at you!" Rhaegar roared like a dragon. "Sad, pathetic old man!" Balon tried to rise but Rhaegar slammed Blackfyre's hilt into his shoulder, causing him to cry in pain and fall on his hands and knees. "Traitor! Murderer!" A kick to the stomach made him double over, coughing and hacking through his lungs. "You tried to kill my family and now you still hold pride, you little worm?!" Another kick. "Wriggle like the fucking worm you are!"

Seeing the pure murder in Rhaegar's eyes, a look not unlike the Mad King, Ned's heart pounded. "Brother… please control yourself…"

"Stay out of his, Stark," Tywin barked. He rather liked this side of the brooding King. "Just kill him, your Grace," Tywin shouted, a sneer on his face. "He doesn't deserve to live."

'Yes, kepa.' Aegarax clawed his way forward, just small enough to fit into the low vaulted ceiling. 'Let me burn those that would harm munas and the hatchlings.' A roar emphasized his pont, deafening many. 'LET ME BURN THIS BUG!'

For the longest time, still seeing the gaze of hate whenever Balon could overcome his pain and stare hatefully at him, Rhaegar was tempted to do just that. To end House Greyjoy as Aegon the Conqueror ended House Hoare before it. To end all the houses that defied him in Fire and Blood, just like his ancestors before him. His mouth opened to give the order when a hand gripped his swordhand…

Rhaegar almost slammed his fist into the insolent wretch… until seeing Ned's grey eyes fixed to him. The attack ended immediately - to his credit, Ned didn't flinch. "Don't, brother."

"He deserves it."

"That may be, but you're better than him." Slowly, Ned moved forward, easing Rhaegar's arms down with his own. "Answer his perfidy with justice, not vengeance."

"He will not get away with this, Ned."

"I'm not asking you to, just act smartly. Don't let the same madness that consumed your father from consuming you."

Seeing his goodbrother stepped away, Rhaegar looked to him… to Tywin… to Ser Arthur… and back to Balon. Remembering his plan buried by the rage of his dragonblood. Euron, if he ever caught the savage beast, would be rended alive and fed to Aegarax but Balon deserved something else. "Balon Greyjoy. You will watch as your armies burn. You will watch your domain stripped bare of any hope to raise another fleet. You will watch your keep be plunged into the worst poverty as all your remaining children are ripped from you." He enjoyed it as the man's hate slowly morphed to fear. "You wanted it all, and you get nothing but storm-ravaged rocks and hungry bellies, only for me to rip it all from you again and give it to those of your blood raised as those of my family."

"You will never see us broken, dragon," Balon wheezed.

Rhaegar smirked darkly as he kicked him between the shoulderblades. Making the battered Lord collapse again. "I broke you, Greyjoy. You have nothing and are nothing." Reaching down, he stripped the driftwood crown from his frayed grey hair. Pathetic old man. Before his father had succumbed to the machinations of the God of Death, Aerys had been a great man. Balon… he would never be great, a miniscule man with delusions of grandeur.

It was time he saw what real grandeur was.

"Never again will a Greyjoy, or any house of the Iron Islands, rise again to challenge the House of the Dragon. Fire and blood have destroyed you twice, and thrice will be your annihilation if you make it necessary." Thrusting the crown high into the air, Rhaegar's voice roared. "DRACARYS!"

Aegarax enveloped Rhaegar's arm and hand in a stream of the orange-red harbinger of death. The armor plates melted, smoke and soot wreathing the hand, but the skin was undamaged. The flesh untouched. Men stared in wonder as the driftwood crown was reduced to nothing but ashes.

"Fire and blood!"

The men cheered as Aegarax roared. "FIRE AND BLOOD!"

---

Head emerging from underneath the sheet, Grand Maester Qyburn let out a breath. "All looks good, your Grace. A healthy pregnancy on your end."

Elia released a breath that she didn't realize that she was holding. "Thank the gods," she murmured. Rhaenys' and Aegon's pregnancies were touch and go for most moons and she had been reduced to bed rest for the last two of them - Alyssa's was a breeze in comparison seeing Elia dash about the Red Keep on her Queenly duties only to give birth in a quick six hour labor. While she knew in her heart that Tessarion's gift had brought her womb to the greatest strength, still the worry of the past was ingrained in her.

A hand reached out to squeeze hers. The loving face of Lyanna washed away her worries. "I'm so happy, my love."

"As am I," replied the Dornish Queen with a smile.

"Not as happy as am I," Rhaella proclaimed, dressed in her riding dress as she had been astride Jaimexes not an hour before. "Nothing is more delightful than watching one's grandchildren come into the world… since I'm not the one experiencing it." She chuckled at the jape.

"Of course, goodmother, of course." Lyanna rolled her eyes… "Oww… Uncle Aemon, be gentle."

The blind Maester smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, Lyanna." He had two fingers pressed to Lyanna's stomach, tapping with his other hand atop them to feel the swell within. "Hmmm…" he thought, lack of sight not taking away his expert diagnostic touch.

Grimacing, Lyanna felt the shifts and moves within her womb. "Can you not, uncle? The babe is doing dances upon my bladder."

Elia giggled. "Alyssa was like that. You're raising a vicious dragonwolf, you are my love."

"Gods help me." Lyanna's head fell upon the pillow. "I changed my mind. I don't want more babes."

"Made your bed, my love," Elia beamed.

"Plus your resolve is toothless, gooddaughter," Rhaella added. "You and Elia, when I pass your rooms when Rhaegar is here it's more like three beasts than men."

"Goodmother!" the Queens both exclaimed while both Aemon and Ser Jaime hid smirks. This… it felt nice. With the Ironborn defeated and the war concluded, all that was needed was for Rhaegar to come home and the family could be united again.

Everyone wanted Rhaegar to return… especially poor little Baelon. The lad was in the godswood every day praying for his father to be here for his nameday, the poor dear.

"Alright," Aemon said, interrupting Lyanna from her musings. "Nothing amiss here."

"You sure?" She had caught how his brows furrowed at one moment and was concerned.

Aemon shook his head. "Of course, nothing's the matter. The babe is perfectly healthy in there, as is Elia's." He wiped a tear from his face. "Another addition to the family I thought on the precipice of losing a few years back." With the Queens still laying down, immodest, it was Rhaela that hugged her uncle, giving him the sense of comfort she needed.

"What do you suppose Aemon was thinking about as he was examining me?" Lyanna asked Elia as they walked through the gardens, absentmindedly stroking their bellies flush with their babes. "He looked… curious."

Elia shrugged. "Can't be sure. Probably overwhelmed. He was alone for the longest time rotting at the wall, and now his home is filled with more Targaryens than he ever thought possible." She rubbed her stomach, imagining what her child would be like. Quiet and dutiful like Egg, Cella, or Baelon? A rambunctious terror like Alyssa or Dany? Something in the middle like Rhaenys? Whatever it was, Elia was excited to find out. "I still can't believe the war's over and Rhaegar is missing this."

"He would've loved to be a part of the examination," Lyanna said, feeling a surge of emotion. Damn this babe… She seemed to cry every day over something or another. "Benjen's returned, so there's some good news."

"At least we won't have to worry about a despondent Ash," Elia mused.

"I know what you mean," said her wife. "The way she carries herself about like a silent sister…" Lyanna shuddered. "Only Allyria or one of the hatchlings can even put a glint in her eyes… I'll kill Benjen for doing this to her, stupid idiot having to be the hero!"

Elia giggled, leaning over to kiss her love on the cheek. "You always were sexy when angry."

A snort, but Lyanna grinned at the compliment. "I'm serious. He's already a Kingsguard and a father… he has nothing to prove by nearly dying in Lannisport chasing glory like a fool."

"Be that as it may, you must realize that Ash is likely going to beat him up enough for all of us on this."

Approaching the chambers that were officially Ashara's but unofficially shared between the two lovers, almost immediately did the two Queens hear a shrill voice echoing out. "YOU STUPID STUPID IDIOT!"

The Queens looked at each other while Ser Barristan made as if he wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. "What I'd tell you?" Elia smirked.

Lyanna shook her head. "Dornish women." Elia smacked her shoulder… only to immediately rub it lovingly after. "You're gonna pay for that."

"Counting on it." Taking a breath, Elia pushed the door open to reveal Ashara in a rather… hypocritical position. "You idiot! You fool! You addled swine!" After the spate of insults she peppered her prone lover with fierce kisses over his face. "Never do that again! Do you hear me! I'll castrate you myself if you even try!" Another torrent of kisses, mixing with the tears pouring down her eyes.

Benjen, trying not to groan from the aches of his wounds, accepted the affection gladly even with the abuse and vitriol heaped on him. "Don't worry, Ash. I'm here… mostly in one piece."

"Fuck you! Fuck you for saying that you… you… Northern Fool!" But Ashara followed it up by burying her head in his neck, clutching him as if he were to slip away into death if she let go.

Truthfully, Lyanna didn't blame Ashara for reacting as such. Her brother was a frightful sight. Bandages covered his bare upper body, and he wore loose Dornish trousers… likely for dressed wounds down there as well. He looked to have lost significant weight, making him gaunt and haggard. She fought tears over Benjen, merely managing to croak "Please tell me the other shit got the worst of it?"

Holding Ash tight, Ben chuckled as best he could. "You bet. He's rotting in the Seven Hells while I'm here with the most beautiful Dornish lass in the world - no offense, goodsister…"

Elia couldn't help but chuckle. "None taken, goodbrother." All was well, Ash calmed down and kissing Benjen gently - so delighted he returned alive. "So did she speak about the babe, yet?" It was casual. Surely Ash told him…

Benjen smiled. "Haven't seen little Allyria yet, but yes, my sweet star told me about how much she's grown." He kissed her cheek, making Ash swoon.

"Wonderful, but I mean the new babe…"

"Elia…" Lyanna tried to warn her wife, but it was too late.

His eyes knotted in confusion only to widen in recognition. "What?"

Ashara glared. "No, I haven't told him yet."

"Oh… ooooh…" Elia had the courtesy to look away in embarrassment. "My apologies."

"You're with child again?"

"I wanted to surprise you…" She was cut off when Ben kissed her, ignoring any pain he had. He was too damn happy.

"I think we should better go," laughed Lyanna, dragging Elia out of there. All they could think of was that they wished Rhaegar was here to kiss them like that.

---

Sea winds ripping across the grand square of the palace at Lannisport, the mass assembly of Royal Guards, Stark banners, and Lannister troops stood at full attention as King Rhaegar mounted the rostrum. The great building behind him still bore the scars of the battle that had raged a moon before, but it simply made the moment all the greater in his eyes. Ned waited there, as did Tywin with his Hand of the King pin. Also there were a dozen of other Lords, from Davos Seaworth to Garlan to Elbert to Robert. All gathered to bear witness to this.

The band played the Rains of Castamere to serenade Rhaegar's address, clearly a message of the Lord Hand to the Ironborn Lords lined up glumly before them, Victarion Greyjoy at the van. From how they scowled and rubbed their wrists - where manacles had been - the message was received.

Rhaegar couldn't even bring himself to feel pity for them. In his mind, the only thing missing from this was Euron strung up, ready for him to rend the monster apart and feed the remnants to Aegarax. Another time then, I promise you. Clearing his throat, he unfurled the parchment. "Hereforth, signed by Lord Balon Greyjoy and the landed Lords of the Iron Islands, the Treaty of Lannisport shall be binding on the entire Realm. House Greyjoy accepts full responsibility for this conflict and hereby, alongside their bannermen, are to pay one thousand talents of gold bullion or coin to each of the Westerlands and the Reach, and five hundred talents of silver bullion or coin to the North as war indemnity."

The scowls deepened. Combined with the Rains of Castamere, Rhaegar and Tywin were essentially bankrupting them with indemnities they could not pay. Hard times were ahead for the Iron Islands.

Balon wasn't present, having taken sick with dysentery back in Pyke. Rhaegar laughed when he heard it, and resolved to have Elia and Varys spread the tale of the man's cowardice far and wide. "The Iron Islands shall be overseen by a council of the three realms most affected by their perfidy, to be appointed by Lord Hand Tywin Lannister and myself." With Tywin in charge essentially, everything from the nails in the walls would be used to pay the indemnity.

Other terms were listed out, from hostages to fishing rights to ship restrictions to the abolition of the thralls, but essentially all power within the Iron Islands was eliminated. They were a beaten, broken people - if they tried again and failed, they would be exterminated to the last man, woman, and child.

"And thus it is declared by me," Rhaegar boomed, the growing green shape of Aegarax landing upon the palace, hanging on it. "Rhaegar Targaryen, First of my Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, King of All Westeros and Shield of my People." With a rhetorical flourish, he had assumed the titles of Aegon the Conqueror, lost on by few.

"Long may he reign!" Tywin proclaimed, seeking ratification.

"Long may he reign!" By acclamation, the Lords granted it.

While the treaty had been read and acclaimed, the day's labors hadn't yet reached completion. Formal ceremonies, long postponed, were finally allowed to proceed. A litany of brave warriors were knighted for their great deeds, including Rodrik Forrester and Royland Degore for their brave capture of Victarion Greyjoy. Thoros of Myr, already a knight from somewhere or another, was awarded a lump sum of five hundred gold dragons for being the first to storm the walls of Pyke. Most would likely disappear into the hands of tavern owners or whores, but Rhaegar was convinced Melisandre would ensure enough was sent to the Red Temple in Volantis.

A great feast was held in the Lannisport Palace overseen by the recovered - mostly - Lord Stafford Lannister. Rhaegar found it boring to the extreme, especially without Elia's witty retorts or Lyanna's vibrancy to make it entertaining. Various matrons and maidens insisted on dancing with him and he obliged, though ignored their attempts to flirt. I am in no need of mistresses. Why would he when he had the two most beautiful women in the world awaiting him in his bed?

Luckily Lya and Elia weren't here to see the shameless displays. The former would probably slug them across the face while the latter would make Oberyn sneak a snake into their beds.

One couple was having a fabulous time. Finally free of worry of her husband, Cersei Stark was all smiles as she danced around with Ned. His goodbrother seemed the happiest Rhaegar had ever seen, his icy, brooding exterior melted and finally enjoying himself, twirling around his beautiful bride in her red and gold dress that hugged her figure. While Rhaegar never desired Cersei, he couldn't deny that Ned was truly a lucky man to have such a beauty… to have the undying love of such a beauty as well.

Catelyn Tully had been a beauty, and look how that turned out. Love was important.

"Are you happy, my Lady?" Rhaegar asked Cersei as they danced, one song while Ned was snapped up by the widowed Genna Lannister.

Her green eyes sparkled. "Aye, very much so, your Grace."

"Moreso than if your father had his way early on, I assume?"

Cersei knew what he spoke of. "With risk of offending you, goodbrother, aye." He gingerly spun her. "The insanity and poison of court would've brought out the worst in me. Proud, kind Ned keeps me grounded and I adore him for it."

"He's one of the last truly honorable men left in the Seven Kingdoms. It may go unsaid how I would react if you brought him shame or pain."

"Never, your Grace. I am his and he is mine."

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "Be warned, the last Lady Stark didn't fair well with such sandal customs in the North."

She smirked. "A coincidental statement, I am sure." Aye, she will serve Ned greatly. Provided each trait his goodbrother lacked.

Luckily for Rhaegar, the feast drew to a close and he managed to extract himself. Ser Arthur providing close watch, the two young children of Balon Greyjoy were brought in, surrounded by Targaryen guards. He felt a tiny bit of sympathy for them. Theon Greyjoy was Rhaenys' age and utterly terrified. Shaking as if he were facing Balerion the Black Dread. Asha was a little older and attempted to stand strong, but there was equal terror in her eyes.

Rhaegar didn't relish this. Children didn't deserve to suffer for their father's crimes, but this was needed. "Do you two understand who I am?"

"Yes, your Grace," Asha said.

"Yes… your Grace." Theon's lips quivered.

The King walked to them, towering over the frightened youths. "The Greyjoys and Ironborn in total, have never been able to learn their lesson- no matter how many times they rebel and pillage our lands, they will never be able to win when all of Westeros is against them. Balon Greyjoy learned of it once, and as a result, you both ended up paying for your father's mistake."

"What… what will happen to us?" Theon murmured.

"He'll kill us, that's what," Asha hissed, sucking in a sob. "Just as his dogs did mother!"

Rhaegar sighed. Gods save me from this… "you are not to die, young ones. But you will be separated to serve as wards. You, Theon, shall be the ward of Lord Stark in Winterfell. You, Asha, shall be my ward."

"I will never kneel." Asha blazed defiance, even if it was weak.

"We shall see. Take them away for a hot meal," he ordered his guards. Once they were gone he sighed and collapsed in a chair. "I hope this works."

Tywin snorted. "Balon gives absolutely nothing as to care for his children. They are a means to an end for him." The Hand held little regard for the Ironborn… not even grudging respect. "You'll never raise them properly."

"Anyone has the capacity for change, goodfather," Ned replied. "Or else you'd have been as your father was before you."

A scowl. "Different set of facts."

"It would've been easier had your mad dog not delivered the worst of atrocities upon the wives of Balon and Victarion."

"Aye, that was… unfortunate." In his pillaging, Ser Gregor Clegane had come upon the women of House Greyjoy and proceeded to… sate his animal lusts upon them. The dainty wife of Victarion was then disposed of by smashing her against the wall while he took his claymore and sliced Balon's wife down the middle. "Few would truly care though, your Grace."

"I want such monsters dead."

"In most normal circumstances, so would I, but Ser Gregor is not normal."

Ned looked incredulously. "Certainly you cannot think him worthy of a pardon for this?"

Tywin was indifferent. "Goodson, your honor will get you killed one day." He turned to Rhaegar. "I have dismissed him from my service and sent him back to his father at Clegane Hall, but it is wise to keep someone like that on a leash lest they break free and go mad."

Scowling, Rhaegar didn't want a fight over this. "Anything else he does… kill him."

"Understood." Matters settled, Rhaegar's sudden announcement of departure back to King's Landing upon dragonback drew alarm from Tywin. "My King, I beseech this is a mistake."

"No mistake, Lord Hand. I have been away from home far too long," the King proclaimed, silently calling Aegarax from the sky through their bond. "None shall keep me from this."

Lord Tywin was quite irritated, though Ned merely watched with a tilted eyebrow. "You are needed here, your Grace. There is still much to do before we can depart…"

"Then do it. I've given my orders and directives already, Lord Hand." The dragon flapped his wings and landed with a small cloud of dust kicked up. "You are an expert at it, I am told. I would stay but I cannot miss my son's nameday."

"There are other namedays, your Grace."

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "My decision is final, Lord Tywin. Keep me appraised by raven but do not bother me on this again." He left no room for argument, merely bowing and walking back towards the palace.

Ned hid a smile until his goodfather was gone. "He'll remember that humiliation."

"I just delivered him the Iron Islands and the position of Lord Hand. He'll be fine." Rhaegar wasn't going to constantly humiliate the man as his father did. "But I truly must go, Ned. My son… young Baelon prays every day just for me to be there for his feast and I cannot deny him." A look of longing and grief crossed the King's face.

Understanding, Ned put a hand on his goodbrother's shoulder. "Go, and give him my love. Winterfell already has direction of what to send him as my gift."

A chuckle. "Thank you Ned." He quickly mounted Aegarax, the dragon's smaller size making it quite easy. "And enjoy married life with your new bride. I expect Lyanna to be given another niece or nephew quite soon."

Ned crossed his arms. "Is that your command?"

"Aye, it is," Rhaegar laughed. "Though I have no doubts you'd enjoy carrying it out."

"Already have, your Grace." Ned grinned proudly.

It took a moment for Rhaegar to comprehend, but he grinned back. "Wonderful! Just wonderful!" He clicked his tongue. "Sovegon…" Aegarax roared as he beat his wings, taking to the sky.

I'm coming, my son...

---

As night fell upon the city of King's Landing, with supper concluded all the little dragons were clustered in Baelon and Daenerys' shared chambers. "Let's play conqueror!" Jon exclaimed. "Field of fire. Artie, you be Gardener."

"Why do I have to be Gardener?!" Artie complained, crossing his arms.

"Cause Egg has light hair for Loren Lannister, silly," Dany giggled at their friend, already grabbing the dragon figurines for Balerion and Vhagar. But when Rhaenys made to pick up Meraxes, Dany slapped her hand away. "No Rhae, that Sansa's."

The eldest dragon rolled her eyes. "Not this again. Dany, if we play field of fire then one need to be Rhaenys."

But Dany dug in her heels, shaking her head so vociferously that her hair tangled everywhere. "Sansa is Rhaenys, Rhae. That's what is!"

"Jon, just let Rhae be Rhaenys," Egg pleaded, hating them to fight.

Baelon hated it too, but found himself on Dany's side. "Sorry, Rhae, but only Sansa can be Rhaenys."

"You too, valonqar? My name is Rhaenys! You let me be the Queen who Never Was and Alysanne."

"I know, but Sansa is Rhaenys."

Artie was so confused. "Who's Sansa?"

Rhaenys huffed. "Jon and Dany's imaginary friend."

This seemed to make Dany angry… correction, she was angry. "Sansa's not imagin...ary!" The Princess was sure she knew what that word was and did not like it one bit. "She's a beautiful, great girl and me and Jon's best friend!"

"I thought I was your best friend?" Artie quipped, chuckling… it soon became apparent that his attempt to lighten the mood wasn't the best tack and he shut up.

"You met once in a dream, that doesn't make her real."

"It does so! She has red hair, grey eyes like auntie Lya, and is the bestest friend Jon and I have." Dany was not budging. "Me and Jon both dream her, and muna says dragons have magic so ha!" The Princess had a smug smile on her face, crossing her arms in triumph.

"Mag-ic! Dwa-gon! Mag-ic! Dwa-gon!" Little Alyssa was giggling from her crib, while Cella was quiet and just watching, playing idly with her blocks.

Aegon tapped his chin. "Do we know a Sansa?"

Thinking, Rhaenys shrugged. "N'cle Ned has a Sansa… but I dunno if she has red hair. Muna and N'cle Ben are both dark-haired." It wasn't a common name the way something like 'Jeyne' was, but still...

Swallowing, Jon just shifted where he stood. "Let's play something else…" It just wasn't worth it to argue. "How about Dragon's Wroth?"

"No, I always end up being the Yellow Toad and I hate it," Rhaenys complains.

"Alright." Baelon went to his cousin. "Allyria can be Yellow Toad."

"Yay!" Allyria clapped her hands, not knowing what the hells was going on but excited nonetheless. That seemed to lighten the mood.

But, as it was true every night, the fun and games couldn't last. Lady Dacey and their guards came and began to escort the others to their own chambers. Artie socked Jon on the shoulder - a gesture he returned with a slight grin - while Egg patted him on the shoulder. Rhae hugged him and kissed his forehead, and Cella, Lyssa, and Allyria gave him sloppy kisses on the cheek that he was forced to wipe with his hand but otherwise cherished.

As it was most nights, his nursemaid Wylla dressed him and Dany for bed in their shared chambers before snuffing out the candle and bidding them sleep.

Immediately, Jon heard the rustle of sheets. Dany threw off her covers and ran towards his bed, crawling in until the two hatchlings were holding each other underneath the furs. Jon sighed in comfort at his aunt's closeness - they did this often, but since the Ironborn attack vicious nightmares had driven both of them into the same bed every night for support. It had been a mix and match the first few times before Dany declared that Jon's bed, with the thick bearskin fur blanket N'cle Ned sent them from Winterfell, was much warmer and so insisted they stay there.

Baelon would never say no - he couldn't deny his sweet aunt. Frankly, not once could he remember a time where Daenerys wasn't right there beside him, nor did the four-nameday old Targaryen comprehend why he wouldn't want that.

"Jon?"

"Hmmm?"

"Think Sansa is N'cle Ned's girl?"

Jon thought for a moment. "She had muna's grey eyes, so maybe? I dunno?" He remembered that dream as if it were the day before, and how happy and complete it felt playing with their new companion - a sentiment Dany shared. "I hope we find her again."

"We will," Dany insisted, holding him tighter. "We dragons. Nothing stop us." Baelon could hear their grandmother, Dany's muna, in her voice. He loved his grandmother so it was welcome. They both sighed and snuggled into each other. "Night, Jon."

"Night, Dany." His eyes fluttered shut and soon Baelon drifted off to sleep.

His was a dreamless sleep. No flights atop dragons as his most glorious dreams - no black demons or glowing blue eyes as his worst nightmares. Unfortunately, what wonders that brought Sansa into their shared dreams wasn't present and Baelon felt himself disappointed.

Where was she? Where was his playmate? Dany felt the loss more than he did normally, but Jon was affected… His family just seemed incomplete now that he knew Sansa existed. Was she real? His aunt refused to accept that, but Jon worried.

"My sweet sister… sleep well and safe for me."

At first, Jon didn't know whether he was asleep. The sweet Valyrian words that came out almost seeming surreal… it took a moment for him to realize that yes, he had awoken. Eyes slowly opening, in the low moonlight he could see a mane of silver hair. Two twinkling violet eyes brimming with tears. And a face he'd recognize anywhere. "Ke… kepa?"

It took a moment for Rhaegar to notice that his son was awake, Jon's voice a low croak, but when he did the awed expression morphed into a loving smile. "Aye, my son. It's me."

Jon couldn't believe it. His grogginess kept him quiet, but otherwise he felt elation. "You're here… you came back.."

"I promised I would, little pup." A hand ruffled his hair gently, careful not to wake the sleeping Dany so adorably cuddled with Baelon. Rhaegar already knew Rhaella would be imagining a betrothal. "Can you do me a favor? Don't say anything. I wanna surprise your brother and sisters and munas."

Nodding and feeling his kepa press a kiss to his forehead, Jon sleepily smiled. It felt like a bad weight had been lifted off his chest, replaced with feather light tickles that his powerful dragon father would oft delight him with. Seeing the King begin to drift off back to the open door to the hallway, Jon called out. "Kepa?" Not too loud, for he could feel Dany's breaths ghost over his cheek and neck from where she rested.

Rhaegar looked back at his boy. "Yes, my son?"

A tear fell down his cheek, so full did his heart feel. "I prayed and prayed before the heart tree… and you're here…"

Brilliant smile lighting up Rhaegar's face, he walked to Baelon. Reaching down to swipe off the tear with his thumb. "Not even all the demons of the Seven Hells could keep me away from you."

Door closing behind Rhaegar, Dany involuntarily tightening her hold on him and snuggling closer, Jon fell asleep with a smile on his face. His nameday wish coming true - the old gods hearing his prayer.

All was right in the world again.

---

Only the flicker of lanterns banished away the darkness in Maegor's Holdfast. Rhaegar didn't mind, however, for it was to his advantage. Best to sneak through unnoticed when there was little light, and his plans for the night required a low profile. Still small and agile, Aegarax was able to silently land in the gardens upon the cliff then fly off to places unknown to rest for the night - Rhaegar had instructed him to wait until the morning to return to the dragonpit, and his mount understood.

Unfortunately he was the King and the Red Keep was the place of residence for the royal family. There was no chance for him to truly enter unseen, hence his shadow. "The children will certainly be delighted with your return on the morrow, your Grace."

While he would've vastly preferred Ser Oswell or Ser Barristan, Rhaegar saw his muna's handiwork when it was Jaime that escorted him quietly into the holdfast. "Aye, I cannot wait."

"At least young Prince Baelon was awake to see you… he's been quite despondent."

"I've heard," Rhaegar replied, feeling a little guilty over his son's sorrow. The joy in Jon's sleepy eyes was worth it though, and Rhaegar felt elation as he kissed the cheek of each of his sleeping children - Dany, Cella, and Viserys too. He truly missed his family. "And now there are just two left to greet, or three… perhaps I should visit muna as well."

The Kingsguard gave a grimace. "Actually, your Grace. Forgive me but I would not advise such." Nearing the royal chambers, Rhaegar raised a brow at his Kingsguard, curious as to the defiance. Jaime rubbed the back of his neck. "See, after giving me this assignment, her Grace made it clear that there was a surprise waiting for only me in her chambers…"

"Stop." Eyes closed, Rhaegar shook his head violently. "Given the respect I have for you I shall forego taking your head for putting such images in my mind." With what he planned, Rhaegar did not wish for… whatever his muna did with Jaime when alone to grace his thoughts.

Jaime had the sense to look sheepish. "You did ask, your Grace."

A groan. "Just… begone." Jaime bowed and departed, leaving Rhaegar alone to enter the royal suite. He took in a deep breath, calming his beating heart in anticipation of seeing his beautiful brides sleeping in their bed for the first time in moons…

Not a split-second after entering the suite did Rhaegar hear the unadulterated moans of pleasure emanating from their bedchamber. Rapturous sounds of female pleasure, the throaty purr of a Dornishwoman and the wild grunts and mewls of a northern wolf. Many were muffled, joined by the rustling of sheets and the creak of a jostling bed. Slowly unfastening his sword belt and leaving it on a table, Rhaegar smirked to himself. Those minxes have been enjoying themselves without me.

Oh, this couldn't do - defying their King in such a brazen manner. Rhaegar had the urge to simply burst in and confront them before teasing them to death…

"Yes… my Dornish love," Lyanna gasped, her cries making the King's trousers become uncomfortably tight. "Worship my flower! Oh, yes!"

He shook his head, smirking. That she-wolf of mine can't control her loudness in bed, especially when I or Elia feast on her… A slow smile spread on Rhaegar's face. Lyanna was shut out from the world when in the throes of passion and Elia being buried in her heat… oh, the ideas swirling in his head were diabolical.

It was a contest between silence and speed, but ultimately Rhaegar managed to shed his armor without but a faint clink when it was placed on the stone floor. Off went his doublet, joined by his trousers and smallclothes. Rhaegar fisted his cock to ease the pulsing pressure as Lyanna's moans and Elia's muffled grunts of hunger left the bedchamber, his other hand removing the silk tie that held up his hair. Letting it fall about his shoulders as both Queens adored with the only stitch of clothing left being the crown of Aegon the Conqueror adorning his head. With a smug grin, he slowly eased the door open enough for him to slip inside.

If he hoped his hand could still the burning in his cock, the sight before Rhaegar killed those efforts.

Lyanna's mouth was open, screaming breathlessly as her hair pillowed about in a halo, some strands clinging to a sheen of sweat on her forehead. "Yes, my love!" Her fingers gripped the dark locks of her wife, Elia's tongue sweeping through her cunt. "I need it! Oooh, you feel so good."

Elia merely moaned her assent. One hand had spread apart Lya's legs while the other was reaching up, fondling a breast. She was on all fours, ass high in the air and exposing her leaking cunt. A sight that Rhaegar hungered over.

And so lost were they in their passion, neither noticed him enter. He would've bet away his crown that they didn't even know he was in the Red Keep.

Even better.

Thrashing about, Lyanna tugged harder on Elia's hair. "Lick me, you Dornish whore."

"Mmmm," Elia moaned like a wanton courtesan, her honeyed skin flush with desire. "So delicious." Her own heat unbearable, one hand kneaded her own breasts while the other moved to her own nub, rubbing it as her tongue lashed at Lyanna's.

Slowly creeping forward, thanking the gods above that Lya's eyes were still shut tightly, Rhaegar stilled for a moment. Looking at their bellies, swelling with his children. He wasn't too late to enjoy them like this, his unborn babes growing within their wombs - he had never had such wonders with Lyanna nor with this pregnancy of Elia's, but now he would. It brought a happy glint to his eyes.

Yet the further filthy moans from his beloveds more at home in a brothel than the bedchamber of the Queens drove such sentimentality from his mind. Clouding it in hunger and lust. Dragon awoken powerfully. Without waiting a moment, Rhaegar strode forward. In a single stroke he batted aside Elia's hand and pushed his cock to the hilt into her cunt.

Screaming into Lyanna's heat, Elia tore her mouth away and looked frantically behind her. The sudden fullness stretching her almost to the point of pain wasn't resisted one bit by her cunt - apparently her body recognized the intrusion before her mind did - but it took a split-second from her look of fear and pain to morph into shock and elation. "Rhaegar!"

Gripping her ass tightly, Rhaegar gritted his teeth from the tightness of her channel… "Fuck…"

Initially Lyanna cried foul at Elia pulling away just as she was about to climax. But both Elia's gasp and Rhaegar's grunt finally threw open Lyanna's eyes, gazing at her husband in shock - not an unpleasant sight. "Oh gods… yes, husband. Fuck her hard!" Her mind was of one thought. Greeting him would wait. Making Elia shatter like a slut before offering her cunt for Rhaegar to defile couldn't wait. "Do it, damn you!"

Roaring in both anger and lust, Rhaegar set a bruising pace. Skin slapping against Elia's as he drew out almost to the tip before slamming as deep as he could. Elia's mouth opened in a pure scream of pleasure, head thrown back and casting Rhaegar a lusty look with her brown eyes.

But it wasn't to last. His powerful hand wrapped around the back of her neck and shoved Elia back into Lyanna's cunt. "Eat her," he growled.

"Mmmphh!" Elia gurgled, nose inhaling an even more pungent scent as the return of their husband flooded Lya's cunt with her wetness. The aroma coupled with Rhaegar's dragon cock slamming against the entrance to her womb were turning her brain to mush.

"She's not licking me, husband," Lyanna whined, sounding like a petulant child.

Elia's walls clenched around his cock, which after so long needed all of the King's fortitude not to explode. "Can't… have that…"

"Ahhh!" Elia cried out, her asscheeks stinging from where he spanked her. It made her even wetter, rocking back against his cock while burying her tongue inside her she-wolf. Reaching as deep as possible to swallow the screams of pleasure she couldn't help but vocalize.

Lyanna's eyes darkened. "Yes, my dragon. Spank her hard!" Each slap joined with each swipe of Elia's tongue against her walls drove her further to the precipice. The Queen knew not how much time passed. Some points felt instantaneous while the others felt as if this had been going on for hours. More than once did Lyanna think the sun was emerging from beyond the horizon only for her to realize that the light was merely the stars she saw behind her lids. But when her orgasm came, she knew it. "Ohhh, yes… my loves!"

"Grrlllphhh!" Elia's shrieking orgasm into her creaming wife was muffled by the delicious folds, her fingers gripping the plump ass and channel squeezing Rhaegar's cock as hard as she could.

With a grunt, Rhaegar emptied his seed into his pregnant wife. There could be no more depraved situation than this in defiance of the gods above… perhaps if they had been all unmarried, but Rhaegar couldn't care less. They were Targaryens, they answered to neither gods nor men.

The gods are on our side, though.

Slumping forward, cunt leaking his seed, Elia's trembling form was urged up by Lyanna. From her own orgasm, the fiery she-wolf appeared more docile, more needy as she urged Elia to rest flush against her. Their lips met in a hungry kiss and breasts mashed together, desperate for closeness. "Mmmmm…" moaned the Dornish Queen.

Lyanna simply bucked her hips, nails raking across Elia's smooth back. Their bellies weren't yet large enough to make such a position impossible.

Stroking his cock, just the sight of this after so long without his beloveds only brought Rhaegar back to full mast. He had sated his desire for Elia's cunt for the time being, and now the spread legs of his she-wolf displayed her wonders to him. It was a… quite potent visual elixir that drove the sunrise dragon to near madness.

Looking up as the bed jostled underneath her, Lyanna could see her husband. His hair shone in the firelight, eyes dark and brimming with a draconic hunger that made her shiver. Bracing herself, soon he had pulled her - Elia along for the ride - to the edge of the bed and sheathed himself inside her cunt. "Ooooooh… yesssss!" She cried out at being entered so suddenly, and whimpered against Elia's lips as the two resumed their hungry kiss.

Seeing them still going at it so desperately while he set another desperate pace into his northern wife, Rhaegar grabbed onto the bedframe for support while two fingers swiped through Elia's still glistening cunt. Two fingers mimicking his cock in pressing into them.

Elia broke the kiss, eyes rolling in the back of her head. "He's inside me, Lya…"

"Yes, he feels so wonderful," was the reply, Lya leaning down to suck on one of Elia's nipples. Needing to be grounded in the pleasure.

She was meeting his thrusts with abandon. They both were, Lyanna moaning into Elia's breast while Elia bounced her hips around his fingers. Their cunts sucking him in. Rhaegar was more than ready to come again, his dragonblood blazing. Adding a third finger while changing angle inside Lyanna, a decision that made them all see stars.

"Oh yeah… keep going, lover… don't stop…"

"Lya… Lia… kessa… my loves…"

"More, more, more… oh fuck…"

Each would swear that they all erupted at the same time, the wails of pleasure even more powerful than the last.

All seed spilled, all juices flooded, all tremors collapsing to simple trembling, Rhaegar withdrew his cock and digits and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. Completely spent, Elia rolled off Lyanna to the other side. The King and his Queens laid there for what seemed like hours, merely breathing hard and trying to recover from what they had endured.

"What a homecoming," Rhaegar finally managed to say.

"Mmmm, it was nearly worth you leaving just for that," Elia cooed.

Lyanna turned once she had the energy left, crawling atop Rhaegar and straddling him. "Oh husband." She rested her head on his chest, holding him close. "We were lost without you."

"I see you've been getting along quite well," he chuckled, feeling Elia meld herself on his side with head in the crook of his neck.

"That may be so, but our hearts are unfilled unless we all are together." She wanted to speak more, but yawned from fatigue. "Jon… he'll be so happy to know you're back."

"I… I already saw him. Never could I miss his nameday."

"The best husband and father I could ever ask for." Lyanna felt the luckiest woman in the world. "I love you."

"I love you," Elia repeated.

"Words cannot express how much I love both of you." And so they drifted off to sleep, completely content.

Notes:

He made Jon's wish come true... and gave some sweet lovin to his brides ;)

Aren't Jon and Dany priceless?

So Tywin is basically in charge of the Iron Islands, while Asha is going to King's Landing and Theon's going to Winterfell.

Next up, the Starks return to Winterfell! More comments I get the sooner I update :D

Chapter 84: Lady of Winterfell

Notes:

Hi guys! I'm married now to my beautiful wife. Even working for my idiot boss isn't dampening my mood :)

Good news, with Bet of Dragons done, my one shot done, and Targaryen Dynasty wrapping up (check them all out, I promise you'll love them), I shall be starting a new project: a modern romantic comedy (with plenty of smut) starring Jon and Daenerys :D It'll be posted on Ao3.

Be sure to check out my current stories Dragonshield and Heart of the Blessed.

Enjoy.

"Well, welcome to your new home, sister." Seated across from her, Tyrion looked rather… cold. Burrowed into his thick wools. "Last chance to back out before we pass under the gates."

Cersei glared at him, hand on her growing stomach. "Fuck off, Tyrion."

"Language," chided Genna, eyes glaring at her niece. "You two promised you'd present a united front here. We wouldn't want the Starks to think less of us."

"Hey, if the ale is free-flowing and the brothels well-stocked then I'll kiss their cheeks." He chuckled and looked at his sister. "Not that I would be able to reach them, right Cersei?"

She couldn't help but smirk. "You know me so well, brother of mine." Another jolt in the way made her wince and rub her stomach. "Their Graces are determined to improve the infrastructure of the Kingdoms. Why not start with better roads."

"A good project to begin when Lady, dear niece," Genna said with a smile. "Rebuilding and revitalizing the keep into something great, like your father did with Casterly Rock."

"Perhaps… gods know these people need a good Lady after that… woman." She stilled herself. Cersei was determined not to badmouth Catelyn Stark in her death… at least in front of others not her blood.

I need the best impression with my stepchildren.

The wheelhouse came to a halt, immediately Ned opening the door. "My Lady," he said with a smile. Beside him was Robb, looking ever so adorable with an eager grin and in his Stark leathers.

Cersei beamed. "My Lord." She took his proffered hand and was let into the courtyard of Winterfell. It was a… an austere castle, no doubt. No frills, but beautiful in a harsh way. Cersei could take stock of it later, for there before them was the entire household welcoming their Lord back… as well as his new son and wife.

One was particularly eager. "Poppa!" Cersei watched a little girl with flowing red hair practically throw herself at Ned.

He laughed and hefted her up, twirling her around. "There's my little she-pup." He peppered the girl with kisses, making her giggle. Sansa Stark… my stepdaughter.

"Lady Sansa, keep your decorum," called out a woman in a septa's habit. She was sour and stern - Cersei disliked her already.

"Leave it," Ned commanded, kissing Sansa on the cheek. "Pup, let me introduce you to someone very dear to me." Tucked in his arm, Ned brought her to face Cersei. "Pup, this is Cersei Stark, my wife and your stepmother."

Sansa looked at her with her father's grey eyes, suddenly shy. "Hi," she squeaked.

Cersei gave her a warm smile. "Hello, dear daughter." She pinched her cheek. "You have your mother's beauty but I can see your father in you."

"I's a wolf," she said firmly.

"I's a wolf too!" Robb had appeared at his mother's side, looking up at Sansa. "I'm Robb."

Confused, Sansa looked at her father. Ned laughed. "This is your brother, pup. Say hello." He set her down, going to pick up a babe from one of the maids.

Sansa approached him cautiously. "I'm Sansa. Welcome… brudder."

"You my sister?" Robb smiled at her nod. "I always wanted a sister… momma's belly have sister but I have you now too."

While his words seemed to please Sansa, her face lit up as a little creature scampered beside Robb. "Is that lion?"

"Aye, he's Lann." Robb picked him up, cuddling the lion's fur. "He's the bestest."

"Let me hold him! Let me hold him!"

Preoccupied with her beloved son greeting his new siblings, Cersei didn't notice the person that approached her until his massive shadow was towering over her. Turning, her eyes did a double take and she stepped back. "Um… Ned?"

"Hodor!" the giant blurted, a simple smile on his face. He pointed to the wheelhouse, where the Lannister guardsmen were… a bit concerned to see him so close to their Lady. "Hodor."

Seeing her guardsmen, ladies in waiting, aunt, and Tyrion equal parts puzzled and equal parts fearful, the lioness didn't let anything but curiosity appear on her face in front of the Stark Household. "Ned, who is this?"

Looking up from where he had been tickling little Rickard's nose, Ned found the scene before him and grimaced. Oh, please don't let this be… His gaze sweeping across the household, he saw Ser Rodrik, Nan, and the other senior staff of the keep looking intently at the scene - as if they had set this up.

No, they definitely set this up. "That, my love," he said, walking to her and making sure his side touched hers. "Is Hodor."

Hodor beamed. "Hodor!"

"Does he say anything else but his name?"

"That isn't his name… but it's all he can say." Ned looked at her with a sympathetic glance. "He's… a bit feebleminded unfortunately."

Cersei regarded the giant with new eyes. "I can see that, husband."

Old Nan stepped forward. "Forgive us, my Lady, for startling you." From the glint in her eye, both Ned and Cersei knew she was not being sincere in her apology, nor were the accompanying glances from the others in Winterfell that were of the Starks alone - only Ned knew why though. "But Hodor is our largest set of muscles and I figured he would be perfect for helping haul your baggage into the keep. For the daughter of the Lord of Casterly Rock, we expected you to have a significant amount."

Biting back a snort, Cersei could tell they were sizing her up. Well then, northmen, let's play. "I do have much baggage, though a lot of it is for my dear son and your heir."

Not expecting that response, Nan didn't back down. "So my decision was correct?"

"My Lady, let that beast not approach you or your household," one of her guards stated. "Feebleminded giants have horrible tempers and could strike at any moment."

Hodor was confused. "Hooo...dor?"

Tyrion chuckled. "He reminds me of our cousin, sister. The one who kept crushing all the beetles. He was rather harmless… lest you were a beetle." He laughed at his own jape. Cersei just glared at him.

"My Lady…?" The man-at-arm's hand was on his sword, watching Hodor. The others of Winterfell were watching the scene, looks already hardening. Oh no… Ned knew this to be a set up repeat of Catelyn's arrival at Winterfell, and if the Lannister men reacted the same way she had…

"Oh, put that hand away before you hurt someone." Cersei rolled her eyes. "Hodor looks like he could lift twice you can, so shut up and let him assist." She looked at the giant with a smile. "Do try and be careful with my chest of dresses. I am quite fond of them… as is Lord Stark, I might add." Casting him a smoldering look, Ned reddened and looked back down at his babe.

For his part, Hodor clapped his hands. "Hodor! Hodor!" he bowed to Cersei and made for the lead wheelhouse, lifting up a trunk without assistance.

Around the grounds, the Stark household looked at Cersei with a newfound gaze. Most wore relieved smiles, including Old Nan. Cersei herself slipped into place beside Ned, looking over her new stepson as they followed Robb and Sansa - the two siblings chatting together as if they had been twins that grew up from the cradle.

Dinner was an intimate affair, feasts postponed given the one that heralded their arrival in the North at White Harbor. Ned spent his time continuing to reconnect with his beloved daughter, Sansa oft dissolving into giggles as he tickled her. Robb seemed to compete with his father for Sansa's attention. Regaling her with stories of Casterly Rock from growing up there, the both of them feeding Lann with table scraps. The cub loved Sansa, perched beside her in the chair for much of the dinner.

She seemed the sweetest girl to Cersei, though her interaction with her were… subdued. From the glares from the Septa that was always close to Ned's daughter, Cersei understood where it likely came from. Give me an excuse… just give it to me.

"Momma?" Cersei looked up from her boar roast and potatoes to see Robb looking at her, pleading. "Sansa wants to show me the godswood. Can we go?!"

"Robb… it's past sunset," Ned stated.

"But Robb never saw a godswood with trees," Sansa said as if it were the greatest of tragedies. "Please, please, please."

Cersei answered before Ned could. "In the morning, after we break our fast. Malera and Jory can escort you." Might as well give them some more time to be together.

Robb beamed. "Thank you, momma!"

"Thank you… Lady Stark," Sansa said, less enthused. Ned gave her a sympathetic look. It would take some time for them to bond.

Soon after, Ned put Sansa to bed while Cersei handled Robb. "Are you happy, pup?" she asked her son.

"I love it here, momma," Robb said sleepily. "Can we stay forever?"

Her heart soared. "Aye, we shall. I don't plan on leaving." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Cersei ducked out of the chamber only to have Ned sweep her in his arms. "Ned," she giggled.

"I love you so much, wife." He kissed her.

She reciprocated, then took his arm. "I love you too, now take me to my chambers." Arriving at a door, Cersei clutched Ned's arm a bit tighter and smiled serenely at him. "So is this your bedchamber?"

Ned gulped. "Umm… my Lady, this is your bedchamber."

Her face fell. "So you wish not for me to share yours?" Cersei watched as he flushed red.

"Cers… you'd want to share mine?"

"Why wouldn't I wish to share a bed with my handsome husband?" she asked as if it was stupid to even doubt it. "Women that seek their own chamber are cold fishes that know they don't hold the love of their men nor are able to please them."

He grimaced. "Catelyn only slept in my bed on our wedding night. Else we… slept in hers or apart." My point, exactly, sweet Ned. "Forgive me if I made assumptions."

She smiled and cupped his cheek. "You are too sweet for your own good. I would only request an apology if you don't lead me to our chambers right now." Cersei waved off the offending bedchamber. "Our babe can get this one."

Ned chuckled, as you wish, Lady Stark." How he said the title - low and deep - made her shudder with pleasure.

His bedchamber was as she expected, though Cersei walked through it with interest. So this is where my beloved spent his nights all those years we were apart. To her sadness, there were few personal effects. Ice was mounted on the wall beneath a Stark banner, while the head of a longhorn elk adorned the mantle of the hearth - currently roaring in an effort to beat out the chill of night. "Seems… lifeless," she remarked sadly.

"Was merely a place I slept, Cers," he replied. Aside from toeing off his boots and unlacing his tunic, Ned just stood there, hands behind his back. "Never had much joy aside when Sansa had a nightmare and had to sleep with me." He didn't realize until now just how much she had kept him going in those cold years without Cersei.

Smiling at him sympathetically, Cersei leaned up to kiss his cheek. "We'll have to change that, won't we?" Breaking from him, she went to his bed - their bed. "Hmmm, big and sturdy." She ran a hand along the large fur blanket that was draped over the down cover. "Warm and soft if not the finery I'm used to."

Ned stepped behind her, two hands on her shoulders. "I can order you finer sheets from White Harbor if you like."

But she shook her head. "I may request some more decoration for this place, and perhaps some mementos of my childhood home, but this bed stays the way it is." Cersei turned and looped her arms around Ned. "Though the furs look quite warm, I will likely have to seek out you for body heat during the long winter nights." Her brow crooked up innocently. "Or is that a problem?"

"No," he replied breathlessly. "No problem at all."

Their lips slanted together not long after that, the heady moment between the two breaking out into lustful passion. On the march from White Harbor they had been cruelly denied each other by the close quarters and Cersei's stomach maladies, but nothing was stopping them now. They were home, in their bedchamber, right next to the bed. Cersei would seek the death of anyone who would stop them now. "Husband… let us… mmmm…" The lioness purred as Ned nipped at her neck, his beard tickling the skin. "Let us break in our bed."

"Whatever my Lady commands." They resumed their kiss, Ned pushing her gently onto the soft furs and climbing atop her. Cersei looped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. Digging her nails into his shoulders, desperate to feel him close. That darkened his grey eyes, filling Ned with a pure lust. "You're sin," he gasped out. "A tempress."

"Oh?" Cersei batted her eyelashes. "Am I now?"

Ned suddenly tugged at her woolen dress, exposing her breasts to his lecherous stare. "A wild lioness that I must make mine. Irresistible." Cersei had seen many men lust after her and her beauty, but Ned's gaze… his was the only one she had ever felt weakness for. The desire to submit, to lose all inhibitions and allow to claim all of her.

But even she was surprised when instead of stripping her, Ned merely hiked up her dress. "Ned… my wolf… what?"

"I can't wait, Cers," he growled, yanking down her soaked smallclothes before moving for the ties of his trousers. "I have to have you." One hand fisted his cock while the other moved to palm her breast.

Cersei let out a filthy moan. Who was she to deny him? "Yes, have me, husband." Gods, she wanted it too - desperately so. She rolled her hips, trying to wriggle down to take his cock inside her cunt. He held back, merely groping her breasts. It made her moan, but otherwise was teasing and not quenching. "No… I need you, Ned. I need your cock inside me. Claim your lioness like the hungry wolf you are."

"Fuck me," Ned growled, unable to resist her allure any longer.

At his slow push into her cunt, Cersei purred. She closed her legs around his hips and urged him deeper, breaking out into a lusty smile as he began to thrust and rock into her. Ned sucked at her neck until blazing a trail to her bouncing breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth. It felt amazing, the parts of his body assaulting her in the most delicious of ways.

Feeling her climax coming quickly - he was always amazing in bed, but with her pregnancy Cersei found herself so much more desirous of her Ned. The inability to last long being a curse from the life growing inside of her. Cersei grabbed his chin, stormy grey meeting twinkling emerald. "Cum in me, husband."

Her filthy words lit a fire inside of him. "Cersei," he grunted.

"Fill my cunt with your seed. Do it, my wolf. Claim your lioness!"

Ned felt the walls around his cock tighten, drawing him to thrust harder to beat his way against the squeezing cunt of his beloved. Their mouths crashed together, tongues wrestling with one another for dominance. "Cersei!" he howled, the wolf coming out to play.

"Ned!" she gasped, the seed spilling into her cunt and triggering her own explosion.

They held each other close, bodies trembling. "So…" Ned finally managed to say. "Are you warm enough now?"

Giggling, the new Lady of Winterfell looked up at her love. "Perhaps… I think I'm not quite there yet." As he hardened again inside her, Cersei moaned, eager to begin her new life.

---

"Foolish girl! Get back here!"

"You don't tell me what to do!" A leg lashed out and kicked Alliser Thorne in the shin, causing the Lord of Duskendale to howl. "You're not my father!"

Alliser, lips pursed in a growl, lifted the girl by the scruff of her collar into the air. "You brat…"

"Enough, Thorne." Tywin was not in the mood for this… he'd had enough dealing with brats when his twins and Tyrion were but children. Thank the gods Robb was a sweet boy. Certainly he had Podrick as well, but that boy was even more quiet and gentle. Hopefully growing up with Kevan in the Rock alongside his and Genna's brood would raise him properly. As for the squid… "Bring her to me."

Little Asha Greyjoy was a spitfire. Unlike her brother Theon - who had departed with his daughter, goodson, and grandson for Winterfell - the girl was to be the ward of the Crown and Tywin greatly pitied the King and Queens. He barely dealt with her, and already Tywin wanted to drown her in the Trident. "One day, I'll kill you all!" she hissed at all those that served House Targaryen.

"Good show, Lady Asha," Tywin replied evenly. "Then when the dragons, who by the time you come of age will be massive monsters the size of entire keeps, torch all the Iron Islands into blackened rocks devoid of life you'll have less to show for it than when you started." That shut her up. "The King and Queen gave you more mercy than you deserved…"

"My mother didn't get mercy."

The girl was a lot more mature than Tywin figured. Pudgy and sullen, she didn't look it. Never underestimate anyone. His father had looked like the perfect knight but was instead a complete lecher and fool. "You are alive, so you better realize what you'll need to survive. Her battles are over. Yours have just begun." He waved her off. "Get her out of my sight, Thorne."

"You ered' 'em," Thorne growled. "Back to your bed." The girl shot them all one last dirty look before being carried out.

Finalizing the last set of dispatches and commands for Kevan to handle in his new overlordship over Casterly Rock in his absence, Tywin had just finished signing his name when Sandor Clegane entered. "Lord Tully says you need to speak."

Tywin narrowed his eyes. "Well he's welcome to come."

"I told him that," answered the Hound - ever sour but mostly loyal. Also not a murderous barbarian like his brother. Makes him more useful in some things, less useful in others. "There were other things said, but the gist of it was that he doesn't bow to anyone but the King in his own keep… my Lord."

Oh, so it's gonna be one of those, huh? "Damn… fine." Tywin stood, grabbing his red and gold cloak. "Let's get this over with."

To Tywin, House Tully was about as well-regarded as a rat dwelling in the dungeons. He thought little of them, most of their blood going as far back as the conquest being nothing more than favor-curryers or sniveling incompetents that lucked into power. From what he heard, all of Hoster Tully's brood were of this category, with the late Lady Catelyn being the best of the bunch. Only Brynden deserved respect, but he was a cadet branch now.

Luckily, Tywin saw him alongside his brother in the Lord's solar of Riverrun. The newly-minted Lord in the Crownlands looked bored, while Hoster was livid. Here we go. "Lord Tully."

"Lord Hand," was the reply. "Congratulations on your daughter's marriage on the grave of mine."

Tywin fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Since it's obvious you hold animosity, let us spare the formalities and have at it."

He clenched his fists. "You got what you wanted didn't you? A whole Kingdom for your bastard grandson."

"Robb Stark is the eldest child of Eddard Stark and my daughter, highborn on both sides. Don't blame me, blame the calendar."

"Oh, you cheeky little…"

The Blackfish interceded. "Brother, calm down." He cleared his throat. "What my Lord brother wishes to convey is a worry that the children of Lord Stark and my niece will be sidelined."

"I do not see how that has anything to do with me. I would insist you speak with Lord Stark… or perhaps I could arrange a meeting between you and his Grace." Let Rhaegar handle this… it would be a learning experience for him. Aerys wasn't good at it.

Hoster glared, but ultimately nodded. "Fine, I shall make my arrangements to meet his Grace."

Back in his bedchamber, Tywin toed off his boots and allowed himself to rest on the plush bed. He sighed, the stresses of the day manifesting in his thoughts. Hoster you fool. A slow smile spread on his lips, the Hand of the King chuckling rather amusingly. You don't realize that I already won, yet you still think yourself the victor?

Well, so did the Reynes and Tarbecks… and the former had been a mighty house with a powerful army. House Tully… they were nothing but jumped up opportunists that got lucky by submitting to Aegon the Conqueror first. House Blackwood and House Bracken are more powerful than they. House Mooton and House Frey more wealthy, and soon Harrenhal will be ruled by Princess Rhaenys most likely. How they thought they could force their King to heel was beyond him.

Rhaegar had won his bid for the throne and the first major challenge of his reign, but Tywin wasn't blind to the still dire situation. The King was not truly in charge, many enemies remaining. Kingdoms were divided and desperate requirements for peace left Lords in charge that hated the Crown or had an inexhaustible greed for more land and influence than Rhaegar wished to give them.

Only the plague and the dragons keep them at bay. Tywin was determined to keep it that way, as well as to slowly use the Royal family and those great houses loyal to him - House Lannister especially - to strengthen Royal authority. He smirked. Perhaps House Lannister will have Dragonriders. Robb as Lord of Winterfell, Jaime's daughter a dragon, and whatever other babes that Cersei would have with Ned Stark all changed his fortunes from but five years before.

No longer was Tywin worried that he'd need to make Gerion his heir.

A knock at the door drew his attention and he rose from the bed. Standing straight. Opening it, a young woman awaited him - one rather well-dressed in spite of her profession. Good, shows Lorch knows what he's doing for once. "Greetings, mi'Lord."

He regarded her with a scrutinizing look. "You're lowborn but speak well."

"I am the most expensive for a reason." She was pretty. Auburn hair, slim figure, and blue eyes twinkling with intelligence. Not as beautiful as my Joanna… "May I come in?"

"Of course." Tywin stepped aside and let her in. "Your name?" He didn't truly care usually, but was curious.

She was surprised he asked. "Talla Rivers, mi'Lord."

"A bastard then?"

Talla nodded. "One most would rather ignore." She didn't elaborate. But when she attempted to doff her blue dress, he stilled her. "You don't…?"

"No, not now." She raised a brow. The Lord of Casterly Rock pointed to a cyvasse board. "Can you play?"

She was surprised, but nodded. "Aye, I can play."

"Then let's. One must relax the mind before the body."

"I find most men don't have enough of the former to become tense to begin with."

"Quite true." This girl was most enjoyable. As the minutes passed, her clever mind was proving a proper foe on the game board. He was relaxing. "Do you have moon tea?"

"Always." She was rather firm.

He raised a brow. "You seem insistent?"

A sigh. "I wasn't always so guarded in my youth."

Hmmmm… "You have a child?"

"Aye, by a Lord more comely but far less intelligent than you." She grimaced. "Sick Stag."

Tywin nearly choked on the wine he was drinking. "Stag?"

"That was the sigil on his surcoat. Took me like an animal and kept calling me 'Lyanna.' That's the name of the Queen. Sick."

Oh, Tywin loved when things worked out. And the night wasn't yet over.

---

Turned out, her stepdaughter was right. Cersei had to admit that compared to the cave in which the Lannister weirwood tree was situated paled in comparison to the pulsing life that seemed to radiate from the godswood of Winterfell. The thick groves of trees and bushes and vines, interspersed with steaming pools bubbling up from the hot springs beneath the keep… she no longer held confusion over why Ned liked it so much here.

Was it sacreligious to imagine the two of them frolicking nude in the heated pools? Cersei didn't think so, smiling at the thought.

Dressed in his best leathers and fur cloak, Ned looked back at her. "Down, girl," he said with a smirk.

"What?" Cersei gave him an innocent glance. "I said nothing."

"I know what that smile means." He leaned into her ear and kissed it softly, making Cersei moan. "The children are present, so you must be a good lioness for me."

"I always am…" she whispered back, voice a throaty purr. "Only you know how bad of a lioness I can be." Watching him squirm a little, mouth set in a thin line as her words set him alight, Cersei grinned. Gods… this was wonderful. Better than even her dreams.

But Ned was right, the children were present. Duty came first over carnal pleasure. Long skirts - wool a thick northern style that showed her figure while keeping her warm, a mix of greys and golds showing both her marital house and birth house - brushing along the blades of grass that poked out from the snow, Cersei made her way to where Robb was standing. "Nervous, cub?"

He shook his head. "No." But it was clear that Robb was from how he trembled. "Momma, what if they hate me? I no look like a Stark." Even dressed in a miniature outfit of his father, with his wavy blonde hair and green eyes he looked like a perfect copy of his uncle Jaime. Her father had squashed the inevitable rumors that sprang up but they seethed under the surface regardless - and he wasn't in the North.

If they only knew the truth about I and Jaime. But Robb was Ned's, conceived through their love and legitimized through their marriage. Bending down, unafraid of the snow seeping through her dress, Cersei cupped his cheeks. "You are a Stark. You're your father's son and you shouldn't be afraid."

Biting his lip, Robb nodded but he was still nervous. Yet the other girl in his life wasn't. "Come Robb!" Dressed in an adorable white dress, red hair falling over her shoulders, Sansa grabbed his hand and tugged him to where their father waited by the heart tree. "Don't make old gods wait."

Giving one last look to his mother, Robb followed - his sister was as fiery as her hair. "You did this?"

"When I was wee," she replied. "But heart tree always kind. Go, brother." She kissed his cheek. Of all the residents of Winterfell, Sansa most enthusiastically accepted Robb. It was… the most wonderful of surprises.

Seeing his mother urge him forward, feeling Sansa's hands push him, Robb took a deep breath and stepped forward towards the haunting face of the heart tree. Just as his grandfather had taught him - strong and powerful, a wolf and a lion.

Watching her son, Cersei settled next to where Old Nan, Ser Rodrik, and Sansa were. In the old woman's arms was the young Rickard Stark. His red hair was beginning to curl slightly, the babe restless and squirming. "May I hold him?" she asked.

Ever since the moment with Hodor, Nan had regarded Cersei with a tenuous acceptance. But after a moment of surprise, she smiled warmly at her new Lady. "Of course."

Rickard nestling into her arms, just as Robb was all Lannister he was all Tully. That didn't make him any less Ned's, and Cersei would do her best to mother him just as she would Sansa. How could I hate anyone that came from my beloved Ned?

Her love had wrapped a hand around Robb's shoulder, guiding him to kneel before the heart tree just as he was. "Love you, pup," he murmured, kissing the crown of his son's head. Ned motioned for the boy to rest his head upon the trunk and hand on the thick root. This ritual was required for all those of House Stark and their blood, only conducted at the heart tree of Winterfell. No other would do, a fact which Ned carefully explained to Cersei when she suggested it done at Casterly Rock. He had, Lyanna and Benjen had, Sansa and Rickard had… and now, Robb would. His last journey to be a Stark under the sight of gods and men.

Looking back at Cersei, Ned gave her a brilliant smile which was returned. When explaining that her presence wasn't required as Catelyn's hadn't been for Sansa's, Cersei almost slapped him. 'Of course I'll be there, you idiot.' A kiss followed, and then… other things.

Gods, he loved her.

Drawing his sword, Ned knelt before the weirwood. "Old gods," he proclaimed, not alone and making sure all could hear him. His face was pressed into the cold Valyrian steel of the ancestral Stark blade. "I bring to you a direwolf of house Stark, born of the North with the blood of your chosen people in his veins."

Cersei, never one to be devout in anything as her father hadn't been, suddenly felt a pulse of energy. One she couldn't explain but left her shocked. The old gods? Beside her, Sansa had her eyes closed and a serene smile. She felt it too, but was sanguine about it.

Ned continued. "Robb Stark is your devoted servant, heir to my house and a northern warrior as strong and steadfast as his father and grandfather before him. Please bless him with happiness and a life worthy of his blood and nobility. On this I swear my fealty as Lord of Winterfell."

Suddenly, as it had with both Sansa and Rickard's ceremonies before, a single image formed in his mind. An older boy, tall and proud. Ice was in his hands, blonde hair streaked with grime and blood as he fought desperately in a nameless field of battle of the North. Above, a mighty dragon the color of sapphires roared, spitting dragonfire upon those that would challenge it. The golden warrior then bellowed, a direwolf emerging from the mist and following him into the fray...

As soon as the image appeared, it vanished. "Po… poppa?" Robb asked hesitantly, still trembling, but of an altogether different sort. "Is it… supposed to feel all… strange."

Still reeling from the vision, Ned nodded. "Aye. That means the old gods accepted you, my son." He pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Come on, let us have a hearty supper with your mother and siblings." Ned helped Robb up, guiding him back to the twin smiles of Cersei and Sansa.

"He wasn't at supper," Cersei stated to Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin, peeking into the room. The boy was resting on the bed, back turned to the door - she couldn't tell if he was awake or not, and decided not to bother him. "Has he been like that for a while?"

"Aye," the master-at-arms stated. "Poor Squid, been either crying, moping, or tossing a ball at the wall."

"Has he eaten?"

"I've ordered food sent to him from the kitchens," Luwin remarked. "The trays are always empty."

Nodding, Cersei felt little for Theon Greyjoy. Sympathy for what Gregor Clegane did to his mother, anger at his family… but the boy was innocent of it. The future Lord of the Iron Islands - Rhaegar entrusted House Stark with raising him to break the Iron Way and that was what she would do. "He will no longer eat meals in his chambers, but make sure he's given decent but simple foods."

"Of course, my Lady."

"Ser Rodrik, you'll be in charge of his training. Make sure to eliminate any bitterness or arrogance." The knight bowed. Theon will be one of us, yet not too close so he grows arrogant. It's how her father raised Podrick Payne, though that lad's family was one Tywin was close to.

Needing to see her child before bed, Robb's chambers were empty. This momentary worry was alleviated when she heard giggles coming from Sansa's chambers. Smiling at the thought, it changed to a frown when she saw who was inside with the two Starks.

"...donning his boots, Uncle Kevan suddenly grimaced as something squelched within. He removed his feet and there were his socks all smeared in goat shi… doo doo." He may have been a naughty dwarf, but Tyrion Lannister never allowed himself to shatter the innocence of children.

Children could be innocent and right terrors at the same time.

Sansa nearly doubled over in giggles. "Was he mad?"

"Oh, supremely so. Never did find me though." He winked at the girl, which set her off again.

"N'cle Little the best at pranks!" Robb clasped his uncle's hand, which Tyrion shook firmly in their own form of greeting. "He even prank grandpoppa… no one messes with grandpoppa."

"When you pull the lion's tail, have to be ready for the teeth." He booped both wee pups' noses, making them giggle. "I'm extra little, so I have to be extra careful."

Sansa clapped her hands. "'Nother one, n'cle Little. 'Nother one!"

Striding in, Cersei had to put a stop to this abomination before it continued. "That's enough, children. It's past your bedtime."

"Hi momma!" Robb beamed.

"Hi Lady Cersei…" Sansa said, smiling but less enthused.

Something Cersei would inquire with, but first. "Tyrion, have you no shame?"

"What?" The Imp shrugged. "I'm keeping it clean, and no wine on me. I do say I'm being on my best behavior."

"And if the children put goat… doo-doo into someone's boots, what then?"

Tyrion smirked. "I should hope it's in someone who deserves it, like that Septa Mordane."

From the way Sansa's grey eyes grew alight at the suggestion, Cersei needed to end this. "No, I will not let you corrupt Sansa like you have Robb. Begone… do something useful and put Robb to bed."

Sighing, Tyrion pushed himself off Sansa's bed. "Alright, alright. Come along, nephew."

"I's coming." Robb stood and hugged Cersei. "Night momma."

"Goodnight, sweet cub." Cersei kissed his head and watched him leave before turning to Sansa. "Can I tuck you in, pup?"

Biting her lip, Sansa nodded. "Sure, Lady Cersei."

"You can call me stepmother if you wish, Sansa. I am married to your father."

"I know." The girl averted her gaze, but didn't flinch when Cersei sat next to her. "Robb say you with babe. Are you?"

A hand drifted to her belly, still reasonably flat but with a noticeable swell. "Aye, you're having a little brother or sister, Sansa." She raised an eyebrow. "Does it bother you? You seem to enjoy being with Robb."

"Just… I wanna sister." She blushed at Cersei's surprise. "I love Robb already and love babe Rickard… but I no have sister. I wanna little sister."

Chuckling, Cersei pinched Sansa's cheek. "Well, I shall do my best to make your wish come true, pup."

She smiled hesitantly before her face fell. "Don't send me south," Sansa murmured.

Cersei blinked. "Why would I do that?"

Sansa looked at her, tears welling in her eyes. "Momma was from south, and she said I go there. You from south… I like here. I no wanna go south, where wolves and dragons die."

"Listen, pup." Cersei cupped her cheek, looking into the grey eyes… same as Ned's. "Your father wants you to stay here lest you wish to go south, but only then to your Aunt Lya. Do you understand?" Sansa nodded. "I won't challenge his command nor do I want to, now come here." She hugged Sansa, giving her motherly comfort.

To her joy, Sansa accepted it.

"Shall he and I have children?"

"Eight children you shall have, all destined for greatness but the greatest not of your womb..."

Once Sansa had drifted off to sleep, all tucked in underneath the furs with her fiery hair spread out about her head like a halo, Cersei kissed her forehead and slowly snuck out of the room. Just as she closed the door, two hands gripped her waist. Yelping, her fear dimmed as it was Ned that spun her around. "Husband…"

He pressed her gently against the wall, slanting his mouth over hers. Cersei moaned and accepted the kiss - looping her arms around his neck. "I love you," he murmured against her lips.

She swore her heart gave a little catch. "I love you too…" Eventually, they pulled apart - breathless but happy. "What brought that on, my wolf?"

"When we met, everyone only spoke of your beauty but your temper. How you were the most spoilt of highborns." That made Cersei frown, but he stilled her with a finger against her lips. "I know not who you were before I laid my eyes upon your beautiful form, but ever since then you've proved those to be fools." How she settled in perfectly to Winterfell, a caring stepmother to Sansa and Rickard while slowly earning the respect of the household… gods, Ned's love for her grew by the day.

Cersei stared with a mystified look. "Since when did you become a poet?"

"Jon Arryn was always good with words. Picked it up from him," he chuckled sheepishly. Another kiss, this one gentler and sweeter. "Let's go to bed."

Her eyes darkened. "Aye, lets."

---

Hugging the harp to his chest, Jon beamed at his Elia. "Just like kepa's! Thank you, thank you!"

Elia kissed his cheek. "Now you can give all the maidens in the realm the gift of beautiful music as kepa does." She gave Rhaegar a smoldering look, one making no secrets that the only females he could ever sing in such a way to was her and Lya. Rhaegar only chuckled. "I love you."

"Love you too, muna." He kissed her cheek back, making Elia smile.

"Sing to me, Jon!" Dany called out, giggling. The gathered guests laughed merrily.

Prince Baelon's fourth nameday gathering was proceeding perfectly. Outside, seven days thanksgiving was decreed to mark both it and the victory over the Ironborn, and the sounds of the intense revelry could be heard. But no feast yet, that was on the morrow. Right now, only the exchanging of gifts within the family. Ben and Ash had given Jon a bearskin cloak so he could 'visit the North sooner rather than later.' Lyanna gave hers before the luncheon, a beautiful male foal of Winter and Moondancer that Jon proudly named 'Rogue' after the Rogue Prince. Aemon offered a tiny pin made of Valyrian steel. A pin with three dragon heads, to always show the world which house he belonged to. To all, Jon gave a smile and a tight embrace.

He loved his family and they him. Never once did the Crown Prince want for affection, and he was such a delight that no one felt he didn't deserve it.

The gift of a child's training longsword - styled just like Blackfyre - from the entire Kingsguard brotherhood was accepted with awe from the Prince. Just as was the gift of a second blade of the same make from his Aunt Dacey. "Considering that the Sword of the Morning shall teach him, best he have dual blades," she proclaimed.

Rolling his eyes as Dacey gave him a shit-eating grin, Arthur felt Barristan tap on his shoulder. "So, if you're clearly going to be his Grace's instructor, does that make you Dunk and he Egg?"

Arthur scowled. "Shut up."

"I suppose that makes Dacey Tanselle," Jaime snickered.

"I do make a mean puppet," replied the northern warrior, joining in. Arthur merely groaned to the amusement of his brothers and lover.

Holding his twin swords, Jon looked the picture of happiness. "Kepa." He tugged on his father's tunic.

Rhaegar watched his son. "Yes, Jon?"

He hefted the two swords… just strong enough to wield them without toppling over. "I hope I be as good as you when I older."

Ruffling the boy's hair, there was nothing more flattering and sweet than his own son thinking him on par with the god of war. Rhaegar felt his heart burst with love for Jon… hells, all his children. "You'll eclipse me, my boy." He picked Jon up and kissed his cheek. "I know it."

"Your Grace, if I may." Dressed in the reds and golds of his house, Tywin Lannister had greyed and weathered since he last wore the pin within the Red Keep, but not much else changed. Still the tall and powerful man as always, he motioned for Sandor Clegane to follow him. "I look at what happened in this keep during the war to be something that should never take place. No Crown Prince of the realm should have to worry at being undefended - even if he can defend himself."

"I defended Jon," Rhaenys said, defiant. Looking every inch a powerful Targaryen princess.

Tywin regarded her, impressed. Aye, she'll rule Harrenhal well. "You shouldn't have had to, Princess. Such is my point. Prince Baelon." Rhaegar having put him down, Jon watched Tywin, their eyes meeting. "My gift to you this nameday is a Sworn Sword, Sandor of House Clegane."

There were gasps. "Lord Tywin, is this wise?" Elia worried. "His brother."

"I'm not my fucking brother," growled the Hound… "My Queen." His vicious snarl at Elia made Rhaenys stare hatefully at him, as did Aegon and Daenerys.

"Your Grace, if I may… Sandor defended my daughter and grandson against Ironborn raiders. He is a capable warrior that will serve the Prince well." Elia was skeptical, but merely nodded. Eyes locked with Arthur, silently communicating the order to kill Sandor if he ever became a threat to Jon.

Sandor Clegane wasn't ignorant of how people stared at him. Children cried at his scars, just as adults blanched and looked away. Those with strong stomachs merely found him repulsive and threatening - and that included the Targaryen Princes and Princesses… little Daenerys especially. Sandor didn't care. He was used to it.

What he wasn't used to was how the Crown Prince stared at him. Not in disgust or to gawk, but in simple curiosity. "What?" the Hound belted out, adding a "Your Grace" at the end for good measure.

"You my new kingsguard?"

"I ain't a knight, little Prince."

"Then what are you?"

"Your Grace, he is your sworn sword," Tywin interjected, glaring at Sandor to behave. "He isn't a Kingsguard, he is yours personally to command."

"Oh…" Jon thought for a moment. "Will you teach me to fight?"

"No."

"But you my sworn sword."

"Trust me, little Prince. You can't keep up with me," he grunted.

"Says who?"

"Says me."

Jon blinked… "Well… I command you to say different," he said in his best impersonation of his father.

Sandor glanced down at him incredulously. "Well… you have spirit, kid. I'll give you that."

"I's a dragon," Jon proclaimed.

While the Hound and the Prince certainly made a sight to see, Lyanna cleared her throat to catch everyone's attention. "A little surprise for my beautiful son." She held up a package wrapped in waterproof animal hide. "Lord Stark, his uncle, managed to have his gift arrive on time aboard a Manderly trading vessel." Walking to her beloved son, she held it out for him. "From uncle Ned, with love."

"This should be good," Rhaenys grinned. Uncle Ned always sent the best gifts, ones that never ceased to make Rhaenys giggle and beam for days after receiving them… though never the direwolf she always wanted. The thought made her mope. Just a cute little direwolf. Why can't you make it happen, uncle?

Eager, Jon attacked the ties holding the animal hide cover together and quickly exposed the present. "A book!" he squealed. Like Lya, he loved books… but couldn't read yet. Aemon planned to start his lessons after his nameday and there was no doubt among them that he'd excel. "Read, muna. Read."

Smiling, Lyanna took the book… only for her to grumble something unintelligible. "What?" Elia was by her side, only to guffaw at the title. "Ned, you cheeky fellow. Didn't know you had it in ya'."

It wasn't long before Rhaegar and Benjen were cued in on the joke, laughing at Lyanna's expense. "I thought you'd be happy, Lya. It is your favorite book."

Shaking her head, Lyanna wanted to sock Ned on the nose. "It is, but he's just doing this to annoy me."

"What it about?" Jon called out. Wanting to get keyed in.

"It's about the Dance of Dragons, my son," Rhaegar informed him.

"Dragons!" He clapped his hands. "Dany, dragons!"

"Dragons! Dragons!" Dany clapped her hands as well. The two were obsessed, not that the family discouraged them.

Suppressing a chortle, Rhaegar discovered something within the book. "Um… my love, I think Ned left a note for you."

Lyanna took the note and read… Only to groan. "I hate him for this… oh no, Elia. You're not reading this…"

But Elia had already snatched it in her hand.

Lya

Now you'll know what it's like to be pestered about it for years on end.

Ned

She dissolved into laughter. "Oh, everyone is going to read this."

Letting his munas argue, Jon headed back to his pile of gifts where Dany and Artie waited for him. "Now we can spar together, Bae," Artie proclaimed. As a future contender for being the next Sword of the Morning, his father had gotten him twin blades moons ago for his own nameday. "The two of us. Run away, enemies!" The two boys banged their arms together at that.

Dany, frowning, thumped Jon's shoulder. "Owww, what's that for?"

"I wanna spar with you."

"Get a sword and you can, auntie."

Her eyes were set, determined. "I will." Her eyes shifted to Ser Jaime - if anyone would get one for him, it was her muna's man.

"Everyone, listen up!" The authoritative voice of Rhaella Targaryen broke through the various side conversations that broke out in the reception chamber. "As always, the best gift is saved for last." Her smile was wide and infectious, a draconic glint in her lavender eyes. "Come here, Prince Balon."

Jon looked up at his grandmother with innocent eyes. "Kessa, grandmother?" He learned long ago that the best way to please Rhaella Targaryen was to sprinkle Valyrian words into your conversations with her.

True as form, Rhaella's entire face brightened as she leaned down and gave Jon a kiss on the forehead. "You are the most wonderful little Prince, Baelon," she cooed, pinching his cheek. Many snickered as Jon yelped and tried to squirm away. "I think you'll find my gift the best, though they have been quite hard to top the others." Clapping her hands, she summoned two pairs of household guardsmen forward. "Careful with those. They're priceless."

Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Elia immediately recognized the chests being hefted into place in front of Jon. "Muna?" Rhaegar spoke. "Is he ready?"

"They all are," Rhaella replied. "Just that his nameday was first after when I decided it was time." Wordlessly, she opened the chests one by one. "Come on, Baelon."

Trotting forward, the Crown Prince's little eyes widened like saucers at the seven dragon eggs nestled within two chests of sand. Six from Aerys' clutch and the one rescued by Gerion Lannister from Old Valyria. Enough to provide the new generation of House Targaryen with the power of the future. "Here you are, grandson. For your nameday, you may pick one."

"Pick one?" Jon gazed at her and the eggs in awe.

"Dragons!" Dany chimed, giggling in excitement.

Rhaenys shook her head. "Lucky duck." She now couldn't wait for her own nameday to come up for such a gift.

"Aye, Baelon. One of them is yours." Rhaella motioned to the eggs. "Choose wisely, for the one you pick will be your bonded dragon for as long as you both live." A heady statement for the boy, but with the dragonblood burning hot in his veins, one he could easily make.

Biting his lip, Jon looked to his kepa, who only smiled and urged him forward. "You're ready, Baelon. Go for it."

"Maybe the lad's too scared of gettin' burnt," snorted the Hound, crossing his arms and earning hateful stares from Rhaella, the Queens, and Dany… Tywin just shook his head disapprovingly. "What?"

Taking a deep breath, Baelon felt a need to prove his worth to his new sworn sword. Walking forward, he ran his hands across the scaled surfaces of the eggs. They were all warm to the touch, something… alive within them. Emerald with purple streaks, pure gold with patches of grey, blue with gold specks, gleaming silver with blue swirls, burnt orange with red patches, radiant purple… All beautiful, but none calling to him…

'Baelon Targaryen…'

He stopped at the last one, a dark black with lines of red along the scales. Leaning over it, Jon rested both his hands atop the surface and began caressing the smooth egg. There was life, but it reacted to him. Jumping and twisting and frolicing within the stone cage. The heat was scorching, but Jon loved it. Felt… like a proper calm.

Making his decision, Jon pulled it up. "This one."

Rhaella raised her brow. "The big one?"

"Aye, the colors of our house… He be the biggest dragon since Balerion!" Jon proclaimed, hugging the egg close to him and pressing his cheek against the scales. "I love you, dragon," he murmured.

Laughing, Rhaegar hefted Jon into the air. "The Prince made his choice, and the biggest dragon it shall be!" He smacked a kiss upon Jon's cheek, everyone laughing as the poor boy blanched adorably at the contact.

Notes:

Cersei's in Winterfell and Jon has his dragon egg. Ain't life grand?

Now we know where Tyrion gets it from. Def he's Tywin's son.

Next up, Cersei takes on Septa Mordane! Update in a week if I get 35 comments, and the update might come sooner if y'all check out my story Dragonshield :D

Chapter 85: Tessarion's Gift

Notes:

Hey everyone. Some personal shit going on. I had to quit my job after my car got broken into on company time and my boss told me not to bother him with concerns over my safety. Asshole... Wish me luck on the job search.

Good news, with Bet of Dragons done, my one shot done, and Targaryen Dynasty wrapping up (check them all out, I promise you'll love them), I shall be starting a new project: a modern romantic comedy (with plenty of smut) starring Jon and Daenerys called "My Best Friend's Wedding :D It'll be posted on Ao3.

Be sure to check out my current stories Dragonshield and Heart of the Blessed.

Enjoy.

Lips pressed into a thin line, Cersei Stark wished she hadn't gotten up that morning. Did Catelyn Tully know anything of the realm she ruled? Much as she wanted to, the new Lady of Winterfell couldn't fault her predecessor on everything. The functions of the household ran quite efficiently and the maids and servants in charge of the various groups were competent at their tasks. Winterfell was clean, the stores were neat and tidy, and everyone was fed.

But by the Seven above, relations with the Northern Lords were close to a nadir.

Snorting, Tyrion almost laughed at the latest missif from Rickard Karstark. "And he kisses his mother with that mouth? By the gods." Beside Tyrion, Lann the lion yawned where he rested by the fireplace. At over six moons he was growing rapidly into a fine specimen, and was already growing a thicker coat to compensate for the Northern clime.

"I believe Lord Karstark's mother is dead, Tyrion," Cersei replied, not in the mood for her brother's antics. Her aunt Genna was here on request to help her sift through the various stacks of dispatches that accumulated both since Ned left for war and from before. Her husband gave her full permission to review his correspondence, an act to which Cersei rewarded him by dropping to her knees and sucking his cock till he exploded in her mouth. I love that man with all my heart and soul.

He trusted her, and she wouldn't let him down.

"Well enough for her. He's… pretty explicit in his descriptions of what Catelyn Tully can do with herself. I'm not sure this is possible for a living woman to do."

"Northmen are apparently quite bold and forthright," Genna observed.

"Both a blessing and a curse, I'm afraid," Cersei replied, reading another stack. "Karstark I'm not worried about. They're kin of Ned's so an invitation to Winterfell probably should smooth them over. It's these that I truly worry for." She pointed to a stack of dispatches.

Tyrion reached over to read them. "Ahh… House Bolton. The traditional enemy of House Stark for millennia. Yes, truly something to worry over."

Cersei remembered Roose Bolton from her wedding. A fundamentally untrustworthy man, but one that gave away little. Always the greatest type of foe. "I want to keep him close, but not too close. Ensure he complies with us."

"He has a young son, Domeric, as his heir," Genna said. "Perhaps you could foster him at Winterfell." Cersei nodded, the idea a sound one. I could cut off the head by binding the heir to House Stark… The baby kicked inside her, making Cersei rub her stomach.

At that moment the door opened and a little thatch of blonde hair rushed in. "Momma!"

Right after Robb, Malera showed up with a harried face. "Forgive me, my Lady, but he was insistent."

Arms filled with his wooden toys, Robb smiled at Cersei. "I finish my lessons. Can I play here?" When Ned was out on his duties and Sansa was unavailable, Robb always came to Cersei.

She could never deny him that. "Of course." Cersei looked at Malera. "You're dismissed, I can watch Robb myself. Go spend time with Jory." Her lady in waiting blushed madly, but nevertheless beamed. Oh, she had fallen hard.

"So I stay, momma?"

"Yes, pup, you can stay." Smiling, Robb kissed her cheek and went to snuggle beside Lann and the fire. The lion accepted Robb's presence. He was a gentle beast at heart.

The domestic scene continued for a bit. Cersei and Genna continued reviewing the dispatches from the Northern Lords and Night's Watch, Robb played with his toy wolves and dragons on the floor, and Tyrion alternated from playing with his nephew and giving his witty advice to whatever his sister and aunt were partaking in at the time. Scowling at Tyrion whenever he spoke, Cersei would never admit that she oft found his advice solid and moved to implement it. He's right about Lord Glover… given his intransigence I should advise Ned to raise House Forrester to Lords in their own right under only our suzerainty…

"Momma, what's a bas-tard?"

One could hear a quill drop in the lady's solar from Robb's question. Cersei was still, unmoving and quiet. Genna sucked in a deep breath, concern on her face. "Oh boy," Tyrion mused under his breath. Quickly, he grabbed at a flagon of Lannisport white resting on the table beside him. He'd been saving this for a special occasion to begin partaking in, and this certainly would count if it would get as ugly as he thought.

Tywin had anyone that openly called Robb a bastard either killed by flogging or given to Gregor Clegane for an… attitude readjustment. Cersei always insisted on the latter punishment. As a result, Robb was sheltered and treated as essentially a Lannister, the same regard given now that he was a legitimized Stark and heir to Winterfell.

But now? Gods help the poor cunt who taught him that word…

Finally, Cersei spoke. "Where did you hear that word?" Both her aunt and brother could hear her trying to be calm for Robb's sake, but the fury was obvious underneath her facade.

"From Sansa." Robb was confused. "She say people call me 'Bas-tard.' I don't know why."

"Who calls you this?" Now Cersei could barely hide her anger.

Robb blinked, suddenly aware of his mother's rage. "Did I do wrong?" He looked at his feet. "I's sorry…"

Hearing him drew Cersei out of her anger. It was still there and burning hot, but love for her son was paramount. "Oh no." She rushed to him. "Come here, pup." Enveloping Robb in her arms, she kissed the crown of his head. "You did nothing wrong, I just want to know who said that word to you."

"What does it mean?"

Looking to her aunt and, yes, even her brother for support, it was Tyrion that spoke up. "It refers to the fact that your father wasn't married to your mother when you were born."

Robb was confused. "That silly. Momma and poppa married now."

"Aye, it is pretty silly," Tyrion replied. "Now where did Sansa hear it from?"

Biting his lip, Robb looked at his mother. "She say she hear it from her Septa." Cersei's eyes darkened. I'll kill that bitch. "Also say to Sansa that she stay away from me. Why do she do that? Sansa is my sister and I love her."

"Oh, the innocence of children," Tyrion mused. "Quite sad really that they're taller than me regardless."

"Shut up, Tyrion," Cersei shot at him. "You're not helping.

Genna was next to her niece and great-nephew. "Sansa loves you too, that's why she doesn't listen to what her Septa says. She shouldn't call you a bastard or try and separate you."

"She say Baelon a bas-tard."

That was also shocking. "What?"

"My cousin… the one poppa and Aunt Lya told me about. Sansa say her septa call him a 'Bas-tard usurper." He said the unfamiliar words slowly, but the meaning was sent.

Oh dear, she's a dead woman. Tyrion wouldn't want to be with her if the King found out… or gods forbid Queen Lyanna found out…

Cersei handled it rather evenly. "Don't worry, pup. I'll handle it." Her eyes smoldered almost wildfire green.

No one dared to attack the cub of a lioness without meeting the teeth.

---

Running a hand through her silver locks, Rhaella tried not to smile at the heartwarming scene. "Son, you should get back to your kingly duties." When he didn't listen to her, her tone wavered. "Damn it, this is serious…" Rhaella didn't sound convincing.

Cheek pressed to Elia's pregnant stomach, Rhaegar sighed. "I know, muna, but I can't help myself. I missed out on being with both my loves due to the war, but now I can make up for it." He kissed the swell of his son… yes, Rhaegar was sure they were both sons. "Skorkydoso iksos issa byka zaldrīzes."

Both Queens, eager for his attention, blushed as he spoke Valyrian. The accent… it did something to them. "Please, goodmother…" Elia said, mouth dry. "Let his Grace enjoy the lives growing inside of us."

Groaning, Rhaella tried to hide just how much she was enjoying seeing her son so happy. "Fine, but we have to get back to the matter of running the Seven Kingdoms."

Grinning, he shifted to Lya's pregnant swell, kissing it. "I can feel him," he said in wonder.

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "And you're so certain I'm having a boy?"

"Aye." There was no doubt in his voice. "Aōha muña jorrāelagon ao olvie, byka zoklazaldrīzes."

She shook her head. "Our husband is such a cheeky bastard."

"We love him though."

A loving look crossed Lyanna's face, hands playing with his hair. "Aye, we do."

Rhaegar again nuzzled Lyanna's belly, his hand stroking Elia's in a circular pattern. "Kirimvose syt ēdrure aōha munas se nyke ēdan kirimves bisa tubis." He dropped a loving kiss to each of the swells.

Feeling her heart melt at his touch and gestures, Lyanna looked at Rhaella. "What did he say, goodmother?"

Struggling to keep a straight face, Rhaella took a deep breath. "Loosely translated, my son is telling his unborn babes 'Thank you for staying quiet while I had fun with your mothers this morning.'" Unable to contain herself, she burst into giggles.

Mouth open, Elia was stunned. "No, he did not say that. Rhaegar?"

The King said nothing for a moment, before finally collecting himself. "Kessa, my loves?"

"Wait, did you say that?" Lyanna's grey eyes were piercing, and when he merely hid his face in her belly she knew Rhaella's translation was accurate. "You lecher!" She smacked him on the head. "Those are our children in there."

"Owww… Elia, help me." That entreaty only got him a smack from her.

"Serves you right, saying such indecencies to our babes."

Clearing her throat, Rhaella took pity on her son. "Well, from how loud you three were, I doubt the babes got any sleep."

"Goodmother!"

The Dowager Queen was on a roll. "Reminds me of Jaime and I when Cella was in my belly. I swear, there were times he took me so hard that I was afraid I'd go into premature labor…"

"Alright, that's enough…" Rhaegar insisted, face slightly green. Enduring the giggles of his muna and wives, he scooted the chair back to behind his desk. "So… where were we?"

"Choices for the replacement of Uncle Lewyn on the Kingsguard." Lyanna took that moment to squeeze Elia's hand, a gesture that she greatly appreciated. While he had been buried as fitting a Martell Prince and Kingsguard, it was still sometimes raw to lose the great protector she had always counted on since arriving in the Red Keep all those years before. Having Arthur and Dacey around helped, but it wasn't the same. She'd endure though. "Have you considered our proposal?"

Grimacing, Rhaegar knew his Queens would scowl at him for his reaction. "You don't know what you're asking of me."

"What? With Ser Barristan as Lord Commander the Stormlands need a knight on the Kingsguard. From what Lord Varys tells us," not to mention Elia's little birds as well, "She is as powerful a knight as any man… unless you don't want a woman warrior on the Kingsguard?" Lyanna was ready to smack him if he said anything about it she found insulting.

"It's not that I have any problem with it, but this isn't you swinging a sword or even Dacey as your sworn mace." Technically she was still Lyanna's lady in waiting, but was almost always armed as Ashara took over most duties for the both of them. Lyanna wasn't hard to put together for the day, still retaining her wild beauty. "Others might."

"Fuck them. You have a dragon."

He snorted, but conceded the point. "Aye, I have a dragon." Tapping his fingers on the table, Rhaegar sighed. "Fine, you may write Evenfall Hall and inform Lord Tarth he should send his daughter to the Red Keep. If she can keep her own against Dacey, then she can be on the Kingsguard."

Elia giggled. "You better find someone else, cause Dacey's going to be out of commission for a while."

Rhaegar blinked, only for his eyes to widen. "I owe Arthur a bottle of Dornish Red for this. Good for him." First Lyanna, then Elia kissed him on the lips and sashayed out of the room, putting on a little exhibit for his benefit.

His muna groaned behind him. "Your life is out of a song, Rhaegar."

"A song I likely wrote, muna," he replied back, grinning. "And what of you? You got your knight in shining armor as the Princesses always do in the old tales."

Opening her mouth, a retort died on her tongue. "Mayhaps you're right. I did." She had a dreamy look, Rhaella thinking about her golden lion. "Aye, I did, didn't I?" The two of them chuckled, both finally having obtained their happy endings. But… reality would intrude. "I am sure Hoster Tully is ready to speak with us."

"I am not looking forward to this… but if Lord Tywin thinks this is the only way to placate them…"

"Tywin wants you to deal with it so he doesn't have to. I know he finds Lord Hoster a pain beneath him."

Rhaegar shrugged. "I don't see how he's wrong. Hoster's always been narrowly ambitious in the most oily of ways." But there was nowhere around it - the Tullys were still the Lord Paramounts of the Riverlands. "Arthur!"

Arthur Dayne opened the door. "Yes, your Grace?"

"Send for Lord Hoster. He comes alone and will speak to the Queen Dowager and I."

"Of course, my King." Arthur didn't take long.

In his youth, it was said that Hoster Tully was tall and broad, vibrant blue eyes and brown hair projecting strength and vitality. But alas, age had turned it all to grey - the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands was portly and a bit stooped. His eyes though, they were still sharp. He hadn't lost his mind as he had his strength. "Your Grace," he bowed as best he could.

"Lord Hoster," Rhaegar replied. "Please sit." Hoster was glad to, though his sour expression didn't change. "I am told by my Hand that you have an issue with my goodbrother and the succession for Winterfell."

The Lord's fists clenched. "Ned married Catelyn first, your Grace. He had two trueborn children by her while this lionspawn was still a bastard…"

"That 'Lionspawn' is the legitimized cousin of the Crown Prince, Lord Tully. Watch yourself." Rhaella's tone was filled with fire even when soft. She was no more the weak consort to Aerys.

Taking a deep breath, Hoster calmed himself. "Forgive me, but it is not my intention to insult the Crown Prince." House Targaryen had dragons again, and the last King of the Riverlands imparted a lesson about those beasts to the entire Realm. "But the fact of the matter is the children of my daughter have been usurped their right."

"And what right is that, Lord Hoster? Rule over the North? By age and legitimation, Robb Stark is the new heir - he is not some smallfolk's son but of the blood of the former Kings of the Rock. Purely noble blood." Not that the family would care either way, but title and pedigree still mattered to most. "But I understand your concern."

"Your Grace?"

Rhaella leaned forward, sympathy on her face. "We know what it's like to lose someone we love. Such is tragedy, and we are nothing but sympathetic that you desire something of your daughter to live on and not be forgotten." Nothing could be further from the truth - Lady Catelyn, by all accounts, had been a terrible wife and Lady to Ned and it heartened the Queen that the Warden of the North found someone to love her… but niceties had to be met. "Perhaps something involving your granddaughter Sansa could be arranged?"

"How so?"

Looking down at Rhaegar, he saw Rhaella's nod and continued. "It is never too early to start planning for my son Baelon's future betrothal, for such a choice would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I believe Lady Sansa is on the top of the list for that honor." He watched as the anger leached from Hoster's eyes, replaced by greed.

---

"Cersei, what is going on?" Ned watched his bride with confusion. She looked radiant in a woolen dress in the colors of his house, pregnant belly on full display that made him swell with pride, but there was an odd, hard glare set in her eyes. "Why have you summoned the household to the Great Hall?"

"Just preparing to throw the refuse away my love," responded his wife, looking at him with a muted grin.

Ned saw a particular glint in her eyes that he's only seen in her father - one right before he delivered the Rains of Castamere on an unfortunate soul that crossed him. It made the Lord of Winterfell worried. Normally they made such decisions of the entire household together, but here he hadn't been clued into what Cersei was doing.

Cersei notices the concern written all over his face and kissed him hard. Tongue plunging into his mouth while she moved his hand to her belly. Doing whatever it took to reassure him. "I didn't mean to worry you or harm your standing as Lord, but… Just trust me on this, Ned. Let me speak for now and listen, please?"

Still confused, Ned nonetheless nodded. "I trust you, Cers." He did so with his life… from her brilliant smile, she knew it too. Another kiss, this one a simple peck of the lips, and they made their way together into the Great Hall.

Everyone was gathered, even Tyrion, who waited by the high table as an honored guest of the keep. Cersei's gaze drifted to Sansa, standing awkwardly near the head with Malera and Jeyne standing beside her and Old Nan behind. A protective screen of women joined by Ser Rodrik and Jory, and Cersei sent her a small smile. One returned by the dear. Robb was absent though, ensconced in his rooms with Aunt Genna. Cersei didn't want him to witness this.

A lioness protected her cubs.

Clearing his throat, Ned sat down. "Thank you for gathering here today. My wife, Lady Cersei, has indicated to me that she wishes to go over a matter that concerns the whole household."

"Thank you, my Lord." Squeezing his hand, Cersei donned her commanding mask. "Septa Mordane, step forward."

The representative of the Faith in Winterfell and the late Lady Catelyn's closest companion was standing among the other Rivermen still present in the keep. Some mingled with the Northmen, but most were ostracized - oft by personal choice. She looked a bit surprised, but did as she was told. "Yes?" she asked, her eyes not bothering to hide the disdain she held for the opportunistic whore in front of her. "Is there something the matter, Lady Cersei?" Mordane avoided calling her 'Lady Stark,' a slight not lost on the Light of the West.

But a lion didn't concern itself with the opinions of sheep - neither did a wolf. "Yes. Some things came to light that make me question your ability in overseeing the education of Lady Sansa."

That made the Septa's face scrutch as if she had just drank a cup of curdled milk. "Excuse me, Lady Cersei?" She was affronted, but tried to keep calm even under such insults. "I'll let you know that I put the utmost efforts on making sure Lady Sansa is educated to be proper Lady. A Lady as befitting the title of niece of the Queen and cousin of the Crown Prince." She subscribed to the branch of the Starry Sept that didn't recognize the marriage of Lyanna and Rhaegar nor Baelon's position as legitimate heir, but reality was reality.

"I was unaware this was Riverrun, or Oldtown for that matter?" Cersei, to prove her point, looked to Tyrion. "Brother, was I under the mistaken impression that this is Winterfell?"

"Such isn't a mistake, sister." This was actually a bit of fun for Tyrion, merely sitting there and bobbing his stunted legs. "We are in fact in Winterfell." It was refreshing to see his sister tearing someone else apart for a change.

Not unaware of this, Cersei fought the urge to roll her eyes at him… or smirk - Tyrion would never let her live a smirk down. "Be that as it may," she continued, green eyes narrowing at Mordane. "Personal invective against the heir to one's liege Lord would be considered grotesque even there... especially when intended for his other children's ears." To her right, she could hear Ned suck in a breath. He caught on quickly, eyes flickering to Sansa with worry.

Mordane raised an eyebrow. "And what do you mean by that Lady Cersei?"

Cersei's eyes narrowed. "I am speaking of when you referred to the heir to your liege as a bastard in front of Lady Sansa," she practically hissed.

To her credit, the Septa's expression didn't waver one bit. "I don't recall ever referring to your son that way." Your son… clearly not including Lord Stark.

Bitch. Cersei's didn't waver either. "Lady Sansa," her voice softened as she looked to Sansa. "Please step forward."

Watching his daughter, Ned's heart broke at the look of fear on Sansa's face… as if she had done something wrong. Nan, Jeyne, and Malera tried to reassure her but she wasn't having it. "Sansa." Ned's voice caught her attention. "It's alright, we're not mad at you. Please come."

"She is obviously too young to speak of such adult matters," Mordane huffed arrogantly.

"I want to hear what she has to say," Ned said firmly, shutting up the septa.

At Mordane's words, Sansa did her best to firm herself like a wolf should. Her mother - the late Lady Catelyn - she tried to send her South but there was nothing to suggest she didn't truly adore Sansa just as her poppa had. Mordane… while Sansa feared her, she also didn't like her at all. She was mean and sour.

Sansa's grey eyes blazed in a way her aunt would be proud. Cersei couldn't help but smile. "Tell me, daughter." The words were purposely chosen. "What did your Septa tell you regarding your brother?"

"I said nothing of her true brother!"

Now Cersei was losing her patience. "I think Lady Sansa considers both Robb and Rickard her true brothers."

"Let the child speak," insisted Ser Rodrik, glaring at Mordane.

Finally able to speak her mind, Sansa was unafraid. "She always tell me to stay away from Robb... that he bad blood and not of Seven... that he a bastard." Sansa didn't know what a bastard was, but it couldn't have been good.

Many gasped. Some of the Riverlands nodded in agreement, while the Westermen looked enraged - they were joined by the vast majority of the northmen. In spite of Robb's origins, the boy was a delight and quite popular… none of which could be applied to Mordane.

The aforementioned Septa grew beet red. "You insolent brat!" she screeched. "Didn't I tell you that the Seven condemn lying children?"

Tyrion snorted from the high table. "I don't know whether to say you have tits of steel or simply nothing in the head... a bit of both perhaps," he concluded.

"Is anyone talking to you, dwarf?"

"See… you don't even try to make it a joke. How boring." He rolled his eyes.

His sister, however, roared like a lion. "Septa Mordane, you will shut up and let Lady Sansa speak!" Cersei lowers her voice to speak to Sansa again, mindful that Ned is trembling in silent anger beside her. "Is that all, daughter?"

"Can I say one more thing... momma?" She found that she liked Cersei calling her 'daughter.' The woman clearly treated poppa right and was ever so loving to Robb, so Sansa impulsively called her mother as well.

"That whore is not your mother...!" Mordane tried to say, but was cut off as Ned's hand slammed against the table.

"Lady Cersei is my wife and the Lady of this castle," he thundered, the wolf emerging to defend his beloved. "Call her that again and I'll have my guards recreate Ser Ilyn Payne's fate upon you!" That seemed to do the trick as the woman went whiter than snow. Breathing deeply to calm himself he turned to Sansa. "Continue, little pup."

Gulping, slightly afraid and slightly in awe of her powerful father, Sansa nevertheless steeled herself. "She... she also say... Prince Baelon..." Her eyes widened. Was that the boy from her vision? "Prince Baelon a bastard too. A bastard of a… whore… what's a whore, poppa?"

It didn't take long for the entire great hall to explode into uproar - insulting Robb and then insulting Queen Lyanna… "You dare accuse me of insulting the Crown Prince?!" Now Mordane was fearing for her life. If it ever reached the King or Queens' ears, she would be dragon food… that was if the Northerners didn't kill her first. Her glare moved to Sansa, anger in her eyes. "It appears I didn't teach you enough manners!" With that, she moved to slap the brat that had been her bane for years.

"Keep away from the lass," Jory said, getting in the middle.

Cersei was not far behind. "If you touch my daughter," she said, mostly to provide a united front and hurt this woman… but the vision of Maggie the Frog wasn't far behind. "That hand will leave your body, I guarantee that." Her voice was colder than the wall. "I wonder, what would their Graces do with you once they find out you've been slandering the Crown Prince and his cousin as bastards and usurpers?"

"I've never said that, but that brat of yours is a bastard and usurper." She didn't care anymore. "You are a whore that stole the birthright of Lady Catelyn's trueborn children!"

Ned looked ready to explode but Cersei held her hand up, her visage calm... and too much like their father for Tyrion's comfort. "Is that so?" Her voice was now so calm that it sent shivers down the spines of all around her. "Guards."

The Stark guards complied, joined by a few of the Lannister men-at-arms - they officially were escorts for Genna and Tyrion but served her. "Yes, my Lady."

"I will not have blood spilled at my order as my first true duty as Lady of Winterfell. It is an affront to the old gods. However, make sure the Septa and all the Rivermen of the late Lady Catelyn's retinue are off to Riverrun by the morrow."

None of the Winterfell's guards made the slightest attempt to hide their grins, elated to finally kick out those stuffy southerners that had been nothing but a pain in their arses sinces their arrival. "Of course my Lady," Jory grinned.

Being enclosed by the Stark guards, Mordane went red. "You have no authority over me, whore!"

"Oh I do, Dear Septa." Now Cersei was in her face, guards having temporarily stopped and restrained her. "Your Lady isn't here anymore and this place is in desperate need of a true Lady of the North."

"You're nothing but a woman disgraced in the eyes of the Seven, birthing a bastard that usurped the trueborn children of Lady Stark."

Ned had enough by now. In one sweeping motion he unsheathed Ice and placed it in the neck of a now terrified Mordane. "What did I say about insulting my wife?" His grey eyes were dark with rage… Cersei felt her core go wet from seeing it. "Are you truly so eager to share Ser Payne's condition?"

"You... you spit on the memory of your late wife..."

Truth to be told, Ned cared little that his last conversation with Catelyn went so poorly - he had honored her as a husband and now he could truly move on with his new wife and his children. "I have the undisputed authority according to you, so I command every Riverman to leave."

Most of the Rivermen glared in anger. One woman however, a maid, fell to her knees in front of Ned. "Please, mi'Lord, don't make me leave. Mi'husband is one of yer guards!"

The man in question stepped forward, a fairly handsome man with a full beard and head of jet black hair, was one of the men holding the now incredulous septa. "Aye, It's true mi'Lord. She converted in front of the weirwood and everythin'."

His eyebrow rose. "Anyone else wish to stay?" There were a few. Three maids, two men-at-arms, and one hedge knight that had found locals in Wintertown to marry or want to marry. Putting the ancestral Longsword back in place Ned commanded "Good. You have my leave to stay." He turned to Jory. "Now get these filth out of our home." His men were only happy to comply, removing the Septa and the rest from their lives forever.

Sansa immediately ran to Ned. "I sorry, poppa"

The Lord of Winterfell gently caressed her red locks. "You did nothing wrong pup."

"No, you didn't." Cersei put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll oversee your lessons personally from now on."

She gave a tiny smile. "Thank you… stepmomma."

Sighing, Ned let his head fall into Cersei's neck. "Thank the gods that is over."

Cersei nodded. "Shall we retire to our bedchamber, my Lord?" He grinned, showing his agreement with her idea.

---

"Get down, stupid!"

"You get down!"

"That makes no sense!"

"It means shut up!"

Concern on his face, the youngest lad of the trio didn't like when his eldest brother and sister fought… which they did all the time. "Let's just go play Young Dragon… I don't want lemonade anymore…"

But Daella was stubborn. "You want it and so do I!" The lemon tree in the middle of their house was massive, taller than even the first floor. As such, there were juicy yellow morsels always out of reach, and the young girl was determined to get them. "I'll find the biggest, fattest lemons."

"You're a big, fat lemon!" their older brother shouted.

"Stupidhead!" she shouted back at Aenar. Gods, she hated him and his whiny attitude… A smile brightened. There were two big lemons, just waiting for her to take. Daella reached out, but just wasn't quite able to get there. "Almost… almost got it…" Just as she grabbed the branch, the one she was perched on snapped and all went tumbling to the ground.

"Daella!" shouted Gaemon.

"My Lady!" Two servants and a guard rushed over.

She was grinning. "I got them!" Holding up the lemons in triumph, blood trickled down from her hand. Sure enough, there was a gash there. "Rats…"

"You better head to see the mistress."

Slowly turning the latch and pushing the door open, Daella grew quiet as a chill washed over her. She hated it here… the den of her muna, it was dark and imposing with all sorts of scary things that were the stuff of nightmares. If it wasn't for the woman that gave her life and raised her and her siblings, Daella would want nothing to do with this place. Gingerly holding her injured hand, she toughed it out regardless. "Muna? Muna, where are you?"

"Over here, young one," came the voice. It was soft and feminine, ever so sweet with her. Pinpointing it, Daella ran over and found her muna standing beside a table covered with various plants and pots and jars. Beside was the blazing hearth, always kept burning. Such was how it was with the private chambers of her muna. Always hot even in the sweltering heat of summer. "What's wrong, child?" Sarra said, turning around with a smile. Her black hair was pulled into a simple bun, the beautiful woman's violet eyes cast with warmth towards her beloved daughter.

Daella bit her lip, holding her arm. "Hurt it… fell off the lemon tree."

A sigh. "Oh, Daella…" She went for a drawer in a large cabinet perched against the wall. "I told you to stop trying to climb that tree." Out came a roll of linen bandages and a jar of potent rum.

"I wanted lemonade and the lemons on top are the juiciest," Daella replied by way of explanation.

"We have servants, why can't they get them for you?" Dipping a rag into the rum, she placed it against the wound and heard her girl hiss in pain. It wasn't what it was like when Illyrio was alive, but we are luckier than most.

She frowned. "I'm no funny britches like Aenar. I can do for myself."

"I know you can, sweetling, but you need to know who you are. You're of the best of blood, a future Queen if I have anything to say about it." Once clean, she began to roll the linen around the wound, making sure it was tight to bind the gash.

Daella nodded. "I know…" Biting her lip, she looked up at her muna. "Does that mean I Baelon's Queen?"

Sarra blinked. "You know about Baelon?"

"Aye… Gaemon likes playing young Dragon with twins, but Aenar always whine about 'Baelon' stealing his throne. That mean Baelon is King?"

"Baelon will be King, yes, if the usurpers have their way."

"Will they?"

Shaking her head, Sarra leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You're too young to worry over such, sweetling. Go rest before supper." Hopping down from the stool where she was sitting, Daella made to move before Sarra called out for her again. "Did you get the big lemon?"

Daella grinned. "Two big, fat ones," she said proudly.

"That's my girl," Sarra laughed. "Give them to the cooks and tell them I want a pitcher of lemonade made for you and your brothers." Beaming, Daella blew her a kiss and was off.

When alone again, Sarra's smile shifted back into a scowl. Baelon Targaryen… the latest in a line of usurpers and half-breeds. They were all weak, the red dragons, hemmed in by a life of cultural rot, tainted blood, and torpor. King Rhaegar's hatching of the dragons was surprising and disrupted the natural order of things her kepa had taught her, but Sarra wasn't deterred. They may have gotten lucky, but she taught me the true connection to the great gods.

There was no doubt in Sarra's mind where providence laid. But where did the newly powerful Red Dragons play their part in the inevitable?

Only one way to find out.

Grabbing a pewter bowl filled with red powder and a bottle of crimson liquid, Sarra approached the hearth. "Great pantheon," she proclaimed in High Valyrian, tossing a handful of powder in and watching the red-orange flames turn crimson. "Hear me. Grant me a glimpse of the future between my line and the line of Daeron, how their newfound power matches against your destiny." Taking the flagon, she poured some of the liquid onto her hand. "As a gift, I show willingness to sacrifice combined with the offering of impure blood. Such is my devotion to you." Without delay, Sarra thrust her blood-covered hand into the flames.

Suddenly, her eyes rolled back, fires dancing in her vision. Two great beasts, a monstrous black dragon streaked with red and a dark red dragon streaked with black meeting in the sky. Wings flapping and serpentine bodies twisting as they danced a powerful, beautiful contortion above the clouds. A rider was astride each, one dark of hair and the other light…

With that, she was lurched back into reality, breathing hard. My gods… Intense, but vague. The visions always were, unless one of the gods sought personal contact - but that never happened. Not for her, and only twice for as long as the one that preceded her had lived.

But even in the pieces, something could be observed. A black dragon… flown by one dark of hair… Wasn't Prince Baelon dark of hair? From her whispers, Sarra was certain…

She sighed, setting down her supplies and running a hand through her hair. They would win, she could taste it, but the road was fraught with peril.

When was it anything else? In the game of thrones, you win or you die.

Sarra knew the stakes more than most.

---

With the evermost care, Aemon lowered Prince Rickon Targaryen into Lyanna's arms. The Queen was exhausted but so so happy holding her little baby boy. "Rickon… my sweet dragonwolf." Another Prince with the Stark colors, but none of them were complaining, he was absolutely amazing.

Across the twin beds, Qyburn lowered another bundle for Queen Elia. "Your son, your Grace."

Elia couldn't get enough of her little boy. His thatch of silver hair and little fingers and toes… gods, the little fingers and toes! The best part of all her babes, oh they were so adorable. Feeling Rhaegar hover over her, kissing her forehead, Elia sighed deeply. "You were right, my love. Two beautiful princes."

"You should listen to me more often, beautiful." Brushing a tendril of hair from her forehead, matted to the honey skin from a sheen of sweat. "He's perfect, a handsome Valyrian Prince."

"Just like his brothers." Elia kissed his nose. "While Lyanna named Rickon, I have the perfect name for this hatchling."

Rhaegar grinned. "Do tell."

She stroked his cheek. "Daemon, Prince Daemon."

A chuckle. "The second Rogue Prince?"

Across the narrow gap between the birthing beds, Lyanna beamed tiredly. "Would that be such a bad thing, my love… ooh…" There was discomfort in her abdomen, which still felt bloated and distended.

Rhaegar was up in and instant, by her side while Elia looked with worry in her eyes. "My sweet she-Wolf? What's wrong?"

Holding Rickon, her eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not sure, I… ahhh!" She grimaced, then screamed, causing Rickon to thrash and wail. "Oh gods… another contraction!"

"What?! What's happening?!" Rhaegar felt a pervasive terror fill him. "Uncle! Qyburn! Do something!"

A sigh from Aemon. "I told you, Qyburn." He moved to Lya feeling her stomach. "This was my thought for moons."

Lyanna screamed in agony. "Why… why am I in pain?!"

"Your Grace, take Prince Rickon," Qyburn insisted, taking a position between Lyanna's legs as the King scooped up his son. "Aye, Maester Aemon. She's still fully dilated."

"Tell me what's going on!"

Aemon placed a hand on her cheek. "You're giving birth to your second babe."

"Second babe?" Rhaegar was dumbfounded.

"Twins!" Elia was immediately excited. "My gods… you're having twins!" First Rickon, then Daemon… and now this? Was this a dream? If it was a dream then Elia would never want to wake up.

As for Lya… "Get this babe out of me!" She moaned in pain. "Please… I want it over!"

"You'll be just fine, my love…"

"You!" Lya's wolf came out to play. "You're never touching me again! You did this to me, Rhaegar!"

Elia laughed. "You say that now, Lya. Just wait."

"Keep pushing, your Grace," urged Qyburn, overseeing his seventh royal birth. "You're doing well, I can see the crown of your babe's head."

"Ahhhhh!" Honestly, it was easier than Rickon's birth, but Lya was so exhausted and the contractions were so sudden it felt just as arduous.

But when the wails of her newborn reached her ears, all of it was worth it. "A girl!" announced Qyburn. "A Targaryen Princess." Lya's head fell back, exhausted, but with a blissful smile.

Rhaegar felt as if he would faint. "A girl." He adored his sons, but his daughters were a precious gift of the gods. Ones he gladly cherished to bring softness and light into his life. He sat, rocking Rickon in his arms, watching with Elia as Aemon moved to take the babe from the cleaning station and the maids that wiped her down with fresh linens. "Uncle?"

Hefting her in his wrinkled grasp, Aemon babbled something sweet to the babe and kissed her forehead. "She feels like your muna did in my arms, nephew." Gingerly walking to the Queen's side, immediately did Aemon feel Lyanna's hands reaching for the babe. "Goodniece?"

"Give her to me," Lya begged. Her miracle child, born as a pure surprise. Aemon gladly complied, chuckling with tears in his eyes… there wasn't a dry eye in the place, not even from the normally stoic Qyburn. The scene was so precious as the Queen hugged her daughter in the crook of her neck, crying softly. "My beautiful daughter. I love you so much." It was true. From the moment she laid eyes on the girl, Lyanna's heart was as irreversibly bonded to her as she was to all her babes.

'You have done well, Lyanna…'

Blinking, Lyanna felt a soothing chill banish away her pain, filling her with serenity. It was her… it was Tessarion. Why are you here, great one? She kissed the squirming babe on the forehead, nuzzling her with her cheek.

Lyanna could've sworn that the goddess was in front of her, smiling with joyous tears flowing from her eyes. 'The four dragons… you've become what your destiny requires of you. Your husband and goodmother hatched their dragons. Your wife's womb was healed… and now I have bestowed my gift upon you… through your daughter…'

What do you mean? The babe tucked into her arms, she reached up for Lyanna on instinct. My daughter?

'One you thought lost forever… she is here before you. Such is the gift for those that reached their destiny.' A cool breeze passed through Lyanna, the goddess disappearing into the aether of existence.

At first, Lyanna knew not what to think… the words confused her, eyes merely drifting down to her beautiful babe. Already her eyelids were pulling back slightly, exposing the dark violet hue of her irises. A perfect Targaryen princess with the beauty of Old Valyria and the spirit of the North… just as in her long ago dreams…

One you thought you lost forever…

She is here before you…

Lyanna gasped, finally understanding. Tears burst from her eyes and she hugged the babe close, peppering her with sweet kisses. "You're here… I love you, sweet hatchling." The tears made her grey eyes shine. "Rhaegar, Elia… it's her. It's Visenya."

Both having had experience with the goddess… it didn't take either long to decipher the subtext. "You mean…" Elia murmured.

"Truly?" Rhaegar still rocked Rickon, but his eyes were planted on Lyanna. When she nodded, openly crying, he was at her side - kissing the crown of her head before showering affection on the little darling. Elia wished she could join, but with Daemon and her own exhaustion she'd have to settle for now to giving her love from the other bed.

The door creaked open and Rhaella peeked in. "Is it done? Cause the hatchlings…" Even the mighty dragonrider couldn't stop the Targaryen brood from rushing in, desperate to see their parents.

"Muna!" Jon was at Lyanna's side in an instant, followed by Dany close by. "Is that my valonqar?" he asked, looking intently at the bundle.

Lyanna giggled happily. "No, sweet Baelon. This is your sister Visenya."

"Vis...senya? Like Vhagar rider?!"

"Kessa, like Vhagar rider," Dany huffed, almost insulted he had to ask. Though she was rather joyous to see another niece. Another girl to play the great Targaryen Queens of history.

"This is my second valonqar," Rhaenys insisted proudly, holding Rickon in her arms. "Looks just like Jon… but grey eyes. Yes, little direwolf, yes you are." She tickled his nose, Rickon babbling and swatting at her fingers.

"He so little, muna," Egg said, sitting with Elia and nudging at Daemon, obsessed with the boy wriggling whenever he brushed the soles of his feet.

She grinned tiredly. "Babes are little, my son. You were that tiny too."

At the insistence of his mother, Jon was brought to touch the babe in the same way. "Hi, little sister," he murmured. "No worry, I take care of you. I mighty dragon." Baelon stroked her cheek. "You safe with me." Visenya merely yawned, burrowing deeper into Lyanna's side.

In the heavens, the great goddess watched the family with the biggest of smiles.

Elsewhere, her twin brother also watched, but with a different expression.

Notes:

They are favored by the gods, 100%. Little Visenya is back :)

And so we have Cersei cleaning house.

Who were those kids in the house with the red door?

Next up, time jump of a year.

Chapter 86: A Realm at Peace

Notes:

Hey everyone. Hi all. Things are settling down so it's update time!

Good news, with Bet of Dragons done, my one shot done, and Targaryen Dynasty wrapping up (check them all out, I promise you'll love them), I shall be starting a new project: a modern romantic comedy (with plenty of smut) starring Jon and Daenerys called "My Best Friend's Wedding :D It'll be posted on Ao3.

Be sure to check out my current stories Dragonshield and Heart of the Blessed.

Enjoy.

"So you're gonna be a father now, congratulations."

Lord Alliser Thorne grumbled. "Aye, an heir for my house, but does your cousin have to use it as an occasion to spend all my coin?"

Gerion Lannister, wearing the goldcloak of the City Watch, snickered. "That's us Lannisters for you. We either horde gold or we spend it."

"But get this!" Thorne complained. "Apparently women need a whole new wardrobe when they're with child. Why didn't anyone tell me this?!"

"Well of course? Do you think their bellies can it in the tight bodices they usually wear?"

He grumbled. "I suppose… but that's more coin out of my pocket!"

Laughing, Gerion clasped him in the back. "You're the Lord of Duskendale, not some ranger freezing his ass at the wall. You can afford to make my cousin happy."

The two of them, still talking loudly, rounded the corner and leaving the corridor empty… or so it would seem. About a quarter minute passed before a silver-haired head poked out of a dark alcove. "Aight, coast clear."

"You sure?" Came a voice behind her, still shrouded in darkness.

Daenerys Targaryen rolled her eyes - the same expression as her muna did when Jaime said something annoying. "Would I lie? Come on."

Cautiously, Baelon Targaryen joined his aunt as they rushed along the corridors, sticking to the shadows if on instinct. Both quite short and slight, that made it quite easy to hide in case a servant or maid drifted their way.

It wasn't their first time sneaking through the Red Keep and they were experts at it - taught by the master, Princess Rhaenys. She learned from their uncle Oberyn so the hatchlings had no match.

As they were about to turn the corner, Jon raised his hand. "Shhh." His wolf-like hearing picked up the soft footfalls in the distance and he practically yanked Dany flat against the wall. Their hands squeezed tightly in their childlike fear of being caught and brought to their parents with a stern look… only for the one servant girl with a bundle of dirty linens passing by, her attention distracted elsewhere.

"That was close," Dany murmured when they were alone again. "Good ear, Jon."

He didn't know why, but Jon loved when Dany complimented me. "Told ya' that I'm better."

"Keep dreaming," she replied, another phrase her muna used when Jaime was teasing her. "We're almost there, slowpoke. Let's go." With a gesture of her palm, she drew Jon with her as they headed down the new corridor.

Already the smells of the kitchens wafted into the corridor. A hot steam, joined with the aromas of steaming stews, roasting meats, and fresh breads. It was an enjoyable smell, and Jon sighed happily as he sniffed. "Chicken and onion pie, my favorite."

"You're such a wolf," Dany quipped. It was a more northern style dish, and she'd never admit to Jon or Artie that she loved it too. Eyes peeled at the door, she found it… a tiny smear of red on the knob. "That's his spot. Do the knock."

"Alright, alright, hold your dragons," Jon insisted, darting forward. He made two quick knocks, followed by three slow ones, and then another two quick ones… and the door opened not five seconds later. "Yes!" His whoop was in a murmur. Even with the cacophony within, they didn't want the kitchen staff to hear them.

Out through the crack slipped a chubby boy about their age. "Hi, your Graces," he said, bowing… or what made for bowing anyway.

Dany waved him off. "Stop. Got the stuff, Hot Pie?"

The son of the Chief Cook of the Red Keep, Hot Pie learned from even this early age the run of the kitchens. He was the unofficial mascot of the kitchen staff and no one paid him any heed - the name coming from when he accidentally dropped a meat pie meant for Jon on his own face. The poor boy was scalded but the name stuck. He held up a small sack. "Here'ya go, Princess."

Eagerly, Dany took it and forked over a gleaming silver stag. "We're not here."

Hot Pie nodded, miming his keeping his mouth shut. The door then shut and Jon and Dany were alone again.

The silver princess looked into the bag and smirked. "Perfect… they even smell fresh."

Jon insisted on looking for himself, and found the little round morsels of gingerbread and powdered sugar. "Most we've ever gotten." They both simpered with glee and ran off - making sure to be equally as stealthy.

To their good fortune, the Prince and Princess of House Targaryen ran into no one else in the deserted corridors. Dashing through Maegor's Holdfast after ascending from the kitchen tunnel, they were soon back at their shared chambers, Jon turning the knob and letting them both slip through. "We got it!" Dany proclaimed, pumping her fist in the air and twirling about. She was always one for flair.

"Bout time," grumbled Asha Greyjoy, sitting flat on the bed and fiddling with the cuff of her shirt, bored out of her mind. "Couldn't stand the wee ones' constant blubbering." As if emphasizing her point, Alyssa, Allyria, and Myrcella all scampered towards Jon and Dany, hands trying to reach for the gingerbread cookies. Asha snorted, only for a firm hand to smack her head. "Hey!"

"Don't be a grouch," Rhaenys insisted. Eight namedays, she was the unofficial leader of the 'Targlings' as Oberyn dubbed them. "You're part of this family whether you like or not."

"I'm no dragon," Asha hissed back, but sighed. "Fine. Thanks for the cookie." When Rhaenys grabbed one of them and handed it to her, Asha tried not to look like she enjoyed it… but the cookie was absolutely delicious.

"Mmmmm…" Egg was already nibbling halfway through his first. "Cooks are great."

Dany nodded, doling out a cookie each for the younger babes before taking two for herself. "I know. So amazing."

"Hot Pie used to do this for five bronze star… now a silver stag - cooks must be extra vigilant," Rhaenys commented.

"What vigilant?" said Allyria, botching the pronunciation.

"Means they're watching out for us, cousin," replied Artie, finishing his last one and mouth full of crumbs. "Gotta be careful."

"Oh please, it's us," Dany boasted. "We're always careful."

Jon snorted. "I'm always careful. You like to be miss priss."

The Princess glared. "Don't call me miss priss."

"Miss priss," Jon replied, only for Dany to leap on him. The two Targaryens tumbled about, their peers watching with amusement - Rhaenys just burst out into giggles as she watched. They'd be hugging and all cutesy in a few moments and she wanted to enjoy this as long as possible.

When Dany had Jon pinned as she usually did - Jon was stronger but never liked to come close to hurting her - the door opened and all froze. Looking down at all of them, Sandor Clegane's scarred face made the scowl on his lips all the more intimidating. Asha pointed at Rhaenys. "It was her idea."

"I'm going to kick your butt later," Rhaenys mumbled.

"Mmmm-hmmm…" Sandor grunted. "Pilfering cookies again?"

Gulping, Dany nodded - he didn't even comment at her pinning Jon down.

"Of course… always with the Little Prince and Silver Pest." Sandor shook his head. "Clean up your mouths and then leave the chambers. His Grace wants you all at dinner." With that, he shut the door.

"What just happened?" Asha asked incredulously.

Jon, pushing out of Dany's grip, laughed. "Told you, my doggie loves me."

Dany shook her head. "He keeps calling me 'Silver Pest.'"

"You are kinda a pest, Dany," Egg chuckled, only for a half-eaten cookie to be thrown at him. "Hey! I'm keeping this cookie."

That drew a frantic Dany leaping on him. "No! My cookie!"

---

"Sleep now, my sweet," cooed Lady Lynesse Baratheon, rocking little Shireen in her arms. The three-moon old babe was babbling softly, only to disappear in a yawn as tiredness began to wash over her. "There you go. Let your eyes close and slumber take you into the embrace of your dreams." A gentle kiss to the forehead serenaded Shireen to sleep.

Lynesse placed her in the crib gingerly, draping a blanket over her tiny form. For a moment, she watched Shireen sleep - smiling serenely. The babe was the spitting image of her according to her brother Baelor, who had visited Storm's End only two weeks before. Fair skin, a delicate nose… a great beauty she would be. But there was no mistaking her for anything but a Baratheon, sporting her father's dark hair and azure blue eyes. There would be no shortage of suitors for Shireen Baratheon when she came of age, Lynesse was sure of this.

Brushing a thumb across her cheek, Lynesse blew the babe a kiss. The most precious being in her life, and what she feared was to be her only child - considering how difficult the birth was. She sighed, but accepted it. Shireen would be enough for her, and certainly was enough for Stannis. Nodding at the nursemaid, she made her way out of the nursery and towards the rest of the Lord's quarters in the central tower of Storm's End. Her home for the past year and a half.

The keep was bustling with activity, moreso than when she had arrived. Before the center of the Stormlands was still under the shadow of Robert and Renly's actions during the Rebellion, sad and morose - forgotten or avoided by much of the Realm. But with Robert fighting honorably at Lannisport and Stannis' bravery in the Second Battle of the Arbor, the shower of royal favor revitalized it.

Wealth was slowly being reaccumulated, her husband using most of it to buy back the lands lost in war indemnity five years previously. A smart and powerful man, her husband was. Lynesse felt quite lucky.

Her husband was in his solar as he usually was, a three-day stubble on his cheek as he tirelessly worked over papers and arranged the affairs of the Stormlands while Robert sparred, hunted, ate, and drank his way through life. "Husband," she said.

Dour usually, Stannis had a tiny smile that he only saved for her and Shireen. "Wife." He rose and pecked her lips. "I'm glad you could join us."

It was then that Lynesse noticed someone else in the solar. "Lord Beric."

Beric Dondarrion nodded. "My Lady." If Stannis was the true Lord Paramount, Beric was his most trusted advisor. Better than the likes of Meryn Trant or Rolland Storm that Robert was fond of taking as companions. "I am glad you could join us. We could use your mind."

"And of what do you need?"

"Robert's succession," Stannis said simply.

Lynesse groaned. "What offer did he reject this time?"

"That of Lord Royce. His eldest daughter is coming of age, but Robert declined." From his tone, Lynesse knew Robert's manner of rejection was… less placid as that. He normally didn't fly into rages anymore, but the issue of his marriage wasn't something he held himself back on. 'No woman is worthy of me! Only her! Only Lyanna!' It was rather embarrassing the first time she witnessed it… but now Lynesse was just annoyed.

"Do we need to worry? You're his heir and Shireen is yours."

"A problem that would not be solved and you know it, wife."

Sighing sharply, Lynesse had to concede the point of her blunt husband. Few in the realm outside of Dorne and parts of the North would accede to female Ladies in charge of keeps. If Robert died without heir and she and Stannis unable to sire more babes, Shireen's position would be shaky. "I understand, husband, but what are we to do? Your brother." Her lips curled in distaste. "Remains adamantly against any betrothal offer presented."

"As I said, wife, I am well aware." Stannis looked up from his papers and gestured to Beric. "Which is why Lord Dondarrion and I came up with a solution."

Chuckling at the Hightower lady's raised eyebrow, Beric leaned forward. "It isn't a shock that Robert has many bastard children."

Lynesse snorted, as if Beric insulted her intelligence. "Of this I am well aware. He doesn't wish to marry but can't keep his cock in his pants…" Her eyes widened in understanding. "You mean to legitimize a bastard of his?"

Stannis nodded. "More than one actually. We need daughters to make alliances and an heir and a spare just in case. Lord Beric has been tracking them for me over the last seven moons."

"As such, I've found four that show promise." He produced a stack of parchment, setting it in front of Lynesse for her perusal - Stannis hadn't just married a pretty face, but a sharp mind and Beric respected that. "Two daughters and two sons."

"Are any of them highborn in their mothers?" Lynesse asked, beginning to read. But she wanted to know from his words.

Beric didn't disappoint. "Mya Stone is already acknowledged by Robert as his. She's being raised as a servant in Lord Elbert's household and my conversations with him indicate he's willing to send her here without precondition. As for the younger boy…"

"Edric Storm…?" Lynesse got to the part and then winced. "Highborn child of one of the Florents… was this the one you almost married, husband?"

"No. I don't think even Robert would want to bed Selyse." Stannis shuddered, thanking the gods above that he had rejected the betrothal offer - he'd never have found his beautiful bride if otherwise, nor his sweet daughter. "I'll have to offer significant funds that we don't have to Lord Florent for the bastard."

Laughing, Beric shook his head. "No, he's offered to send five hundred gold dragons to us to take young Edric. the cunt wants the boy gone so he can eliminate all evidence of his daughter's lack of chastity - probably to secure a good marriage alliance with one of the other Reach lords. The girl is quite pretty with dark hair and eyes."

"Robert's type, for sure," Lynesse commented. "And the other two?"

"Those were harder. Lowborn mothers that I didn't even know had slept with Robert… one died and the lad is being raised as a water-carrier in a blacksmith's smithy on the Street of Steel."

This one intrigued Stannis greatly. "Gendry Waters. This one tells me he looks like a mini-Robert and he's older than Edric."

"A smallfolk's child as the heir to Storm's End might not obtain loyalty, I worry." Lynesse shrugged. "But he's but a boy so can still try and earn it for himself. As for the last one…" Her lips pursed. "Oh boy…"

"Aye." Stannis laughed without amusement. "Bella Rivers, bastard daughter of the woman who has become Tywin Lannister's mistress. I was hoping not to involve him besides the asking of the Crown for their leave in this… not that dealing with King Rhaegar on Robert's behalf is also something welcome by me."

A door being thrown open caught their attention. "Who speaks about dealing with the Dragonspawn?!" Slick with sweat from training, Robert didn't reek of wine for once, though his breath was putrid with garlic. He hadn't drank yet, but his appetite was still considerable, only held back by his frequent sparring and hunting. "The less I have to see or hear of my cousin the better." Robert's anger had somewhat dimmed thanks to the Ironborn Rebellion and House Baratheon's now rising status in the realm, but the man that had Lyanna would never be a favorite of his.

Deciding to be blunt, Stannis rose. "We're discussing the matter of heirs for you, brother."

"I told you before!" Robert shouted back. "I am not going to marry! No woman is worth the bounty that I can offer them."

Yet plenty are worth your cock piercing their innocence… Lynesse didn't say that though. "My husband, Lord Beric, and I have found a solution that doesn't involve your getting married." She handed him the stack of papers. "We've found four bastard children of yours. If you give us leave to do so, we can request their legitimization and secure the succession of your line."

Grabbing the papers, Robert squinted as he read the lines - slowly, for he never was the best of readers. "Oh?" A grin. "Ah, Mya. I almost forgot about that sweet little thing." He continued on. "Gendry? Don't remember ever siring him, but a blacksmith's helper? Good, nice and strong." If there was anything Robert respected, it was strength. "Ah yes, the Florent girl. She was a tight thing, she was. But tight in the right places rather than your Florent, right brother?" Robert guffawed at his jape.

Stannis pursed his lips. "Aye, Robert. Aye."

"Let's see… oh yeah, I remember this pretty one. Tywin's mistress huh?" He clicked his tongue. "Wouldn't want her anywhere near that asshole. Aight! Let's do this." He slammed his palm on the table for good measure. "I'll write a letter to my dragonspawn cousin to be sent within the day." Without bidding them farewell, he was off to his solar.

Eying each other, Lynesse spoke first. "You need to write a letter yourself, husband."

"Again, I am well aware of that." Another potential fire to put out. In moments like these, Stannis sometimes envied Renly a bit. At least his troubles were over, while Stannis' were just beginning.

---

"Hmmmm…" Maester Luwin looked down at the sheet of parchment dotted with scribbles. "You're doing better, Theon, but it's still borderline illegible."

"I'm trying," insisted the ward of House Stark. He'd been barely literate when arriving at Winterfell - a testament to the dutiful parenting of Balon Greyjoy. Luwin considered it an achievement to get him to read at the same level as the others. "It's just so hard."

"It's because you're stupid," five nameday-old Robb Stark declared. He'd never liked the Ironborn, remembering how they tried to hurt his mother if not for Sandor Clegane.

Luwin smacked him lightly with a pedagogical stick. "Watch your tongue."

It affected Theon, who hung his head. "Don't worry, Theon." Sansa was much nicer to him. "You'll get the hang of it."

Robb rolled his eyes and went back to his writing. "No, my Lord," Luwin chided, tapping the table. "You cannot spell it that way. The 'r' in girl comes after the 'i,' not before."

"What's the difference?" Robb complained, his yellow curls askew as he labored through his lessons.

Luwin sighed. It wasn't that he wasn't smart, just that he had little patience. "The former means a young woman, the latter means a type of cooking instrument. If you are to write dispatches as a Lord, then you must learn how to spell."

He huffed. "I'm not some prissy Lord. I shall be a mighty warrior like poppa."

"Poppa writes too, Robb," Sansa insisted, carefully scrawling her practice phrases on a sheet of parchment. Unlike Robb, she never gave trouble during the lessons - eager to absorb information whenever she could.

Nodding, Luwin stood and walked over to Sansa. "She's right, young Stark. A Lord fights when needed, but most of the time he seeks peace and the administration of peace involves much writing." He looked over Sansa's work. "Once again, magnificent, my Lady. Your calligraphy is unmatched for someone your age."

Sansa beamed, always one to accept praise. Hair perfectly styled, grey eyes as radiant as their aunt Lyanna was oft described as, she waited until Luwin looked away before sticking her tongue out at her brother. Just as wild as Lyanna, Sansa possessed the grace and good sense to disguise it when needed… something Robb didn't do enough.

He stuck his tongue out back at her, but Luwin saw him. "Young Stark, please behave yourself."

"Yes, Maester." He loved his sister - they did everything together especially since Rickard and baby Joanna were too young - but seeing Sansa's cheery smile made the heir to Winterfell want to shove her and her perfect dress into the mud. No matter how wild she could be, Sansa hated the mud.

Lessons finally over, Robb scampered about the grounds of Winterfell towards the keep - he was free, while Sansa was stuck with Old Nan for embroidery lessons. Sucks to be her. Sansa may have enjoyed it, but Robb found it to be so boring as to be akin to torture. He'd much rather explore the keep with Lann or ride in the Wolfswood with his father. The lion was a constant sight in Winterfell and had grown a mighty mane and shaggy coat to deal with the cold of the North… but was nowhere to be found. Probably sleeping. The beast was also notoriously lazy.

The servants and guards all bowed or curtseyed to him as he walked through the grounds. "Mi'Lord," or "Young Stark," being banded about constantly, ever respectful and warm. Lannister he might look, the liking the Northmen had for his mother bled into adoration for the cute lad. "My Lord." Robb saw Jory bow, joined by a curtsey from Malera, his mother's lady in waiting and Jory's wife.

"Jory, where's poppa?" Robb asked, resolved that a ride in the wolfswood sounded like a great way to spend the afternoon.

"I believe he's in his solar, young Stark. Do you wish an escort?"

"No, I manage," Robb replied, moving towards the keep. He knew the way by heart to his poppa's solar, and was there in no time.

"Oh yes…" Robb heard his father speak from within his solar, indicating to him that he was there just as he hoped. "So good, wife…"

Since Lord Eddard Stark made it a point of never sparing a moment if his children needed or wanted time with him, Robb simply grabbed the latch and pushed open the door. "Poppa," he announced.

Head leaned back and simply humming in pleasure, the words of his son were like an electric shock to Ned… and not the good one. "Robb!" Below him, thankfully hidden by the stout ironwood desk, Cersei stilled in her motions. Green eyes widened in alarm and she pulled her mouth off of Ned's cock - where she had been so close to getting him to spill his seed into her mouth. 'Get him out of here,' she mouthed, face flush hair askew. "Do you… need something, son?"

"Can we go for a ride in the wolfswood?" Robb asked. "My lessons with Maester Luwin are done," he said proudly.

"Ummm…" A naughty glint in her eye, Cersei squeezed his length, both soothing and aggravating the pressure pulsing in his cock. "Perhaps later…"

Robb pouted. "Please, poppa. I didn't make fun of Sansa's girly sewing once. Please, please, please."

'He's a good boy, Ned,' Cersei mouthed before sucking his tip into her mouth, licking it ever so slowly.

What started as a simple kiss between husband and wife rapidly developed into something more. Ned intended on continuing this further after she was done, but his time with Cersei was being interrupted - but it was his son, so could he complain? "I promise I'll ride with you before dark." Robb looked to object, but the door opened again.

"And what is going on here?" Alone - Ned thanked the gods - ambled in Tyrion, ever nosey and inquisitive. "I heard voices in distress?"

"Go away, you irritating demon monkey," Cersei mumbled with a disgusted sneer on her face, but immediately resumed her sensual motions. Lips engulfing her husband's cock and sucking it deep into her throat.

Biting back a groan, Ned gripped the massive ironwood table to ground himself. "What do you... want, Tyrion?

The imp gazed at his goodbrother in puzzlement. "I could've sworn someone was calling me a demon monkey… Jaime is hairier than me so I don't see the comparison."

Cersei hummed on his length, enjoying how his legs trembled. "Get him out of here, my wolf," she ordered, fondling his balls and licking a stripe to his tip.

"Can… can you please take Robb somewhere… I… am quite busy…"

"But you always make time for your son and heir," Tyrion replied, suspicious.

Robb, eyes shifting to both his father and his 'N'cle Little,' didn't know what to think in his child-mind. "I ask poppa where momma is, but he won't tell me."

"My son… your mother is…" a muffled grunt. "Handling a task for me… elsewhere. Yes, elsewhere."

The ruffling of skirts and a slight glimpse of golden hair appearing above Ned's lap finally clued Tyrion in. "Oh, gods…" He stifled a laugh. "Ah yes, handling a task I see. Cleaning your spear perhaps?" He was certain Cersei was using the most vile profanities in regards to him, but not enough to stop her carnal actions. "Odd, because Cersei never cleans anything outside of her baths. Could she be sampling the cream for tonight's dinner?"

"Lann likes cream," Robb piped. "Maybe he can help!"

His helpful suggestion made Tyrion erupt in laughter while Ned winced. "Goodbrother, for the love of the old gods…"

Tyrion held up his hands. "Alright, alright. Cersei cannot say that I am not a good sibling for her, assisting in her… eel milking."

"Ewww… I hate eel." Robb had it once during a trip to White Harbor and was now what he always used as reference when food tasted bad. "No eel for dinner, poppa."

"Goodbrother…"

"Right, come on, nephew. We're not having eel tonight and poppa is busy."

"But where's momma…"

"Come on."

Confused as anything, Robb looked back at the flushed, trembling face of his father as the door closed and Tyrion shuffled him out. Once they were alone in the corridors, the imp began laughing uproariously, smacking his knee. "There is no doubt that your mother and I are related in our wantonness."

The words were too big for him to understand, so Robb just blinked. "N'cle little? Where's momma? And why was poppa sweating? It's not hot."

A damnable grin didn't leave Tyrion's face. "Oh nephew." He patted Robb's back, the boy only half a head shorter than him. Better enjoy that while I can. "There is so much I want to tell you about life, but I cannot till you're older."

"Why not?" Robb pouted. "I bet Sansa knows… goodie two shoes."

"No, she wouldn't know… at least I hope she doesn't." He winced for dramatic effect. "Your mother would castrate me if I taught you the facts of life too early… though she'd likely castrate me if I taught you them at all so woe is to me."

That didn't help Robb's confusion. "What's 'castrate' mean?"

Another laugh. "It means turning a man into… not a man."

"If momma castrate you, would you wear a dress like her or Sansa?"

"I hope not, though Lord Varys wears something akin to one so I wouldn't know." Sensing Robb's head was likely hurting from all the discussion, he ruffled the boy's hair. "Enough of that. You're too young to worry about what us stuffy elders deal with on a daily basis. Let's go to the kitchens and get you a snack."

Just hearing the word 'snack' made Robb smile widely in childlike exuberance. "Can I have a toffee apple?"

Tyrion smirked. "I'll give you two, nephew, if you promise to keep it between us."

"I'll get one for Sansa too!" He ran off, confusion replaced with an excited energy.

"Boys these days." He shook his head. "We used to think our sisters were poison, and now they are inseparable to us… what has this world come to?" Damned if Tyrion wouldn't trade these moments for the world.

---

Free… he felt free…

The rhythmic thump of Maerys' wings sent a vibration through the dragon's body, felt each time by Prince Viserys. Astride the growing beast's spines, he gripped the spikes and let his hair blow freely behind him. His ten and third nameday celebrated five weeks prior, a boy his age likely would've felt the greatest exhilaration at being this high above the clouds. At having such a beast at his beck and call…

Viserys did feel that, but it was dwarfed by another emotion. Relief. Freedom. Salvation.

He closed his eyes as the dragon crested, just feeling the wind bracket his face. Cooling the low simmering fire he oft felt inside. 'Calm, rider. You are among your own.'

Smiling, chuckling even, Viserys released one hand to stroke the red scales of his dragon. "Dive, boy!" Maerys roared and let himself plunge through the clouds. The Prince kept his eyes open throughout the dive, not letting himself give up this view. The ant-like city below him, the sparkling blue waters of Blackwater Bay sparkling as it reflected the sunlight from above. Only those of the dragonblood could ever witness this majesty… this glory.

Long thinking himself a pawn, a castaway… it gave Viserys a new sense of purpose. I am a dragon, kepa… He hoped Aerys was watching from the afterlife. Smiling down on him. I've become what you always wanted… I've made you proud…

But, as much as Viserys would've liked to simply fly forever - crossing the world merely on dragonback, himself and no one else - he was forced to level out and guide Maerys back to the Dragonpit. Within, Aegarax was curled up in sleep, already having grown considerably since his brother rode him in the Ironborn Rebellion. Jaimexes, lazilly chewing on the blackened bones of a goat, greeted her brother with a hoot. Once Maerys landed, he did the same… only for the hoots turning into roars as they fought over the remaining carcass. Viserys only shook his head, chuckling at their antics.

While the dragonkeepers - very slowly - tempted Maerys away from his sister with a fresh carcass, Viserys found a horse waiting for him next to a rather bored Kingsguard. "Ser Arys," he said, nodding to the knight of the Reach.

Arys Oakheart bowed in the saddle. "Your Grace." He waited for Viserys to mount his steed. "To the Red Keep?"

"Aye, home." Viserys kicked his thighs inward, driving the horse forward. Already he felt an emptiness away from his dragon, but it wasn't anything the Prince hadn't endured before.

This was his life. Not much to write about, but hope ahead.

He paid little attention to the guards or servants of the Red Keep, accepting their bows and words of deference as his due for being a Targaryen Prince. That was how it was supposed to be and he didn't choose to change it as his goodsisters did. It is amusing, them being friendly with the servants. One didn't fraternize with those one ruled, as critical a rule in his mind as his muna's lessons that he never abuse any of his subjects.

Not that Viserys ever did so, but the lesson was pushed nonetheless. Such a shame… some of the young serving girls seemed sweet and pretty. He could've bedded them, but his mind could only conjure one kind of partner.

Hoping to stay in his quarters till dinnertime - his duties limited to sparring and required attendance in small council sessions since he completed his six moon squireship for Ser Jaime - Viserys' hopes were dashed when someone called out his name. "Uncle Vis! Come play with us."

Viserys sighed, rolling his eyes and heading into the chamber where the voice came from. Why does my half-wolf nephew keep imposing upon me. It wasn't like he made it seem that he was the sort of uncle that enjoyed playing with little children - even if they were blood. "Yes, Baelon?" He found he had entered the nursery, a total of eight cribs present including the newest babes of Dacey's daughter Lyanna and Ashara's daughter Serena. "Do you need something?"

Eyes bright and innocent - his kepa's eyes, as if taunting Viserys - Jon thrust a dragon figurine into his hand. "Me and Dany are playing Dance. Can you be Aemond?"

"Yes, brother. Play Aemond!" Dany insisted.

The Prince couldn't really refuse his little sister, whom he actually enjoyed being with as long as she didn't intrude on his schedule. "The rider of Vhagar…" He shrugged. "I could be worse. Let's have at it."

As they played, Baelon naturally insisting on the role of the Rogue Prince - Lyanna Stark's influence on him - Viserys took the time to look around. Cella was asleep, his half-sister's Lannister curls irking him even though he had nothing against the child. It felt an affront that the Dayne and Mormont children were here, but that didn't extend to Alyssa playing with her blocks or for the dozing Rickon, Daemon, and Visenya. Gonna need to find more dragon eggs for all of them. No Targaryen should be without one.

Finally, he was able to extract himself from his sister and nephew, trudging back into his chambers. Gods, he looked forward to a nice nap...

"Viserys." The Prince turned, finding Dowager Queen Rhaella entering his chambers. "Oh, thank the gods you are here." She looked relieved to see him. "Thought you'd be on that dragon of yours for much longer."

He sighed. "Muna, you were the one that insisted I learn riding since my ten and second nameday."

Rhaella laughs, clicking her tongue as she hugged him. "Kessa, and nothing can make me happier that you are growing into a mighty dragonrider like myself or your brother, but you must also be mindful of your duties as a Prince." She pulled back, holding his shoulders. "You're coming of age, and that brings more duties that I hope you will be able to handle with strength and tact."

"Not this again…" He sighed. Normally the Prince would squire at his age, but the first two attempts to bind him to a warrior of great renown turned sour as his attitude provided too much of an acquired taste for both Lyle Crakehall and Brynden Tully. Riding Maerys and a final squireship with Jaime Lannister - who had far more patience - worked, even though he secretly disliked the Lannister kingsguard for being his muna's lover. "I served your lover well, didn't I?"

She frowned. "Don't take that tone with me, Viserys." When he didn't seek to continue the argument, Rhaella brought her smile back. "You need to get ready, my son."

"Ready for what?"

"In a week's time, the Volantene delegation is arriving to establish closer diplomatic relations. The two senior triarchs and their retinues, and there will be a feast."

Viserys groaned. "I hate feasts… they're so boring."

"That's because you never join in on the fun, simply eating alone or with Ser Arys." She rifled through his cabinets for proper clothes. "You'll practice your dancing skills, as well as properly bathe beforehand…" Rhaella thrusted a bundle of trousers and doublets into his arms. "Try these on… and shave off that ridiculous attempt at a beard. I don't know what you are thinking with that."

"Yes, muna." What else could he say?

Gods, he wished to be aloft with his dragon.

---

He didn't like coming to the private quarters of the royal family. They brought… bad memories. It wasn't that Tywin Lannister didn't feel pride in his tenure as Hand of the King. With Aerys' eccentricities and the various blights that faced the Realm it was only his iron fist and able administration that prevented rebellion for as long as it did - at least that was how he saw it. But… for his life, it was a nightmare in many an instance, represented by the royal quarters of Maegor's Holdfast.

Was this corner where Aerys and Joanna had their illicit affair?

Was here where Rhaegar decided to spurn Cersei?

Did Aerys plot his death from this chamber?

No one considered Tywin Lannister superstitious, him most of all, but by the gods did it feel that the ghosts of the past haunt these walls.

Stop it. Rhaegar won, you won… all is well. All was well - in spite of all odds Tywin was back and with more power than ever. A close run thing.

Squeals of laughter drew him towards the nursery. "Lord Tywin," nodded the tall Kingsguard standing guard, intimidating in full plate and with a claymore sheathed at the waist.

"Ser Brienne," he replied formally. Tywin did raise an eyebrow at the female warrior arriving to be a Kingsguard… but when she lasted ten minutes in a duel with the King and five minutes against Ser Arthur Dayne himself, even he had admitted she was worthy. "Is Queen Elia within?"

"No, my Lord. Your son is though." While all the Kingsguards treated her as one of them, she had to admit that Jaime was her favorite - treated her as Renly did… before the unpleasantness years before. Brienne had dramatically improved her sparring skills thanks to him.

I shouldn't be surprised. Jaime inherited Joanna's innate sentimentality. "Right then." Brienne opened the door for him and Tywin stepped inside, immediately assaulted by the giggles of a delighted babe and the laughs of an adoring parent.

"High, kepa. High!"

"'Ere you go, my little dragon!" Hands clasped firmly around her waist, a tunic-clad Jaime lifted little Myrcella Targaryen high in the air. The Princess shrieked and giggled out of joy. Approaching three namedays, she would soon be in her own personal chambers and out of the nursery. From what Tywin heard, Cella was quite excited to have her own room 'like Rhae and Egg!' The Crown Prince and Princess Daenerys still shared a chamber. "Uh oh, here comes the hungry lion!"

"Eeeep!" Cella squealed as Jaime nuzzled her neck, making growling noises. "No kepa! Stop!" she giggled, kicking her feet and wiggling around in his hold. But her violet eyes - exactly like Aerys' ironically enough, which unsettled Tywin a bit - quickly spotted him. "Gam...pa!" she called out, trying to reach for him.

Jaime composed himself rather quickly, holding his squirming daughter. "Father."

"Ser Jaime," he said formally. "Princess." The Hand of the King reached over to chuck his grandaughter's chin, but otherwise made no other show of affection. "Have you been behaving?"

"I's a good dwagon, gam-pa!"

"See that you stay that way." Tywin looked up to his son. "I always figured that Cersei would bear a Targaryen child… seems I was ignorant of the future."

"She's as much a Lannister as a Targaryen, father," Jaime replied.

"But without our name, yet you are her father. Quite strange, doesn't it seem?" Ruffling the girl's hair, he moved to the window, making cursory glances to the other cribs. All were empty except for that of Princess Visenya, fast asleep. "However, I thought you were a lost cause when you took the white cloak, and you managed not to completely fuck it up. Seducing Queen Rhaella after you killed Aerys… impressive."

Jaime narrowed his eyes. "You know that she and I love each other, father."

"Aye, I've bore witness to enough of your affection… but we will need Myrcella for the future just as we will need Cersei and her babes, cause gods know if Tyrion will ever have children." He turned to give Jaime a stare. "Make sure she knows she's a lion just as much as she is a dragon."

Sighing, Jaime closed his eyes. "Yes, father."

"Gam-pa funny," Cella giggled. "Wion! Wion!" She began pointing to a stuffed lion resting in her crib. Besides the dragon egg resting beside, it was her favorite thing in the world.

The door opened to reveal Queen Elia, Ser Oswell trailing behind. "Oh, Ser Jaime… Lord Tywin."

Tywin bowed. "Your Grace." Thank the gods. "I have been trying to find you."

She gave him a neutral look, but smiled at Cella. "How is the golden dragon, Ser Jaime?"

"Been asking for a 'cookie' all day, so I suspect Crown Prince Baelon and Princess Daenerys have been pilfering from the kitchens again," he laughed.

"Gonna have to have a word with them, then," Elia shook her head, stifling a chuckle as she reached in to pick up Visenya. "Hi sweetling, did you miss your muna?" Senya wriggled her arms, which she took as a yes, kissing her cheek. "Follow me, Lord Tywin."

Within the corridor, aside from Ser Oswell behind them, they were alone. "What did you wish to discuss with me?"

"A friend in Braavos gave me a tidbit of information I thought you'd be interested in."

"Why me? Why not my husband or wife?"

"You're the one with the birds, no? And the brother adept at… suspicious deaths."

Her eyes narrowed, clutching the babe tight. "Lord Yronwood was prone to strokes… he already had one prior to my brother fighting him." But Elia didn't wish to dwell on this. "Just spit it out."

Tywin appreciated it. "The black dragon… perhaps Ser Barristan didn't kill the last one."

Elia's eyes widened slightly. "There were female lines. No threat I would think?"

"He could be lying, but I figured you'd be able to make the best of it."

"I'll keep it under advisement, my Lord." She reached her chambers. "Now unless you wish to watch me nurse, I think this bids our farewell." Tywin didn't wish to see that, so he took the hint. Martells didn't like the Lannisters and the feeling was mutual. At least Lyanna Stark is grateful enough to my idiot daughter for giving her brother some sort of love to tolerate my presence.

Back in the Tower of the Hand - he was no young man anymore, knees dying from the long climb - he found a surprise. "Talla."

The pretty Riverlander had taken to King's Landing like a child in a cookie jar. Spending her mornings, evenings, and nights in Tywin's company and bed, a decent stipend and freedom to go about the city with a Lannister guard had her transformed into the epitome of a wealthy highborn woman of fashion. One couldn't imagine she had been a common whore only two years before.

If it bothered Tywin that he had very nearly become his own father, he didn't show it.

"Did you find the Queen?" Talla asked, standing up to remove his cloak and kiss his neck. Just as Joanna had done, only without the kiss on the neck. Tywin found he liked that. At his nod, she clicked her tongue. "Was she appreciative?"

"Of me, still no. Of the information, I believe so."

"Dealers in whispers, they never divulge any emotions."

"So I've seen." Varys was just like that. "Why are you here?"

She snorted. "You're not happy to see me?"

"Beside the point, so answer the question."

Smirking slightly, she pointed to a series of dispatches on the desk that hadn't been there before. They bore the seal of House Baratheon… Talla had opened them. Too curious to scold her for that, Tywin began to read the contents…

Seven hells…

Notes:

There are no real dangers so everything is quiet right now. Jon and Dany are still inseparable, Cersei and Ned are working on conceiving Arya, and Tywin is well... Tywin.

Finally see what's up with Stannis and Viserys.

Next up, the Baratheons request a favor of the King.

Chapter 87: Legitimacy

Notes:

Hey everyone.

Good news, with Bet of Dragons done, my one shot done, and Targaryen Dynasty wrapping up (check them all out, I promise you'll love them), I shall be starting a new project: a modern romantic comedy (with plenty of smut) starring Jon and Daenerys called "My Best Friend's Wedding :D It'll be posted on Ao3.

Be sure to check out my current stories Dragonshield and Heart of the Blessed.

Enjoy.

It should've made her feel guilty.

She shouldn't have indulged in how spoiled it made her, when those of less standing or wealth didn't hold such luxury.

But Lyanna Stark could let herself be damned to the seven hells. The servants and maids could handle Daemon, Rickon, and Visenya while she let Elia's longue, perfect tongue plunge through her depths and drive her over the edge. "Ooooh… this is the perfect way to wake…" the Queen moaned, hands weaving through the silky black locks of her Dornish beauty.

Elia pulled back, smirking. "Me enjoying a breakfast of dragon seed in the best bowl the gods could've sculpted?"

The filthy words only made Lyanna moan again. "Aye… please… don't stop." At her urgings, Elia chuckled and continued, tongue exploring every square inch of her cunt for every drop of juice she produced or seed Rhaegar had deposited only minutes before - doing his best to quicken another child, not that Lyanna minded.

One advantage of marrying a dragon - they had immense stamina by virtue of their blood. Teeth gritted and muscles tense, Rhaegar gripped Elia's tight hips with an almost bruising hold as he rocked in and out at a furious pace. "Gods… bless Meraxes for tight, Dornish cunts," he hissed, sounding a lot like Aegarax blowing out smoke. Fuck, it turned the Queens both on like a bonfire. "Rock back, just like that."

"Mmmm, take her, my dragon," Lyanna moaned. There were times where they could explore each other, taking hours to pleasure every nipple and hole with loving attention… this was not one of those times. Each of them had their duties for the day and this was… a distraction. One they couldn't deny themselves but a distraction nonetheless. Hard and fast it would have to be, not that any of them minded.

With a husband and a wife like she had, Lyanna could take them in a blizzard and she'd love every second of it.

Playing with her nipple, when Elia slid three fingers inside of her, Lyanna nearly screamed. "Yes… yes…" Her lip quivered, hot tongue thrashing her nub.

The Dornish Queen mewled into her heat, Rhaegar's cockhead hitting a rather sensitive spot deep inside her. Elia rolled her hips, trying to take him deeper. His hand pressed into the space between her shoulderblades, pushing her over the edge as he followed up with harder thrusts. "Yesssssss…"

Screaming into her cunt, Elia's climax triggered Lyanna's as she let out a silent scream - only moments before Rhaegar grunted, spilling his seed in his beautiful Dornish wife. They seized and trembled for what seemed like forever, only to simply collapse. Elia atop her she-wolf, Rhaegar beside them both. When the King managed to catch his breath, he chuckled. "Say the word, and I'll annul my marriages and take you as my Queens."

Breathing deeply, that didn't stop Lyanna from giving him a glare. "And to think we let you seed our wombs."

"To be generous, neither of us complained when he did, Lya," Elia replied, kissing her neck - giving it a sweet series of licks for good measure. "Even if he can be insufferable at times." That was punctuated by a sardonic look which made Rhaegar laugh.

"I will never lose my wits with the two of you - keep my mind sharp." He rose, knowing that two pairs of feminine eyes were glued to his backside. "Wanton whores, the both of you," Rhaegar japed.

"Your fault," Lyanna replied. "And I think you should remain that way all day."

"Oh? So you'd wish the other ladies in court to catch a glimpse of me?"

"Who said we'd let you leave these chambers?" While the idea was tempting - greatly so - Elia knew that they had their duties. Reluctantly, she detangled from her beautiful wife and rose herself, trying her best to make her hair presentable from the tangled mess Lyanna left it in. "And I would think our children would keep all of us on our toes."

Lyanna grabbed for a washcloth and began wiping herself down of the sweat and seed - a bath sounded heavenly but they didn't have the time… and she wouldn't be able to take Dacey's teasing if she looked completely like she just left a brothel. "Even the least intelligent of them can run rings around most maesters I've met." Pride filled her at birthing and raising such wonderful, intelligent children. "And our Baelon's the most intelligent of them all." Maybe Dany could compare, but she was her goodsister, not her daughter.

To their disappointment as unabashed lechers, Rhaegar had already tugged on his trousers and was lacing up a crimson tunic. "I didn't want to tell either of you, but the betrothal offers are already coming in."

"Vultures," muttered Elia, sitting at her vanity and starting to piece herself back together into a respectable Queen. "Do they have no shame?"

"They haven't asked for the babes, so there's at least some standards they're willing to follow." But Rhaegar was just as contemptuous of it. "Garlan sent me a letter saying that his mother was angling for Margaery to marry Jon… or at least Egg, while saving her son Loras for Rhaenys."

"Garlan's not like his father… he has respect, and a brain," Lyanna replied. "And none for his little daughter?"

Rhaegar snorted. "He hinted that he wouldn't mind if young Willa would be betrothed to Daemon or Rickon, but didn't state it outright. He has a bit of Olenna in him." They continued to dress, Lyanna selecting a high-collared dress in mind of the marks on her neck… courtesy of Elia it turned out, not that the Dornish beauty had any shame in it. "Tywin's mum, bless him, though Leyton Hightower and Elbert are pretty insistent."

"Elbert has no children?"

"Legitimate children," Lyanna answered. "And knowing Ned's former goodsister the bastards are probably better than any brats she'd whelp." Lysa was insane, and that wasn't just Lyanna's opinion. "Better than Walder Frey's offer. We don't need the silver he's willing to get for a royal betrothal. Nor do we need Hoster's insistence on Rhaenys or Daenerys marrying Edmure - I know my niece and nephew are half-Tully but I've just had enough with that family." Without warning, she thumped Rhaegar in the arm before going back to adjusting the bodice in her dress. "Why couldn't your ancestors have made another House the House Paramount of the Riverlands?"

Rhaegar shook his head. "Damned if I know. I suppose the Conquerors rewarded the first one who bent the knee without checking to see if it was worth it. A mistake in hindsight but what can one do?"

The Dornish Queen wasn't one to forgive easily… not after what she heard. "I wouldn't let that snake Edmure anywhere near our family." She began affixing her amber earrings to her lobes, ones that she knew got both of her beloveds hot and bothered - she wore them often as a result. "Did you know he refers to our nephew as a 'Blonde Bastard?'"

Lyanna blinked, taking a moment to put the pieces together. When she did, her face turned red. "That cunt, dare he talk about Robb in that manner? I should wring his neck… or have Tywin wring his neck. The lion would be first to do so if he knew." The Tullys were still smarting from Robb becoming the heir to Winterfell, removing the one marriage alliance they had managed to acquire that bore any fruit considering Lysa's shortcomings.

"Calm down, my love. That dolt won't marry any of ours," Rhaegar insisted firmly. "Hoster might shares such sentiment but he was always the smarter one of the two. He was mollified when I suggested Sansa could marry Baelon."

"I thought Daenerys was marrying Baelon?" Elia spoke. "They already spend all their time together… and I believe they basically sleep in the same bed."

"My son the heartbreaker," Lyanna giggled. "Either is good, or perhaps both?" She simpered with glee. "Just like his kepa," said the Queen, hugging Rhaegar.

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves," Rhaegar remarked. "He hasn't yet met Sansa so we can't be sure yet." An idea popped into his mind… one he'd been debating for weeks but didn't know how to broach to either of them. "We could travel to Winterfell?"

Lya's eyes widened. "Rhaegar? Truly?!"

"Yes… it's about time we saw Ned and his brood, not to mention starting up the Royal Progresses again."

"I would certainly love to go and see Winterfell for the first time," Elia chimed in, imagining kissing Lyanna as the snow fell around her. It was a particular fantasy that hadn't went away - she'd already had her in the Water Gardens after all.

Squealing like a young maiden, Lyanna hugged them both. "I'll have Ash and Dacey see to the arrangements at once!" She quickly threw on a necklace and made her way to the door.

"Only after the arrival of the Volentene triarchs!" Rhaegar called out, hoping she heard him.

---

"Momma!" The brightest of expressions shone on Lady Sansa's face. "Look, momma, look!"

Eyes shifting from the delightful bundle of joy nestled in her arms, Lady Cersei Stark was drawn by her stepdaughter's excited cries. "Yes, sweet pup?" she asked, walking over to where Sansa was seated. "You want to show me something?"

Sansa nodded vigorously and held up a black square of cloth. "I stitched a direwolf! Isn't he beautiful?!"

Cersei regarded it. In objective measure, the crudely stitched figure of a wolf made of white string was nothing to write home about… but dear Sansa was but five namedays. It was an aesthetic marvel for someone so young. "It is beautiful, Sansa. Your first try?"

"Aye, my Lady," Old Nan stated from her perch across from Sansa. "Thought the wee wolf could try her hands on an actual symbol on the cloth."

"Well, you decided rightly."

The praise made Sansa beam even wider. "Thank you, momma." She stood and hugged Cersei's skirts tightly, her own crimson dress meshing in the same color Cersei was wearing. It had been many moons since the girl dropped all pretenses and gave into her desire for a mother. While Cersei's first weeks in Winterfell had earned the respect of the northmen, again a tension descended as even Ned worried of the Lannister lioness' reaction.

Judging from how Cersei lovingly reached down and stroked Sansa's fiery locks, she clearly took it well. Accepting Sansa as her own alongside Robb - she was just so much like Ned, a beautiful girl one found it hard not to fall for. The ladies will die to be her companion and the young knights will kill each other for her hand. The way Sansa was insisting to copy Cersei in manner of dress and style only confirmed this. Men and women alike drooled over her back in the day… especially Sansa's father. My handsome wolf.

But eventually Sansa's squeezing was starting to discomfort Cersei. "Easy, pup. Careful of your sister."

Ever a dutiful little lady, Sansa pulled back. "Sorry momma." She leaned up on her tiptoes. "Sorry, Joanna. I love you." Sansa placed a kiss on a chubby cheek for good measure.

"Tis alright, Sansa. See if you can pretty up the wolf a bit so we can show your father." Watching her go about her task with a new vigor, Cersei looked down at the babe in her arms. "You, my golden wolf, are perfect," she cooed. "The most beautiful babe." Joanna squirmed sleepily, making Cersei melt.

It was quite the irony, a merry joke by all in the North. Two of Queen Lyanna's three Targaryen babes were almost perfectly Stark in appearance while fir the Lord of Winterfell himself, only the grey eyes of Sansa were Stark traits of his children. Robb and Joanna were pure Lannister, while the growing Rickard was pure Tully. Rhaegar liked to tease Ned about it in his letters, but Cersei feared that Ned took the worries to heart.

Handing Joanna to Malera to put to bed, Cersei sighed happily as she looked over her lady in waiting's growing belly. Just as Malera and Jory's wedded bliss led to a babe, so to was Cersei prepared to keep trying until she and Ned had a babe with the Stark traits.

Stepping out on the balcony, Cersei shivered at the chilly gust of air that bracketed her thick dress. Even for someone that grew up against the winds of the Sunset Sea, she didn't think she'd ever get used to the cold as Robb did. Looking down at the sound of clashing steel, her mood improved even more as her aforementioned son took to swordplay as a prodigy. Slow and simple with a wooden play sword, but with the strength of his father and skill of his uncle showing itself already.

"Right, good show, young Stark," Ser Rodrik remarked, observing and guiding his young charges in their introduction to the harsh, brutal northern style of combat. "Keep your blade up, always, yes, that's it." He nudged Robb's arm up slightly, then patted the young boy on the head.

Cersei smiled. "How goes it, Ser Rodrik?"

The master-at-arms looked confused for a moment before he glanced at the balcony. "My Lady, forgive me." He bowed. "The little Lord is on his way to a long career as a great swordsman. Haven't seen a young one take to a sword so well since his aunt the Queen."

"Well, I've seen her fight, so that's a compliment." She shifted to look at Robb. "Are you alright, sweetling?"

"Yes, momma. I'm good," Robb called back. "I'll be a proud fighter like poppa! Or n'cle Jaime."

"Praise be the gods, you shall one day," Cersei beamed. A boy off to the side got her attention. "And Theon?"

Ser Rodrik was one of the few that didn't regard the Ironborn hostage as pond scum… though his feelings were more neutral than anything positive. "He's doin' well, my Lady. Not the best, but not the worst. He's more disciplined than when he started."

Nodding, Cersei cleared her throat. "Theon."

Theon Greyjoy looked up. "Yes, my Lady?" he said, still a bit scared of her.

Good… he'll learn better that way. "Finish your sparring lessons without complaint and you may dine with Lord Stark and I tonight."

"I'll do my best, my Lady. Thank you." Usually eating among the higher-ranking servants, it was an honor and Theon understood it. Slowly, he was starting to be accepted by those in Winterfell.

But Cersei reserved her smiles for Robb. "Keep it up, my darling boy."

"I will, momma!"

Outside in the hall, Lann perked up as soon as Cersei exited the chambers. Well… perked up as a lion would, simply opening an eye and raising an ear. She shook her head. "Get up, lazy mongrel," Cersei laughed. "Come on, let's see your poppa." Lann yawned, shook his proud mane, and rose - trotting after Cersei. Many were still terrified of him in Winterfell.

None know he's too damn lazy to attack anyone as long as he's fed. They hadn't yet been threatened by anyone, so Lann's ferocity hadn't yet been tested. He was pretty docile around the Stark children, even those without Lannister blood. Sansa called him a 'big fluffy' and everyone found it hilarious.

As Cersei imagined, Ned was in his solar looking overwhelmed by stacks of papers. "Having trouble, my wolf?"

Almost startled, Ned's expression softened at the love of his life. "Cers, thank the Gods… I could use another pair of hands here."

Giggling at how overwhelmed he was, she made her way behind him and wrapped her arms round his neck. "I could fetch Tyrion. He's pretty good with this."

Ned groaned. "My head hurts too much for me to deal with his antics right now… besides, I think he's in the brothel."

"Why am I not surprised?" Wordlessly, Cersei began to massage his temples, smiling at his grunts of satisfaction. "Well, I suppose I can be of assistance. What's the issue now?"

"Letter from the Forresters. They're asking that Robb be fostered at Ironrath when he's older - a token of their gratitude at our granting them full-control over their own lands."

"Hmmm… they are seeking to make their way up in the world. First a fostering of their daughter in Highgarden and now this?" She wasn't inclined against it. House Forrester was a loyal ally and Robb could do well to be seen more as Northern. Would soften the blow when he inevitably squires for Jaime. "I'll think on it, but I don't see a problem."

"Had it been the Dreadfort, I would have problems, but this is fine." Ned groaned. "I'm still not comfortable with Domeric Bolton coming here."

Cersei rolled her eyes. "I spoke with his aunt, Barbary Dustin. He's not like other Boltons… his bastard brother on the other hand…"

Raising a hand, Ned shushed her. "I don't wish to discuss the Boltons anymore. My headache is bad enough." He reached for another dispatch. "This one bears the seal of my sister. I hadn't yet the heart to open it lest she annoys me again."

"Your annoying sibling is thousands of miles away. Mine is spreading his seed all over the rump of a cheap whore in Wintertown as we speak, so don't complain." Cersei opened the letter and immediately perked up. "Seems the Royal Family is coming to Winterfell."

She only had to wait a second before Ned shot up out of his chair.

---

"What is it that my Lord Hand wishes to discuss?"

Tapping her fingers against the flat surface of a jagged blade with the hilt in the shape of a - melted hand, so House Gardener - Rhaella sighed. "My son, you've asked me this question several times before. My answer won't change, he hasn't told me."

The King, having been made to wait quite a while, groaned. "I know that, muna, but you used to deal with him back when he was Hand to kepa. Did he play mind games like this?"

"With your kepa, everything was a mind game. Even before his madness - it was his way of keeping his council on its toes and sharp." Rhaella closed her eyes, taking a breath. "Worked in its own way, even though most of us were driven to distraction almost daily." Aerys was a decisive, competent ruler early on but his jealousy, insecurity, and bitterness brought forth by Joanna's death left him susceptible to the dark demons. Rhaella mourned her brother, but not the husband he became. "As for Tywin, he doesn't play mind games unless it suits his cause but… he has a certain flair for the dramatic that most don't see."

Rhaegar snorted. "Sounds like a certain dwarf we know."

The Dowager Queen smirked. "Don't let him hear you say that."

"I would rather not… he scares me sometimes."

"We have dragons and he scares me too," confessed Rhaella. "He even scares Ser Barristan."

Raising an eyebrow, Rhaegar laughed. "Is that true? Barristan the Bold fearful of someone?"

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, protecting his King and Queen Dowager, only shrugged with the smallest of smiles. "I was the one that killed Maelys Blackfyre, your Grace. It was Lord Tywin's plan that I executed. Do not put anything past him," he said just as the guards opened the door to the throne room

"Presenting," announced the herald. "Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King." Lord Tywin was as calm and collected as always, dressed in a simple red doublet bound by gold clasps that billowed out into a tunic and trousers. Finely tailored from the best material, but simple - the only other adornment being the iron hand of the king pin. Lips pressed in a thin line, he bowed shallowly before the Iron Throne. "Your Grace. My Queen."

Rhaegar nodded. "Lord Hand. I trust you have a reason that you asked to see myself and my mother without the presence of my Queens." His eyebrow rose at seeing Ser Arthur behind Tywin. That… was surprising.

"Forgive me, your Grace. It was a bit disrespectful and I did not intend for it to be such, but I didn't wish to alarm their Graces since they tend to be quite overprotective of the Princesses and Princes."

"Go on." Rhaegar had to admit Tywin was right. Lya was a mama direwolf and Elia had her fangs out when it came to Rhae, Egg, Jon, Lyssa, and the babes. Looking back at Arthur, he put it together. "You wish for Baelon to start his swordplay lessons with Ser Arthur?"

"Partly, though through my conversations with Ser Arthur, the Crown Prince is more than ready to start." He cracked his knuckles nonchalantly. "I believe that the current lessons for all the royal children - including Princess Daenerys and my own granddaughter, my Queen," he informed Rhaella. "Are inadequate."

"His Grace, Prince Aemon, has been in charge of them," Rhaella noted.

Tywin bobbed his head. "A brilliant man, but I merely suggest that the precocious future of House Targaryen be expanded out of general knowledge and into matters such as statecraft that I can find proper tutors for. Princess Rhaenys shall rule her own keep when she comes of age, as will Prince Aegon and Princess Alyssa I hope."

"And not Princess Daenerys?"

The Hand was silent for a moment. "It is obvious that due to her… companionship, she is being groomed for bigger things."

Rhaegar smirked. "Perhaps," he replied, sharing a look with Rhaella. Even Tywin, the man with an iron heart, is on board to marrying Jon and Daenerys when they come of age. From what he had heard it would be a close run thing between Dany and Sansa Stark, though Jon meeting his Stark cousin could make the choice between them easier. "So is that all, Lord Tywin? If it is, you have my leave to make preparations pending my approval of a final lesson plan." If that was all, Rhaegar was looking forward to a spar with Ser Arthur, a bath with his loves, and then quality time with the children before dinner...

"Actually…" Rhaegar's face fell as the Hand continued - a mood that was exacerbated as even Tywin himself looked… apprehensive. Oh, this can't be good. "I received two dispatches from Storm's End." Ire turned to surprise… and then to a fiery darkness in the King. "Considering the… sensitive nature of your relations with Lord Baratheon I took the liberty of perusing their contents first…"

"Just hand it here!" Rhaegar ordered, tearing the letter from Tywin's hands and immediately scanning it over.

Cousin,

Our glorious triumph together over the squid still fills me with the greatest joy, and shows to me the need to patch together the slights made against me during the unpleasantness of years earlier. Therefore, since I am in need of heirs and no maiden has shown herself worthy of my marriage bed, I shall consider us fully reconciled in blood and loyalty upon the legitimization of four of my bastard children.

Long past time for our families to join together once more!

Robert

It took all of Rhaegar's self-control not to rip the letter into little bits right then and there. "That insolent…" He forced himself to take deep breaths, Rhaella having to squeeze his shoulder. "The drunken idiot thinks he can refer to me in such informality after what he's done!"

"Rhaegar, calm down and give me the letter." Rhaella was just as aware of the situation with Robert Baratheon, but for the good of the realm she studied the badly scrawled dispatch with dispassionate eyes. "Legitimize? Four bastards? What is he speaking of? Lord Tywin?"

"Aye, he's making a formal request." The Hand of the King brought forth the second dispatch. "Anticipating what his elder brother would've wrote, young Ser Stannis penned a letter of his own." Oh, Steffon. You couldn't have decreed Stannis to be your heir? It was shameful his friend was succeeded by someone both bitter and buffoonish.

Sensing Rhaegar was immersed in his rage, Rhaella took the letter herself and read the contents.

Your Grace,

Seven's blessings on the entire royal family on behalf of House Baratheon. Our houses have since the conquest been steadfast in loyalty and alliance, and on behalf of my brother I extend such everlasting fealty.

I can only ask as a humble bannerman to the House of the Dragon, but considering the precarious nature of our house and the refusal of my brother to wed, I seek the legitimization of Mya Stone, Gendry Waters, Edric Storm, and Bella Rivers. Their paternity is acknowledged as being the children of Robert of House Baratheon, and they are to pledge their everlasting fealty to you as I have done.

Your loyal servant,

Stannis Baratheon

"Well, Stannis has some sense about him, though it could be his marriage to one of the Hightowers. They've always been a level-headed bunch." Rhaella's brows furrowed in confusion. "Gendry Waters? Bella Rivers? Do we know any of these?"

"I'm sure Lord Varys could give a clue," Ser Barristan said, trying to be helpful. "Stannis has clearly done his due diligence."

"But why would he seek to legitimize bastards? He's young and healthy… at least in the body."

Groaning, Rhaegar slammed his fist on the Iron Throne. "It's obvious, muna. My dear cousin," he said, dripping with contempt, "Cannot see himself marrying any woman that isn't my wife… MY WIFE… so the only way that he will ever avoid a succession crisis and his house dying out is legitimizing his bastards. All because he can't forget about my Lyanna!"

"Your Grace," interjected Barristan. "Stannis is his heir and he is married to Lynesse Hightower. They could have children, no?"

But Rhaella shook her head. "Queen Elia informed me that Lady Lynesse's birth was a difficult one. Her… ability to have children has been compromised it seems." She only had sympathy for her, but it wasn't the point. "Lest Robert marries, this is the only way he will get heirs."

"Don't do it, your Grace," Arthur insisted. "Don't legitimize his own delusions."

"Not smart, Ser Arthur," Tywin replied. "I think you should grant the request, in full."

Rhaegar looked at him incredulously. "What?"

But the Lord of Casterly Rock came prepared. "My… companion is the mother of one of these children." Tywin's relationship with a whore from the Riverlands was one that all the court knew about… but none brought up. Lady Talla Rivers was occasionally on the social scene, and joined Lady Marya Seaworth in being someone of humble origins to hold their own with the highborn ladies. It… somewhat validated her presence as the paramour of the Hand. "Bella Rivers. Robert sired her sometime before Stony Sept."

"Not surprised," grumbled Rhaegar. "But why should I grant Robert his boon?"

"Young Bella would be an ally of ours through her mother, and for the other children seek their fostering with your family or families loyal to you. Who's going to raise them, Robert?" He snorted. "You have the chance to end the Baratheon disloyalty in one generation… and Stannis is more likely to grant you his fealty, so anything to increase that would be welcome."

Looking at his mother, Rhaegar sought her counsel. She gave it readily. "People adopt their father's identity if they are close to them. Do you see Robert as a father as you are?" Rhaegar hung his head, giving the answer. "House Baratheon is one of the most powerful houses in the Seven Kingdoms. Ensuring there isn't a succession crisis in the Stormlands is critical for the Realm. Keep your eye on things, but I agree with Tywin."

He sighed deeply. "Lyanna's not going to like this." But in spite of that, the King took a quill proffered to him and signed the decrees drawn up by his Hand.

With that, House Baratheon now could welcome Mya Baratheon, Gendry Baratheon, Edric Baratheon, and Bella Baratheon within their ranks.

---

"Talisa!" Dressed in her finery, a female servant girl on each side of her just in case the swaying of the ship caused her to stumble, Soraya Maegyr called out to the cabin door just two away from her own. "Talisa, are you alright?"

Submissive and desperate to please - the collar adorning her neck and lack of recent lashes on her bare back fueling such motivation - one of the girls lifted their dainty knuckles and rapped twice on the door. One couldn't expect the sweet mistress to engage in such lowly activity.

And she was the nicest of the mistresses they had the pleasure to serve in their young lives… well, almost the nicest. That title belonged to the lady that answered. "Yes, mother?" came a sweet voice from inside the cabin. "Come in."

Soraya immediately brushed past the body slave of hers and entered her youngest daughter's bedchamber for the voyage. They hadn't been on the great ship of the Volentene Triarchal Fleet for an hour and the girl already made herself at home. "Goodness, Talisa. How many books did you bring?"

Ten and three, Talisa looked years older. Her slender frame was beginning to take a feminine shape and her face losing the chubby cheeks of childhood… but her eyes were still wide and innocent with a childlike excitement that delighted her parents and siblings. Everyone loved her, and she did nothing to abuse such love. "Oh, mother, just enough to last a bit of time. Hopefully the Targaryens will allow me the use of their library."

"Well I don't know why not? We are their honored guests," Soraya replied, moving aside several of the tomes and scribbled notes in her daughter's handwriting so she could sit upon the bed. "But there are to be plenty of things you will need to do as the niece of the Triarch, not a wide-eyed girl on a personal adventure."

"I know, mother," Talisa sighed, only to clasp her hands in glee. "But think of it. The largest private collection of books outside of the Citadel… or the Sealord's Library in Braavos. Imagine the treasures of Jaehaerys, Daeron, and Aerys Targaryen that dwell within." The studious girl fell back onto her couch, giggling from joy.

Wincing slightly, Soraya leaned forward, placing a hand on her daughter's chest. "Just remember, my sweet. The Red Keep may be a mysterious place you find full of adventure, but the same dangers abound behind it as they would back within the Black Walls of home."

The young maiden rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm well aware. I shall be fine, I promise." A brilliant smile followed, backed up by the same innocent brown eyes. In this she was confident.

---

She wasn't the She-wolf of House Targaryen for nothing, but even this wasn't expected by the King. "You wretch!" Expensive porcelain vase crashing against the wall just beside him, Rhaegar just managed to dodge it. "Fuck you! Fuck you, you cunt!"

Somehow, Rhaegar felt that this was how being married to Cersei Lannister would be like… or what being married to Lysa Tully was like for poor Lord Elbert. "Lya, please…"

"No! You fucking betrayed me!" Another piece of furniture - a silver candlestick - was hurled at Rhaegar. In her rage, Lyanna didn't aim as well as she could've and the King escaped injury. "How could you? For that whoremonger?!"

Having dismissed the Kingsguards with a desperate insistence, not that Arthur or Barristan or Benjen wanted to be anywhere near a marital spat between the Sunrise Dragon and the She-Wolf, Elia watched with horror. "Please, I can't take this, Lyanna… don't do this." She tried to go and hug Lyanna, but the Queen pushed her away.

"He betrayed me, Lia! He throws out the fucking welcome mat for that whoring piece of shit without even telling me till after the fact!" Stomping her foot, Lyanna let out a screech and simply stormed out - a black cloud planted high over her head.

Tears in her eyes, Elia simply walked into Rhaegar's arms. Letting him hold her after what they endured.

They hadn't fought like that since…

Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar places his hand on the latch to his bedchamber door… but the thought of what happened only an hour before made him hesitate. "She hasn't left since then?" he asked his goodbrother.

"Aye, remained in there the whole time, your Grace," Benjen replied.

"Truly?" Elia clasped her hands together, lip quivering. "Has she said anything? Did you hear her cry?"

Benjen shook his head. "She's been quiet… lest when I tried to enter. Her ire hasn't lessened, at least towards me." He shuddered. "Good luck, goodsister, goodbrother."

Rhaegar sighed. "Take a position elsewhere, Ben. This could get ugly." He nodded and moved. Steeling himself, the King needed all of his bravery and will for this. He'd brave a thousand Ironborn reavers or Stormlander knights with Blackfyre in hand rather than face a wrothful Lyanna… Elia squeezed his hand, and he felt better.

Somewhat.

Aside from a weak flame flickering in the hearth, the royal bedchamber was dark. Devoid of the sense of life and love that it brought the royal triad over the years. Lyanna sat upon the fur duvet, her slender form quite small in the midst of the massive bed that could both fit them and endure their… frenzied activities. "Leave me alone, Ben," she said without looking up. "Just… go away."

Her tone was insistent, but also filled with hurt. It broke Rhaegar's heart. "Lya…" She stiffened. "It's me and Elia. Can we talk?"

Looking up from the bed, the northern Queen's eyes were filled with unshed tears. "Rhaegar…" Without another word, she rose and ran to him. Arms around his waist, hugging him close. "I'm sorry, my love. You didn't deserve that." Her eyes found Elia, the grey pools wide and pleading. "Neither of you did."

Elia nodded, joining the embrace. "We forgive you, and love you too." Nothing was worth jeopardizing their love. Absolutely nothing, it was priceless to each of them.

"I don't blame your ire, Lyanna," replied Rhaegar. "It was… a heady decision for me as well."

"You should've talked to me about it," mumbled Lya into his chest, inhaling his powerful scent. Rugged and manly, with a hint of ash and smoke that belied his dragonblood… it filled her with awe and lust for him, steeling her. "I know the sorts of reasons you did it, Rhaegar, but I still don't agree."

Squeezing her waist, Elia kissed the corner of Lyanna's mouth. "Wanna talk about it, properly this time?" Seeing her nod, she guided them both to their bed, her on Lya's left and Rhaegar on Lya's right. Elia rested her head on her wife's shoulder while Rhaegar rubbed the small of her back. "Whenever you're ready."

The touches made Lyanna sigh in contentment. Gods, she loved them both… suppose, that was the point after all. "House Baratheon has been one of the most important banners of the Targaryen Crown since the conquest… I don't deny this, and to have a secure line of succession is of vital interest."

"Stannis is the heir at the moment, Lya, but his bride is barren after her tough labor and he won't set her aside. You must know that I trust my sources…"

Holding up her hand, Lya stilled Elia's explanations. "I know, my beautiful Dornish apple. You have my full trust." She smiled weakly, kissing her hair. "This legitimization assures the continuation of House Baratheon, and I know most of all that Robert… he won't be any sort of attentive father - that's not what worried me. Or made me upset."

Rhaegar knew. He had felt the same. "You're certain he hasn't let go of his desire of you." It wasn't a question.

Rising without thinking of it, Lyanna ran a hand through her hair as the other fisted. "That… that wretch!" Her ire returned just thinking of it, but this time not directed at either of her loves. "I have made myself known in all manners of my ability! I have told him personally, made however many public displays of my adoration of the two of you towards crowds of the tens of thousands… bore three babes and took four others as mine own." Her eyes shut, shaking in rage. "By the old gods and the new, I held a fucking sword to his throat and he still cannot let me go!"

"You did what?!" Elia was absolutely shocked. "When did you hold a sword to his throat?"

"Not important," Lyanna shot back.

"Arthur probably knows," Rhaegar grumbled, but was silenced by a glare from her. "Not important, but what would you have me do?"

"Kill him… poison him in his sleep and let his eldest bastard rule," Lya demanded. "Stannis can serve as regent."

Rhaegar shook his head. "I can't do that."

"And whyever not? I'm certain Tywin wouldn't have a problem with it. Varys or Oberyn could see it happen without fuss."

Elia sighed. "It's not that simple, Lya."

She rolled her eyes. "Enlighten me, then."

The Dornish Queen stood. "Lya… we are in the most tenuous of circumstances. Our victory over the Ironborn united the Kingdoms, but with Hoster Tully upset at our nephew's ascension as heir of Winterfell, Lord Arryn's inability to sire a legitimate child off his wife, and the still tense atmosphere due to the rebellion and plague would leave only the worst sort of rumors if Robert drops dead of anything that could be conceived as foul play. Even the least sort of foul play would be blamed on us by some."

"You don't know him… you don't realize what a threat he'll be." She dropped back between them, hands on her lap. "He'll never let me go."

"If he tries, he'll meet my blade," Rhaegar insisted. "That's if Arthur doesn't get him first."

Nodding, Lyanna looked at him. "Aye… I know." Without warning, she jumped him. Rhaegar unable to get but a single breath before her lips were on his. "Husband… wife…"

"Lya…" he groaned. "What is this…?"

"Claim me," she begged, pinning his hands above his head with one hand while reaching for Elia with the other. "Prove to me that I'm yours and only yours." Lyanna got exactly what she wanted with his darkened violet eyes and her sharp intake of breath.

Soon, the frame began to rock powerfully as love returned to the royal bedchamber.

Notes:

House Baratheon is still a headache, but a decent line of succession won out for the royals on making the decision. Robert's an ass, and do we think Lyanna's right about him?

Cersei is really settling in well at Winterfell :)

Next up, the Volentenes arrive. 25 comments gets an early update

Chapter 88: Bastards

Notes:

Hi guys. Glad to be back with another chapter. Been stressed cause now is the time med school interview requests come out.

Good news, with Bet of Dragons done, my one shot done, and Targaryen Dynasty wrapping up (check them all out, I promise you'll love them), I shall be starting a new project: a modern romantic comedy (with plenty of smut) starring Jon and Daenerys called "My Best Friend's Wedding :D It'll be posted on Ao3.

Be sure to check out my current stories Dragonshield and Heart of the Blessed.

Enjoy.

"All of you are ridiculous." Watching the various Targaryens acting like the adorable little dragons they were made Asha Greyjoy want to puke. "Can't you pick a game where us normal bloods can play too?"

The twin violet orbs of Daenerys Targaryen looked up from her cream-colored egg to find her. "No." She rubbed the ossified scales with obvious affection, cherubic face framed with the almost perfectly styled mane of silver locks. How can a girl be that perfect-looking? She's a wild dragon. "You don't like, tough." She giggled. "Tough tough tough!"

Beside her, Rhaenys and Baelon giggled, seated on the bed and holding their dragon eggs as well. "Don't listen to them, my sweet," Rhaenys told hers as if it were her babe. "You are the most beautiful thing in the world. You could never be boring." Sometimes… she heard the orange-red egg speak to her in whispers. Now was not one of those times, but she loved the egg still.

Asha rolled her eyes. Rhaenys was her only friend in this damned place, and she was usually quite fun to be around, but not when she got all lovey-dovey over her egg. It was the same with her cat, Balerion, only the cat was at least alive. "Come on," she urged her non-Targaryen companions. "Aren't you bored of this?"

Looking up from his child's training swords, which he had been polishing as they were his most prized possessions, Artie Mormont shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. I don't mind."

"Dragons! Dragons!" giggled Allyria Dayne from where she sat next to Myrcella and Alyssa with their eggs, clapping her hands excitedly.

"You're not even Targaryens. Those eggs are just stone rocks to us."

"Look at it this way, Asha," Artie said matter of factly. "I'm never gonna ride a dragon, but being friends with dragons is good. No one will ever mess with me." He looked smug at making the argument even if he was but six namedays.

A grunt drew their attention. "Ya' know what I find good? That you brats are playin' dragons while I had to lug those chests up here for ya' to do so."

Dany smirked up at Sandor, their personal babysitter… ever since he was Jon's sworn sword, Barristan rarely assigned any kingsguards to watch over the Crown Prince. The Hound was better at fighting than all but Arthur and Jaime. Thus, he was a familiar presence. "You're lucky to be a part of our dragons," she insisted. "And we didn't ask you to bring us my muna's dragon."

Rhaenys and Asha snickered at that, as did Artie. Jon bit back a laugh while Alyssa laughed uproariously. Sandor just glowered. It's what he did best besides curse and fight. "I don't take orders from you, silver pest. Only from the little prince."

Dany looked to Jon, knowing he couldn't resist any request she made of him. She didn't even need to speak - it seemed to their siblings like the two could read each other's minds. Jon smiled at her. "Well, good Ser, I am your liege so I command you to obey her," he said in his best interpretation of his father.

"I'm no knight, you can't command me as one."

"I am the Prince with the biggest dragon." He hugged the black egg tightly, kissing the scales and rewarded with a pleasant heat as a result. I love you, dragon. Sandor scowled again, while Dany hugged him and Rhaenys gave a smirk.

But one sibling of his didn't take it well. "Nuh unh!" insisted the Princess Alyssa, standing up with her own emerald egg. "I have biggest dragon!" She stomped her foot for good measure, a habit she picked up from her aunt Dany.

Baelon chuckled. His little sister was a fireball, a mix of Targaryen dragon and their uncle Oberyn… a potent combination, but Jon wasn't fazed. He was the Crown Prince. "Of course you do, little sister."

"My dragon is biggest!" She pointed her finger at him. "You dragon small wimp!"

Jon blinked, only to narrow his eyes. "My dragon isn't a wimp!"

"His dragon is the best!" Dany stood, defending her nephew. "The King rides the biggest dragon! And I'm his Queen riding next to him!" She was insistent on that point, hand on her hips.

Egg, sitting on the bed with his own pure purple egg, watched as his other aunt walk to him. "Egg… make loud stop," Cella said, clutching her golden egg and shaking with fear. She was always delicate and quiet and seemed content with that unlike Egg.

"Shut up, Dany!" Alyssa screeched.

"Don't tell Dany to shut up!" Baelon yelled, defending his aunt, but the spitfire got in his face, shoving him.

Eyes widening, Egg reached for Sandor and pulled the leg of his trousers. "Hound, do something."

Sandor looked amused. "Why? This job finally got good." He crossed his arms, resolved only to interject when they looked like they would actually hurt each other.

By now, Dany and Lyssa were rolling around the floor wrestling, and the younger girl was dishing out slaps. He had to do something if Sandor wouldn't. "Aunt… sister, stop!" But as he dashed forward, he tripped on the floorboard and fell over. "Ahhhhh!"

Whatever arguing was going on among the Targaryen creche ceased. "Egg!" Baelon yelled, running to his side. Rhaenys was right behind him and Dany behind her. Alyssa, Myrcella joining her, looked frightened.

Wincing, there were tears in Aegon's eyes as he clutched his knees. "No… why…" he had been doing so well and now his knees ached again.

Dany hugged him tight. "Egg…"

"Brother… you alright?" Baelon asked with a worried grimace.

Groaning, the Hound pushed off the wall. "Aight, let me have a look's see." He knelt and looked over the Prince. While no maester, he'd seen his share of battlefield injuries. "Looks like there's nothin' broken or even scraped."

"He has aches, Hound," Rhaenys hissed. "Take him to Uncle Aemon!"

"Yer' not my liege, She-snake," he replied.

"I am, and take him," insisted Baelon, causing the Hound to sigh and comply. "I'm sorry Egg!" he called out to his brother.

Egg, now in the Hound's arms, smiled at Jon. "Tis fine, valonqar. Just don't fight. Lone wolf dies, pack survives." Jon nodded, biting his lip as Egg was taken away to be treated.

Rhaenys, frowning, smacked her younger brother on the head. "Owww… hey!"

"That's for being a buttmunch!"

"He's not a buttmunch!" Dany yelled. "You are!"

Artie snickered. "Girl defending you, Jon?"

"Shut up!"

"Stop!" Cella screeched. "Egg told us no fight." She went to hug her nephew. "No fight, Jon."

Locking eyes with Rhaenys, who's gaze softened, and Dany, looking sheepish, Jon hugged his aunt. "Sorry Cella." Then he was greeted by Alyssa launching herself at Jon. "Hi, sister."

"I love you, Jon," she babbled. "You big dragon."

"As are you." He hugged them both, leading to Dany joining in - followed by Rhaenys, and then even Artie and Allyria, tightly completing the group embrace.

Asha groaned and covered her head with her pillow. "Gods, you Targaryens are worse than my family."

---

Watching as everyone in court fell to their knees as he walked in, Rhaegar didn't seek to preen or smugly enjoy their deference. 'You are but a man, Rhaegar. A dragon, but a man above all.' Aemon's advice rang in his mind, and he took it to heart as he sat upon the Iron Throne. Rhaegar glanced at his two Queens seated on their gilded seats on either side and smiled at them. They answered back with looks of adoration - appreciative stares at his black and red leather cuirass and tunic, something both comfortable and dashing.

Their stares meant more to him than that of the entire court. "Rise," he said simply. All of them did, which included many Lords that arrived for the reception that night. He spotted Garlan Tyrell and his family, Stannis Baratheon, Elbert Arryn - without his wife, she saw - and Brynden Tully among others. He turned to Lord Hand Tywin. "Is everything ready, Lord Tywin?"

Tywin bowed his head in respect. "We are waiting for them to arrive, your Grace. Only a matter of time."

Rhaegar pursed his lips but nodded. "Alright." Leaning forward, he spotted the rest of his family… at least the ones that could walk and stand still. Viserys was sullen but quiet, his overall demeanor having greatly improved since he started riding Maerys - Rhaegar was so glad to see it. Daenerys and Myrcella were waiting right in front of his muna, while Rhaella and Alyssa were next to Lyanna while Jon and Egg were beside Elia… Jon right next to Dany. Jon… His strapping young heir, Crown Prince Baelon. "Prince Baelon," he announced.

All eyes fell on him, while Baelon stared at the King. "Yes, kepa?"

Patting his lap, Rhaegar motioned for his son. "Come here, son. Sit with me."

Looking at Elia, who nodded with a smile, Jon bounded over to his kepa and gladly climbed on the Iron Throne. Rhaegar laughed merrily and kissed his forehead. "Subjects, look at your Crown Prince and future King. Remember now as the first moment you see him prepare to rule." The crowd politely clapped… apart from the royals who clapped joyously.

Ser Oswell slipped in through the front doors. "Your Grace! Announcing Triarch Malaquo Maegyr and Triarch Jaenera Vhassar of the Free City of Volantis."

As the front doors opened, Rhaegar whispered in Jon's ear. "Remember, my son. You are a Targaryen dragon. You must be gracious, but also firm. Use the fire in your blood to make sure none know you as but you are. Can you do that?"

He nodded. "Kessa, kepa. I'll make you proud." Rhaegar grinned and kissed his forehead again, noticing only just now that Baelon was dressed exactly as he was. He looked at Elia, who only grinned at him. You devious, Dornish wench. He wouldn't admit to her that he loved it.

The procession was comprised of three dozen Volentene noblemen and women, surrounded by a retinue so varied it included merchants, scribes, bankers, common servants, and even collared slaves. He noticed Lyanna's dark scowl… and one from Elia and his mother.

"Muna?" Dany asked. "Why do those women have things on their necks?"

"They are slaves, Daenerys," Rhaella whispered back. "Slavery treats men like property, like horses… only they are hurt unlike our horses."

Dany furrowed her brows. "Slavery is bad." Rhaella squeezed her shoulder, approving of her daughter's instincts.

Viserys was bored, thinking of how he could get out of this… until his eyes locked with a rather pretty girl close to Triarch Maegyr. She noticed his stare and immediately blushed, shyly averting her gaze. For the teenager, it was something quite… heady. He grinned softly to himself, for the first time quite interested in something either than riding his dragon.

Not a subject of the Targaryen King, Maegyr and Jaenera lead their retinue in bowing respectively towards Rhaegar. "King Rhaegar, we thank you for your hospitality in your invitation to your capitol."

Rhaegar nodded graciously. "The honor is mine, Triarchs. The meat and mead on my table is yours to share." He patted his son on the back. "Crown Prince Baelon, do you have anything to say?"

Baelon looked at his father… then at the Volentenes, then at his mothers, then at Dany, and finally back at Rhaegar. "I… I hope we can have fun here…" he started, then remembered something he heard his uncle Viserys speak of. "And make much coin." He paused, biting his lip in shyness.

The entire court waited on baited breath to see what the King and Triarchs would do… until both Rhaegar and Jaenera Vhassar burst out laughing. Soon, the entire court was laughing merrily at Baelon's comment. "I approve of how the Prince thinks, your Grace," Jaenera commented.

Rhaegar smacked a kiss on Baelon's cheek. "You'll be an amazing King, my son." All Jon could do was beam in pride.

---

Slowly eating a few grapes off a tiny vine he had plucked from the large platter on the refreshment table, Prince Aegon Targaryen noticed that his brother, sister, and aunt seemed to have wandered off. Rhae… Dany… Jon? Turning around, he found himself alone in the midst of the great feast that was going off all around him.

The arrival of the delegation of Volantis was all that his little dragon creche, as grandmother Rhaella called it, could speak of. It was the first major event where kepa was allowing the four eldest to attend, and all were made sure to be on their best behavior. Easy to say for Egg and Baelon, but there was a certainty that Dany and Rhaenys would do something spirited and mischievous. Baelon often went along with them cause Rhaenys was the leader and Dany was his 'Soul-companion' as uncle Benjen oft said, but Egg was different.

Unlike his siblings, he hated this.

There was no malice or bitterness in him - that was more an affliction of his uncle Viserys, who in contrast was actually having a good time of it speaking with one of the Volentene noble's daughters. No, Egg simply felt daunted. His knees ached and there was a sheen of sweat on his chest, one he knew could be a trigger for his recurring rashes. Why can't I just stay inside with Lyssa and Cella? He'd rather read his children's books on the great Targaryen Kings rather than take part in this.

Everything was so… intimidating. It was one thing to be Rhae or Dany, outgoing and loved by everyone, or even Baelon, confident and gifted. But Egg… the attention was not something he enjoyed.

"Problem, my Prince."

Egg saw Ser Oswell, and was relieved at the familiar voice. "No… I'm just… hungry…" he lied.

"Alright, your Grace. How's about we get you some roast pork or chicken?" Egg's stomach grumbled, betraying him. Perhaps he was actually hungry. He nodded, and Oswall bowed his head. They were the most intimidating knights, but Egg grew up around them so they were just family to him - Benjen was his literal uncle so that helped.

Halfway to the tables, a loud voice called them over. "Oswell!" Aegon stopped in his tracks at his kepa's call. "Bring my son here!"

He trembled momentarily before seeing his mighty kepa, dressed in his best and looking every inch a dragon king, smiling widely at him. "My darling son," he beamed, hugging Egg. "See, Garlan. I raise a mighty brood of future dragonriders," he boasted, slightly in his cups.

Lord Garlan Tyrell, having grown into a tall, strapping man with the physique of a proud knight, smiled down at the young Prince. "Your Grace, I remember when he was just ye big." He mimed the size of a single cubit. "I also recall that you had me fetch swaddling clothes for him on more than one occasion."

A young boy… a little older than Egg but not by much, snickered at that. He was blonde and very beautiful, though with a hint of strength. But Egg watched the Lord of Highgarden swat his ear. "Hey, brother…"

"You're in front of the King, Loras. Be respectful… forgiveness, your Grace," Garlan offered. "My brother is a cheeky one even at eight namedays. Always likes to cause trouble."

"Perhaps he'd be a good betrothal for my Rhaenys," Rhaegar laughed, a powerful hand on Aegon's shoulder. "So, Loras Tyrell. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I wanna be a Kingsguard… your Grace," he blurted out.

Garlan looked mortified, while Egg peered at him curiously. I… I think he'd make a better Kingsguard than Ser Lyn. Unlike his siblings and aunts, Egg never really liked the Valeman. Loras' eyes found him and he swore they sparkled. His kepa continued to laugh. "Bold, I like it. You'll be a mighty knight like your brother, one day. If you still wish, I'll give you my leave to show me what you're made of when you're older."

"You honor us, your Grace."

Nodding, Rhaegar saw the Queen of Thorns beginning to walk towards them. "Ah… your grandmother is coming. Oswell, see that Egg goes to his siblings." He wasn't old enough to deal with Olenna Tyrell.

Oswell bowed. "Of course, your Grace." Egg followed along, looking back at his kepa and the Tyrells.

Smiling fakely, Lyanna made sure to nod her head every now and again so as to let the insipid noblewoman know that she was listening… which she wasn't. Gods, these are tedious. How did Elia handle these so effortlessly and merrily when all Lyanna wanted to do was tell off the vapid highborn cunts, pull her wife into someplace private, and finger her until Elia screamed her name.

Maybe later. Rhaegar will appreciate the show.

Catching something in the corner of her eye, Lyanna turned and saw her eldest son amble along alone behind Ser Oswell. He looked so… uncomfortable that she felt the worst. He also gave the perfect excuse. "Forgive me, Lady Piper, but I must see to my son."

"Oh… I won't keep you then, your Grace."

Approaching her son, she waved off the ever-present Ser Oswell and touched Egg's shoulder. The young Prince turned, blinking at his mother. "My sweet dragon, what's wrong?" Lyanna cupped his cheek - he was still of the age where being clucked over by his parents wasn't a humiliation. "This is your first feast and yet you're not socializing as your siblings and aunts."

Lilac eyes wide, Egg looked away. "I'm nervous, muña." He sounded ashamed.

"Why?" Lyanna gently took his chin and tilted his head to look at her - seeing the expression of love on her face. "You're a mighty Targaryen Prince. You shouldn't be nervous," she smiled.

"I don't want to be a burden on you, muna, or kepa. But I'm just..." Egg winced, so unsure of himself. It just… always seemed that way, only feeling comfortable with his family.

Ignoring propriety - not that she could really be noticed behind the column of the great hall - Lyanna knelt in front of Egg. "Oh, my sweet child." She hugged Egg. The silver Prince so reminded her of his beautiful mother. She was sweet and ever loving, but had a long stretch of life being cloistered and shy. "Never, you are never a burden, my beloved son."

Egg fell into the embrace, holding her tightly and pressing his head against her dress. "I want to be a strong dragon, muna… I don't know why I'm not…"

"It's in your blood, Egg. You're named after the mightiest Kings in our history, with the blood of the Rhoynar and Old Valyria flowing through your veins…"

"And Kings of Winter," he insisted.

She blinked, an errant tear falling from his declaration. He was too young to understand bloodlines, but that he also saw himself as a Stark as well as a Martell and Targaryen made Lyanna's heart skip. He is raised by a direwolf, so it's not entirely false. "Yes, my son. You are." She kissed his temple, an idea coming to mind. "Egg? Your muna needs you for something very important."

"Kessa?" He looked eager to prove himself - much like his younger brother, but Baelon was so naturally gifted he never really had to struggle.

"Your kepa is busy doing boring Kingly things with Lord Tywin," she said with a wry smirk, getting Egg to giggle. "So why don't you be my escort for the evening?"

His purple eyes shone at the request. "Yes muña!" I can do this! I'll make her and muna and kepa proud of me. Egg quickly offered his hand like he saw his kepa do to both his munas when they entered the great hall earlier.

Lya smiled widely and stood. "A handsome Valyrian Prince on my arm… I am quite lucky." Gingerly, she let her hand hold the loop of Egg's arm - the boy would be a tall one, taller than Baelon and mayhaps taller than Rhaegar himself. "Just follow my lead, Egg. I won't let you get into a bad situation." He nodded, trusting his muna implicitly.

That trust was well placed. With Lyanna guiding him through her rounds among the various foreign dignitaries and Westerosi Lords, Aegon felt his nervousness slipping. He kept close to his muna, sometimes hugging her skirts, but it started to loosen him. He found himself smiling and laughing on occasion, though the japes that his muna and the others oft laughed at were incomprehensible to him.

He felt his muna tense as a tall, thin man with a severe face approached… a young lad Baelon's age and well dressed in a yellow doublet and black trousers. They didn't look scary, so why was his muna in distress? "Muna?"

She squeezed his hand, but said nothing else. "Lord Stannis, it is a pleasure," Lyanna said formally. "You know my son, Prince Aegon."

Stannis Baratheon bowed. "My Prince."

"My Lord…" he replied, unsure of who he was… just that he shouldn't address a strange man by their first name according to their grandmother.

"This is Lord Stannis Baratheon, Aegon. Brother of the Lord of Storm's End." The last were almost spit out.

"Yes, and forgive Robert for not attending. He… had other commitments."

"I'm sure, I'm sure." She was tensing even further, and scrambling to look for something else to speak of. "And who is this?" she asked about the boy, who seemed torn between melting into the floor or standing there with a puzzled stare.

"Ah." Stannis clasped the boy's shoulders. "This is Robert's new heir, Gendry Baratheon."

Lyanna narrowed her eyes at him. The boy looked exactly like Robert, exactly, only without the smugness. A bastard working in a smithy. But she wouldn't be horrid to a boy. "Gendry then, you're a handsome lad." What else could she say?

Gendry was intimidated by her - it made sense, given she was a Queen and likely two days before he was merely a bastard living in Flea Bottom. But as Stannis nudged his side, the boy gulped. "Your… Grace… thank you."

Egg took a chance. "I'm Aegon. Nice to meet you."

Staring at the Prince, a young child wasn't as threatening as a grown Queen and he managed a weak smile. "Hello…"

"Forgive me, Ser Sannis. I must be going." Lyanna tapped Aegon on the arm and led him away. Gods, why can't that family just go away? She forgot her ire and smiled when she saw Jon, Dany glued to his side, holding an amicable conversation with other noble youths, who were clearly listening to every word coming out of him. "Egg… I think I found your brother and aunt. You were my wonderful escort for the evening, but I think they need your company now."

"Alright, muna." Egg leaned up to peck her on the cheek. "Love you." He started away towards them.

"I love you too, my son." She gave his retreating form a fond stare.

Watching her beloved silver-headed Prince race towards his siblings and aunt, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. Lyanna didn't try to stop them, for she knew exactly who this was. "Do I have to worry my beautiful Stark Queen is being swept off her feet by a handsome Targaryen Prince?" Rhaegar whispered in her ear, unable or unwilling to hide his boundless affection for her.

Lyanna snorted. "Oh shut up." But she laughed right after, turning in his arms to peck his lips. "I already had my feet swept by a Targaryen Prince, and only hope the lucky lady that little Egg will sweep off her feet is worthy of him."

"If he's anything like his kepa, then he will be." Rhaegar kissed her temple, but suddenly sighed. "Sometimes I worry about that poor boy."

Biting her lip, Lyanna looked back and watched as Baelon and Rhaenys urge their brother to try a strange-looking dessert that she knew tasted much better than it appeared - Egg, cautious as he always was, demurred for a while before trying it. From his smile, it did taste good. "His illness… we give him love and I know that sweet, wonderful boy tries, but he's missing that fire you have… or Rhaella has. I can see it in Rhae, Jon, Dany, and Alyssa but not him."

Rhaegar shook his head. "It's in there, I know it. Just need to awaken it."

"Look at what her dragon did for your mother… is there any chance he could hatch one of the eggs?"

"Those things were ossified into stone long before you or I were even born, Lya." Sometimes it still felt surreal for him, the presence of Aegarax. "Used to be that a worthy Targaryen would either hatch an egg at birth without any flames or claim an already grown and riderless dragon when they were slightly older. The latter is impossible and the former… that was when the eggs were fresh. It's uncharted ground."

Lyanna could only nod, but forced a smile on her face when Aegon returned. "Muna, kepa. Try this… it's amazing!" He held up the dish, insistent - there were two forks for them to use, showing off just how smart he was. Nodding, Lyanna took a fork and collected a decent sized piece of the Tyroshi pastry and forked it in her mouth.

He was right, it did taste amazing.

---

"Nuh unh," Margaery Tyrell said, enjoying herself for once at one of her grandmother's ploys to make her befriend fellow highborn children. "You didn't loop your arms around the neck of the King's dragon."

Daenerys Targaryen grinned. "I so did! He's a big softie."

"Lucky," murmured Margaery. "Has he taken you on a ride?"

"My muna has," she replied, looking at her niece, nephews, and cousin Arianne - the latter the designated adult family member watching over them when Margaery showed up. Both she and Rhaenys liked her immediately. "My brother no."

"He took me riding," Rhaenys grinned.

"Me and Egg too!" Insisted Baelon, looking proud.

"It's no matter." Dress swishing against the floor, Dany grabbed Baelon's arm. "I'm to be his Queen and fly by his side forever and ever." Jon blushed, but made no move to correct her… it was clear he wanted such an eventuality too in his childlike mind.

Arianne, older and more aware of all the implications, raised a brow. "You to be his Queen? Are you aware of what that means?"

She furrowed her brows. "Kessa, like Rhae and my goodsisters. He rules and they rule with him." Dany's violet eyes were so certain, so innocent, that it made Arianne laugh in spite of herself. "What? What's so funny?" She was starting to get mad.

"Ari," cautioned Rhaenys. "Don't get her going." Her aunt could be very much a dragon when ired, especially when Baelon was involved. "The two share thoughts. I'm sure it'll happen."

The Princess of Dorne wasn't buying it. "You're telling me that these two are that close? I've heard rumors but they sound unbelievable."

"Believe them, saucy snake."

Blinking, Arianne looked up at Sandor with suspicion. "'Saucy snake?'"

The Hound grunted. "I named you something else but I've been told by such terrifying individuals, namely Queen Lyanna, that I wasn't to be profane around the children." From the look on his face, he appeared genuinely fearful of the Stark Queen.

It made Arianne chuckle. "I suppose that makes sense… but why should I believe them?"

"Cause the silver pest's said it before… and they even sleep together."

"Don't call me silver pest!" Dany shouted.

"In the same bed? How… cozy." Arianne giggled. "If you're his Queen you'll sleep in the same bed," she said, eager to confuse and tease her little cousins.

But Daenerys merely blinked. "I will… Jon's bed is warm."

"Not the only thing that's warm of his." Even the Hound grunted in humor, while Margaery and the four Targaryens were confused. "Oh, my little cousins. You'll understand when you're older… I'll probably be teaching you."

"Gods help the King and Queens then…" Sandor remarked, earning a glare from Arianne.

Puzzled completely, Margaery decided to move on. "Egg… who was that you were talking to?" Dany, Rhae, and Baelon let her call them by their names, so she did so with the other Prince.

"You mean your brother?" Egg asked.

Margaery groaned. "No silly, I know my own brother. I mean the one with Lord Stannis. The boy."

"You talked to a boy?" Rhaenys asked. "What boy?"

Egg was silent for a moment. "Um… He said his name was Gendry… son of Robert Baratheon."

"Ugh, Robert." Rhaenys hated him - she had heard her munas say vile things about him, and if they disliked anyone there was no doubt that they were worthy of her dislike as well. "He has a son? He's not married."

Arianne's eyes widened in understanding. "Ah… I know what this is. My uncle told me about this, Robert had your father legitimize four of his bastards."

"Why would kepa do anything for that fat pig?" Sandor laughed at that, though Rhaenys meant it. Queen Elia oft called him that - Lyanna's words were ones Rhaenys knew never to say in public.

"When you're a King, sometimes you must do things you don't like for the sake of peace," Arianne replied. Rhaenys crossed her arms, but accepted it - not gladly though.

Baelon was confused. "What's a bastard?"

"Means the woman whose… hole the man put his stick in wasn't married to that man when she bears his babe."

Looking at Dany, Jon knotted his brows. "What… does that mean?" His aunt shrugged, as did Egg, both equally confused.

Arianne shook her head. "Oh shut up." She placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Means that a babe's mother and father aren't married when that babe is born." Remembering more of that word being used about… particular persons, her smile was a sad one.

"Oh… that makes sense I think…" It really didn't, but she understood the part of an unmarried couple. "Wait… Ser Arthur and Aunt Dacey aren't married."

"Uncle Ben and Aunt Ash aren't married," Rhaenys added.

Dany gasped. "Muna and Jaime aren't married. Does that make Artie, Ally, Lya, Cella, and Serena…"

"No, the King declared them to be trueborn. He can do that, it's a royal right," Arianne replied, calming them all down. "But… due to the nature of highborns, they'll still be called bastards. Even…" she trailed off.

"What?" Rhaenys asked of her older cousin.

"Nothing."

She wasn't taking it. "Tell me." Her violet eyes narrowed.

There was no stopping Rhaenys, so Ari didn't try. "I've heard people calling Baelon that… a bastard."

That surprised the children. Dany most of all. "That's stupid. Rhaegar and Lya are married."

Margaery bit her lip. "I… I hear some knights say the same thing in Highgarden."

Dany whirled to glare at her. "Who did?! I want their names!"

"I… I don't remember…" Marg trembled at the dragonfire seen in the young Princess' gaze, enough to make Dany soften. Baelon said nothing, not knowing what to think. Sandor just watched silently, his own mind thinking. If anyone calls the little Prince that in my presence, I'll fucking gut him.

The now somber gaggle of children were then joined by the merry Prince Oberyn, a smile on his lips and cheeks rosy with drink. "Dearest nieces and nephews," he proclaimed, kissing Arianne's cheek and Rhaenys' head… tousling the hair of Baelon and Aegon. "Making a new friend with the sweet rose of Highgarden?" Margaery blushed at the compliment.

"I suppose," Rhaenys said.

While his mood was a good one, Ellaria having just told him she was with child again just as he received a raven from Sunspear that yet another Sand was born of his line, Oberyn still noticed their ire. "Something wrong?"

"People call Jon a bastard," Dany hissed.

"Oh… ohhh." Oberyn winced. He was afraid of this. "Do you know who?"

"No."

"Ah." This… would have to be dealt with at a later time. It was more important to keep the children happy. "Listen," he leaned in, knowing just what would cheer them up. "I heard from the servants that the cooks were preparing trays of fresh pastries for the feast. I'll escort you to get them hot and fresh from the oven if you want."

Frowns changed to pure smiles from the children. Arianne still looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but put it away.

Elia and Lya will not be happy.

---

Queen Dowager Rhaella Targaryen couldn't stand the Volentenes.

The feast was dragging on into the night, and the limitless casks of Arbor gold and Dornish red that Garlan and Oberyn gifted for the royal stores started to take their toll on the notoriously debased nobles of Valyria's most beloved daughter - as they illustriously called their homeland. Granted, Rhaella didn't fault that since many Westerosi nobles were known to be heavy drinkers, Lord Wylis Manderly, Lord Bronn Bell and many of the Reach knights gladly trumpeting such characterization. But…

"Hey!"

Having just joined the Queen's side after a dance with her husband, the modestly-dressed Lady Marya Seaworth blinked. "Are you speaking to me, Lady Maegyr?"

The supremely deep in her cups Soraya Maegyr, haughty yet inebriated smile on her face, nods. "You have the air of a… a servant. Go fetch me another goblet of wine, and make it snappy." She snapped her fingers, clearly expecting to be obeyed without further prompting.

For the Westerosi ladies present, which included Queen Elia and the women of House Tyrell, none were more enraged at this than Rhaella. This was what she hated of the Volentenes. Slaveowners all, they outdid the nature of the worst Westerosi lords in how they treated the servants. While they were free men in the Seven Kingdoms, if albeit under the authority of their liege lord, in Volantis they were property and thus treated as such. While the others knew who Marya was and said nothing, Rhaella could see in their eyes they regarded the former Flea Bottom resident as effectively the same as a slave.

Only the female Triarch Jaenera Vhassar, young and beautiful, didn't - though her blue eyes were hard to read.

"Well, your Grace. The rumors they used to say of you are not at all accurate," simpered the swaying Alia Qhaedar, the sister of one of the major politicians of the Free City. "You are truly a marvel of the homeland."

Smile still planted on her face, Rhaella forced herself to nod. "I do try to keep the customs of Old Valyria alive within the capitol, yet I am unaware of any rumors about myself?" She inquired, but kept her tone level.

Qhaedar giggled. "Oh, just a pack of lies it seems, ones that speak of you as weak and unable to bear a healthy child… young Daenerys looks quite healthy to me."

"Lies as of now," blurted Soraya Maegyr, swaying with her empty goblet.

Narrowing her eyes, Queen Elia's fingers gripped her own goblet tightly. "People tend to degenerate that which they feel awed by… or jealous towards. It is human nature."

"Cannot disagree with that, your Grace," said Lady Vhassar, sipping her own wine. Of the lot of them, she was the only Volentene lady that was sparing with her drink.

Melissa Tyrell smiled gingerly. "Her grace hatched two dragons on Dragonstone, one of which she rode into battle to defeat the Ironborn. I'm sure there are more rumors that speak of her supreme bravery and strength as the eldest of House Targaryen."

"Second eldest," corrected Marya Seaworth. "Remember, Prince Aemon Targaryen still lives."

"Oh." The Tyrell Lady blushed. "Forgiveness, he must've slipped my mind." Rhaella narrowed her eyes at Garlan's bride… only to determine it was genuine. Melissa may have been intelligent and skilled at court, but she was guileless as well. She could tell.

"It happens," Marya replied. "It was such a shame he was forced to spend the majority of his life rotting in the cold of Castle Black."

"You…" the still inebriated Soraya Maegyr slurred. "I thought I told you to fetch me a drink."

Sharing a glance with her gooddaughter, Rhaella was about to say something quite unqueenly about where the Lady Maegyr could put her drink that was anatomically impossible, but Marya spoke before she could. "No you didn't."

Soraya blinked. "What? You telling me I'm a liar, servant…" But her own drunken words were unsure of herself.

"A woman as cultured as you would never make such a demand from a noble lady, wife of the Master of Ships. You asked it off one of the other servants, yet spilled it in a clumsy moment upon the floor."

Narrowing her eyes in a puzzled expression, Soraya looked at the empty goblet in her hand - the one she had finished drinking before asking Marya the first time to fetch her a full goblet. To the barely hidden humorous glances of the other ladies, even her Volentene peers eager to see their court rival be manipulated by the wife of a common smuggler, Soraya peered at the glass before she came to a conclusion. "How embarrassing, but I don't remember any of this?"

"Perhaps you are too deep in your cups, Lady Maegyr," Elia spoke, Rhaella stifling a giggle next to her.

"Yeah... seems I may have… yes…"

Marya was smiling brightly. "It's the sign of a good feast. That all are merry and having a good time."

"Yes!" proclaimed Jaenera Vhassar. "That's the spirit of any feast, Lady Marya." She, unlike the others, was far more egalitarian in her treatment of Lord Davos' wife. Rhaella liked her.

Thankfully, the nightmare ended for Rhaella rather soon after that. As soon as she watched Elia excuse herself to help Lyanna escort their eldest children to bed, Rhaella saw her opportunity and did the same regarding Daenerys. "But muna, I'm not tired…" Dany's valiant efforts to be a strong Targaryen Princess died as she yawned, eyes fluttering with fatigue.

Rhaella chuckled, not perturbed to be seen being a devoted parent in the public eye. "Of course you are, sweetling," she murmured in High Valyrian. "It's the first time you've stayed up past your bedtime with the grown ups." Dany smiled proudly but sleepily. Looking over her shoulder, Rhaella cast an insistent look to Jaime - silent command to follow her. Just as the dutiful Kingsguard he was, her lion complied. He caught up just as they disappeared into the corridors to Maegor's Holdfast, starry sky above them. "Ooof," Rhaella grunted as she lifted Dany in her arms. "You're getting too big for this." Her muscles were stronger due to all her dragonriding, but still.

"Here, allow me, my love," Jaime insisted, taking the drowsy Dany into his arms. Rhaella gave him a brilliant, loving smile.

They soon arrived at the chambers Daenerys shared with Baelon. Lyanna and Elia's diligence was clear - Baelon was fast asleep in his bed, covers draped snugly about him. "Put her in Baelon's bed," Rhaella told Jaime. "She likes to be close to him at night."

Jaime did as bidded, smirking as the now sleeping Dany instinctively snuggled with her nephew. "They'll be sharing a chamber forever at this rate, my Queen."

"I could think of worse things, my lion." A hand ran down his arm - Rhaella hadn't been abstemious that night, and while she wasn't drunk the wine did have an effect. "Are you on duty, Ser Jaime?"

"Tonight?" He grinned at her. "My duties just ended for the day, my Queen."

Her smile was sultry, seductive. Lilac eyes dark with desire. "Follow me then." Grabbing his hand, Rhaella guided him to her chambers. Their chambers, in all effective reality.

Jaime was truly an amazing lover, the likely among the best even though Rhaella had no one else to compare him to besides Aerys. It mattered not, for regardless Jaime managed to set her alight in ways she hadn't even dreamed possible. Versatile, he had taken it slower that night, worshipping her body with his hands and mouth. More than once did Rhaella fist his golden locks and demanded he go faster or put her out of her misery in the middle of his teasing licks… but he never relented and she grew to enjoy it. He lavished her neck, her breasts, her stomach before diving into her core and coaxing a long climax from her. Marvelous.

Their mouths didn't break one moment when he climbed atop and slid inside her, Rhaella biting his bottom lip at the way he stretched her so deliciously. She wrapped her trim legs around him, inviting her lion deeper. An invitation he didn't presume to decline. The former Queen didn't know how long it lasted, low long she was in the bliss of his firm but languid thrusts - only that by the time they reached their shared peak they were both drenched in a sheen of sweat, muscles sore and completely out of breath.

The chilly sea breeze wafted in from the open window, so Jaime flung the covers over them and hugged her close to his chest. Rhaella sighed happily, snuggling into him just as her daughter had done so to her grandson… though that was far more innocent than this. "I love you," she heard him murmur.

Her heart clenched. "I love you too." Jaime always knew how to make her feel better after a taxing day or evening. He was perfect, just perfect… Rhaella wished she could give him all that was in her power to do so, most of all little babes just like their darling Myrcella. The thought made her stiffen in sorrow.

"My Queen?" she heard him ask.

She sighed against his chest. "I'm sorry, Jaime… I just wish I could give you more children like you deserve." Cella would likely be her last, unfortunately. Aemon and Qyburn were sadly insistent.

He kissed her. "I am content with my life, Rhaella. I have you… I have our darling girl… I have my brother and sister and nieces and nephews, not to mention the honor of a white cloak. Not a bad life."

"You're too good to me," Rhaella smiled. "And our girl is wonderful. Reminds me of your mother, but with my father's eyes… they were alike, I remember. Always kind and gentle."

"That does describe my mother, my love." It was Jaime's turn to stiffen. "They will degenerate her, though. Call her a bastard simply because I couldn't marry you."

"Anyone that does will meet Jaimexes' dragonfire," Rhaella hissed. "I won't let our daughter suffer that indignity. She is a princess of House Targaryen with the blood of the Kings of the Rock, a mighty combination." She smiled in spite of herself, anger leaving her. "She won't be wanting for suitors when she flowers."

Jaime groaned. "Don't talk about our daughter being married. It makes me feel old."

She giggled. "I can end such a feeling, my knight." Drifting lower in the bed, soon Jaime was divested of all thoughts other than of his Queen.

---

No one had noticed two teenagers that had just come of age slipping out of the still active great hall. Bawdy drinking songs and brewing fistfights between the Northern lords, Volentene Tigers, and Dornishmen over the most petty things imaginable would end in more mugs of wine and ale being passed around. Everyone had such a good time that Talisa wasn't even noticed gone by her father or uncle - her mother long since having passed out, body slaves having to carry her out.

It was embarrassing, but Talisa quickly forgot about it given the company she was in. "Do you come out here often, Prince Viserys?"

The Targaryen Prince smiled at her, his silver and violet features ever so beautiful like all the Targaryens seemed to her. For Talisa, someone who had grown up where Valyrian features were carefully husbanded in the bloodlines, Viserys was a purer beauty… a true Valyrian. "I don't come here, no. I am usually up there." He pointed to the stars."Riding my dragon."

"You have a dragon too?" She didn't mean to sound so excited, but the flagon of Dornish red he had snuck away from one of the servants they were imbibing on his cloak in the grassy part of the Red Keep's gardens was starting to loosen her manners and formalities. "Like the King and dowager Queen?"

Viserys nodded, equally in his cups and looking proud. "His name is Maerys, a mighty dragon the color of crimson. I've ridden him for the past year and am quite good at it."

Talisa regarded him as she did the King - in awe. "If I am not too forward, could I ride on him with you?" She and Viserys had not left each other's side for most of the party, laughing and enjoying the refreshments together. He was charming, and seemed to enjoy speaking with her about her scholarly interests. The boys in Volantis, eager to seduce the niece of the new Triarch, were foolish to her but Viserys was anything but.

She felt so many new feelings with him.

A frown crossed her face when he shook his head. "I can't… my brother would kill me if I endangered you so. And you are so… delicate."

"Delicate?"

"Aye." Before Talisa could respond indignantly, she was silenced with a kiss from him.

As he pulled back, Talisa was flushed, eyes glassy. Her lips still tingled from where he had swiped his tongue against them, her mind a fog of inebriation and… something unfamiliar to her.

Whatever it was, she liked it.

"You alright?" Viserys asked. "Don't you dare throw up on me." He'd seen drunk women do it before and he was not about to have it happen to him.

Blinking, she shook her head, feeling heat pool in her face, her chest… and between her legs. "No… I liked it." She smiled at him. "You're a good kisser."

That drew a smile from him. A self-satisfied one. "Have you been kissed before, Lady Maegyr?"

Talisa shook her head, though she had to force herself to keep in her seated position and not topple over. Next time, less wine… "No, but I've read enough bards to know when something feels good and it doesn't."

Even deep in her cups she sounded educated. Viserys found it amusing, but in a good way. "And how did mine feel?" It was his first kiss too - not that he would ever tell her that - and wanted a judgement. "Were they as good as the bards described?"

"Hmmmm…" Talisa smirked saucily at him, letting her innocent longing and the wine draw her into a rather impulsive mood. "Mayhaps you should kiss me again so I can make sure."

He didn't need to be told twice. Wrapping an arm around her waist as he had seen his brother do often to his goodsisters when he wasn't looking, Viserys pulled the pretty part-Valyrian girl and mashed their lips together.

She swooned. Talisa knew that this was better than what she had read. A beautiful boy kissing her with passion… she felt like the maidens of all her favorite poems and songs, finding her Prince. When he plunged his tongue into her mouth, she reciprocated.

When his hands roamed down her dress, Talisa moaned.

When he gently nudged her to the ground atop his cloak, Talisa did nothing but urge her assent, giving herself over to the plethora of feelings she experienced for the first time in her life.

Notes:

So we meet Gendry and Viserys has his first time.

Not everyone likes Baelon... the Queens will not be happy one bit.

Next up, the journey to Winterfell. 25 comments gets an early update

Chapter 89: Family Vacation

Notes:

Hi guys. Glad to be back with another chapter. Been stressed cause now is the time med school interview requests come out, plus I start a job next week.

Good news, with Bet of Dragons done, my one shot done, and Targaryen Dynasty wrapping up (check them all out, I promise you'll love them), I shall be starting a new project: a modern romantic comedy (with plenty of smut) starring Jon and Daenerys called "My Best Friend's Wedding :D It'll be posted on Ao3 in one week.

Be sure to check out my current stories Dragonshield and Heart of the Blessed.

Enjoy.

Likely the Red Keep hadn't felt such rage since the days of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower. Aegon the Unworthy couldn't compare. Aerion Brightflame couldn't compare. Aerys the Mad King couldn't compare to the rage Queen Lyanna Stark was feeling. "I WANT BLOOD!" Wolfsbane swung in a powerful arc, slamming into a walnut chair with a loud crack.

While she wasn't as obvious, Queen Elia Martell shook with rage. Had she been a warrior, she didn't disagree that she'd have reacted the same way her wife did. "What are the names, brother? Tell me now!"

"They will meet the steel of our swords, your Grace," Arthur insisted, speaking on behalf of the entire Kingsguard - especially Benjen.

"My sword!" Lyanna screamed. "Only mine!" With a downward swing, she chopped the chair cleanly in half, so powerful did her anger make her.

Burning with anger deep inside, Rhaegar contained enough self-control to look at this in an objective manner. "And when we obtain the names, you will have it, my loves," he said firmly. "Oberyn, did you figure out who had said this among the Reach?"

Oberyn shook his head. "I didn't get any names." That brought more ire from his sister and goodsister, along with disappointment from Ellaria - who had convinced him to come clean when he had previously thought not to bring them ill-feelings prior to the royal progress - he had never seen Lyanna so happy since little Visenya was born. "Mind you, I didn't actually hear anything first hand, merely relayed what Lady Margaery said of things she had heard."

"Wait, Margaery Tyrell?" She was but a girl, so why would her brother… An ashen look came over Elia's face. "Brother… did Jon hear any of these?"

This was what Oberyn feared. "I was told this first by Princess Daenerys - she, Lady Margaery, Rhae, Arianne, Egg, and Baelon were speaking together."

"No…" Lyanna's rage had… transformed into something else. Something cold - like an icy northern blizzard. "So Jon knows…"

"I'm sure he doesn't know the context of it…" Rhaegar interjected, but Lyanna shrugged it off and stormed out, any good mood she had been in dead at the moment. The King sighed. "Elia, can you use your birds to…"

She nodded. "I'll find them all." Elia followed Lyanna with worry in her expression, joined by the others aside from Benjen, Rhaegar, and Lady Melisandre.

As Benjen closed the door behind that of the Queens, Rhaegar sighed. "We're traveling to my beloved's ancestral home for the first time - her first time since leaving for the Tourney at Harrenhal where she thought she'd have to marry my pig cousin Robert - and instead of being joyous we have to deal with this shit." He slammed his fist onto the ironwood table. "Damn them all to the seven hells."

"R'hllor's flames will smite the evildoers," Melisandre stated firmly. "If you shall decree, your Grace, allow me to be the one to personally deliver the King's Justice upon them."

Looking up, Rhaegar saw a tiny crack in his spiritual advisor's normally calm facade. She looked… genuinely angry. "I appreciate this sentiment, Lady Melisandre." However strange it may be. "But the man who passes the sentence must swing the sword."

She was undeterred. "Allow me to be your sword… Prince Baelon is blessed of the gods and the Lord of Light personally. Any insult to him is an insult to R'hllor himself and He is not merciful to those that insult him." Her fist clenched, which Rhaegar noticed. "Nor am I merciful to those that seek harm to the Lord's chosen. Prince Baelon especially."

"We all love my dear son, Lady Melisandre - and you are the one who saved him when he was on his deathbed - but I shan't make my decision till we actually have prisoners to put on trial. Offer yourself to carry out the sentences then and I'll consider it." The Red Priestess he had placed in his service didn't look particularly pleased at this, but nodded. That was strange. "Benjen."

"Yes, goodbrother?"

"What would you have me do?" Rhaegar looked lost. "I love my dear brides and I hate to see them in such pain when they should only feel joy."

He had known Lya the longest of anyone currently in the capitol, so Benjen could give insight on her moods. "I cannot speak for my goodsister, but my sister is fierce and proud. Give it some time and she'll be happy again to be at Winterfell."

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "Even when an insult to our dear Baelon is the reason she is angry?"

Benjen furrowed his brows. "Good point, your Grace." He thought for a moment, settling on something with wide eyes and a grin. "Your Grace, do marriages made under the Faith of the Seven preclude others under different faiths?"

The King blinked. "Um… I'm not sure. I'll have to ask Meribald or perhaps Ser Bonifer on that, since I am not well versed in the practice of the Faith beyond what is required of me."

"If I may, your Grace," spoke Melisandre. "I have seen couples marry in the Red Temple of Oldtown and in one of the septs of the city not long after. They… aren't bothered by the septons there, if that helps."

"Oh, it does," chuckled Benjen. "There is one way that I believe would bring Lyanna the greatest of joy, as it was one of her most desired dreams in her youth - Elia, if she's included in it, would have such joy herself as well."

Rhaegar leaned forward. "Please tell me." As Benjen talked, Rhaegar's eyes lit up. It truly would be the perfect surprise - though he'd need Ned's cooperation for it to work.

Anything for Elia and Lyanna, the lights of his life. His beautiful Dornish Apple and She-Wolf.

---

"My lady...what is this?" Ned asked, watching with curious, slightly apprehensive eyes as Cersei expertly pulled his hands to the bedpost. Somehow, she had snuck out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and bound them together, only waking him up when they were halfway tied to the thick ironwood of their bed.

She shushed him with a finger to his lips. "No talking, sweet husband. It's time that I take charge for a while." Cersei moved herself down so that she was straddling his waist.

Watching her, Ned found his cock rising - he liked this side of Ceresi and figured that this was going to become more common during the times they were intimate. Cersei adjusted her position so that she was on her stomach between his legs. His eyes widened, as if expecting what she was going to do.

His lioness didn't disappoint him. A warm tongue started to make its way up and down his cock, and at that moment, he wished his hands were free so that he could weave them into Cersei's golden locks - pulling them gently to let her know he enjoyed what she was doing to him. "Cersei, please," Ned moaned as she fully engulfed him with her mouth.

Cersei looked up at her husband, his grey eyes stormy with lust and desire - it made her insides quiver. Winking at him, she continued with what she was doing, drinking in the moans and gasps from the man below her.

Soon, she started to hear him say her name more often, which told her that he was getting close. But she wasn't done with him yet. Cersei pulled her mouth away, causing Ned to let out a groan. She chuckled. "I'm not finished with you just yet, dear husband," Cersei replied in a husky tone, then straddling his waist and sinking down on him. They moaned simultaneously once he was fully inside her - it never got old. "My lord, you better fuck me well," Cersei ordered. "Or I might have to punish you later if you don't."

Barely able to think with her walls clenching around him, Ned nevertheless managed to glance at her questioningly. "And what would that entail, my lady?"

Her smirk made her face all the more alluring. "You'll have to find out then."

She then began to rock her hips back and forth, her walls tightly squeezing around him, making Ned shut his eyes from the pleasure he was receiving. Tip hitting deep against her wombhead, Cersei kept groaning his name as shebounced up and down on his cock. Ned longed to touch her, but the ropes made it impossible - but he was so close and it felt wonderful...

But Cersei had other plans. She slowly stilled herself and maneuvered off of him. Dropping by his side and snuggling against it, the lioness draped an arm across his abdomen. "Cers, what are you doing? You can't leave me here like this," Ned pleaded with his wife. "Please."

"You're tied to the bed. You're not the one giving orders," Cersei replied, running a hand along his well-sculpted body. "Mayhaps I should leave you here for a while… pleasure myself instead and have you watch."

"Damn you to the seven hells, you vile seductress." He meant it more as a jape, but shuddered at her reaction.

Cersei's eyes darkened with lust and then pinned his shoulders to the pillow. "Just for that, I am going to bring you to the edge, but you don't get to break yet. You don't get to cum until I say so."

His mouth went dry. "I'm sorry, Cers, forgive me."

She smiled at him, but didn't relent. "I forgive you...but you're still going to be punished." Sneaking a hand through their down pillow, she removed a single goose feather. Holding it in her hand, she started to tickle his inner thighs with it, making him squirm. Cersei then straddled his waist once more, bringing the feather over the head of his cock.

"Cersei, please, have mercy," he groaned, tightly grasping the ropes. His knuckles began to turn white from how hard he was struggling.

"Maybe you shouldn't have damned me as a seductress," Cersei replied, before repeating the motion a few more times. Ned was begging his wife to let him come - he was so close to the edge. Loving him too much, Cersei eventually took pity on her husband and tossed the feather onto the other side of the bed before sinking down on him again. He groaned once he was fully sheathed, and she began to ride him, her own orgasm so close as well.

Not too long after, his seed was filling her cunt, painting her insides white. She called out his name as her orgasm came over her, her juices coating his cock.

The bedchamber was silent outside of their heavy breathing, sweaty skin pressed flush together as Cersei cuddled with her handsome direwolf. "Cers," she heard him say.

"Mmmm. Yes, my handsome, powerful wolf?"

"I'm, do you mind releasing me from these binds?"

Eyes widening, Cersei realized that he was still tied to the bedposts. She stifled a giggle. "Why? I rather like you like this. At the mercy of the lioness in her den."

"Cers," he said, tone growing slightly irritated… something Cersei countered by kissing him. Shutting him up with her probing tongue and full breasts pressing against his chest.

The kiss left them both breathless. "Oh, alright." She reached up to undo the bindings, deliberately leaving her breasts swaying above his face. True to form, he latched himself to a nipple, making her sigh happily. "Mmmm, that feels so good."

"I love your teats, wife." His mouth and tongue sucked one raw before going for another.

"Oh yes, and they love you…" Finally, the second tie gave way. Cersei yelped as Ned flipped her over, still feasting on her teats as his fingers plunged into her cunt. No other words were forthcoming for the longest while…

About an hour later, the two of them bounded into the private dining chamber with a spring in their step and smiles on their faces - Ned in his fine wool and leathers while Cersei wore a new dress of northern cut but in the Lannister colors… with dark grey direwolves stitched into the fabric.

She was a lion, but a lion of House Stark and intended for everyone to know it.

"Hi, momma!" Robb chimed cheerily. Cersei hugged him tightly where he sat. Pressing her cheek onto his golden curls.

"Morning, momma," Sansa said in her more precise tone, though no less cheery than her brother. Heart filling with affection for her delightful stepdaughter, Cersei pressed a kiss to her cheek, which made Sansa giggle.

"Morning, momma Cersei," little Rickard said, more subdued than the others.

Glancing at Ned with a sigh, Cersei nevertheless kissed the crown of his head. "Good morning Rickard." Cersei was upset at it, but the instant connection she had with Sansa wasn't transferred onto Rickard - she was her daughter, while Rickard was merely her stepson. She still served as the mother figure in his life and she supposed that was good enough. "Theon, you're filling out nicely." Cersei pinched their ward's cheek. "All skin and bones when we got you."

Theon smiled. "The food is better here, Lady Stark."

Better than a southern feast, doubtful. Too plain. But compared to the rotten offal they likely ate on the Iron Islands, undoubtedly an improvement.

"No greeting for me, sweet sister?" Tyrion asked with an exaggerated frown.

Cersei raised an eyebrow. "Would you like the same greeting as Joanna gets?" Pointing to her husband, Ned was currently lifting baby Joanna into the air, the babe giggling and waving her arms as the normally dour Lord of Winterfell made silly faces at her. Cersei watched with an adoring smile. How do I love this man more by the day?

Tyrion, narrowing his eyes at her, grumbled and scarfed down a bite of a buttered roll. "I dread the day when my little nephew will be able to do that to me, a man almost five and ten years his senior."

Robb blinked at Tyrion, only to giggle. "Uncle Little's funny."

The Lady of Winterfell chuckled, kissing his hair. "Yes, he is. Very funny." Not always in an amusing way, though.

Guards opening the door didn't reveal the servants bringing a second course, but Cersei's Aunt Genna. "The Forresters are here to join us."

Smacking a kiss on Joanna's chubby cheek, Ned looked confused. "Forresters?"

"Husband, don't be dense." Cersei swatted him lightly on the arm. "House Forrester are our guests in the keep, the first to arrive for the Royal Progress."

Ned soon recalled it all. "Aye… seems our activities earlier made it slip my mind."

"What activities… never mind, I don't want to know." Tyrion shook his head, going back to his fast breaking to a smirk from Cersei and a wink from Genna.

Led by Jory and the Forrester sworn Sword Ser Royland, the five Forresters entered the private dining chamber and were greeted by Ned and Cersei. Lord Gregor - now a direct bannerman of Ned's rather than under the suzerainty of House Glover - sat at the place of honor with his wife beside him. His two oldest sons sat as well and immediately began digging in, while his daughter Mira sat in between Robb and Sansa, waiting but a moment before she and Sansa started giggling with each other. The two were fast friends, Sansa's second after Jeyne Poole, the daughter of Ned's steward.

"Gregor," Cersei said as they began to all eat together. "I was told by your dear wife that you were greatly surprised that His Grace would be arriving during your stay."

The Lord of Ironrath laughed. "I am certain that your dear husband knew about this yet refused to tell me in his letters." He glared at Ned. "He may look honorable, but he is a devious one."

"I resent that," Ned muttered, though there was a hint of a grin on his face.

Cersei giggled. "You don't know the half of it."

"At least I managed to pack the finery in my wardrobe for the occasion," stated Lady Elissa. A Branfield by birth, her house had fought fiercely at Second Harrenhal and the Bells, rewarded greatly by the Crown after the war. "I'm sure my dear Mira will bring back many of the finest fashions from the south when she fosters at Highgarden."

"It is a good choice," commented Ned. "I've met Garlan both as Rhaegar's squire and now as the Lord… he is an honorable young man, though I'd be careful of Lady Olenna. Her reputation is notorious even here."

"Her reputation is notorious even in Asshai and Mossovy," Cersei remarked, leading them all to laugh.

---

"This better not make me look like a fool, Stannis," Robert said with a grunt, sitting upon the throne once used by the Storm Kings… their ancestors through Argella Durrandon. "I mean, these bastards have my blood but who knows how their mothers raised them?"

They were certainly good enough for you to stick your cock into them. Lynesse bit her tongue in regards to her goodbrother - it would serve no purpose other than give her temporary satisfaction. "Do not fret, goodbrother. I met with each of them and they're delightful children." In their own way. She had the feeling that it would be she and Stannis that would raise them alongside Shireen. Robert didn't give off the vibe of a good parent.

"Shall I send for them, brother?" Stannis asked.

"No need. Let them in!" Robert bellowed, not one for dithering.

Guards obeying their lord, the doors to the great hall soon opened and the cluster of servants and governesses hired by Stannis in preparation for this led in the four newly-legitimized Baratheons. Robert cocked his head and actually looked with some interest at the four - aside from the eldest girl, they were all strangers to him, but no one could deny whose blood they had. Blue of eye, black of hair. The Baratheon look, passed down from House Durrandon and maintained over the generations.

The seed is strong, as they said of their house.

Lining them up in front of the old Storm Throne, the servants departed, allowing the children to stand on their own. Lynesse gave them a warm smile, Stannis a small one, while Robert remained emotionless.

Mya Stone was the eldest at eight namedays. Robert's acknowledged bastard with a servant girl at the Eyrie during his fostering there, she was a tall, strapping young woman. Hair cut short into a bob - Stannis heard she normally had a more mannish haircut, but Lord Elbert insisted on her growing it out when Stannis first inquired about the girl - she had a mirthful, bubbly personality that near burst with excitement at seeing her father again after so long. She looked uncomfortable in the blue dress she wore, but fit it well.

Beside her was Gendry, still as shy and quiet as he had been at the feast in King's Landing. Tall for his age and strong-looking, there was no denying he was Robert's son… the two looked almost exactly alike, albeit without the gluttonous, brash streak that Robert displayed even in youth. He said nothing, did nothing other than looking at his feet.

Edric Storm was as different from his brother as could be. Unlike the others he had a highborn mother and thus possessed a certain confident air, one that manifested in a fierce display of steadfastness. Stannis found he looked like a young Renly, only burlier and with the large ears of his Florent mother - there was no… finery about the way he carried himself unlike his late brother, a fact Stannis thanked the gods over.

Last was the young Bella Rivers, the one Stannis and Lynesse feared the most of since her mother was now the paramour of Tywin Lannister. The youngest, conceived right before Stony Sept and born during the Red Plague, she was the prettiest of the lot of them. Blue-eyed and black-haired as all Baratheons were, she also possessed a cherubic face that would clearly end up turning into a great beauty… if she wasn't scowling hatefully. Stannis worried - he'd never seen a child with that much hate before.

"Lord Robert," Stannis began. "May I present your children to you. Lady Mya, Lord Gendry, Lord Edric, and Lady Bella of House Baratheon."

Rising from his throne, Robert walked towards the four children, hands behind his back in a rather solemn way that was seldom seen borne by him. He started at Mya, eyeing the eldest girl over without saying a word. Mya though… she looked up at him with adoration. "Papa…"

"Quiet," Robert said tersely, shutting the girl up and causing her to almost cower. Stannis wanted to yell at his brother for that, but merely pursed his lips and glared. "Not a good sign," Lynesse whispered in his ear.

"Be patient," Stannis replied, reflexively defending his brother… just as he'd always done.

Robert soon made his way across the line, looking over each of his newly legitimized children. Rounding around young Bella, the girl's scowl not disappearing even as her father showed up, he proceeded behind them all - none were allowed to turn though, merely feeling the gaze of their mighty sire. The Demon of Harrenhal in the flesh, someone who was famous all over Westeros for his strength and fearlessness in battle in spite of choosing the losing side in Rhaegar's Rebellion.

Finally, Robert returned to Mya. Placing a hand on his shoulder, the worried girl found her father looking down with a warm smile. "Dearest Mya, you haven't lost your cuteness since you were but a babe."

The words brought the smile back to her face, tears welling in her blue eyes. "Oh poppa…" Unbidden, she hugged him, which would've been rejected by most Lords but the garrulous Robert merely laughed and lifted her up with his powerful arms. "I missed you so," she said, burying her face in his neck. "I was afraid you wouldn't come see me as before." The last he had shown up was when she was three, but Mya still remembered.

"Well, things happened," Robert replied, setting her down. "It's all over with, anyways. You're here now and looking a perfect daughter of House Baratheon!" Patting her cheek to her radiant smile, he moved to the next child… his oldest boy. "They say your name is Gendry," Robert said.

If facing the Royal Court was intimidating, facing his immense sire was making the boy cringe. "Aye, mi'Lord."

Robert shook his head. "No, none of that!" Gendry shrunk again, which Robert found unacceptable. "Dear gods, shoulders up, head high, chest out." He moved the boy into a proper posture with his hands. "You are a son of House Baratheon, you must look the part… and call me 'father.' That's what I fuckin' am."

"Brother… don't curse in front of the children," Stannis warned.

"What? They've likely heard it all before. Like you, Gendry. My brother says you worked in a smithy, right?"

"Yes… um… father…"

"See. And I'm actually quite glad - workin' there made you strong. Look at the boy." He gestured to his arms, legs, and torso. "He'll be tall and strapping, a great warrior. Looks the splitting image of our father, Stannis. A fine lad!" Robert mussed Gendry's hair, as good an impression as could be given. The boy seemed sheepish at the praise, but was wearing a tiny smile when Robert moved on. "Ah, look here. A proper posture. You were raised by highborns, no doubt." Edric said nothing. "What's wrong, lad? Afraid of your father?"

Edric looked up, glaring. "I'm not afraid of anyone."

Robert grinned widely. "Oh, this one has a lot of me in him, I can tell. Fearless! Keep it up, boy, and you'll do the House of Durran Godsgrief proud!" A clap on the back staggered Edric, but he refused to show his discomfort.

Sharing a look with Lynesse, Stannis knew they were thinking the same. The boy would need a lot of training not to end up like Robert. He and Gendry would be great knights and highborns, but the latter was too shy and needed confidence while the former needed to learn discipline and restraint. Nothing that couldn't be taught.

And with that, Robert was at the last of the children. "You must be Bella." Bella did not respond, but didn't back down either. "I remember your mother, pretty woman. You look like her."

"Where is she? I want my mama."

"She's not here," Robert said gruffly. "I'm your father, and you're staying with me."

"No!" Bella shouted. "I want my mama!"

Robert's eyes darkened. "Your mama is the whore of that damned lion, so you're not getting her."

She shook from rage. "I hate you!" With a scream she kicked Robert's shin.

Lynesse walked for her, as did several servants, but they were stopped in their tracks by Robert when he picked up Bella with his powerful hands. She squirmed and lashed out with hisses and snarls but couldn't break Robert's strong hold. It was… actually rather comical and ridiculous. Many in the hall tried not to laugh… Mya giggled a bit, while Edric didn't even bother to contain himself. Lynesse though was concerned. "Goodbrother, please put her…"

But she was cut off when Robert laughed uproariously. "Fiesty little girl," he said, grinning at his daughter. "Just like my Lya. Good, good." Bella stopped squirming, but still stared hatefully at her father. "You're just like me, little girl, and I can already tell you won't take shit from anyone. Just like a Baratheon, but don't do that again or I'll whip you, understood?!" Glaring, the idea of a whipping was not something Bella wanted so she just scowled and nodded. "Save that feistiness for anyone other than me." Robert set her down, ahd she merely sulked and crossed her arms. "This is great! My wonderful children are here!" Robert clapped his hands. "Steward, set up a feast for tonight. Time to show them all off to my bannermen!" He headed for the training yard, laughing all the way.

Stannis sighed. "Typical Robert," he murmured. So preoccupied with a feast that he dashed off without spending actual time with his children… or getting them a midday meal that he himself had. "Up to us, I suppose," he told Lynesse.

She nodded. "Aye." Smiling, she looked at each of the children. "You four must be famished."

Gendry looked up. "Do I have to water the horses before I eat?"

"Was that what you had to do at the smithy?" Gendry nodded, which made Stannis sigh. "You're a child of House Baratheon now, nephew. You need not toil in drudgery again." The boy seemed to finally come out of his shell at that.

---

The day was here. Hundreds of guards and dozens of courtiers were gathered at the royal docks of King's Landing to see off the royal family, the entire royal family, as they sailed for White Harbor to begin the royal progress to Winterfell and Queen Lyanna's Stark family. The aforementioned Queen was understandably excited, as were the entire brood of children. Princess Rhaenys couldn't stop gushing about how she would find a direwolf if it was the last thing she'd do, while Prince Baelon and Princess Daenerys talked about playing in the snow.

It made Lady Melisandre smile genuinely, one of the few times she did so but growing increasingly common as the royal family grew in size with children. They truly brought love to the Red Keep.

"Goodbye, uncle," the King spoke, hugging Maester Aemon tightly. He was the only one of Targaryen blood to be left in King's Landing. "Promise me you'll see things over while I'm gone."

"Do not worry, Rhaegar," replied the old Prince. "I may have turned down the chance to usurp my dear brother, but it wasn't for lack of confidence in my skills."

"I am sure the Prince and Lady Melisandre will keep the squabbling courtiers in check," Lord Tywin stated. He was journeying with the party, ostensibly to give Rhaegar aid in diplomacy with the Northern Lords… but likely more to see his grandchildren and daughter and how they were faring in the North. Melisandre could read people well.

But she was ready for the task. "Rest assured, your Grace. We shall ensure the Lord of Light's will of your rule will be respected." Rhaegar curtly nodded, and the Red Priestess easily resisted the temptation to hug him.

It hadn't been easy early on, for he looked just like the ghosts of the past - it got less problematic with time.

Watching the ships make their way from the harbor, banks of oars slapping into the water and the maze of sails beginning to be unfurled by the sailors scurrying about on the deck, Melisandre was quiet. Contemplative, memories of similar sights of the past bubbling up from the recesses of her mind. In the years since, she had done her best to forget them for all they brought her was pain - but her resolved weakened now.

Now that she was among them again.

As if reading her mind, old Maester Aemon spoke to her… not bothering to turn his head towards Melisandre with his unseeing eyes. "It feels like when I was sent to the Wall, forced to set sail for Eastwatch by order of the Conclave." He chuckled mirthlessly. "They praise the memory of my ancestor Archmaester Vaegon, but I think it was because he largely turned against his family - I never got the same respect or deference from the most of them. Only the iconoclasts like Marwyn or Qyburn."

"Many fear what they don't understand, or they know to be superior towards them… Prince Aemon." She wouldn't look at him. She wouldn't. "There is no doubt if you were younger, you'd be able to claim a dragon, and they knew it then as they do it now."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Mayhaps." Aemon sighed, the weight of years on his shoulders. "I understand why Jaehaerys the Old King sent his daughters Maegelle and Saera to the Starry Sept, but I can only imagine who suffered more - Saera for knowing it was a punishment or Maegelle for not knowing it was."

"Saera, I believe," Melisandre replied, the question actually interesting to imagine. "It is better to be in ignorance. At least then you can be happy instead of burdened with just how much suffering the world heaps onto you."

Aemon tucked his lips between his toothless gums, smacking them. "Forgive me, Lady Melisandre, but you are wrong. Take it from a man that cannot see, but it is best to know than to not - at least then you are able to grow and fight for something better than wallow in ignorance and not change. You should know this better than anyone, considering what you went through." What we went through." Melisandre stiffened at his words. "Your hair color really makes it difficult to realize."

He knows… He likely knew all along. Dignified and honorable, that was Aemon from his youngest days. The sort of man that would sacrifice all ambition out of love for dear Aegon. She had always admired him for that, but now after she had taken so much to put distance… "Forgive me, but I know not what you speak of, my Prince," Melisandre finally said.

But Aemon chuckled again, this time with some genuineness. It led to him coughing, bending over as he hacked out his aging lungs. As if on instinct, Melisandre reached out to help steady him - something she had done before for someone else… someone not dissimilar to Aemon. Eventually, he managed to right himself and calm. "Thank you, my dear. I can see that even ages of bitterness and exile cannot kill that good heart of yours."

Melisandre wanted to scream. She wanted to run away and never look back. But her foot was glued to the deck below, her tongue heavy and only able to speak a few words. "You know little of me, my Prince," she lied. "We have never met."

"My eyes may be completely blind, but your voice... it is unforgettable." He placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder - helping himself up using her as a prop, but afterwards shifting it into a gentle, loving gesture. "I am greatly late in saying this, but welcome home." With that he left the Red Priestess, forced to stand there and alternate between the hobbling figure of the retreating Aemon and the majesty of the sailing vessels journeying away from the great city.

A city that she had once called home.

---

The gentle rhythm of the boat was easier on some than it was for others. Rhaenys was confined to her cabin, moaning her malady to the entire ship while Egg was on the deck, laughing and cheering with Aunt Dacey and Arthur… somehow he liked the sea, which was a surprise but not a problematic one.

For Baelon and Daenerys, they didn't much like the rocking of the ship but it didn't truly bother them. Having finished their supper, they spent the first night of their trip to White Harbor in the cabin they shared, looking over their eggs like they always did when alone. "These will be ours, Jon," Dany said with glee and wonder. "These eggs are gonna hatch and our dragons are gonna fly out and be our bestest friends."

While he sat with his egg in his lap, Jon watched as Dany got up and headed for the sack again. His aunt reached in and pulled out another egg… the last one, it's sapphire blue swirls unclaimed by anyone. "You brought the lonely one?" That was what they all called it, the poor thing.

Each egg was alive, and loved as one would a child. Those of the dragonblood knew it if no one else did.

Cradling it close to her chest, Dany nodded as she sat back down next to him. "She's without anyone's love, Jon." Sorrow spread on her fair features, violet eyes sparkling with tears. "Think about the little one," she murmured, caressing the egg's scales. "No rider. No love… she needs us, Jon. We're her muna and kepa."

"How are we her muna and kepa?" Baelon wasn't being antagonistic, but he just didn't understand. "Aegarax calles kep, kepa. Jaimexes calls grandmother, muna. I think…" He stroked his own black egg. "This one call me kepa, and yours call you muna… but we're not muna or kepa to other eggs, right?"

Dany said nothing, merely shifting her eyes between Jon, her egg, and the lonely one. "I don't know…" She pressed her cheek to the blue egg for some comfort. Jon recognized that and worriedly set his own egg down, sliding over till he could hug her from behind. "Muna told me something once… that she think Jaimexes and Maerys to be her children both even though Vis rides Maerys."

Jon blinked. "Why did grandmother say that?" The fact she wasn't his sibling but his aunt, sharing different parents, had never fazed Jon. For as long as he could remember, she was by his side, and he by hers. She was simply… Dany. Part of his life in a way no one else was.

Always looking at him with utter trust, it was the same for her. They simply felt closer than even to their siblings, not that they didn't love them either. The only thing that could compare was what they felt for their eggs. "She took me to the dragonpit… a while ago. Vis wasn't there, so she greeted both Jaimexes and Maerys. They loved her the same, Jon. She called them both her children."

"Wow." Jon was stunned. "Why?"

"I asked her too. She said cause she hatched them. Hatched them in the fire back when we were little."

"Fire hatches dragons?" That… it got Baelon thinking. Making the connections that his precocious but still childlike mind could only make. "We can do that!"

Dany looked confused. "Do what?"

"Hatch the dragons, silly. We can find fire and do that, then the dragons will all be hatched and we'll get to ride them and make sure they're never lonely and be their muna and kepa forever and ever," he gushed, beaming and patting his egg.

"Jon, we can't use fire… your kepa and munas will kill you, and my muna will kill me." It wasn't often that they truly triggered the ire of their parents, given that their cuteness usually melted everyone in the Red Keep, but playing around with fire was something different entirely. Even at six namedays Dany understood that.

The irony at it all was lost on them both, Jon being the one coming up with an insane idea and Dany being the cautious one.

But Baelon only giggled, shaking his head. "It's perfect, Dany. Munas and kepa will be so happy, cause we hatch more dragons! Two for us, one for Rhae, one for Egg, one for Lyssa, one for Cella. More dragons for our house… just like in the stories." He could envision it, the dragons of the days of Old King Jaehaerys - Vermithor, Silverwing, Caraxes, Vhagar, Meleys, Dreamfyre, Balerion the Black Dread. So much did Jon wish for that to be their reality and if they hatched the eggs it could be. "Did grandmother tell you how she did it?"

Shaking her head, Dany was saddened when his face fell. "No… she only told me she hatched them with fire." It was odd, since her muna was always so candid to her… especially about matters involving their ancestry and ancient culture. "Nothing else."

Grumbling, Jon pouted on the bed. "I'm just gonna have to find a way for grandmother to tell me, then we can hatch the dragons."

"Jon, she'll never do it if she knows what we're thinking."

He thought for a moment, then grinned. "She won't know."

"She usually knows when we're doing something naughty."

"When you do something naughty, Dany." Going along with her games paid off, cause no one expected him to do anything devious. Munas and kepa and grandmother will be happy that I hatched the dragons. His gleeful smile didn't once leave his face.

He'd just need to find time to approach his grandmother.

Notes:

And the targs are heading North... and Jonerys has a little plan going ;)

Ned and Cersei are frisky ones. How else are we gonna get Arya? Big thanks to Mrs. Longclaw who helped me out with that scene :D

So the four bastards of House Baratheon are finally introduced.

Next up, Dragons in Winterfell.

Chapter 90: A Wolf's Return

Notes:

Hi guys. The big moment is here! Jonerys meets Sansa.

Good news on my end. I've started my new job and have my first med school interview in one week's time. Wish me luck.

My romantic comedy modern AU story My Best Friend's Wedding has just been posted on Ao3! Be sure to check it out for some drop dead laughs, sweet fluff, crazy pairings, and plenty of Jonerys smut ;)

Enjoy.

"Hurry up, hurry up, let's get all this on."

"Aunt Genna, I can dress myself," Robb complained, pouting sullenly. "I'm not a babe."

The older Lannister, her figure slimmer and golden hair more lustrous in spite of being a widow going on a year now, chuckled. "I still remember when you were about ye' big," she gestured to her forearm, running a hand along it. "Babbling and reaching out for anything shiny."

Robb's cheeks reddened in embarrassment, while beside him Sansa just snickered. "Don't be such a sourpuss," she giggled. "Today we're meeting the King and Queens!" She hadn't this excited since her poppa came back from fighting the Ironborn, and only the worry of any part of her beautiful blue dress being dirty or ripped kept her from bouncing all over the walls.

"I met aunt Lya and n'cle Rhaegar before, they're nice." As Genna fixed his collar - dressed in leathers almost a miniature copy of their father's - Robb's green eyes suddenly sparkled with his own excitement. "We'll see the dragons. N'cle Little says they've grown huge!"

Closing her eyes, Sansa imagined the dragons. Great, majestic beasts like in the stories her Aunt Lya sent for her nameday… she had learned to read from them, and Old Nan or Genna always read them to her if she asked. "Oh, I would love to ride a dragon," she sighed.

Without her noticing, a hand patted her back. "Oh, sweet niece." Uncle Tyrion - Robb's beloved 'N'cle Little' - hugged Sansa loosely, kissing her fiery hair. "I once wished I could ride a dragon when I was your age. Little did I know that I would see live ones… but never am I to ride one since I am not of Valyrian blood. Your Aunt Lya's children are, but you aren't either."

"I'll ride a dragon," she insisted, only for Tyrion to give her a sardonic look.

Robb giggled. "A dragon would eat you before let's you ride." Sansa stuck her tongue out at him, crossing her arms.

Her resolve to give her stupid brother the cold shoulder for the rest of forever wilted only hours later, the sight of the royal procession entering through the main gate of Winterfell. She grabbed Robb's hand, the two sharing their excitement at the fluttering dragon banners at the head of the column. Beside them were their poppa and momma - Ned in his best Northern armor and Cersei wearing a red and gold dress in northern trim and a direwolf pinned at the breast. Young Rickard was behind with Malera and Jory, while Cersei held tiny baby Joanna, Sansa's youngest sibling. "Look…" whispered Robb. "It's the Sword of the Morning." He looked almost close to fainting from seeing his idol riding alongside someone who could only be Lady Dacey Mormont.

Sansa's eyes scanned each newcomer. "Is that your uncle?" A golden kingsguard free of his helm rode proudly, the legendary Brightroar clipped to his side.

"Aye, that's uncle Jaime I think…"

"Shhh, quiet," Cersei scolded. They resolved to watch everything in silence.

More of the legendary Kingsguards came into view, from Ser Barristan the Bold to their own uncle, Ser Benjen Stark - he had that look about him, like her poppa. "Grandfather," Robb murmured so that only she could hear, eyes moving to a severe man in armor and a red-gold cloak billowing behind him. Behind him was…

"Lya." Her poppa's face broke out into the widest of smiles. Queen Lyanna Targaryen in the flesh. Tall and proud on her horse, sword at her side and crown on her head. She looked at everything with the most rapturous of smiles… including Sansa.

The little wolf knew immediately that she'd love her aunt.

But there was something missing. "Where are the dragons, momma?" Robb asked Cersei.

Before Cersei could respond, twin roars boomed over the landscape. Some fell to the ground in fright, others flinched, and others still gawked in the sky as two dragons soared overhead, beating their large wings as they circled the keep. Sansa was one of the latter, seeing the majestic creatures as they soon flapped hard, trying to land in the courtyard with their Targaryen riders astride them.

Down from astride his dragon - the great Aegarax, the Sunrise Dragon in the flesh - the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaegar I Targaryen himself, plopped his boots onto the newly cobblestone surface of the courtyard below him. Sansa gaped at him… from what her poppa said she had met the great King when she was just a babe. The redhead was sure she would've remembered him, tall and strapping in his scaled armor and thick black cloak emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon. His silver hair flowed freely about his shoulders, thick and lustrous.

In one wave, her father bent the knee. Her mother followed, joined by Sansa, Robb, and the rest of the household of Winterfell, showing their loyalty to the man that had married their She-Wolf.

Stroking the side of the green dragon's neck, the King readjusted his cloak before walking to the other, golden beast. Offering a hand for his mother to grasp as she climbed to the ground. It was a short journey, but she pressed a motherly kiss to his cheek anyway.

While the Queen Dowager moved to join the others of their party, the King stepped towards where Sansa, her father, mother, and the rest of the Starks waited with their knees bent in supplication. "Rise," he commanded, his voice firm and deep. The voice of a warrior. Sansa did so gladly, wiping at her skirts to get the dirt off just as the King reached her poppa. "Lord Stark."

Her poppa nodded. "Your Grace."

King Rhaegar raised a brow. "There's something… different about you." The pause was louder than the roar of the dragons. "You're actually smiling." Suddenly the King began laughing uproariously, a laugh in which her poppa soon joined as they embraced in a tight, manly hug.

While all eyes were on the growing dragons, gawking with fear, awe, or excitement at the symbols of the restored Targaryen might and exceptionalism, Sansa's were trained in a different direction. Focused among the mounted royal party, behind the crowned Queen that was her Aunt Lyanna, were the eldest children of the Targaryens - those old enough to ride, and rather skilled at it just as Sansa was. An older boy, on the cusp of manhood, shivering underneath his thick furs that Sansa noticed Robb snickering at earlier. A girl a few years older than her, tall and defiant against the northern chill with violet eyes and lustrous black hair. Another boy with silvery features similar to his Grace the King…

But the last two made Sansa's eyes widen… both in surprise and a rare sort of joy brewing in her heart like a gentle warmth. A boy and a girl, both around the same age as her and Robb. One of them looked so much like her poppa - like Aunt Lya - with the raven curls and pale skin of a northern warrior. Only he held the same violet Valyrian eyes that the girl held. She looked like a snow angel, exactly what a dragon should.

Baelon… Dany… Sansa stared at her two playmates, the ones whom she had spent little time with but never forgot - a moment so treasured by her to be vivid to this day. They were real, she hadn't just imagined them.

The boy, Baelon, noticed her first. It took a while since he had been observing the great keep of Winterfell with eager eyes, but when his gaze found Sansa they widened just as much. Her greys locked with his violets and Sansa suddenly felt intimidated by his piercing stare… yet helpless not to look away.

Reaching out to tap his companion, Dany, on the side, she looked to him quizzically before her gaze fell upon Sansa too. A blush found Sansa's cheeks and she looked away at the combined effort of their violet eyes… when her courage returned, she saw Dany beaming brightly at her. Joyful and triumphant.

It felt like an unease in her heart that she had little idea of was finally gone, leaving nothing but warmth as Sansa returned Dany's smile. Coaxing Baelon into smiling as well.

---

Clasping Ned on the back once more for good measure, Rhaegar pulled back with a genuine smile. "In all seriousness, Ned, it's wonderful you no longer have that brooding scowl as your default expression."

Before Ned could reply with a laconic remark, Cersei cut in with one of her own. "Live with him, you don't, my King." Rhaegar chortled at that, while Ned was not amused - he was mollified when Cersei kissed his cheek. "Goodbrother, Winterfell is yours."

There was a time where Rhaegar never wanted to see Cersei Lannister for as long as he lived. The girl had been beautiful, but her emerald eyes contained a smug entitlement that turned him off - and her insistence to try and seduce him whenever they met truly met his ire. Now though… her golden features were even more beautiful than before, but the expression was gone. Replaced with a congenial joy, explaining by simply how close she was to Ned. It didn't even seem intended, just that by instinct she kept her hand on his and her body angled as close to him as possible.

Given what his goodbrother went through, Rhaegar loved to see it. "Thank you, Lady Cersei." He eyed her some more. "You look like a true Lady of Winterfell."

"It helps that this keep is built over hot springs, for the cold is still beastly." She smiled up at her husband. "Dear Ned keeps me very warm as well." It hung for a moment, but suddenly Ned grew mortified while the southerners shared smirks.

"If you're mocking my brother, don't. That's my duty." Breezing forward without propriety, Lyanna leapt into Ned's embrace. "Gods, Ned. It's felt like ages."

He squeezed her tightly. "Welcome home, Lya."

She pulled back, grinning. "Passing under the gate reminded me of how I truly missed this place." Crown on her head, Wolfsbane at her hip, and the Targaryen sigil emblazoned on her cuirass, Queen Lyanna knew her home was with her husband, wife, and children wherever they were but nothing could take away her affection for her childhood home. She looked at it in awe. "You're really rebuilding the old keep?"

"I can't take all the credit, Lya," Ned shrugged. "It was at the insistence of Cersei here." He leaned in to kiss his wife's temple.

Lyanna's gaze shifted to Cersei. "Lady Stark." I used to be 'Lady Stark.'

Cersei dipped her head in respect, nonetheless cradling Joanna close. "Your Grace."

"Is that my newest niece?" the Queen asked, leaning in to see the chubby-cheeked babe looking up with pure green eyes. "Golden blonde hair, she'll be a beauty, but it's such a shame that you have no children that look like you, Ned." Lyanna tickled Joanna's cheek, making the babe giggle. "Baelon looks more a Stark."

"You can tell he's a dragon though," Ned remarked, lightly thumping Lya's arm at her jests. Getting a bigger thump back from the laughing Queen.

"Already? Dear gods, wife, you could at least wait an hour before you roughhouse." While Queen Rhaella waited behind and tended to the Targaryen brood, Queen Elia brushed forward while bunched up in her orange cloak - thick and warm, though she still shivered. "And our goodbrother has more children for you to meet, so don't focus only on the babe." Elia leaned in to kiss Ned on the cheek, a gesture he reciprocated.

Giving Joanna one last pinch on the cheek, Lyanna knelt upon the crunchy snowfall and pulled Robb into a hug. "Nephew, you are just as I remembered… only better."

"Hi, Aunt Lya," Robb chirped, happy to see his aunt again. "I'm a Stark now."

"You most definitely are, not just in name," Lyanna beamed. In his leathers, grey cloak, and boots, if one took out the golden hair and green eyes he looked a perfect Stark. Reminded her of her Baelon - coloring aside, he was a Targaryen through and through. "Your poppa tells me in his letters that you are progressing with your swordsplay."

He grew excited. "I'm gonna be as good as poppa." Beside them, Ned puffed up in pride.

"Lofty goal… one I know you'll achieve." Kissing his forehead, Lyanna now looked at her niece. "Sansa dear." It was like staring at what Catelyn Tully had to have looked like when she was younger, only with twin grey eyes that were like her gazing through the looking glass. Something that gave Lyanna hope - considering what was being discussed regarding Sansa. "Last time I saw you, you were just a babe."

Blinking, Sansa pointed to her baby sister. "Babe like Joanna?"

"Even younger," Lya chuckled, cupping her cheek. "You look beautiful, like a proper lady."

Sansa smiled, proud of herself. "I'm a Lady Wolf, aunt Lya."

"A Lady Wolf… aye, I like that. Don't let anyone try to squash either part of you, niece." Her eyes glanced to Cersei. "You can be as strong as me and as graceful as Lady Cersei."

"Hear that momma? I can be as pretty as you!"

Lyanna was surprised, looking up at Cersei. Momma? A snort - well, looked like Cersei had taken her advice to heart. For Ned's sake, she was delighted to see it.

"Uncle Ned!" Speaking of Ned, he was currently being squeezed tightly by her eldest daughter, so delighted to see her uncle again. "I'm finally here! Look at all the snow!"

Sharing a grin with his sister, wife, goodbrother, and goodsister at her exuberance, Ned ruffled her hair. "Aye, I can see the snow. For me, it's not somethin' too unusual, so forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm." Most northmen would rather there be no snow.

Looking up with her bright, purple eyes, Rhaenys gave Ned a brilliant smile. "Do you have a direwolf for me, uncle?" It was the innocent tone she used to get everyone to do her bidding - Lyanna rolled her eyes while Elia chuckled.

Ned sighed. "No direwolves, my dear. I'm sorry." That seemed to strike Rhaenys harder than any punishment or sorrow.

While there were plenty of greetings and introductions left to give, it was clear that many of the southerners - Elia the highest ranking of them - were starting to succumb to the cold. Lyanna knew what to do. "Let's get all of us into the keep to warm up. We can continue this at supper."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Already bossing me around - as my sister or as the Queen?"

"Why can't it be both?" she replied, eyes twinkling. Turning to her beloveds, Lyanna pecked them on the lips. "Get the children settled. I'll be but a moment."

"Where are you going, my love?" Elia asked through her chattering teeth.

A sigh. "Somewhere I need to be." Neither of them denied her when she gave that resolved look - they trusted her.

If the keep seemed just a little bit livelier with all the new construction Lady Cersei was instituting, the godswood was exactly how Lyanna had left it. She was hit almost immediately by the spiritual power of the old gods upon entering. It was a… surreal experience. Was the heart tree here truly stronger than the two saplings Howland had sent for Dragonstone and King's Landing? Or was it simply that this was where she grew up? Perhaps both were true.

The face carved into the bark was unchanged as well, a constant in a world of turbulence and change. Running her gloved hand along the surface of the wood, Lyanna reflected on such shifts. Last time she had come to this tree, she was but a maiden, betrothed unofficially to Robert Baratheon - Lyanna couldn't help but shudder at the thought - and now she returned a Targaryen Queen. Wife of Rhaegar I Targaryen and Elia Martell. Mother of eight beautiful children including the Crown Prince, dragons all. Wielder of the Valyrian steel sword Wolfsbane and beloved the Kingdoms over for her compassion and ferocity.

Smiling, there was nothing she would change about her life… suddenly her face fell. The same memories brought forth two that truly brought sorrow where there had been nothing but happiness. "Bran…" she murmured. "Poppa…" Laughing with Bran as they played in the godswood together, throwing snowballs. Praying beside her father, learning the lore of their gods. Never would Bran laugh with her children, never would Rickard teach them the ways of the North.

Both were forever taken from her, and even with eighteen years of memories wasn't enough.

A lifetime wouldn't be enough.

Head resting against the bark, Lyanna didn't know how long she cried. Memories of her father and brother bittersweet in her mind. Of all the time lost with her beautiful daughter Visenya, so long thought lost but returned to her by the grace of the gods. The sorrows and pain of the life she had chosen for herself poured out before the heart tree. It could've been minutes, it could've been hours.

All she knew was that a tug on her tunic brought her out of the reverie. "Muna?" With red-rimmed eyes, Lyanna looked down to see Baelon looking up at her, concern on his angelic face. "Why are you crying?" He looked sad.

Closing her eyes, Lyanna knelt and hugged her beloved boy. "Just… it's been so long since I was here, Jon. This is where I grew up, when I was but a girl like your sisters or aunts."

"But… then you should be happy."

"Happy tears, dear son." Lya found Rhaegar approaching, hefting Jon into his arms as if he weighed nothing. "She's just so happy the tears come out."

Seeing her two men, Lya quickly embraced them both, Jon wrapping tight round her neck while Rhaegar kissed her brow. "I thought I asked for some time," she murmured, not at all upset though.

Rhaegar chuckled. "Jon missed his muna. Wanted to see if you were alright." He pulled back, looking at her with violet eyes. "Are you?"

Staring back at her husband, sensing Jon's eyes on her as well - the two violet pairs identical - Lyanna smiled widely even though the tears still framed her face. "Aye, I am." Under the shade of the weirwood tree, no one could ever tell a lie.

---

Leaping on the bed, Dany jumped up and down. "She's here! She's here! She's here!"

Rhaenys rolled her eyes. "Get down before you break the bed."

"She's too tiny to break the bed," Baelon laughed, thinking he had made a good point before a pillow was thrown at him. "Hey!"

Daenerys stuck her tongue out at her nephew. "You're a meanie… and you're barely taller than me!" It was true. In spite of his being a boy and a Targaryen boy at that, he was only half a head taller than her… and she was pretty petite for her age. Both made up for it in Targaryen fire though. "Aren't you happy Jon?! We found our Rhaenys!" She stuck her tongue out again, this time at her niece. "Told you, Rhae!"

Laughing, Rhae fell on her own bed. Feeling the softness of the furs and wishing it was her very own direwolf she was snuggling against. "Aye, Dany. You told me." She looked at her younger aunt. "I saw her face. She knew who you were."

Daenerys shook with excitement. "We can finally play Conquerors with a Rhaenys, aren't you happy, Jon?"

"Aye, I'm happy," he commented, looking out the window to see the snow.

She giggled. "You sound like my brother… all gloomy like muna says. Be happy." Knowing Jon would be quiet and brooding forever if he could, Dany quickly jumped from the bed and ran behind him. "I said be happy!" Without mercy, she began tickling his sides.

Turned out that Dany knew exactly how to make Jon squirm and giggle and leave his brooding behind. "Dany…" he gasped, giggling from her tickles. "Get off me!"

"Be happy and I will," Dany replied, smirking as he fell to the floor and she straddled him - never stopping her tickles. "Tell me you're happy, Jon."

"No…" He was happy, but he wouldn't admit it to Dany. "Rhae, help me."

"You're on your own, brother," Rhaenys grinned, laying on her stomach and watching her aunt tease her brother. "Targaryen ladies stick together." Something both her muna and her grandmother instilled in her and she had taken it to heart.

"See, say it."

"No."

"Say it!"

"No!" Growing miffed, Dany redoubled her tickling, but her hold on him was weakened and Baelon managed to flip her over and pin her - tables turned. "Say you're sorry, Dany," he smirked, now tickling her sides.

"Jon!" she squealed, thrashing around. "He he… stop… he he…"

Such a delightful moment was what the Hound walked in on, groaning. "For the love of the gods…" He only didn't curse because Queen Lyanna threatened to castrate him if he did so in front of the children. That woman scared him. "I wouldn't normally care about your spats, but Lord Stark is coming with his brats."

Rhae jolted from his bed. "Uncle Ned?" She loved her Uncle Ned from the very beginning, when he saved her from her grandfather. "Get up you two!" Rhaenys barked at her aunt and brother. As soon as the door behind Sandor swung open and revealed the Warden of the North. Normally he was always so dour and enigmatic, but in front of his niece and nephew he was purely happy. "Uncle Ned…" She ran to him, hugging him close. "I'm sorry, uncle. I hoped to find a direwolf, but I'm sorry I was so rude."

Laughing at her endearing attitude, Ned kissed her hair. "You have your mothers' manners, both of them. And do not worry… I find it endearing you want to be a Stark."

"Part-Stark, I'm a dragon and a viper too," she said proudly.

"Aye, forgive me for forgetting." He cupped her cheek. "Since I couldn't find you a direwolf, how's about I show you the godswood?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Aye." She squealed in happiness. "Just one moment, niece." Walking over to Jon, Ned spared a look to Dany. "You're as beautiful as your mother, Princess." She blushed at the praise, smiling at him. "Baelon, my dear nephew." He knelt before him, hugging Jon closely. "You look like both your father and mine."

Jon smiled to him. "It's nice to finally meet you, uncle. Muna tells me so much of you."

"Don't believe everything she tells you, nephew. Trust me," he laughed, clapping his back. "I would love to continue this, but I need to take your sister somewhere so I was hoping you'd spend some time with your cousins."

"Cousins?" Jon looked to Dany, whose eyes were sparkling with excitement. They watched as the door again opened to reveal first the same blonde-haired boy that he remembered seeing his muna greeting… and then her. His redheaded playmate… Sansa.

"I'm sure you've already been told of each other, and you didn't know the three of you met before as babes," Ned tapped his daughter's shoulders. "But this is Robb and this is Sansa, both my darlings. I'm sure the four of you will get along so well." He kissed all four of them on the crown of their heads while taking Rhae's hand, leading her out - Sandor grunted but allowed them their moment alone.

The door hadn't been closed for a second before Dany launched herself at Sansa. "Sansa!" They were tangled together, giggling. In her youthful mind, preoccupied with the wonders of her imagination and the illustrious history of her house rather than the burdens of reality, Daenerys had never been in a more joyful mood. "Jon," she squealed, hugging Sansa again. "We have our Rhaenys!" Pulling Sansa into her exuberance, the two girls jumped up and down while still embracing, giggling and squealing happily. "We can finally play all the games again!"

"I've dreamed of this, of seeing you again," Sansa replied, equally as happy. Robb stayed quiet, while Jon smiled and watched from the side. "Had Old Nan and poppa read all about the dragons so we could play."

That brought an even wider smile to Dany's face. "You're our perfect Rhaenys. We can play Last Storm now."

Beaming himself, suddenly a thought came to Jon. "Oh no. We can't play Last Storm." Of all the pupils of their grandmother - Dany's mother - only Dany paid more attention but her zeal was for the dragons and their own ancestors. Jon paid attention to everything, and it wasn't shocking that he remembered this. "We don't have an Orys."

Brows furrowed as she poked out of her shared embrace with Sansa, Daenerys suddenly realized that her nephew was right and gasped. "Oh no…" she repeated his words. "Just when our Rhaenys came back to us." On a dime, her mood changed, unadulterated joy changing to tears. "How could I forget we need an Orys."

Sansa looked confused, while Robb only nodded. "Can't not have him."

"Who's Orys?" Sansa asked, scratching her head. She had no idea why her playmates - her Aegon and Visenya, the ones she had insisted on learning about the moment she had played with them in her dreams - were so put out.

"Orys Baratheon," Jon stated. "Aegon's brother and best friend." While 'Baratheon' was usually spoken with mean tones by his munas, when his grandmother told them these stories then Orys would be described in glowing terms. "He fought in the Last Storm. We need him."

Furrowing her brows, Sansa pursed her lips pensively. "Robb could be him," she piped up. "He's strong."

"Umm…" Normally he was up for anything, but Sansa putting him on the spot like that in front of the children of the Sunrise Dragon made him pause. "I… I guess I could…"

"Perfect!" Dany moved to pull Sansa out of the room, but was stopped when Jon grabbed her arm.

"Wait, Dany." While she only really cared about who played their Targaryen ancestors, Jon was more… picky in general. "Could you be a good Orys?" he asked Robb, sizing him up.

The young Stark blinked. "Sure… Prince Baelon." He was growing uncomfortable. "Aye, I can."

"Hmmm…" The purple eyes scanned over Robb, analyzing him as a wolf did its prey. "You fight with swords?" Robb nodded. "How good? I'm good cause Arthur Dayne train me," he bragged.

Jaw dropping, Robb had never been more envious of his cousin at that moment. All those great warriors able to train him… lucky lucky lucky. "Uhhh… poppa says I'm good."

Jon regarded that. "Muna told me that N'cle Ned beat Ser Arthur." Before long, he was smiling. "Good enough. You can be Orys." He bumped his cousin in the shoulder with his fist.

Dany was squealing again. "Well then, what are we waiting for, stupid!" Grasping Sansa in one hand and Jon in the other, she practically pulled them out of the chamber with Robb following. Instinctively, one knew not to wake the dragon.

---

One would think that there'd be a respite from the evening winds of the North when entering a manmade structure, but Rhaenys still felt the freezing chill as she followed her torch-carrying uncle down the stairs into the Winterfell crypt. The winds still howled, only they echoed through the caverns - making her silently reach for her uncle's hand.

"Don't tell me the fierce dragon is scared," Ned chuckled.

That affronted her. "A dragon is never scared," Rhae replied haughtily, only for another howl to make her yelp and meld herself to Ned's side.

Setting the torch in one of the special hollows to hold them, Ned brought Rhaenys into a hug. "It's alright to be a little scared, niece. One can't be brave unless they fear something." She nodded into his hold, feeling safe in her uncle's hold. "And there's no need to worry. I've been here plenty of times before, and never have I seen any grumpkins or snarks."

She raised an eyebrow. "Grumpkins and snarks?"

"If you listen to any of Old Nan's stories while you're here, you'll know what those are, Rhae." He ruffled her hair, making her smile. Turning around, he looked at the row of sarcophagi. "Do you know why I brought you here, Rhaenys?"

They had journeyed through the godswood, Ned pointing out everything significant both in relation to the gods and to their family specifically. It had been a happy experience, but Rhae felt a much more solemn feeling down here. "This is where all the Starks lay," she murmured back. Her ears seemed to pick up whispers all around, but when she looked in their direction they vanished.

"Aye. Every Stark since Bran the Builder. I've seen his tomb." Ned set a hand on her shoulder. "They say we have a great fear that we won't be able to rest underneath the roots of our heart tree, so Starks rarely go south."

She bit her lip. "Muna did."

"That she did," he said. "I don't regret it though, for it brought you and your siblings into my life." Ned guided her to a trio of tombs, each lined with statues - two were much more lifelike than the third, those of men while the third was a woman. "My mother, father, and brother."

"Grandfather Rickard and Uncle Bran?" Her muna talked of them often, usually in tears. "I remember them… vaguely. Grandfather was nice, while Uncle Bran was very fun." Rhaenys' most vivid memory of him was that he'd oft bring her a toffee apple from the kitchens, a grin on his face and telling her not to tell her parents.

Ned snickered. "You don't know the half of it." His expression was wistful - bittersweet. "My mother died long before you were born, Rhae, but she would've loved you. Your muna took a lot after her."

The whispers came again, Rhaenys vaguely picking them out.

'Is she a Stark?'

'She smells like a viper.'

'Not a Stark…'

'No, she feels like one.'

'Not of blood.'

'Doesn't matter…'

Squeezing her uncle's hand harder, Rhae looked up at him. "Uncle, am I a Stark?" He peered down at her. "I mean, kepa and muna are dragon and viper as Uncle Oberyn says, but muna is a Stark so am I a Stark?"

Ned had to think of what to say, the question a rather heady one from his niece. She was young, but truly more mature than most children of her age based on the experiences she endured. Lyanna's letters expressed a very determined, fierce child that trained with focus and flourish - Oberyn seemed like such a man, but Rhaenys didn't yet have his epicurean attitude to life. No, what he saw was Lya in her. "You aren't my blood, niece. That I must say." Rhaenys looked down, expression solemn and hurt… Ned reacted by kneeling and making her look at him. "You may not be my blood, but you are my niece in love and spirit. That's all that matters."

"But… I'm not a Stark."

"I see the way your munas look at you. My goodsister's expression is no different from my sister's - they love you with all their hearts and it doesn't change."

That made Rhae smile. "I want to be a Stark dragon uncle. I want a direwolf and a dragon, to be as strong as muna Lya and my grandmother."

While Ned felt the greatest of pride at Rhae's love of her adopted family so to speak. He knew there could be disappointment in her future. "Rhae… you know that direwolves haven't been seen south of the wall in centuries?"

"Jon has dreams of them sometimes. I know they'll come, and one will be mine."

Dreams of direwolves? He'd have to ask his nephew of that. "Direwolves… from what the chronicles of Cregan Stark say of them, they are as spiritual as dragons. You'd need to bond with them, and I don't know if someone without Stark blood can do so." Before she could feel sadness at this, Ned hugged her. "But you need to know that you are a viper as well as a dragon or a wolf."

"Uncle…"

"The North will stand with your kepa no matter what, but you need to bond with your muna Elia's family and homeland. That will be very important with your future, so please promise me that."

She looked at him quizzically, but nodded. "I promise. I love my muna and my uncle very much."

Ned kissed her cheek. "That's my girl." They hugged again, and this time there were no whispers around her. Rhaenys felt completely belonging down here, and the wind no longer bothered her.

---

"Well… I came here with very low expectations, daughter. But you've exceeded them and more."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Cersei nevertheless curtseyed to Tywin. "Thank you, father. Your praise makes my life worth living."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. "Don't be facetious. You were never good at it." If the cold bothered the Hand of the King, he didn't show it. A warm woolen gambeson, trousers, and cloak in their house's colors seemed to be enough. "Robb, Joanna, two stepchildren not of our blood but connected to you… as long as you don't change into Alicent Hightower then our house has many new warm bodies to form alliances." There were those that were sentimental, and Tywin Lannister wasn't one of them. "However, I expect many new babes from you, Cersei. Robb and Joanna aren't enough."

"Whatever you say, father."

"No, you will do your duty. Jaime's certainly not having any more from Queen Rhaella and…" He looked to Tyrion with disdain. "Some things speak for themselves."

Tyrion nursed a goblet of ale. "You always had a way with words, father. Laconic way."

Ignoring his youngest child, Tywin's eyes bored in on his twins. "By some miracle, both of you raised yourself out of the shit situation that you created for me. You better do your duties and not ruin it." With no more than a grunt, he turned on his heel and brusquely walked out of the chambers.

There was a silence for a moment before Jaime spoke for the first time that night. "We aren't the ones with a whore for a paramour." He said it softly, as if Tywin were listening through the walls. A relic of their childhood.

Cersei shook her head. "You're not japing with me, Jaime. He really took a paramour?"

"Aye, the woman that fathered one of Robert's bastard girls. Ironically, she's rather nice. I enjoy her company much as I did mama's."

Snickering, Tyrion gulped his goblet. "Turns out it was he where I got it from, not grandfather. Fucking a whore in the Tower of the Hand of all things? Ironic, no?"

If there was one thing Cersei didn't wish to think about, it was her father fucking a whore. "Let's just head to the great hall before they send a search party after us."

"Ned keeps you on that tight a leash?"

"No… he just worries about me." Cersei sighed happily as they began to leave the chambers for the corridor. "Ned is thoughtful that way."

"I've been here for over a year and I still cannot wrap my head around you marrying Ned fucking Stark." Tyrion rubbed his temples. "I mean… you and he? Wouldn't have thought it."

Rolling his neck to work out the kinks, Jaime clicked his tongue. "Speaks to the ironies of life, I suppose. Father always expected me to carry on our house while you, Cersei, were supposed to bear Targaryen babes." He chuckled. "Instead you're whelping out father's future heir while my line is a Targaryen Princess… I can only imagine whom he's auctioning off Cella's hand for."

"How old is she? Three?" Tyrion clapped his hands. "Oh, he's already done so, but isn't saying anything lest Queen Rhaella feeds him to the dragon named after you, brother."

"That's my beautiful dragon," Jaime said wistfully, neither of his siblings knowing whether he was referring to Jaimexes or Rhaella. "Her roars are louder than the fourteen flames of Valyria." Still they knew not.

Shrugging, Tyrion turned to Cersei. "If Jaime is right about one of your children being his heir, how would that work? Is it now 'House Stark of Casterly Rock, Wardens of the West.' Our father would resurrect the Reynes before that happens."

She rolled her eyes at Tyrion - was he being intentionally stupid, or just wanting her to say it so he could claim to be perniscent no matter what? Probably the latter. Unfortunately, he wasn't an idiot as he was ugly. They could've sent him to live with Uncle Kevan for the rest of his life with their cousin that smashed the beetles. "I presume that he'll simply adopt one of Ned and I's spares. Robb will be Lord of Winterfell and I think they presume to make Sansa Queen."

"Sansa as Queen?" Jaime laughed. "She better get ready to fight the dragon princess on that." He then laughed harder. "So your stepdaughter, if she wins, becomes Queen. Father must be quite irritated that of the choices involved, the one closest to him isn't his blood."

Cersei snorted. "We always did have a knack for pissing him off. Even in doing what he eventually wanted, we did it out of order and gave him each of the seven hells in trying." By the end, she was smirking. "That poor old man… it's a shame that pulling the lion's tail is so amusing."

"Speak for yourself… you don't have to worry Gregor Clegane will smite your face with a single punch," Tyrion mused, stroking his chin. "Father wouldn't overtly do anything, but I'm sure that brute would do anything to get into his favor after being banished back to Clegane Hall."

"He's still there?" Cersei hadn't seen the Mountain since the army departed Lannisport to attack Pyke. "Can't father just torch that place and be done with it?"

"You'd get no complaints from Sandor. Might see him smile for once outside of like the once a week he does thanks to Prince Baelon." Jaime knew the Clegane siblings hated each other, though the list of people Gregor liked was empty and Sandor's corresponding list only included Prince Baelon. "I doubt he'd need to resort to a fire. His servants could do the deed, they hate that cunt."

Tyrion looked up. "Oh, so you believe the tales of smallfolk going inside Clegane Hall only to never come out?" The three of them were nearing an intersection in the hallway.

Jaime looked surprised. "And you don't?"

"I used to," Tyrion mused as they passed by the intersection. "Then I heard the same tales said of the dungeons of the Dreadfort by boys here in Winterfell so I think all of them are pretty much rehashed of the same… oooof!"

Suddenly, a female figure darted out of the dark hallway to their right in a flash of silver, leaping on Tyrion and knocking him over. She was followed by a second female figure with a flash of red, also tackling the dwarf. "We got him!" the first one hooted. "We got Loren the Last!"

"Don't let the lion get away!" Two boys also dove, all ending up in a pile of giggles with their female companions - they had blonde and raven hair respectively, and all four appeared to be the same age. It was at that point that a pair of violet eyes found the two Lannisters looking at them. "Ser Jaime, Aunt Cersei." Prince Baelon looked proud of himself. "We got Loren the Last!"

"I can see that," mused Cersei, eying over Tyrion. "Alright brother?"

Coughing, Tyrion groaned. "Why are even babes taller than me?" Robb and Sansa always played with him like this, but the Targaryens were quite spirited playmates. All four were in a frenzy. "I should… find it flattering that… I'm Loren the Last. He was a… great warrior."

Jaime did his best to hide his snickers… and failed spectacularly. "These two do it all the time," he explained for Cersei's sake, pointing to Baelon and Daenerys. "Little Aegon and Visenya, right terrors they are - your Graces." He added a formal bow for good measure.

"Hmmm…" Aegon and Visenya? Aye, Cersei could see that. Even young, Crown Prince Baelon was shaping up to be a powerful warrior King and Princess Daenerys looked at Lyanna and her own mother as if they were goddesses. A dangerous pair, though it brought questions as well as revelations. "Robb, pup, if they are the Conquerors then who are you?"

Giggling, Robb mussed his uncle Tyrion's hair, making both Cersei and Jaime let out a stifled giggle. "I'm Orys!"

"The best Orys!" Baelon exclaimed.

"Orys Baratheon, then?" Jaime hummed. "Good for you, Cersei. If the Prince sees your son as his Orys, then he will be very close to the throne. Congratulations."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." Her twinkling eyes said different. Good job, my son. Grinning, she leaned down to look in the now shy face of her stepdaughter. "Sansa, who may you be?" She didn't recall Starks fighting at the Field of Fire."

It was Daenerys that answered. "She's our Rhaenys!" A fit of happy giggles. "She and I Jon's Queens."

"We bring fire and blood," piped up Prince Baelon, hugging his cousin. Sansa blushed further.

Both Jaime and Cersei - and Tyrion, from underneath the pile - now shared serious looks. Did the children understand the much larger implications of their choices of historical figures to emulate? Probably not, but this could be destiny.

Only time would tell, they supposed - one thing was for certain, they would need to tell the King and Queens.

Not that they could complain.

Notes:

There you have it! The trio together for the first time. Hope it was enjoyed :)

Next up, perhaps the Direwolves show up. Comment to find out :D

Chapter 91: Direwolves

Notes:

And we're here. My last med school interview went well so fingers crossed.

My romantic comedy modern AU story My Best Friend's Wedding has just been posted on Ao3! Be sure to check it out for some drop dead laughs, sweet fluff, crazy pairings, and plenty of Jonerys smut ;)

Enjoy.

"I found the sweetest thing this morning when tending to the children." Seated in Cersei Stark's solar and sipping spiced cider, the four other women - Cersei, Lyanna, Elia, and Dacey - all eyed Ashara with curiosity. "Apparently my niece Sansa was lonely, so she crawled into bed with Baelon and Daenerys."

Elia grinned. "Awww… those dears."

"Quite wonderful that they get along well, don't you think?" Dacey observed.

"Sansa's always been friendly," Cersei remarked. "The perfect Lady, though a right terror when she wants to be. Joanna's the same, only without that wild streak."

"All my children have a wild streak," Lyanna bragged. "Even Egg in his own way. It's exhausting having so many little ones but I never regret it."

Hands folded over her lap, Cersei had always imagined hosting such functions as the Queen - now she was hosting Queens as the Lady of Winterfell, and wouldn't change it for the world. "The problem is that so many highborns prefer to sire bastards that they thereafter do not claim and leave to rot, then only siring one child off their brides, or none at all." Several came to mind. "The five of us, we know what needs to be done. Many children in order to ensure the line is never threatened with attaining."

"There is a concern," Elia replied, sighing. "I'm not speaking of those such as the Unworthy's children, for that could've been avoided. Rather the Old King and Good Queen - though I feel the Good Queen had good intentions, they raised their many children wrong and thus only three lines continued, one failing to continue as Targaryens and the other two marrying into each other."

Lyanna winced. "House Targaryen, nearly destroyed even in fecundity." Every generation having many children, but bottlenecked through one line while the other were extinguished.

Nodding, Ashara was firm. "That won't happen this time. No one will play Alicent Hightower or Baelor the Blessed this time."

"The new generation of Starks certainly won't if I have anything to say about it." She patted her abdomen. "Neither the ones already born nor the ones yet to be born."

Elia was the first to understand what Cersei was saying. "You're with child?"

Her goodsister in all but name, Ashara's eyes widened. "So soon after Joanna?"

The she-wolf narrowed her eyes. "Ned knew this and didn't tell me?"

Cersei shook her head. "Ned does not know yet." A tiny smile crossed her face, gazing down at her still flat stomach with awe. "I want this to be a surprise for the perfect time."

Rising, Lyanna pulled her goodsister up and embraced her. "I'm sure any time you tell him would make my brother the happiest man in the North."

"The happiest I've ever seen him was when he met Robb for the first time, as well as blessing Joanna before the heart tree."

Lyanna nodded. "It's always better when they're babes. You don't wish to tempt fate as I did with Jon, Alyssa, and the triplets," she said, referring to their name for the three babes born the same day.

Reaching out, Elia massaged the back of Lyanna's hand with her thumb. She knew that even though Jon was alive and Visenya did return to them, the wounds of the past still hurt on occasion. Lyanna covered the hand, reciprocating the love.

"I must ask though, why wait to come here for the ceremony?" Cersei asked, curious.

"It had to be here," was Lyanna's reply.

Cersei's brows knotted. While having converted upon marrying Ned to the faith of the old gods, not once skipping a ritual or ceremony, she still felt as an outsider sometimes into those of the North. Looking at Ashara and Queen Elia, both the lovers of Northerners as she was, the sentiment was quite shared. "Seems impractical, doesn't it? Having to come to Winterfell for each child born?"

The Queen shrugged, looking at Elia. "The benefits of having a dragonrider for a husband. He can fly myself and each new child here to conduct the ceremony." A point she had insisted on and convinced Rhaegar and Elia to accede to.

Those of the North like Lyanna and Dacey, no matter how intimate one knew them there was still some sort of enigma about them.

"There is a godswood in King's Landing and Dragonstone, both with weirwood saplings that Lord Howland sent if I remember correctly?" Cersei rather liked Howland, a stalwart, loyal bannerman of her husband that didn't act overly familiar as did Greatjon Umber. She had gladly invited him to Winterfell and he accepted, and though his wife had just given birth to a daughter he accepted. "A weirwood is a weirwood."

A snort from Dacey. "That is a good point, Lya," the she-Bear told the Queen. "I blessed Artie and Lyanna there." Ben, on the other hand, blessed Allyria and Serena at the Winterfell godswood - just like Lya.

Sighing, Lyanna tried to explain it. "I dunno… I left Winterfell so abruptly and badly, thinking I'd marry Robert Baratheon." Every woman shuddered at that - there were some females that liked being taken by a rough, strong man like Robert. While each did like a rough, strong man, they wanted love and respect. Rhaegar, Ned, Arthur, and Benjen were their kind of man. "I never thought I'd see Winterfell again, and yet I found myself one of the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms without even thinking it." A smile crossed her face. "My children should know where I came from, so they can experience what made me who I am."

"Queen Lyanna Targaryen, a fierce she-wolf warrior Queen and compassionate ruler. Wielder of the Valyrian steel sword Wolfsbane." Elia looked at her wife in adoration. "There are few that could compare to you, my love."

"A charmer, she is," Lyanna remarked to the others. A chuckle changing to a wistful sigh. "I wouldn't trade my life for anything, but I'm glad to be back here. A wolf returning to her den." She sipped at her spiced cider, letting it warm her gullet. "The place isn't the same though, but that is a good thing."

Ashara nodded. "Based on what Benjen told me of the broken tower and ruined keeps, I held a sense of disapproval in those Lords of Winterfell that failed to bring repair and revitalization to the keep. I'm glad you convinced Lord Eddard to do so," she told Cersei.

Looking quite proud of herself - barely hiding her self-satisfied smile - Cersei drank from her cup. "The keep always had a sort of austere beauty. But with House Stark being involved in southern affairs in the marriages of its sons and daughter, best to have a keep that an reflect greatness rather than a rustic backwardness."

"Be careful of how you describe my house, Cersei," Lyanna warned, slightly affronted.

"The rustic air is part of the charm, goodsister," Cersei replied, smiling apologetically. "The backwardness is in the isolation. More art, more writings, a more spacious keep, plus roads and riverine craft to connect it to White Harbor and the Neck. It deserves to be connected to the world, and Ned and I will see it done."

Lyanna's gaze softened, the Queen sharing Cersei's vision. "And Rhaegar, Elia, and I are behind you all the way." It didn't escape her that House Targaryen's fortunes changed for the better when the alliance with the North was sealed through her. A strong House Stark benefitted the realm.

Smiling, Elia folded her hands together. "Ned is the friend Rhaegar needs in his life, and I hope that Robb can be that for dear Baelon when they come of age, just as Egg and Artie will be."

"They certainly are very close," Ashara remarked. "Two marvelous swordsmen in the making, I should say."

"The feeling Aerion Targaryen must've had, knowing the generation underneath his would accomplish the greatest of things." Lyanna could see it, her children surpassing all of them in glory - and with Baelon the most glorious of them all.

---

Baelon Targaryen loved Winterfell.

The Red Keep was his home, as was the entire city of King's Landing, but aside from his family and the dragons it felt so… mundane. Dragonstone, where he and his family visited and his kepa told him he'd one day rule over, felt more like home for him - the dragon returning to its nest. But he was half wolf through his muna. Winterfell brought the same feeling almost the instant he wandered through the gates. Ever since it seemed a dormant part of him had found its true purpose.

Being blessed before the great weirwood tree by his muna alongside Rhae, Egg, Lyssa, Dae, Rickon, and Senya. Feeling the magic and acceptance of the old gods flow through him.

His Uncle Ned taking him into the crypts to meet his late grandparents and Uncle Brandon. Muna spoke of them, but never did Jon feel the acute sense of love and loss till he laid his hand on the sarcophagi.

Training with Robb, practicing his forms as both Ser Rodrik and his normal Kingsguard tutors watched and instructed. Often did Rhaenys join them, the girls of Winterfell watching with awe at how adept she was at fighting - a female warrior, filled with the dragon's fury.

His uncle and Aunt Cersei were delightful. It was clear the former loved him as much as Uncle Benjen and Uncle Oberyn, while Cersei was kind and often watched he and Robb spar. The others in Winterfell treated him as their beloved, going out of their way to fawn over him from the lowest stable hand to uncle's bannermen Gregor Forrester to Sansa.

Sansa…

Baelon loved his siblings and aunts fiercely, resolved to fight as hard as kepa if they needed him - but since he could remember never did he share a connection as he did with his Aunt Dany. Aunt Dacey always japes that they shared a mind. Jon was unsure what that meant, but he couldn't describe what they shared in words. It stumped him.

There was something about Sansa in their shared dream long ago that felt similar, but it wasn't until they arrived in Winterfell and reunited did he realize it. The same bond he and Dany held was forming with his redheaded cousin, one she had with Dany as well.

Robb was fun to be around and Jon off played rough and tumble games with him and Egg - far from hurting him, the snows seemed to invigorate and bring life back to his brother - but Sansa was special. Dany and he never spent a moment away from her, at last finding the Rhaenys to his Aegon and her Visenya.

'She's our Queen,' Dany would proclaim, giggling fiercely.

Jon didn't disagree, especially because of moments like these in front of the heart tree. "Don't be a craven," Sansa said, stomping her foot in the snow. "You're a dragon."

The Crown Prince looked at Rhaenys, who scowled at their cousin. There's being a dragon and being stupid."

"It'll work, Rhae," Jon insisted. "I thought you were adventurous?" He stuttered with the word but managed to get it out coherently.

"I am for things that work and are not fire."

"Let him do it, Princess." Asha rolled her eyes. "It'll get him to shut up."

Theon, reunited with his sister, blinked. "Lord Stark says never to play with fire…"

Asha smacked his head. "Stop being a craven coward." Theon shut up, though did not look happy about it.

"We probably shouldn't…" Egg demurred.

"Where's your sense of spirit. Be fierce," urged Artie, channeling the words of his mother's house.

"Momma and poppa will kill us if they find out," warned Robb, more cautious than he usually was - mostly over what this would entail compared to their normal mischief of stealing toffee apples from the kitchens or tackling his Uncle Tyrion.

"Dragons dragons dragons!" Giggled Alyssa, always eager for the creatures.

It had taken several days to convince Dany to go along with his plan, though Jon was surprised that Sansa was almost automatically receptive - as if a fire of her own had been lit inside her. Now it was just a matter of convincing the others. "Kepa and munas will be happy when it's done."

"My muna too," Dany added, looking to Robb, Alyssa, and Artie - as well as the two Greyjoys. "None of you will be involved as we are so you won't get in trouble."

Robb rolled his eyes. "You don't know momma." Cersei loved fiercely, but roared like a lion when mad. The big furball that was Lann couldn't compare to an angry Cersei Stark. "It's a bad idea."

"And we don't know if it would work."

"Don't you want a dragon, Rhae?" Dany asked.

She softened, resolve cracking. "Kessa," she acknowledged. "But will this work?"

Jon nodded. "Once I get the details from grandmother, all will be set… though I'll need Cella to make it work."

All eyes went to the golden-haired Princess, normally so shy and reserved. But there was a certain… boldness in her eyes. "I want a dragon. Let go, Jon." Both he and Sansa clapped their hands simultaneously, while Dany whooped.

Eventually all came around, but the eldest daughter of Eddard Stark wanted to make sure of something. Tugging them closer to the heart tree, Sansa places her finger to her lips. "Shhh…" Though among differing degrees of obedience and rebelliousness in regards to the authority of their parents, the children all knew the importance of both being quiet and not ratting each other out - especially Asha. "We should swear here, no going back."

Aegon was confused. "Why here?" His confusion didn't change when he noticed both Rhaenys and Baelon's eyes widening, while Robb, Artie, and Allyria only nodded.

"Is there something we're missing?" Dany asked, hand on her hip as she pouted at Jon, clearly kept out of the loop on something.

Jon decided to clear it all up. "The heart tree. Muna says an oath made under its leaves can never be broken."

Asha snorted. "Or what?"

"Or the old gods bring their vengeance upon you." That was Robb, shuddering at the thought. He, Sansa, and Theon had made oaths here many times, and none had been broken by any one of them. Old Nan's terrifying tales kept them quite respectful of the gods.

While Rhaenys knew of the oaths under the Weirwood, she was unsure of the rest. "So how do we do this?"

"Everyone grab hands," Sansa began, her father having taught her and Robb long ago. They complied, Sansa shivering as Jon grabbed her left and Dany her right - somehow it felt so calming and joyful. "Keep your head down before the old gods." The group of them did so and waited for Sansa to speak the words of the oath. "Old gods, we ask that you help my cousins Baelon and Dany hatch their eggs… and we swear to silence before you, lest… you heap your… wrath upon us." Nothing happened except for a slight gust of cold wind, rustling the leaves.

For those of Northern blood, that was enough. The gods had listened - the pact sealed.

No going back.

Just as they broke their arms apart, Sandor Clegane emerged from where he had stood guard at the entrance to the godswood, startling the children. He took note of this. "Better not be planning trouble," scowled the Hound.

"We wouldn't dream of it, Ser Sandor," smiled Dany, violet eyes sparkling with innocence.

Sandor didn't buy it. "Uh huh…" Looking at Robb, the boy he had watched over long before, he grunted. "A word of advice, kid. If the silver pest ever tries to get you to trust her, don't believe her." Before a confused Robb of a scowling Baelon could answer, Sandor cleared his throat. "Make way for her Grace, Queen Lyanna." He stepped to the side as Lyanna walked into the clearing, Ser Benjen and Lady Dacey trailing.

Alyssa bounded to the Queen. "Muna! Muna!" All traits not Targaryen being obviously Martell, Alyssa's fierceness found a match in Lyanna's, hence then being quite close. "Fly fly like dragon!"

The Queen laughed and lifted her daughter up, kissing her cheek and making her giggle. "How are my darlings?" she said, looking at all of them.

"We're good, muna." Though not as good as Dany or Sansa at feigning innocence, Jon was so well behaved that he could get away with many things since no one expected trouble from him. That is, all except Sandor, but he didn't seem to care - or want to care lest the mischief threatened to hurt him.

Fire cannot kill a dragon. He and Dany were dragons, so Jon was certain in his lack of worry.

Dacey, hugging her son and kissing his forehead, looked at the rest of the brood. "It's lunchtime. The cooks are already setting the tables in the great hall. Let's go."

All that was needed was to mention food and even the youngest among them was running to the great hall, only for Lyanna to call out. "Rhae, Jon…" The two aforementioned children stopped to look at their muna. Daenerys and Sansa, noticing that Jon wasn't running with them, stopped and looked at him… only for Benjen to move them along, which they did so reluctantly. Sweet things, they love him so much. Lyanna grinned knowingly, already having ideas - but that was for another time. "I need to speak with you."

"Did we do something wrong, muna?" Jon asked.

"No, you did nothing wrong - nothing like that." She looked at her two children, Jon her little miracle and Rhaenys her eldest daughter. A perfect mix of dragon and viper yet with the ferocity of a she-wolf warrior like herself. Gods, she loved both of them and had something special planned. "Remember when I told you of my childhood here in Winterfell."

Rhae nodded vigorously. "I liked how you used to thrash all the stupid boys in swordplay."

Of course she'd remember that one. Lyanna grinned. "Aye, that was fun… especially when I thrash your kepa now." Rhaegar still usually won their encounters, but the matches were more even now that Lyanna had improved dramatically. "But specifically of my rides in the Wolfswood. I want to go on one now, and I was thinking if you two could accompany me."

Both children looked absolutely delighted. "I can ride Stormcloud!" beamed Rhaenys.

"Can I ride Quicksilver?" asked Jon, eager to try out his beautiful mare born of Winter and Moondancer.

Lyanna shook her head. "This isn't the Kingsroad, so you'll be riding with me on Winter till you get better." That lessened his joy, but couldn't even begin to extinguish it. "Let's get you into your riding clothes."

The children didn't need to be told twice.

---

Hands clasped together as he sat across from his King, Lord Gregor Forrester was a good negotiator. Calm and collected, giving nothing off. "There's a reason our lands are still a teeming forest rather than bare tundra like those of our Whitehill neighbors." While Bracken and Blackwood's feud got the notoriety, the enmity between House Forrester and House Whitehill could compare in sheer animus.

Lord Tywin Lannister found interest in such, resolving to learn more of the land his grandson would rule over now that he was diving into the dealings personally. "I do not see the problem, Lord Gregor. The deal we are asking for is generous and wouldn't damage your forests, considering it would be your discretion how to fill the yearly quotas."

"True… true." Brokered by King Rhaegar and Lord Tywin, a deal to furnish ironwood trees to the crown for healthy profit was tempting. "As long as Ned here holds up his end of the bargain."

Ned smiled at his old friend. "Cersei and I already decided to accept your offer. Our son Robb will foster at Ironrath."

"And you have the royal blessing to betroth your heir Rodrik with Elaena Glenmore." From vassals of Lord Glover to being showered with accolades due to their success in the Greyjoy Rebellion, promoted to high lordship, and earning fosterings with premier houses, Rhaegar resolved to pay closer attention to House Forrester. Perhaps he'd find another gem as he had with House Seaworth or House Bell.

Smacking his hand against the desk, Gregor beamed. "It is decided then!" Having been in Winterfell when the King arrived rather than showing up after as the others would in mere days, he earned Rhaegar's undivided attention and made the best of it.

As Jory shut the door behind Lord Gregor, Ned slumped against the wall. "Robb's fate is sealed then. He'll be well regarded if trained under a northern war hero like Ser Gregor."

"Enough will resent him for not being chosen to fostering with them," Tywin countered, thinking solely for the security of his grandson's claim to Winterfell. "I'd still like to foster him in Casterly Rock when he's at a good age, followed by a term as squire for my son Jaime."

"Too much of a southern education for Ned's heir, I would think," said Rhaegar, worried. While much of the northern mindset was an enigma for him, the King had been married to Lyanna enough to know that they were skeptical at best to southern lords - House Manderly was a bridge too far for many traditionalists.

Tywin shook his head. "Raised in the North, fostered under the Forresters - the ones to deride him after would always deride him regardless of what he does. That's why I want him to learn how to keep a realm rather than merely inherit one."

Ned covered his face with his hand. "I didn't want this life for Robb… the backstabbing and honeyed words, not meant for a person of the North."

Rhaegar was sympathetic to Ned's earnest nature, but knew just how dangerous it could be - Tywin clearly agreed, though he wore his irritation at such naivete on his sleeve. "Goodbrother, we all hope for such ideals and I suppose the North in its isolation was able to do such, with Lyanna as Queen you are bound to the south - to play southern politics, which seems to me just a more stealthy version of northern politics."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Ned nodded. "Aye, mayhaps I must be Cregan rather than Alaric. Theon rather than Bran the Burner." Cersei was both nudging and pushing him towards this. "I presume my goodfather will discuss betrothals next."

He knew Tywin very well, apparently. "Robb must marry a fellow Lord Paramount. It's necessary, considering I can see him becoming the right hand of Prince Baelon."

"They are very close," Rhaegar acceded, glad to see it. "He's going to be as eligible as anyone not in House Targaryen could be, but who should be the choice? I assume he has the Westerlands in his corner."

"Forget House Tully… they'll never support this," Tywin dismissed. "Lord Elbert's two daughters are bastards, so we'd rather not revisit that taint upon him." Ned glowered, but Tywin was right. Robb's birth would haunt him, so best structure away from it as much as possible. "Arianne Martell is an option, much older than Robb that she is. House Hightower could work, but they'll never marry into the First Men."

Rhaegar had a thought. "Perhaps Margaery Tyrell?"

Ned raised his brow. "Lord Garlan's sister?"

"She would be perfect," Tywin thought. House Tyrell is already on the side of the Crown, but the North will need cheap grain and House Tyrell guarentees that. Arianne or Margaery, those were the only options and Tywin would make sure to prosecute both options till one was favored over the other. "Young Rickard must marry a daughter of the North though, same with my granddaughter. That will shore up the support of the Northern Lords, at least those in proximity to the betrothals. Lord Karstark has a young daughter that Rickard could marry."

"Lord Karstark is loyal."

Pursing his lips, Rhaegar didn't want to contradict his goodbrother… "Elia informs me that he is not kind to House Targaryen, not since his son perished at Harrenhal."

Shaking his head, Ned met Rhaegar's gaze. "He'll not act against me. We're kin."

"Didn't stop Robert from fighting me, Ned." They were at an impasse.

"Do you doubt that young Lady Karstark is a bad match for your son?" Ned couldn't deny this. "I didn't think so… as for my granddaughter, Cersei tells me that you're fostering Lord Bolton's son?"

His eyes went wide. "A Stark and a Bolton?"

"What better way to neutralize them than to make their heirs half-Stark?"

"I'll need to think on this," Ned finally stammered, turning away and looking out the window.

Sighing, Rhaegar rose and walked to his Hand. "Be more mindful of him, Lord Tywin. These are political games he is not comfortable playing."

Tywin regarded such sentiment with disdain. "Forgive me, your Grace, but we have not the time, security, or luxury to carry on as if the dynasty was safe from threat. There are threats all around and we must be preemptive about dealing with them." His King didn't want to make examples of potentially rebellious Lords without evidence of treason so this was what Tywin had to work with.

Guiding him to the door, Rhaegar nodded. "I understand, but there's something called finesse." He patted Tywin's back. "See to the arrangements with Lady Cersei about the Bolton and Forrester fostering, as well as our relations with the Northern lords when they arrive. I will speak with Lord Stark."

Bowing, Tywin knew the discussion had ended for now. "My King." He would get what he wanted, though patience would be needed.

Turning from the door, Rhaegar looked at Ned. "I know you know we're right, goodbrother."

Ned felt the violet eyes of the King boring into him. "Aye, I do." A deep sigh left his lungs. "You know I never wanted this for myself… or my family."

"The North was lucky for centuries to be isolated from the chaos of the south. Deal with wildling and Ironborn raids and otherwise just worry about the elements." Such were hard in and of themselves, but they weren't human threats and could be predicted. A storm didn't think or plot. "But reality has changed, and both Lya and you made decisions that plunged House Stark into the south."

Not just Lyanna marrying Rhaegar, but also he marrying Cersei. Ned knew what he would need to engage in when he wed the love of his life. "Something I'll need to get used to."

"Rely on Cersei. She's adept at this."

"Every day, just as you do." Elia and Lya both brought strengths to Rhaegar's reign that he himself lacked. That he accepted gladly such assistance only belied why the two beauties adored him so much - certainly worked that way for Cersei. He turned, meeting Rhaegar's gaze. "I saw you and my goodfather didn't mention Sansa."

Rhaegar looked away. "Your eldest daughter is… complicated."

"Enlighten me, goodbrother."

Best out with it - Rhaegar hoped his friend wouldn't react with too much affront. "After the Ironborn Rebellion, Lord Hoster Tully was incensed at Rickard being passed over in favor of Robb for the inheritance to Winterfell." At this Ned fell silent… guilt eating him. While Sansa had essentially embraced Cersei with open arms, his second son was more reserved. Getting along well with her but not seeing Cersei as his mother. There was great worry for the future in Ned's mind, the Lord of Winterfell resolved to ensure both brothers grew up close. "I managed to ply him off with a promise."

"What promise?"

"That I'd consider a betrothal of Sansa to Baelon as the top choice when the time comes."

Eyes wide, Ned stared at Rhaegar. Struggling to piece the words together. Sansa and Jon? The thought hadn't occurred to him except in passing, even as the two of them had essentially spent every moment together since arriving in Winterfell. Cersei's right… I am a northern fool. "They certainly get along. I'd consent if that continues, though I wish you discussed it with me first."

"Was a sort of immediate thing, Ned. Full apologies." Rhaegar resumed his seat. "Elia wishes for Sansa to foster with us in the Red Keep, act as one of her or Lyanna's ladies in waiting perhaps." Before Ned could give a tentative agreement, he cut him off. "Problem is that there is competition, not just politically but emotionally as well."

Ned wasn't as naive as people caricatured him to be. "Daenerys."

Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, Baelon's little shadow. The two are inseparable, though both of them are the same way with Sansa as they are with each other."

"Baelon's father's example certainly poses a solution." Ned's eyes danced with mirth, surprised in himself for thinking of such.

The King was also surprised. "Cersei's corrupted you, Ned."

A grin. "Perhaps it was Lya, rather. Had to face some uncomfortable matters cause of her." They chuckled. "So what do you think of it?"

Sighing, Rhaegar leaned back in the chair. "A royal betrothal must be careful. Children must continue the blood of the dragonriders, but also cannot waste the ability to avoid war by forging an alliance. And yet… he's my son, she's my sister, and she's your daughter. We want them to marry for love."

"In regards to that," Ned commented. "I think both Jon and Daenerys should foster at Winterfell."

"Oh?" He and his brides had already talked of fosterings. Rhaenys wanted to come back to Winterfell so the thought of sending her both here and later to Sunspear with Aegon was discussed. Myrcella could go to Casterly Rock, while obviously Baelon to his uncle in Winterfell… but Dany too? "If she, Baelon, and Sansa get along, then I'd definitely consider it… only if it's for love."

"Wait and see?"

"Aye, wait and see." There wasn't any better option.

Perhaps the children would choose their path themselves.

---

"Faster, muna, faster!" Giggling, Baelon felt his hair blowing behind him. He loved this… loved the North, loved riding with his muna. Loved… everything.

"Can't do that with you seated there," Lyann replied, kissing her son's head as she spurred Winter forward. It would be dangerous, and she wanted to enjoy this ride through the Wolfswood. Enjoying her childhood with her beloved babes.

Next to them, Rhaenys on her growing pony - a grey stallion she named Stormcloud - rode as if she was born atop a horse. Something Lyanna was so proud of. "Get a mount and ride with me, valonqar!" she called out with a smile.

Suddenly ahead, Benjen's horse neighed loudly as the kingsguard reined it to a stop. "Whoa, whoa…"

Lyanna did the same with Winter, while Rhaenys followed her muna's lead - they both had more warning and thus came to a gentler stop. "Brother? Something the matter?"

"Aye… could be bad. Kids'd be better to stay mounted."

Blood running cold, the Queen swung her legs out of the stirrups and dropped to the ground, ever an expert. "Stay here," she warned Jon and Rhaenys, voice the icy she-wolf rather than the loving muna. One that both children knew not to cross. Walking towards Benjen, she already saw her brother and sworn sword having drawn his blade. It didn't take long for her to notice why. "A dead stag?"

Dead was an understatement. The poor beast's innards were completely ripped out, strewn on the snowy ground of the dirt track. Benjen's eyes tracked both the corpse and the forest around. "Killer's still here, I figure."

"Right, and probably wounded." Lyanna pointed to the antlers. One in the impressive rack was long and lush with strength, while the other was snapped off. Both Starks were skilled enough woodsmen to get a feel of these things.

"Muna, what's wrong?" Apparently Rhaenys had grown curious, leaving her pony to go to Lyanna's side. Jon remained on Winter, worried.

Lyanna gave a cross look. "I told you to…" A sigh. "You're probably better close to me. Jon, come here!" Her son obeyed, dropping to the ground and running to her side.

"Was killed him?" Rhaenys asked. "A lion?"

"Only lion round these woods is Lann, and he only hunts when the others do," Benjen spoke, keeping his sword level. "I better go check the woods. Got a bad feeling."

The Queen drew Wolfsbane from its sheath. "Not letting you go alone. I'm in the van, you bring up the rear. Always had softer feet than you." Her brother merely bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Rhae, Jon, stay between us."

"You'll kill the monster, right muna?"

Lyanna smiled at Jon's complete faith in her. "I'll make sure nothing harms you." Not a lie, and it placated her son.

The snow covered the entire forest floor, leaving the landscape of the Wolfswood ever beautiful. Lyanna was glad for it as she held her sword, knowing that any attacking creature would cause crinkling in the snow. She held the front of their ragged line, the children in the middle and Benjen behind. This was their element - Starks in the midst of winter, hunting like wolves, but with her dragons with her Lyanna was nevertheless uncomfortable.

Pushing back a thicket of evergreen brush, she almost didn't see it in the midst of the snowfall, but the dark red bloodstains gave it away. "Oh gods…" Lyanna shook her head. What a fucking waste.

Peeking around Lyanna, the ever inquisitive Rhaenys found a sight that felt like the deepest agony to her very soul. "NOOOO!"

Strewn on the ground, the jagged second antler jammed into its neck, was an impressive-sized direwolf - had to be, for no wolf could grow to that size. Coat mostly white but with some light gray streaked in, the beast had to be recently dead based on the freshness of the corpse. A dead direwolf in the middle of the Wolfswood near Winterfell.

Even the least superstitious among them would find it a dark omen for House Stark.

Lyanna just managed to sheath her sword when Rhaenys made to run to the corpse. "Rhae, no," she called out, grabbing her daughter and holding her back round the waist. It was a lot harder with all the padded layers she wore.

"Let me go, muna," she cried, teary-eyed. "Not a direwolf! Why? By the gods, why?" Rhaenys was sobbing, and a look behind her found Jon close to tears as well, hugging his uncle in worry and sorrow. Their first glimpse of our sigil, and it's a bloody corpse. Her own heart ached for her babes.

Grimacing, Benjen walked forward - guiding Jon to his mother, who quickly embraced both of her children against her furs. "There are no direwolves south of the Wall," he mused, a worried tone in his voice.

"Until now," Lyanna replied, equally apprehensive of what that meant. It was common for Kings of Winter before the Andal invasions to have direwolves as bond companions - almost like Targaryens and dragons - but the practice grew less common until the time of Alaric Stark, the last Stark with a bonded wolf.

This could be auspicious… or ominous. Lyanna didn't let know.

Buried in her furs, Rhaenys trembled from crying. "She's so beautiful," mourned the poor girl. "Why, muna, why?"

"These things happen, my loves." She murmured to the both of them, kissing their foreheads one at a time. "I'm sorry."

"Tough girl," Benjen remarked, tugging out the antler - horn embedded deep in the wolf's flesh. "Made it all the way here in the snow, though why I can't figure…" Something caught his attention. Leaning over the corpse to look, Benjen's eyes widened. "Lya! Looks like things just got more complicated."

Lyanna glanced up from her children, confused. "What do you mean?"

Rounding the corpse, boots crunching on the snow and dried leaf litter, Benjen reached down. "Seems the poor wolf was a momma." Up he lifted a wriggling direwolf cub, fur a grey-russet mix and whimpering.

Surprise filled the faces of the royals, especially Rhaenys. "A pup?" Her tear-stained face lit up with a sudden hope.

"Three pups, all trying to nurse, poor buggers."

Immediately Rhaenys was tugging on Lyanna's fur overcoat. "Please, muna, please." Her eyes were frantic. "We need to keep them!"

Not knowing at all what to say, the whole thing sudden to begin with, Lyanna rounded the dead mother wolf to join Benjen. Sure enough there were two other pups squirming and whimpering around the teats of the corpse. Unlike their sibling, one had black fur while the other was white-grey. "Gods, three pups."

"Won't live for long," Benjen mused. "Not without their mother in this beastly cold."

Fear crossed Rhaenys' expression. "Please, muna! They can't die!" Her dream of finally having a direwolf to hold and cuddle and play with and love was so close, and the thought of the pups dying made her heart split in two.

"Kessa, muna," Jon added. "Keep the pups!"

"Hatchlings, this isn't your cat, Balerion. These are pups of fierce, proud beasts. You can't care for them, you're too young." But seeing Benjen going for his blade, preparing to put them out of their misery if need be, made her stomach churn.

"Then you care for them!" Rhaenys couldn't let them die.

That surprised the Queen. "Me?"

Jon concurred with his sister. "Three. One you, one Uncle Ned, and one Uncle Benjen."

"Me raise a direwolf pup?" Benjen looked at the grey-russet pup close. "I've never been one for animals, nephew…"

"But uncle Benjen!" Rhaenys ran to him, half-pleading, half-yelling. "You can't kill House Stark's sigil. Care for them, please please please." Her violet eyes were wide and filled with tears.

Benjen looked up at Lya, as if asking 'How can I say no to this?' There was no way, at least not for this. Reaching down, she picked up one of the pups - a male, the other two female. It's eyes looked into hers, tongue darting out to lick its nose and Lyanna was forever lost to it. "Alright, we'll keep the pups."

Mere moments later Rhaenys let out an excited squeal and grabbed the black-furred pup. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, muna!" Hoisting the pup high, she squealed again. "Hi, sweet one. I'm your sister, Rhae, and I'm going to love you forever." The pup was quiet for a moment before she started sniffing Rhaenys… following by licking her face. "Stop it…" giggled the princess, never having sounded happier.

Prince Baelon reached out to stroke the light fur of the pup in Lyanna's arms. "Can we name them, muna?"

Lyanna was starting to fall in love with the pup she held. A beautiful male, his coat was shiny and by his squirms he was fierce and spirited - in spite of the thin frame from hunger. You're a fighter, just like me. The russet-grey wolf in Benjen's hands was similar, while the black wolf, notwithstanding how she lavished love on Rhaenys, was quieter. Mine, Ben's, and Ned's. "If they are to be our direwolves, my love, then I think it's only fair that we name them… as you would name your dragons when you get them… or any pups these darlings would sire."

That was heard by Rhaenys, who got even happier than she was. "You hear that! You're gonna have pups one day! My direwolf after so long!" Both Starks laughed at her exuberance.

As Jon went to fawn over the pups with Rhae, Lyanna cuddled her wolf. "Only fitting that we found you, little one. A Stark saving you." The pup's eyes seemed to stare into her soul, and Lyanna felt a pull to him. As if the same description Rhaegar used to tell her of him and Aegarax - a bonded animal. "I'm starting to love you as one of my own." The pup merely snuggled into Lyanna, making her heart swell.

Benjen's lips were pursed. "You see the symbolism in this, right Lya?"

"Aye, of course I do." She cooed at the pup in her arms, tickling its belly. "Dragons returned to House Targaryen, direwolves to House Stark - seven hells, even lions to House Lannister. The gods favor our houses."

"Undeniable, but there's something less favorable an omen." Lyanna cocked her head at him, waiting for more. Something Benjen was shocked she hadn't grasped. "A direwolf, killed by a stag."

Put that way, Lyanna couldn't remain ignorant of it. "Oh…" She winced, looking back at the pup, then at her children who were fawning over the other two - Jon excited, but Rhaenys happier than she'd ever been, as if her every dream had come true at once. "Just a coincidence I'm sure."

"Lya…"

"No, something that made my children this happy and our house all the more prestigious cannot be a bad omen." She smirked at her brother. "I would think Ned would be brooding over this but not you. One of those direwolves will be yours, by the way."

That did manage to coax a smile back to Benjen's face. "And I presume that you've already claimed one?"

Going to the grey-white pup in her arms, Lyanna beamed, kissing its head. "This boy is mine, aye, and his name will be Spirit - wild like the winds of winter." Another belly tickle, making the pup squirm in her cradling arms. "Like that, Spirit? Wild just like your momma?" The pup yipped, making Lyanna laugh.

Perhaps she was just like Rhae and didn't know it till now. With the pup, she felt one last tiny hole in her heart fill itself in.

---

Arms wrapped around her lover, Rhaella gasped and mewled into the hungry kiss she was currently engaged in. Gods, her mind was like mush, only able to continue her frantic movements and appreciate just how amazingly delicious the cock buried inside her was. "More…" she mumbled. "Take me harder, my fierce lion."

Though he had only a rudimentary understanding of High Valyrian, the breathless tone against his lips and the dark purple eyes that bored into him were plenty for Jaime to deduce the gist of what Rhaella was begging him. Hands spreading her cheeks wide, he broke the kiss and shifted around - hitting up in a new angle that coaxed a… half-gasp, half-wail from his beautiful dragon. From that sound, he swore he grew harder than Valyrian steel.

"Kessa… kessa… kessa…"

That word Jaime did know, and grinned against the sweaty skin of Rhaella's neck. Lightly sucking the skin.

Normally she'd scold him for coming too close to leaving a mark, but the high collared woolen dresses gave him leeway - not that she cared of anything at the moment besides sexual release. Fire coursed through her veins, the rouch scraping of her clothed back against the uneven stone walls nothing compared to her building climax. "Jaime… Jaime… oh yes…" As he bit hard on her neck just when his cock speared hard and deep inside her, Rhaella wailed and shattered around him.

Jaime fucked her through the orgasm, his cock only able to take such a vice-like grip for so long before he spilled his seed into her. Slumping against her, pinning Rhaella to the wall as exhaustion crept in.

Running her hands down his bare back - Jaime gloriously nude while she was still in her dress, the skirts bunched up for access - Rhaella didn't know how long she was recovering but laughed when she did. "You take me to the best places, Ser Jaime." Looking around, the dusty floors, snowdrifts against the windowsills, and a frayed bed belied something that wasn't the mighty keep of the Warden of the North. "Fit for a Queen."

He grunted against her shoulder. "I… didn't think of it. Tyrion… suggested it… to me."

"Your brother?" Rhaella thought for a moment. "What perverse thing did he do here, then?"

"Not him. He said this is where my sister and Lord Stark go when… they want privacy." He shuddered, which made the proud dragonrider giggle. It was something that didn't seem to suit her but did anyway, making her face look years younger and more carefree. "Don't laugh at me."

Rhaella, reaching up to cup his cheek, kissed him sweetly. "I love you, Jaime, and in all honesty your sister has good taste in accommodations." Seh shuddered, sighing in pleasure. "That was the best coupling we've had in a while."

He smiled. "You love all our couplings."

"True, I do… but this one was the most intense." Sneaking off like illicit lovers barely flowered, even at her age it sent a thrill through Rhaella's core. "The benefits of having a younger lover. Jaime merely grinned at her, his golden looks and arrogant charm only making him more attractive to her.

Luckily, her dress hadn't torn on the rough stone so all Rhaella had to do was smooth it down and pray her hair was fixed enough - going through prudish Winterfell with untamed sex hair was not something Rhaella was keen on doing. Cersei was always prim and proper while Lyanna… even she only looked wild after riding or sparring. Rhaella supposed she could go dragonriding on Jaimexes, but thought it wasn't worth it simply to hide her carnal activities.

She rather enjoyed flaunting her affections with Jaime. Unlike before, now she was proud to have such a powerful, handsome man in her bed and on her arm.

Descending from the 'broken tower' as it was called - she had heard Cersei planned to renovate it along with the old keep - almost immediately the two of them were greeted by a milling, excited crowd. Jaime helping part a way, Rhaella headed for the center of the commotion. "What's going on here?"

What she did she was a shocking sight. "Are those real?" gaped Lady Sansa in awe.

Her grandson Baelon nodded, stroking a grey-white pup being held by Queen Lyanna. A direwolf pup… had to be. "Yep, Sans. This is Spirit, he's muna's." Baelon pointed to two other figures. "That's Sprinter, uncle Benjen's, and uncle Ned's is Frost."

"Can I hold her! Can I hold her!" Robb begged, his eyes eager.

"Easy, son," Ned remarked, sharing matching smirks with his sister. "Direwolves are not toys. They're proud, serious beasts." His pup, Frost, took that moment to start licking Ned's palm before swatting at the fingers with his paw, drawing laughs all around, even from Rhaella.

The dowager Queen looked to her gooddaughter, walking alongside her. "You found direwolves?"

"Aye, their mother was killed in the woods and they would've died had Ben and I not taken Jon and Rhae riding."

"Starks saving their sigil. Auspicious."

"I think so too." All the Starks apparently did, while the children were merely excited. Around them, many of the household had their eyes closed and were looking at the ground, mumbling prayers of thanks and blessing. Aye, a great omen indeed.

Suddenly she felt Jaime tap her shoulder, guiding her gaze to the Winterfell Maester. "Dispatch for you from King's Landing. Bears the Targaryen seal along with a chain."

Uncle Aemon? If he sent a letter, then it would be important. Walking to Luwin, she took the offered dispatch with thanks and quickly broke the seal, reading the contents…

It wasn't long before her good mood died, face going ashen. Behind, Jaime muttered a curse under his breath. "Should I fetch Prince Viserys?"

Nodding, Rhaella felt numb. "Let me speak with Rhaegar first…" Oh, this was going to be very bad.

Notes:

And the direwolves have arrived and Rhaenys is overjoyed. Sprinter for Benjen, Frost for Ned, and Spirit for Lya. Felt the adults deserved some love from the wolves :D

There will be more ;)

Oh, what did Viserys do this time? Comment to find out. 30 gets update in a week :D

Chapter 92: Unburnt

Notes:

Hey all. Good news! I got my first medical school acceptance! I still have 25 more schools pending so wish me luck.

The moment we've all been waiting for!

Enjoy.

Teeth gritted, Viserys strained his hips in frantic thrusts. "Gods…" He felt his lower muscles start to tighten, a sign that his already sensitive member was close to erupting.

Bucking and meaning beneath him, the redheaded whore he took to bed sucked his lobe before licking the shell of his ear, making Viserys shudder in delight. "Spill into me, my Prince," she husked. "Give me your seed." Though she could only be a year older than Viserys at the most, she was already experienced beyond anything the Prince had known.

Such experience paid dividends, Viserys grunting and hurtling over the edge. "It's here… take my seed," he gasped.

"Yes… she moaned. "Yessss…"

Limp from his climax, while most men likely would've been kicked out of the bed by a harried whore, Viserys was a Targaryen Prince and thus had the coin to purchase some time of cuddling afterwards. He found he liked it after a round of sex. "You truly are the best I've had, Ros."

Hair a disheveled mess that fell over her face rather alluringly, Ros leaned half over him - growing breasts pressing into a chest toned from hours of dragonriding per week. "So you are saying that I wasn't your first?" she pouted. "I'm disappointed."

He rolled his eyes. "Spare me. Are you next to say that it was I that took your maidenhead?"

"Some men pay much more in coin for those they perceive to be untouched." Ros batted her eyes flirtatiously. She clearly knew how to manipulate men.

Feeling bold, Viserys growled and flipped her over, making her gasp. "Those men are fools, whereas I am a Prince." He would use her as he wished, and vowed to make this gorgeous woman shatter for real at his actions.

"Yes… take me, my Prince…" No words left their throats after that - at least intelligible ones.

Passing through Wintertown about an hour later mounted atop his horse, Viserys didn't sport his usual look of suppressed disdain at the rather decrepit conditions of the North - the lack of paved streets, brick houses, or fine architecture. It was beastly cold but finally he was in a good mood without dislike for the rough people. Amazing what finding the beautiful ruby in the rough could do for him. "Is there anything marring my schedule for the next hours, Ser Arys?"

Arys Oakheart, the Kingsguard normally assigned to the Prince, shook his head. "I do not believe so, your Grace." He had stood guard outside the client chamber at the brothel, resisting Viserys' offer to buy him his own companion - at least for the time being. "Though I am told that your brother would prefer you to spend more time socializing with the Northern Lords when they arrive."

"Yes, yes… I am aware." Viserys knew he needed to, and was resolved to try. "But I am feeling like riding Maerys, since it has been days and I am sure she is lonely."

"Your Grace certainly loves your dragon," Arys observed.

Such was obvious, but Viserys grinned. "I do, more than any other living being aside from my sister and muna… though mayhaps Lady Ros shall come close." Ever since Lady Talisa had introduced him to the pleasures of a woman's embrace, Viserys had… 'sampled' a half-dozen in both King's Landing and in White Harbor during their stay there - mostly whores but also a servant of House Manderly that fancied him. Viserys had truly enjoyed the attention after being the ignored second son for so long, but Ros was undoubtedly his favorite.

"I do not deny her loveliness." The two of them shared a grin.

Passing through the Winterfell gate and the bowing guards standing watch in the gatehouse, Viserys hoped to find his muna to inform her he was riding to see Maerys in the place the dragons made their nest just outside the Wolfswood when he noticed the Lord Commander approaching him. "Ah, Ser Barristan, I was wondering if you could tell me where…"

Ser Barristan interrupted him, which the Prince found odd. "Forgive me, your Grace, but your brother the King requests your presence in his solar."

Viserys shared a look with Ser Arys, one equal parts confused and concerned. For Rhaegar to call him wasn't a good thing. Perhaps he's found out my trips to the brothel. He'd prepared for this, to which he merely sighed. "Alright." He swung off his horse, plopping on the ground. "Lead the way, Ser Barristan."

Escorted by both the Lord Commander and Ser Aerys, Viserys walked down the corridors of Winterfell to find the guest chamber his brother was using for a solar while here. Outside was waiting Ser Jaime, whose expression was grim and regarding him with… a strange look. Viserys was confused but entered the chambers finding his father sitting behind the desk with Queen Elia and Queen Lyanna on either side. His muna was there as well, standing on the other side of the desk close to the empty seat which Viserys was clearly supposed to sit, her hands folded over her skirts and looking solemn and sad. What is going on?

He nonetheless bowed. "Brother, I have…"

"Shut it and sit down," Rhaegar barked. Viserys then noticed that his normally jovial or quiet brother held a hard, angered look on his face. Surprised at the words, he complied. "You know, Viserys, I am not the fool you must think me."

"I do not think you a fool…"

"I said shut your mouth! You will listen to me and speak when I give you leave to speak." Both Queens also glared at him with disappointment, while his muna looked pained by each word. "When Lord Varys and my wife inform me that you visit the brothels of King's Landing and White Harbor, I hoped that it was just youthful indiscretion and that you've been careful, but it appears I am wrong."

He felt a sense of indignation… who were they to speak to him as such? Plenty of men sleep with whores. "I don't see a problem, brother. What business is yours if I visit brothels?":

Rhaegar looked to flush in rage. "It becomes my business when you seduce and take the maidenhead of the niece of the Volentene triarch!"

Racking his brain, it took some moments for Viserys to recall her. This was noticed by Lyanna. "He doesn't even remember her, husband." Her voice dripped with disgust.

Viserys narrowed his eyes at Lyanna. "I remember her name," he shot back, equally irritated by her. "Talisa. Yes, we coupled. She was my first as well."

"I commend you brother," laughed Rhaegar mirthlessly. "I have my own shortcomings and failings, but never have I managed to so stupidly dally with a visiting noblewoman so thoroughly as to find her with my child on my first coupling. "Congratulations."

It took a moment for the Prince to realize what had been said, and immediately his face paled. "With child?"

"Aye, Triarch Maegyr wrote to me with an angry missive proclaiming his sullied niece with child and demanding I make it right."

"Viserys, my son." Rhaella was beside herself. "How could you be so shortsighted?" She loved him dearly, but couldn't defend this and hearing her made Viserys feel shame for the first time that day.

"He doesn't think, goodmother," Elia said snidely. "Apparently he didn't learn the lessons that you taught him of how act in a manner befitting his station."

To this Viserys grew greatly angry. "Says the one whose own brother sires a bastard every moonturn while coupling with men as well."

It was Lyanna that responded. "Do not speak such insults!" Her face was red.

A sneer found its way to his face. "You know, goodsister, many persons consider your marriage to my brother to be against the laws of the Seven - thus making the boy that so supplanted me in the line of succession a bastard, but I do not repeat such insults. So do not lambast me for the failings of yourself and Queen Elia."

He was proud of himself… but it paled as his goodsisters and muna looked to him in shock at his insolence… and his brother in pure fury. "ENOUGH!"

Viserys seemed to realize what he said. "Brother… I…"

Rhaegar slammed a fist on the table. "You've been a sullen, rude boy for years but I gave you space and patience. I knew you suffered trauma during the rebellion and thus received the most gentle of care, but this is beyond my toleration!"

"How is it my fault that the stupid girl didn't drink the moon tea?"

"You dare?! You are a prince! She is an impressionable girl!"

The Prince scoffed. "An impressionable girl with too much beauty and not enough wits it seems."

Rhaella reacted if struck. "Do not say such things, Viserys. I raised you better than that."

"It's the truth, muna."

"Well, you better get used to it because that girl will be your wife once we return to King's Landing"

Viserys blinked once, then twice as if the words his brother said had difficulty making sense in his head. "I beg your pardon? Is this some kind of jape?"

"It is not, Viserys." By the gods, Rhaegar wished he didn't have to do this - that his whoring could've been dealt by merely a talk, but at Lady Talisa's pregnancy he had no choice. "I will not have a bastard in our family. Long ago did I decide that I was going to let you pick your own bride as long as she was worthy, but you made your bed so you must lay in it."

Viserys remained silent for a moment, it looked as if he was accepting it… until he stomped his foot on the floor and his face became a crimson so vivid it put their house colors to shame. "How dare you? How dare you?! I will not marry some unworthy whore! Never will I sully our blood as you did!"

A vein popping in his head at that comment, at the insult to his wives and by extension their muna, Rhaegar snapped. In an instant he rose from his seat and smacked Viserys hard with the back of his hand, staggering his valonqar.

"Viserys!" Rhaella gasped, going to him. Behind Rhaegar, both Queens looked utterly horrified by what had happened.

"Stay where you are, muna!" Rhaegar bellowed before turning back to Viserys. "YOU WILL DO AS YOUR TOLD!"

"My rightful place will not be denied me!" He stands defiantly, as bold as he could be with a split lip and a reddening cheek. "It is my destiny to marry Daenerys," Viserys finally said. "Kepa promised it to me! Not some whore and her brat!"

"What our father promised to you in his madness is none of my concern. You will never marry your sister - I wouldn't have chosen her for you even if you hadn't shamed our family."

"She is mine!" Behind him, Rhaella was close to tears.

Rhaegar shook his head. "You disgust me, brother. You are confined to your rooms until further notice! Ser Barristan, get him out of my sight!" As the Lord Commander made to escort him out, Rhaegar had one last word for him. "You will marry Talisa and you will be a father to your babe or by every god above I will kill you. Do you understand?!"

With one parting look at his brother the King, Viserys let out his curse. "Our ancestors would roll in their graves with how weak of a King you are."

"GET OUT!" With that he was gone.

Trembling from the aftershocks of the disastrous meeting, Rhaella had to compose herself lest her sobs vocalize - only the hold of Ser Jaime kept her from falling apart. "I'll talk to him," she finally said, playing peacemaker.

Rhaegar only nodded, giving her leave to go. "Seven hells," he murmured, collapsing into his chair. Seven bloody Hells." Wordlessly, both Elia and Lyanna hugged him close.

---

With Aerys' death, Rhaella thought she could finally be at peace. No longer did she hate her brother, blame him for what hadn't truly been his fault, but by the gods she didn't regret being relieved at his death. A mercy, it was a mercy. He was free, and now she was as well. Free to be happy and raise her family in the way she always deserved to.

For the first time since that point, Rhaella felt the pain of Aerys' memory crashing back on her. "I hate him!" Viserys screeched, crying in Rhaella's arms like he did when he was younger. "I hate Rhaegar! He can burn in the seven hells!"

Her heart was breaking, hearing him say that. "Your brother loves you, my sweet son. Truly he does…"

"Then why is he doing this?! I don't want to marry Talisa Maegyr."

"You've gotten her with child…"

"She can just take moon tea and get rid of it!"

Rhaella thought of her past… of her many miscarriages, stillbirths, and dead babies. All of them still haunted her. "No woman deserves that, Viserys. You can't condemn your child to be a bastard."

He shook his head. "Not fair… it's not fair… I wish kepa had won! I wish Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar!" Rhaella said nothing, merely burying her face in Viserys' hair and letting the tears fall.

Her feet carried her aimlessly through the corridors of Winterfell, mind a fog and barely hearing Jaime call her name from behind. She loved him, and knew that his arms would be greatly needed later when the full force of what happened hit her, but right now Rhaella needed something else. She needed to forget, to smother the agony of seeing her sons in such a state with proper familial love.

"Grandmother!"

Rhaella's head snapped around, drawn out of her fugue as the adorable figure of Baelon ran towards her. "Your Grace," called Ser Brienne, the large female Kingsguard trailing behind after the Prince. "Do not run far from me."

Seeing her grandson heading for her and her alone, Rhaella opened her arms and gladly took his eager embrace. Holding him tightly. "Oh, my sweet little dragonwolf." Rhaella pressed kisses to the crown of his head, inhaling the spicy scent of his hair. Though dark as night, in everything else he was exactly as his father at that age.

Ser Brienne stopped, bowing low. "Queen Rhaella… forgive me. The Crown Prince simply is a feisty little one who got away from me for a moment."

Hearing the Kingsguard's apology, Rhaella couldn't help but chuckle. "Believe me, I raised the King. This hatchling isn't anything I can't handle." She tickled his sides, making Jon giggle. "I love you so much, Baelon."

He looked up at her, peering curiously. "I love you too, grandmother." Seeing her, Jon had been eager to hatch his plan in a manner of speaking, but the Crown Prince truly did adore his mighty grandmother, the Mother of Dragons. "What's wrong, grandmother?"

She took a deep breath. "Nothing's wrong, hatchling. I just missed my beautiful grandson." She nuzzled his hair, all curly and soft.

Jon didn't believe her - he could sense she was sad, and resolved to make her happy. "Wanna come watch me spar with Robb?"

Gods, how could this beautiful child get any more adorable? "You've gotten quite good at it, I assume?"

The Prince beamed. "Robb is good but I always beat him. Uncle Ned says I'm gonna be as great as kepa, but no one can be as great as kepa." From his face, he was absolutely serious.

"Oh, I love you my sweet dragonwolf," Rhaella breathed, kissing his cheeks over and over even as it began to embarrass him. "I would love to watch you spar with Robb, though you should include your brother as well. You two should be very close and I am counting on you to get him to be more active."

"I promise, grandmother."

She stroked his cheek. "Such a good boy. A wonderful King you will be… and a husband to your future Queen." The thought brought Viserys to mind and her eyes watered.

"My future Queen is Dany… or Sansa - or both of them like kepa and munas."

Yes, you are exactly like your father, dearest Baelon. "Come on, let's go to the sparring ground. Hopefully we'll find your brother and cousin - where do you think your nephew is, Jaime?"

Jaime smiled. "If I know him, he is there already."

"He does look like you, my love," she replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand affectionately - noticing Ser Brienne shuffle her feet and look away awkwardly. "You should come as well, Brienne. Show the northern ladies here how a woman can fight."

"It would be my honor, your Grace."

Holding onto her hand, Jon waited several minutes as he and his grandmother - Jaime and Breinne trailing behind - walked through the halls before he spoke again. "Grandmother, how did you hatch the dragons?"

She blinked. "I've told you this story before, Baelon. Why are you asking."

Jon was nervous for a moment before he could see there was no alertness in his grandmother's tone, merely a gentle curiosity. "I said what I remembered to Sansa but she doesn't believe me. I wanna convince her. Please tell me again."

Rhaella laughed merrily. Oh, Baelon, trying to charm the pretty ladies even at a young age. Hopefully he could be guided towards one - or two - rather than being promiscuous like Viserys or his uncle Brandon. "Alright, I'll tell you the story again. You're lucky I enjoy speaking of my great deeds to you hatchlings."

The dowager Queen didn't notice her grandson's tiny, devious smile - one he hid between a big grin with his growing baby teeth.

---

"Stop, just stop." Advancing forward, Jaime saw the two royals lower their sparring weapons. "Both of you have talent, but I would be remiss if I let you go on like this."

Jon gaped, slightly hurt. "What am I doing wrong, Ser Jaime?" While he wasn't Arthur Dayne or kepa, Ser Jaime was his grandmother's love and a very skilled swordsman on his own accord - the Prince respected him greatly and to be critiqued by the Lion of Lannister hurt.

Seeing the Prince's eyes almost in tears, Jaime softened. "You're good, my Prince. Too good in fact." The praise calmed him down. "You take too many risks for the knowledge you have. There's a time for boldness and a time to keep calm and assess your options. Do you understand?"

"I… I think so." Across from him, Rhaenys giggled mockingly and Jon scowled. "Shut up, Rhae," he said, sticking out his tongue.

"You're just jealous that I woulda kicked your butt." Beyond, Dany and Sansa giggled at the comment and it only made Jon more embarrassed and furious.

Rhaella, muffling a giggle herself at how adorable her grandchildren were. "Rhae, be nice to your valonqar."

"Ugh… fine." A following mumbled apology would be the best Jon would get.

Shaking his head, Jaime turned with a smirk to Rhaenys. "As for you Princess…" Her face fell. "You're too eager to show off. That may be fine for a tourney…"

"I will win all the melees!" she proclaimed, her chin up haughtily. "I'll win the jousts too, just like muna."

"I don't doubt that, Princess, but if you hope to learn how to fight in battle, you cannot show off. Battle isn't like a tourney… it's brutal and sloppy. A brawl, not a dance. You have to be more careful and more solid."

While Rhaenys hated being critiqued, she nodded, conceding that Jaime had a point. "Kessa, Ser Jaime."

Cracking his knuckles, Jaime drew Brightroar, letting it gleam in the sun to the awe of those around him - especially his nephew Robb, who looked at the Valyrian steel blade with glee and a hint of envy. You'll get a Valyrian steel sword, dear nephew… just not this one. "I think a demonstration is in order for our young ones. Ser Brienne." The quiet Kingsguard, standing behind the Dowager Queen, blinked. Pointing to herself. "Aye, come forward and draw your sword. I want to show their Graces and my niece and nephew how true knights fight."

As both Rhaenys and Jon scampered back to where the others were, eyes eagerly watching the Lion of Lannister as he dueled with the she-Knight of Evenfall Hall, Brienne looked nervous walking forward. "I wish not to hurt you, Ser Jaime."

He chuckled. "Don't worry, I don't believe anyone will be hurt in this fight." Jaime gave Rhaella a cocky grin, which set the Queen alight with desire. That only made the knight even cockier.

Drawing her sword, Brienne waited for Jaime to form up. Years of training when other girls would wear dresses and learn to knit or write calligraphy, all of it had caused her to be shunned but came to fruition when a spar with his Grace the King led to her donning the white cloak to a shocked court. The greatest of honors, serving alongside legends like Ser Arthur Dayne or Ser Barristan Selmy… but it was Jaime Lannister that drew her. Not as a lover, but more like what Renly Baratheon had been for her before his treason and death.

A mentor… one role that Jaime seemed happy to accept. They had sparred before with blunted swords, but never with real blades and never in front of others. Breathing deeply, she readied her sword and planned to meet whatever attack Jaime made.

The lion knight didn't disappoint. Even in full plate he was fluid, feinting to the left before charging with a rightward swing. Brienne was no slouch and darted back on quick legs, her blade meeting Jaime's. He twirled and slashed from the other side but Brienne was quick with her parries. "You've learned," said Jaime, pulling back to recover.

"I had a good teacher," she replied, earning a smile before Jaime charged again.

"Isn't my uncle amazing?" Robb told his cousin with awe, imagining himself fighting as Ser Jaime did - only with Ice and in the same northern armor as his father.

"Not as good as my kepa," Jon replied, though his mind was elsewhere… This was noticed by Dany and Sansa. The former tapped his shoulder while the other looked at him expectantly. Eager to tell them, he dropped his voice low. "Grandmother told me the story."

Dany grinned. "So we're doing this?"

Jon nodded, looking at Robb. "Tonight. We go tonight."

A sigh from the older boy. "Not going to be easy."

Sansa clasped her hands together, grey eyes dancing with a fierce zeal. "That makes it fun." She sidled up to Jon, leaning close to him. "I'll do my part, cousin."

"As long as the two squids do their part," Rhae murmured, not trusting them as she did Artie and Ally to achieve their goals. "Gods be with us."

"What are you whispering about?"

They all looked up to see Rhaella peering down at them, eye raised curiously.

"The direwolves," Dany answered quickly, smiling widely. "How jealous I am that I can't have one."

"When Frost has pups, I'll give you one, Sansa bubbled, hugging Dany. The two girls smiled, giggling together - genuinely - and placating Rhaella.

Finally, after what was a far longer spar than either Jaime or Brienne expected, the blade clattered on the ground and Brightroar stopped right before it could chop through Brienne's neck. "Yield," he demanded.

"I yield," Brienne replied. She was smiling in spite of her loss. "Your teachings have greatly benefitted my form, Ser Jaime."

"I should hope so, Ser Brienne. You're a Kingsguard after all." Approaching the others for a gourd of water, Jaime was instead greeted with a pair of arms looping around his neck and soft lips eagerly devouring his - much better than water. "My mighty knight," Rhaella breathed, biting her lip and with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Later, my dragon," he replied, kissing her cheek. "So, your Graces. Niece, nephew - do you see how it's done?"

"Yes, uncle," Robb replied.

"Yes, Ser Jaime, replied Jon, Rhaenys, and Aegon.

Clapping his hands, Jaime eyed the bunch. "Who's next then?"

Robb raised his hand. "Me, uncle. Me me!"

"Alright, Ser Robb of House Stark. Get in there!" He mussed the boy's blond curls and watched with a grin as Robb darted eagerly onto the training field, picking up a child's practice blade. "Now, the heir to Winterfell needs a sparring partner. Any takers?"

While normally he and Jon usually sparred - and if not Jon it was Theon - Robb surprised them all. "I want Egg."

All eyes were glanced in surprise to the equally surprised Prince Aegon. "Me? No." He shook his head, trying to deny.

"Robb," warned Rhaella. She supposed that being with Jaime made her his aunt, and she was thusly protective. "It may not be a good idea…"

"I want to see him do it. I think he'll be good like King Rhaegar," Robb insisted.

"Yes, brother, go," Jon added, equally insistent.

"Valonqar…" Egg warned…

"Do it, Egg." Now Dany was pushing him onto the ground. "Don't be a babe."

Looking once more behind him, seeing not only Jon and Dany nodding at him but also Rhaenys joining in. He sighed and went for one of the swords. It was unfamiliar in his hands, but he had watched enough spars to have picked up the basics. "Into place, Prince Aegon," Jaime began, ready to step in if needed. Aegon took his stance, trying to recreate what he saw his kepa and brother doing. "Begin."

Robb darted forward in a simple lunge, doing his best to be gentle - and with joyful surprise Egg managed to parry the strike. The move was sloppy and unsure of his form, but a parry nonetheless. "Go Egg!" Dany called out much as she had for Jon.

But it was for naught for Robb recovered and thrusted again, hitting Egg in the shoulder and sending him to the ground. "Aegon!" Rhaella was by his side in moments. "Are you alright?"

Gritting his teeth, Aegon felt the pain in his shoulder. It was close to agonizing and he wanted to cry, but seeing the gazes of not just his family but the servants and guards within Winterfell… No, he would not let them think him weak. "I'm fine," he said. "Again."

Sensing Rhaella's worry, Jamie tried to intercede. "My Prince…"

"Again, Ser Jaime," he insisted, forming up again to face Robb - face almost exactly like Rhaegar's. "Don't hold back, cousin."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Egg." And again it began, Prince Aegon fighting for his inner dragon to wake.

---

It truly was lonely, being King. Lonely and ever greuling. Some were content to just wallow away in their pleasures and glories rather than care about the finer tasks of ruling and duties of stewardship that the crown gave them - monarchs such as Aegon IV came to mind in this manner - and much as Rhaegar wished he couldn't abandon the oath he swore upon his coronation.

Either his oath as a King or his oath as a husband.

The former had already battered him that morning when dealing with Viserys - by the gods he hadn't wanted it to go as far as it did, but his valonqar needed that lesson after so long. Hopefully having a wife and child will bring him out of his bitterness.

Rhaegar chose to believe that - to hope, for the sake of his family and that of his muna.

Ned, thankfully, said nothing about it though it was beyond doubt he heard from Lyanna all the details. His goodbrother merely helped him with the latter oath, one that Rhaegar dearly hoped would bring some much needed love and comfort into this trip that Viserys threatened to derail it. Sensing his exhaustion, Ned promised to see to the arrangements and for that Rhaegar was grateful.

Tiredly passing by a grinning Ser Oswell waiting several paces from his door, Rhaegar didn't put two and two together until entering his bedchamber and being greeted by a crackling hearth in the early dusk of the North. "Greetings, my King."

Blinking, Rhaegar's gaze found his two beautiful brides. Unlike the warm northern dresses he saw them wearing only hours before, both Lyanna and Elia had changed into skimpy dressing gowns of Dornish manufacture… ones that barely covered anything and barely shrouded any part of their bodies in such gossamer fabric. Seemingly beastly dress in the cold North, but the fire burned brightly and filled the bedchamber with heat. Curled in a basket by the hearth was little Spirit, the direwolf sleeping soundly, so it was only the three of them. "My loves?"

Lyanna looked at him curiously, only to laugh. "Poor Rhaegar, so burdened by the day that he cannot think straight." She leaned against the wall, sliding a long, alluring leg up the side.

As for his Dornish beauty, her bronzed legs were equally displayed by the gown. "I'm sure he'll figure it out."

Brows knotting, Rhaegar looked around and found the furs spread wide across the bed, joined by candles and several jars of the special spiced oils that his wives, their ladies, and his muna specially imported from Lys. It clicked. "Oh, you want to give me a massage?" In all honesty, it sounded heavenly.

Elia giggled, batting her long lashes at him as if a high-priced courtesan from Sunspear. "Oh, my King, that is only the beginning of our plans for you right now."

A slow grin formed on his face. "Gonna be that kind of massage, eh?" He laughed. "Carry on, my Queens."

"Uh unh," Lyanna replied, smiling wolfishly. "Strip."

"Do you dare command the King?"

"Only the Queens can command the King… unfortunate that Elia and I are your Queens. Now strip." Getting hard at the authoritative she-wolf growl Lyanna employed, Rhaegar wasted no time… though he did draw it out, enjoying their appreciative stares. "Oh gods… what a magnificent dragon you are, my King." From the lust and love in her eyes as she gazed at his nude form, Lyanna spoke genuinely.

Licking her lips, Elia wanted to avert her eyes but was too focused on her favorite parts of her well-built husband. "Rhaegar, you better lay on your back or else we'll never get to the massage."

Chuckling, Rhaegar blew them both a kiss and did as he was told. The bed was comfortable, furs soft on his skin as he laid his head to the side and tried to arrange himself so that his cock didn't ache badly - gods, was he hard for his beautiful brides. Twin swishes of cloth filled his ears as a pair of powerful legs straddled him. "Ready, my love?" Lyanna whispered, leaning down to lick the shell of his ear.

Rhaegar groaned, feeling her bare breasts press against his back. "This is not fair." He tried to wriggle free, but Lyanna was too powerful for him.

"Very fair, now enjoy it." The warm oil soon filled his back, followed by her powerful fingers. "What a strong and mighty King. He needs to be worshipped for what he does for the realm."

"Aye, my love," Elia agreed, covering her hands in oil and working at the knots of his calves. "He deserves the world for the pain he suffers."

Eyes closed, Rhaegar moaned as he felt Lyanna and Elia's hands glide over him. The fire was a toasty perfection, as were the oils that only made their gentle touches even better for the knots and stresses of his muscles. "Seeveeennn hellls…"

"Does this feel alright, my King?" Lyanna again whispered in his ear, trying not to moan as the tips of her nipples scraped against the warm oil coating his back. Between her legs her core grew wet with desire of her own, but Lyanna tried to concentrate on applying much-needed pressure along the thick chords of his neck and shoulder. "Do you wish for us to continue?"

"Oh… if only the maesters of the Citadel could bottle this… milk of the poppy would no longer be needed," he murmured.

"Such a poet, our dragon King is," replied Elia, moving to his feet and working at the rough and cracked calluses there - massaging the oil deep into the skin. "I cannot express how much I love him, Lya.

"Mmmm, I cannot either." They both continued with their ministrations till their hands ached, simply enjoying how their unclothed bodies worked in tandem, as well as rubbing against his own beautiful form. Working at his neck, his back… the planes of abdomen and his sculpted rear… was there no part of him that didn't seem made by the gods?

The answer was a resounding no.

It grew to be too much, and when Elia's warm hands cupped Lya's heaving breasts from behind, there was no more waiting. "Fuck, turn over, love."

Rhaegar obeyed the words of his wives and flipped over finally. Watching both beauties looming over him in all their glory. Gods, even after many babes carried within each looked as beautiful as a maiden. Thin waists, perky breasts that defied aging, plump rears… their faces were beautiful in different ways, hair framing them as they flushed with lust and love - especially as they kissed each other. He loved them, he loved how they loved him - he loved that they loved each other. Rhaegar loved everything about their marriage and wouldn't give it up for the world.

"Mine," he husked, reaching for them…

Only for Lyanna to firmly swat him away. "Don't even think about it. Now it's time for you to relax and let us pleasure you." Grinning at Elia, who grinned back, both knew that they'd enjoy every moment of it.

While their hands had so soothed the stress on his back, it were their mouths and tongues that did the same for his front. The Queens licked and kissed the battle-scarred alabaster skin and taut muscles, both starting at his flat stomach but Elia moving downward while Lyanna tracked the opposite track. Rhaegar hissed as Lya's lips sucked at a puckered nipple. "My loves…" Rhaegar was proud, he was a fierce dragon, but in the face of these two beauties he just let go. "I'm yours…"

"Aye," Elia smiled, wrapping her fingers round his cock and squeezing lightly. Marveling at how it twitched and leaked, her tongue lapping up the tiny pre-seed. "And we're yours, my King."

Lyanna kissed and laved at his neck when Elia straddled him, unable to wait as she sunk onto his cock and took him fully. "She's so tight, isn't she?" Lya whispered in his ears, watching Rhaegar's face contort. "Our Dornish angel… a slattern in the bedchamber."

Gasping from the feel of him stretching her cunt deliciously, Elia chuckled throatily. "Look who is speaking, Northern whore."

"Only for the two of you," Lya shot back. She swung her legs atop his chest, eagerly shimmying forward till her cunt was only inches from his mouth. "All yours, my beautiful dragon," she murmured, moaning filthily as his tongue shot out to lap at her sweetness. "Oh, yes." The reality of her pleasure was far better than even the greatest of her fantasies of dragonlords and Targaryen Kings within these very walls only seven years previously. If only I had them then…

While normally frantic and heated as befitting their blood, the events of the day as well as the languid place of their earlier massage ended up ensuring a slower pace. One that allowed all three of them to truly enjoy the touches and feel of their loves. Lyanna was in the center of attention, enjoying how Rhaegar's hands and fingers danced over her thighs, waist, and ass, teasing the former two with light touches while the latter found the ample flesh dug into and smacked, making her scream in pleasure. From behind, her own muffled gasps filling the room as she rode Rhaegar like a prize stallion, Elia molested her front. Lips attached to her neck and leaving plenty of marks while her hands defiled Lya's breasts, kneading them and pinching her nipples to the encouragement of the she-wolf.

Even as both women wailed their climaxes, soaking his cock and lips with their juices - even as they switched positions, both hungry for more from him - the Queens never ceased proclaiming their love for him in the most reverent of words.

"Our love."

"Our husband."

"The kepa of our hatchlings."

"The mighty King of our Realm."

"A mighty dragonrider."

"The most powerful man we've ever known."

"I love you."

"I love you."

"Rhaegar…!"

"Yesssss…!"

After what seemed like hours, Rhaegar held both of his wives tightly as they rested half-on, half beside him - their faces buried in the crook of his neck. "I am the luckiest bastard on the earth," he whispered to them, stroking their bare backs and enjoying their whimpers.

Suddenly, the patter of feet upon the wooden floor heralded a new arrival as Spirit jumped onto the bed. "No," Lya warned. "Down boy."

In that moment Rhaegar felt a cold snout sniff his side, taking in the pungent smell of the oil. "This… is rather perverse if you think about it."

"Leave the pup alone, husband," Elia laughed. "He's so cute… hey…" The pup leaped on Elia's bare back, crawling unsteadily across it till he reached Lyanna's.

"Bad pup," Lya chastised. "Off muna!" Looking up, Rhaegar saw the pup merely sit on his haunches, yawn, and curl up into a ball on Lyanna's back. "Damn it… you… you creature," she sputtered.

Rhaegar felt at a merry ease at this little domestic moment. "Gotta hand it to the boy, he certainly knows the best place to rest."

Elia' put out for a moment, found her lips curling into a warm smile. "It's true, husband. I've slept with my head in that wondrous place for nigh hours."

"You two are unbelievable," Lyanna replied, huffing… though it wasn't long before she was smiling as well.

---

Hearing the fifth hiccup in the span of ten minutes, Prince Baelon - bundled up in his thick furs to ward off the cold - looked up at his sword sword. "You alright?"

Sandor Clegane steadied himself against one of the trees in the godswood. Not the heart tree though. Did that once and almost got gutted by the Queen. "Nothin', just… might've drank more than a bit." The pretty serving girls, as if fawning over him, kept replacing his tankards at dinner - whenever he finished one a fresh one was handed to him. He must've drank about five.

"Perhaps you need to relieve yourself, Ser Sandor," smiled Princess Daenerys, looking innocent.

"I'm not a Ser, girl." Normally he would've been instantly suspicious, but he was drunk and his mind was slightly foggy. "Mayhaps you're onto somethin', silver pest," he drawled, hiccuping again. The gaggle of Targaryens insisted on coming here to the godswood and since he was on duty, he had to escort them. "You, Princess."

Princess Rhaenys swiveled her head around from where she was playing with Sprinter, the direwolf of her uncle Benjen. "Yes, Ser Sandor?" Unlike Dany, she didn't bother with an innocent face and smirked viciously.

He shook his head. "You're worse than the pest." Dany beamed at that, considering the name praiseworthy. "Watch over the Little Prince, Silver Pest, Little Bird, and Young Lion - make sure they don't do anything stupid."

"Aight, I will." Sandor nevertheless grumbled and he stormed off, trying his best to stay steady. "Little Bird? I assume that means Sansa."

"Apparently my doggie has a soft spot for you, Sansa," Jon smiled, looking at his cousin.

Sansa blinked. "He's scary, sometimes."

Dany scoffed. "Hound is harmless, but you did great." Forgetting about Sandor thanks to Sansa's batting her cute eyes at the servants to continually fill his cups, Dany shifted her gaze to the dark brush surrounding the heart tree. "Come on out," she whispered loudly.

Hiding within the thick evergreen brambles that gave the godswood a wild, primeval air to it, both Artie Mormont and Allyria Dayne emerged, Dornish features nevertheless carried with confidence in the North thanks to their mother and father respectively. "We got 'em. No one even paid attention to us."

Stepping forward, Jon peered into the sacks carried and found the eggs nestled within. Calling to him… as if begging him to let them free. "Excellent, now all we need is the fuel." Eyes peeled around, searching for the Greyjoys.

Sansa rolled her eyes. "I knew they'd flake…"

"Shut it, Sans." Annoyed, Theon emerged from the trees with Asha in tow. "This wood is heavy." Both their arms were piled high with driftwood stolen from the shed behind the kitchens, perfectly seasoned and ready for a nice dry burn. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Not so loud, they'll hear us," hissed Dany.

"I don't know about this…" Egg was still skeptical, as was their aunt Cella. "Still not to late to stop…"

Jon clapped his brother on the back. "Be a dragon, Egg." That quieted dissent.

Soon, the wood was piled into a decent ring with a gap in the center cleared of snow that Jon and Dany could fit in. Asha produced a jar from a small sack and started spreading something all over the fetters and open space. "Whale oil from White Harbor. It'll help it burn."

"A squid would know," Rhaenys teased, earning a glare. She pulled a flint and quickly lit the fire. "No going back now."

Taking a deep breath, Jon reached out to squeeze Dany's hand. "Ready, Dany?"

Dany wasn't nervous - rather beaming with confidence. "Let's go." They picked up the eggs, awkwardly, with Jon struggling to balance four and Dany with just three. Without delay, they rushed to the fire, which was now blazing high.

Immediately, Sansa lost her nerve. "No, stop…" But it was too late, the Prince and Princess disappearing into the flames.

Settling himself into a dark corner of the sleepy keep, Sandor Clegane yanked down his trousers just enough to free his cock. "Fuckin' lioness," he muttered under his breath. "Can't even let a man take a piss…" Apparently with the new cobblestone grounds it was demanded of all the inhabitants to refrain from fouling them with refuse or excrement. Sandor understood it applied to human shit, but for a piss? "She's tryin' to make my life fuckin' difficult," he murmured.

But then the stream of warm liquid left his bladder and he sighed in relief. Now to finish this before his cock froze off in the bitter cold…

"Clegane!"

Shaking some remaining drops off, he stuffed his cock back into his breeches and looked over at someone in northern leathers trotting to him. "Who the fuck are you?"

The man frowned. "Ser Rodrik Forrester. Have you seen my brother, Asher?"

A scowl. "If I don't know who the fuck you are, how the fuck would I know your brother."

Rodrik rolled his eyes. "A way with words, you have, Clegane." His brows knotted suddenly, taking a whiff of air. "You smell smoke?"

"I'm sure the kitchens are still baking and roasting…" He smelled it too, and it wasn't a cooking fire. "Aight, that's strange…"

"Seems to be coming from the godswood…" They looked over and saw an orange-red glow from within the tops of the trees. "No!"

The Hound's stomach dropped. "The children are in there." Seven fucking hells…

"Why are you fucking standing here, come on!" Rodrik was off, Sandor hot on his heels.

Jogging into the godswood, a cacophony of different voices began to ring in Sandor's ears, sobering him quickly. "They're burning! They're burning!" a female voice cried out, sobbing.

Sandor didn't really recognize it, but Rodrik Forrester did. "Lady Sansa!" They found the despondent redhead, shaking with terror. "What is going on?!"

"Stop it, Sansa!" Princess Rhaenys. "They're fine, stupid!"

"We're dead…" murmured Prince Aegon. "We're so dead."

Asha Greyjoy looked nervous. "I want it known I had nothing to do with this!"

"You're not getting out of this, sister," insisted Theon, who also looked scared.

"All of you are babies!" Artie Mormont was as steadfast as his parents.

"Muna… muna…" cried Princess Myrcella, while Princess Alyssa was jumping up and down in excitement.

Through it all, the two men had no idea what was going on. "Stand aside!" bellowed Sandor, pushing through the brush to see what was going on. A large bonfire, one in the clearing of the heart tree but with enough space between it and the other trees to not risk growing out of control - at least if the two human shapes seated within it made him freeze. Eyes dilating as the fiery memories of his brother's torture filled his mind.

Rodrik Forrester gasped. "Seven fucking hells! Is that the Crown Prince and Princess Daenerys?!"

"They're fine!" Rhaenys insisted.

"Fucking hells! Fucking hells!" Alyssa chanted, not knowing what the words meant but thinking them funny.

"You idiot! Stop standing there with your dick in your hand and fucking do something!" He shoved Sandor towards the blaze as he ran back towards the keep. "Help! The Prince is in danger!" he screeched at the top of his lungs.

Still shock still, it took Rhaenys basically hitting him and yelling for Sandor to snap out of it. "They're fine! They're not hurt!"

Squinting… they turned out to be right. The two figures moved, but it seemed more shuffling to be comfortable even as bright red-orange flames surrounded them. "Fuckin' dragons," he murmured. "One cannot even take a piss in peace without you dragons setting a blaze. Or yourselves ablaze." Just like the stories of Rhaella Targaryen. "The King'll feed me to his dragon for sure."

None of them noticed the shifting of the little bundles held tightly in Baelon and Daenerys' embrace.

---

"You did what you had to do, your Grace," Cersei insisted, arms crossed. "I'm sorry, Queen Rhaella, but Prince Viserys acted abhorrently."

Sipping some mulled wine, Elia snorted. "I would think you'd have some compassion for him, at least?" Rhaegar and Lyanna had long accepted Cersei as the loving wife of Ned, but Elia was a little… more skeptical. She'd heard the whispers of what Catelyn Tully did in the North and of her continued pursuit of Rhaegar even after she and he married. Just needed to make sure, given how she loved Ned as her goodbrother.

An uncomfortable question… at least until Cersei laughed. "Why would I?" She hugged Ned, sitting beside her on one of the loveseats in the sitting room. "Ned and I were expressing our love for each other, not simply satiating base desires - plus we married in the end. No, he's more akin to Robert Baratheon."

"Viserys would do well to make sure he loses a comparison to that pig," Lyanna mumbled under her breath, leading to Rhaegar squeezing her hand. "I met Talisa at the reception for the Volentene triarchs. Unlike the other slavers, she was a nice girl. Viserys better treat her kindly."

"He will," Rhaella insisted. "He's a sweet boy. Just needs guidance."

Rhaegar looked across to Ser Jaime, watching the Kingsguard and his muna's paramour wince softly. A feeling he shared. Why does it seem like she is setting herself up for the greatest agony in the future. He loved his brother, but it was clear that sympathy for what Viserys had gone through blinded Rhaegar to the faults he was developing. "Ned?"

"Hmmm?" the Warden of the North asked.

"You're quiet. Do you have an opinion on this?"

"Yes, brother." Lyanna leaned forward. "Did Rhaegar do the right thing?"

Thinking for a moment, finally Ned nodded. "He needs to learn humility and honor, but be careful. As my mother told my father before she died, insisting too hard to turn someone to a direction they wish not to go builds resentment. It's why he allowed Lya to learn arms."

Lyanna blinked. "Mother said that to him?" Thinking of her father brought her sorrow, which caused Elia to kiss her cheek.

"Aye… Viserys could harbor resentment to you for the rest of his life if you don't approach this carefully."

"Do not worry, Lord Stark." Rhaella looked confident. "I assure you, my son is a good boy. I will make sure he keeps his kind nature and learns honor." Was she the only one that believed that? Seemed like it, though no one was willing to voice their true opinion.

Suddenly, the sound of commotion outside drew their attention… "What in seven hells?" Ned muttered, rising just as Ser Arthur and Dacey burst in, both looking utterly panicked.

"Your… Grace…" Arthur huffed out, clearly having ran all the way from… somewhere far off in the keep.

"Gods, man, breathe!" Rhaegar hissed, rising. "What happened?"

It was Dacey that responded. "Prince Jon and Princess Daenerys… they were playing with a fire in the godswood and then stepped in."

Elia and Lyanna were up in a flash, as was Rhaella. "My babes!" screeched the Dowager Queen, running out at a full speed that would've put horses to shame.

"No! No! No!" Lyanna was in hot pursuit, legs pumping, followed by Elia. Faces ashen with terror, the King and Warden of the North joined them.

Cersei, alone among the group, looked at her brother. "I would assume they're all unburnt. The King emerged unscathed with his dragon, as did Rhaella."

Jaime shrugged. "Children are children, especially when they're your own."

"Very true." While rushing after them, it was at a leisurely pace without fear.

Getting there first, seeing a hustle and bustle of guards, servants, and guests milling about the entrance to the godswood, Rhaella burst her way in - assisted by Ser Barristan when he caught sight of her. "Where's my daughter?!" she screeched. "Where's my grandson?!"

"Your Grace…" It was Benjen. "Please calm down, nothing's the matter…"

"Calm down?!" Elia shrieked, now arriving.

"Ben, you say that to me when it's Allyria in a fire!" Lyanna wasn't taking shit from anyone, close to drawing Wolfsbane if she didn't get answers.

"Muna! Muna!" It was Egg, running to hug their skirts. "Come see, something amazing!"

"What? What is it Egg?" Rhaegar jogged up.

Seeing her father, the once despondent Sansa ran over and tugged at his arm. "Poppa, it's wonderful."

"Child, please tell me…"

"Just come see." Lord Tywin was there too, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've seen it happen before, but it still gets me."

Before any of the royals could ask, a loud shriek filled the icy air of Winterfell, halting all conversation. Seated cross-legged in the midst of the smoldering wreckage of what had been a pretty sizable fire were Jon and Daenerys, fully nude and covered in soot but otherwise unharmed. However, no one noticed that. Instead, the seven crawling shapes were the draw.

"It… it can't be…" Rhaegar walked towards his son and his sister, utterly transfixed.

Sansa hugged her brother. "It worked!" she whispered into his ear, filled to the brim with excitement.

Seven newly-hatched dragons - one the color of cream, a sapphire one, one of a royal purple, one gold with white streaks, one of burnt orange, a silver one, and the largest black with streaks of red. The remaining eggs had hatched in the fire, and now were crawling all over Jon and Daenerys to the amazement of everyone.

Rhaella was soon beside them, equally as amazed as Rhaegar. The dragons peered up at her, but seemed more keen on rubbing their muna and kepa for warmth. "You… you…" what words could she say?

"Babe dragons!" bubbled Alyssa, simpering in glee.

But it wasn't her that darted forward towards the whimpering, squirming hatchlings that crawled all over the shoulders, chests, and heads of Jon, Daenerys, Rhaegar, and Rhaella. The one who did was quite surprising. "Cella!" called out Jaime, ever the overprotective father for the Princess almost universally regarded as the sweetest and most delicate of the Targaryen brood. Never one to speak up, never one to break the rules.

And yet there she was, approaching the dragons. Jaime almost ran to her but was stopped by a look from Rhaella. "Daughter?" she asked.

Cella's innate shyness came out and she bit her lip. "Jon… Dany…" Her eyes were glued to one particular dragon nestled in Dany's arms - his scales golden with white streaks through them. "Can I…?"

Giggling as the hatchlings wriggled all over her, Dany nodded. "Take him." She presented the hatchling, extending her arms.

The Princess looked up to her mother only to see a proud smile on her face. "Go ahead. Bond with your dragon, my sweet.."

Filled with confidence, Cella darted in and scooped up the dragon. Feeling the warmth of his scales and the surge of fire in her veins. She gazed into the eyes of the tiny beast, almost feeling what he felt.

Muna…

She blinked. "You talk to me?" Cella murmured in High Valyrian.

Muna. Still a babe, the hatchling crawled with his wingclaws to Myrcella's head, screeched once, and promptly curled up to sleep.

Finally, a servant managed to find a couple of cloaks to cover the Crown Prince and Princess, who were starting to shiver now that the heat of the fire began to leave their bodies. Rhaegar took one and draped it over Jon, causing the hatchlings to hiss and jump but otherwise welcome. "Kepa?" Two bright violet eyes looked up at Rhaegar. "Are you angry?"

Rhaegar sighed. "You scared all of us half to death, my son." Jon looked away, guilty. "But you did… gods, I'm proud of you." That coaxed a smile.

"We hatched dragons like you, muna," Dany said to Rhaella, the smile from when she first felt a hatchling crawl atop her only growing wider now.

"You did, daughter." Rhaella kissed her head, mindful of the dragon half resting on it. "The Crown Prince and Princess welcome seven new dragons into the world!" the Dowager Queen proclaimed.

It was Asher Forrester, watching from a growing throng of onlookers, who spoke next. "Aegon and Visenya come again! The Conquerors reborn!"

"Conquerors reborn!" That was from Sansa, clapping her hands together excitedly for her cousins and playmates.

Swords were drawn, praise heaped on the extraordinary actions. "Conquerors reborn!"

The largest of the hatchlings, black with red streaks, mounted Jon's curly head and extended its wings. A wild shriek left its maw, echoing through the entire godswood and all of Winterfell beyond, joined not moments later by three powerful roars.

Notes:

Those... kids! They just have to still being based and dramatic, lol. Gave their parents a heart attack but it was worth it, no?

Well, Viserys done stepped in it multiple times.

Just wait till little Spirit is bigger. Then he'll really ruin Lyanna's sexy time XD

Be sure to comment! The more I get the sooner I'll update.

Chapter 93: All my Children

Notes:

Hey all. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone :)

Enjoy.

"I still can't believe it worked!" Rhaenys was on a cloud… first the direwolves finally returned and entered her life, and now she hoisted her bonded dragon hatchling into the air. She flapped her wings and shrieked, but Rhaenys had a tight hold on her belly. "Nymerion, the greatest dragon there is!" The color of blood-orange, the Martell color, Rhaenys knew she was meant for her.

"Nuh unh, Syrax is the best!" Dany huffed, holding her cream dragon. "She's the most beautiful dragon." Her own hatchling was a prideful beast with a sense of her own beauty, but with a mischievous streak just like Daenerys did.

A snort. "Wrong, Valyrax is the best! The biggest and the best." Everyone thought their dragons were the top ones, but Prince Baelon knew his black dragon had them all topped. Gods, he loved his hatchling… more than anyone except Dany, Sansa, and perhaps his munas and kepa.

"Aye, he is the biggest," Egg commented, stroking the scales of his own dragon Tessarion. "But size doesn't always matter."

"Speed best!" Alyssa insisted, running around the room with the aptly named Stormfyre, equally as wild and fierce as his bonded rider. So also well matched was the beautiful Goldenwing, the male beast bonded to Princess Myrcella.

"Way to make us look like chumps," huffed Artie, though alongside his cousin Allyria and the young Greyjoy boy they couldn't really be mad.

"I'll let you ride Stormfyre," Alyssa offered, which made him smile. The only one not smiling was Asha, though she didn't smile at much.

Smiling as Dany continued to lavish Syrax with love and attention as if the she-dragon were a babe, Sansa's gaze shifted to the pillow - a sad frown forming on her face. "One's without a name."

"What… oh." Dany sighed. There, sitting on the pillow with a lowered head and almost wilted wings was the blue dragon, lone among the others not to have formed a bond with anyone. No one was willing to separate her from the rest of the hatchlings - her brothers and sisters - but it was clear from how she looked at all of them that she longed for a bond companion. "It's so sad…" Dany felt tears pricking at her lids.

"She didn't bond with anyone?" Egg was incredulous at the idea. Tessarion had practically climbed all over him upon first contact - the two were inseparable. "We can take her to Vis, or Dae, or Ric…"

Rhaenys shook her head. "Kepa already did that. She nudged them with her snout but otherwise nothing." While dragons were great with their rider's children and cordial with other Targaryens, only a bond-companion could coax out their true affections. Hence why Nymerion was currently fast asleep curled in Rhaenys' lap while no one else but perhaps Jon or Dany could get anything close to such love - and only because they hatched them. "The hatchling isn't destined to be ridden by any of our siblings."

"No!" Alyssa stamped her feet, which Stormfyre mimicked with his wingclaws… it was comical when the cute little Princess did it, and even more when the still gangly hatchling followed. "No, no dragon alone. We find good rider for blue," she insisted, running to the hatchling and scooping her up. The blue dragon screeched lightly in surprise, but accepted the touch of one of the Targaryens… Yet it only seemed to arise a sense of jealousy and possessiveness in Stormfyre, who flapped over to where his rider was and shrieked at his sister. A shriek was returned, and the two snapped jaws at each other.

While most of the royals were laughing at the insanely funny scene, Robb - worried that a fire might start - rose to stop it. "Lyssa, enough. Let it be… ow! Hey!" The blue dragon nipped him with her jaw, glaring as if protecting her nest. Robb shook his hand, seeing a tiny cut. "Maybe she doesn't have a rider cause she's a mean dragon."

"Oh, cousin, stop it." Baelon rolled his eyes. "Dragons are not mean, fire and blood is their nature." He patted Valyrax on the head, the black dragon almost preening. You're the best, boy. The biggest and the best in the world. You're Balerion reborn and I'm the Conqueror come again. They called him that after all.

"Her bite says otherwise," Robb mused, rubbing his wound which was already starting to clot.

Rhaenys shook her head. "You're not a dragon, Robb. They'd react to you or Sansa or Ally or Artie or Asha the same way. Especially Asha," she teased, earning a balled up sock smacking her in the head. That only widened her smirk. "Just like I'd advise a non-Stark to not approach muna's direwolf, Spirit."

"You're not a Stark, viper," Asha stated.

That drew a real ire from Rhaenys. "I am so a Stark! I'll have a direwolf one day just like muna!" Nymerion hissed at Asha, who merely shrugged in her bored tone while Theon flinched next to her. Cella thought it was hilarious and burst into giggles, Goldenwing chirping upon her head.

"Calm down, both of you!" urged Egg. speaking loudly. While even brooding Baelon was known to yell on occasion, Egg was normally the most quiet of them all and so his yells had great effect. Though immediately he blushed. "Sorry, Rhae."

She inched over to him. "No, valonqar. It's fine." Rhae kissed his forehead, all placid again.

Not having spoken for a while, Sansa finally piped up. "Maybe she's just mean cause she doesn't have a name."

Many pairs of eyes found the redhead, who blushed at the attention. "A name?" Dany thought for a moment. "That's right! Poor thing is still called 'blue' or 'the blue dragon.'" While Syrax was perched on her shoulder, Daenerys went and scooped up the little hatchling, now hanging from her arm. To any objective observer, it would be massively adorable. "She needs a name, and as her muna I will pick the best one. Baelon?"

Dragged out of his daydreams of riding on Valyrax as the most powerful dragonlord since Aegon or Maegor, Jon blinked. "What?"

"Ugh… Rhae, you're up."

Pursing her lips, she thought. "Wasn't there a dragon called the Blue Queen?"

"That's my dragon, Rhae!" Egg protested.

"Oh… embarrassing," she deadpanned.

Dany shook her head. "Ally?"

Allyria was quick. "Meraxes, after Rhaenys the Conqueror."

"Tempting… tempting…" Seemed good to her, but was a bit… simple to her. Obvious. "Cella?"

"Maybe Oceanwave?"

"Nah, not right. Lyssa?"

"Bluefyre! Bluefyre!"

"We already have a 'Fyre.' Egg?"

He shrugged. "Sansa's idea. She should get first crack at naming her."

Dany agreed with that. "Sansa, what do you think we should name her?"

"Oh… me?" She demurred. "No, I can't."

"What do you mean? You can. It was your idea."

"Yeah, Sans, do it," insisted Robb.

"Do it, Sansa," Rhaenys added, drawing everyone except Baelon into urging her.

The girl noticed it. "Baelon?"

He gave her a piercing look with his violet eyes that reminded Sansa of when they first met in the Weirwood vision, the same look Dany also gave her. "Please… I wanna hear your idea."

How could she say no to that? "Um… maybe…" Looking at the dragon, who was staring at her with icy blue eyes, the color immediately reminded her of a necklace her stepmother wore. A large pendent of sapphire stones. Sapphire… "Saephyra," she announced, pronouncing it in the Valyrian way like everyone pronounced Dany's full name. "Name her Saephyra."

"Saephyra…" It rolled off the tongue, and Dany immediately noticed the dragon chirping and bobbing up and down at the name. "Aye, Saephyra it is!" Sansa beamed at her choice being chosen, which led to Baelon hugging her… she minded it not, hugging back even with a squirming hatchling in between them.

The little gathering finally, gradually drew to a close as one by one the maids and guards began to take the children to their chambers - all of them wary of the dragon hatchlings which was amusing to the royals. Tyrion came to fetch Robb last of all, opening the door very slowly in case of a potential ambush. His role as Loren Lannister turned out to be a recurring one, and he still had a twinge in his back that the Wintertown brothel hadn't cured. But all were behaved this time… which made him instantly suspicious as he took Robb out.

Finally, Cersei arrived minutes later. She would've accompanied Tyrion but a bout of the stomach malady thanks to the babe in her belly waylaid her. As such, she would just be picking up Sansa. "May I enter?" she asked, always respectful of the privacy of her daughter and her royal goodfamily.

"Come in, momma," Sansa called out. Cersei entered to find the dragons scampering about over Jon and Dany, flapping their wings. Sansa, giggling, stroked the scales of the blue one and the hatchling seemed to enjoy it. "I picked her name!" she bubbled excitedly. "Just like your necklace… the blue one!"

She was confused. "My sapphire necklace?"

"Aye, Aunt Cersei. Saephyra." Baelon was clear on the Valyrian pronunciation, both on a matter of pride and to not earn Dany's scolding.

"Is that a fact? And Sansa chose it, wonderful." While the mother in her was glad to see Sansa making friends with her family, her father in her saw that she was ingratiating herself with the royal family… the heir at that. Everything good could come of this. "Time for bed, dear pup." At seeing a put out expression on Sansa's face, Cersei immediately had an idea. "Unless you would rather stay here for the night?" Princess Daenerys slept in the same chambers as the Crown Prince, so what was the issue if Sansa did so? They were all but six namedays.

Sansa's eyes lit up. "Really, momma?! Yes please!"

"Yes, Lady Stark, please?!" Dany begged, giving her wide, pleading eyes. They were as convincing as Sansa's look when she tried to charm something out of Ned.

Cersei wouldn't have fallen for it, but she wanted this too. "Alright, but you have to go to sleep at once. I'll inform the Queens of this arrangement." While excited squeals and dragon hoots followed, only minutes later all were passed out underneath the furs, nestled together.

A prelude if I have anything to say about it. Cersei was grinning as she shut the door, already laying out plans for the future.

---

"You are so beautiful." An amazing set of lips kissed down from Rhaella's mouth across her cheek, reaching her ear and taking a lobe in his mouth. "The most beautiful dragon."

"Mmmm…" Jaime was the epitome of a chivalric knight. Noble, strong, erudite… the kind of man that could fight in five trials by combat triumphantly and then recite a poem for her - Rhaella, however, figured it was only for her. Her love driving him to such nobility. Gods, she adored it. "Tell me more."

Jaime kissed and licked down her neck, lavishing it with attention that she'd need her maids to help cover with her hair. "You don't see how gorgeous you are… the things you do to every man in your orbit." A shudder coursed through Rhaella at his words - she hadn't truly, not since Bonifer but returned at Jaime's lust and love.

Only now, even as his magic touch assaulted her in the wee hours of the morning, Rhaella wasn't feeling the same burning lust that harkened back to that of a wanton maiden seduced by a life of debauchery. Too much plagued her mind… a tempest she couldn't control.

Her seemingly dazed responses were quickly noticed - first Jaime tried to increase his ardor, lavishing attention at the spots on her body he knew drove her wild, but when that didn't work he drew back, collapsing against the bedding in a huff. "What's the point of having a lover half your age if you're not going to enjoy him?"

Rhaella shook her head. "I enjoy you plenty, Jaime," she huffed back. "The night before wasn't enough to sate your urges?"

"Perhaps if I was in the bed of an ordinary maiden, aye, but with you… gods, I cannot help myself."

"Yes, I know when the doors close to our bedchamber you become more lion than man," Rhaella shot back, though this time she couldn't hide her smile. Was she truly mad at him? No. "Forgive me, my love. Your touches were wonderful, but…"

He reached up to squeeze her shoulders. "What's stressing you, my love?" Before she could respond, Jaime shushed her. "It can't be me, because you would've said it already, and if it was Rhaegar you'd be conferring with the Queens at this moment. I'm going to guess… either the Realm or the children."

Without prompting, Rhaella surged and kissed him thoroughly, pulling back to breathe as her violet eyes sparkled with love. "You know me so well and I love you for it." Caressing his cheek, she finally sighed. "It's not the Realm. Those worries are so constant that I've learned to put up with them."

"Ah, so the hatchlings then, our darling among them." Seeing their little Cella with a dragon in her arms… Jaime could see the same fierceness her mother and elder sister had in those moments and it pleased him greatly. "Wouldn't their bonding with your House's ancestral beasts be a good thing, my love?"

Another sigh. "I must sound ungrateful and rather neurotic about this gift of the gods."

"Never." He wrapped his arms around her, palms resting on her breasts - rather intentionally it seemed, though Rhaella never minded. "Just tell me."

"I love that they are dragonriders, Jaime, bonded with their mounts, but they never knew a time without dragons. Myself, Rhaegar, we were raised with the sense of humility knowing we weren't completely secure in our reign. For good or for ill, the hatchlings will never know that." Rhaella's voice was half-astonished, half-prideful. "Ten dragons, Jaime. Ten! All with bonded riders. Ever in the run up to the Dance we never reached that level."

"Something to be proud of, especially for me." She raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how earth-shattering it is for me to be ridden by a woman that also rides dragons?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was a glint in her eye. Rhaella quickly straddled him. "I am yearning to ride, and Jaimexes isn't in this chamber." Jaime was only too happy to acquiesce.

As the sun rose over the eastern horizon, the put together yet fully satisfied dowager Queen passed by Sandor Clegane, standing guard at the door to the Crown Prince's guest chambers. "Is my daughter within?"

Sandor nodded. "Aye, long with the Stark whelp." Rhaella didn't need to ask more to know it was Sansa. "She'd been around those two every night."

This surprised her. "Every night?"

"Aye. Little Bird's just like the Princess. Think they sleep in the same bed… that boy is so much like his father…" Sandor shook his head, Rhaella unable to discern if it was a compliment or not.

She thought of it as one - there was no better dragon than her son and Jon could be as great or even greater. Stepping through, she found the three children already awake, fawning over the dragons. "Dracarys," Rhaella heard her daughter say. "Syrax, dracarys.

"What, dra...car...is?" Sansa asked, mushing over the word. She'll have to learn Valyrian.

"Means fire," Jon replied, holding Valyrax in his arms. "Dragons like their meat cooked."

Nodding, Dany urged a tiny bit of raw beef in front of Syrax. "Dracarys, Syrax." The hatchling half-yelped, half-coughed, releasing a tiny puff of fire that singed the meat. Apparently that was enough, Syrax digging into the cube of flesh. "Good girl!"

That moment, Jon looked up and saw his grandmother. "Dany." He nudged his aunt.

Dany looked up. "Muna!" Dany ran over to hug her. "Good morning."

"Good morning daughter," Rhaella said, kissing her head. "You are as good with dragons as I." She beamed at that. "And Lady Sansa, not a hair or fold of your dress out of place."

"Thank you, your Grace," she replied, curtseying.

Sweet and graceful… good thing she has Cersei to raise her to be cunning as well. "Daenerys, why don't you take Sansa to break your fasts? I need to speak with your nephew." Visibly, Jon shrunk back, as if he thought he was in trouble. It was so cute.

Dany snatched up Syrax. "Can I take Syrax and Saephyra?"

"Of course."

"Come on, Sansa." Surprising Rhaella, the redheaded wolf snatched up the sapphire hatchling and followed her daughter out. More and more mysterious. That could be dealt with later though. For now, Rhaella sat on the bed and motioned for her grandson to join her. "Come Baelon."

Still holding a sleeping Valyrax, Jon complied. "Am I in trouble, grandmother?" His eyes were wide and he bit his lip.

He looked just like his father. "No, grandson. In fact the opposite, I'm so proud of you." She hugged him. "Your kepa and munas might be a little miffed at what you did, but I am nothing but pleased." He and Dany were bold, and cunning. Rhaella loved it, but was still concerned. "Just tell me what made you want to do it? Was it Dany?"

Baelon shook his head. "Dany didn't want to at first. I convinced her."

"Why?" In truth, Rhaella was a bit surprised at that.

"The eggs… they needed to live… to be like Aegarax and Jaimexes and Maerys." He cuddled Valyrax close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "But now they're here. We're now like you and kepa… and me with the biggest of them all." Baelon looked up at her, eyes vibrant. "I'm gonna be the best, grandmother. The best and the biggest." He stroked Valyrax's scales. "Our enemies will shake with my fire and blood."

Rhaella leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I have no doubt in your greatness, my sweet Baelon, but you must be careful with your dragon."

"Why? You and kepa bring fire and blood to our enemies."

"Sometimes, but only when it is necessary."

"I will make it necessary." He looked firm. "No one hurt my family ever. I will bring fire and blood to all that try."

She hugged him, feeling a little… unsettled but fully understanding. "Just be careful, alright?"

Baelon kissed her chin. "I love you, grandmother."

There he was, her sweet grandchild. "I love you too." She hugged him closer.

---

The buzzing of hummingbirds filled the air around the great keep, birds darting towards the ever-growing gardens of flowers to eat their fill of the delicious nectar. While once the noise of the famous denizens of Highgarden once irritated Olenna Tyrell to no end, the effects of old age upon her sense of hearing had the unintended benefit of dampening the annoying buzz. Look at the silver linings, I suppose.

Olenna was doing much of that, these days. While she missed Mace as any mother would, his death and replacement with Garlan had been a blessing in disguise. Hobbling along the walkways of the inner keep overlooking the courtyard, there was no doubt that her son would still be trying to schmooze the King for a royal betrothal for little Margaery. She snorted at the thought of it.

"Hold firm, my Lord… yes… that's it." A sense of nostalgia crossed Olenna's mind as she gazed down into the inner courtyard and saw her grandson Loras training hard. The blonde curls were matted to his youthful forehead by a sheen of sweat, but there was no denying his beauty. Like his brother Garlan before him, the lad was certainly dashing… if with a more graceful quality than his strong brother.

Spinning his practice sword as he and the master-at-arms took a breather, Loras found the battlements and smiled. "Good morning, Grandmother!" he called out, waving.

Nodding, Olenna pointed. "Get some water. You don't want to collapse from dehydration." Loras nodded and complied, Olenna seeing a bright future in the boy - though her observations nagged within her head about his look. Can't be that important if I can't think of it. She turned and wandered back towards the keep.

Within, the Queen of Thorns reached her intended destination rather quickly, unbothered by the servants and guards that darted about on their duties. While she had been greatly beloved in her youth, now that she was the aged grandmother of the Lord of the castle, Olenna had long since traded in such love for respect. It was on Alarie and now Melissa to earn the love of the residents of Highgarden, though they were being given a run for their money by the beautiful lady that Olenna was heading to see.

All of seven namedays, Margaery's eyes lit up as soon as Olenna entered. "Grandmother, look at what I've done." She held up a large square of cloth with a rather sightly image of three trees embroidered onto it. "It's the Three Singers," Margaery beamed. "Do you like it?"

Looking at it, she couldn't help but nod. "Very impressive, grandaughter. You are truly gifted at the feminine arts." Sufficient to obtain a good marriage, but the Queen of Thorns wanted more for her only granddaughter bearing the Tyrell name. I should have her accompany me more about the keep. "You've taught her well, governess."

The governess, a Lady of a smaller knightly house sworn to Highgarden, curtseyed. "I merely instruct Lady Margaery. It is her precocious skill that results in such treasures."

"Treasures, aye." From where Olenna's mind had been wandering, the choice of subject for her daughter's embroidery lesson couldn't have been more symbolically apt. "Finish it up though, dear. Add some detail."

Margaery nodded, her chestnut waves bobbing. "Alright, grandmother."

Oh child… you remind me of myself at your age rather than your idiot aunts. A good thing… a very good thing indeed. Outside, she called over one of the guards. "Instruct Lord Garlan, his wife, and his mother to meet me in my solar."

"Yes, my Lady." Garlan may have been a well-loved, dynamic Lord, but Olenna ruled the roost much as she had when Mace held the title. Such would never truly change if she had anything to say about it.

Her slow pace meant that in spite of her having a head start, her grandson and his mother and wife were already there. "Grandmother, you sent for us?" Twenty namedays, the Lord of Highgarden had turned into a mighty epitome of Reach manhood. He sat close to the Lady Melissa, her hands clasped in his own, a show of affection for the wife far older than he while she looked at him with an equal affection. Olenna approved, even though Melissa hadn't yet bore another child, a sibling to little Willa. "I assume it's important."

"You are correct, grandson." She eased herself into a seat across from them and Alarie. "While I am no prolific gatherer of whispers as Queen Elia or Lord Varys, I do have my connections. It seems that Crown Prince Baelon and Princess Daenerys have hatched seven dragons in the North."

Eyes went wide. "What?" Alarie was shocked.

"Seven," breathed Melissa. "Enough for all of the growing children of the royal brood. They shall be powerful indeed."

Nodding, Olenna clasped her hands together. "Exactly, which is why we have to act if we are going to ingratiate our family to the center of such power."

Garlan groaned. "Grandmother, not this again. I won't be repeating father's mistake of constant alliance-shopping using Margaery."

"Yes… that was distasteful, but Margaery is growing and she will need a good husband… but not one of the royal line."

If the dragons awed them, her latest statement confused them. "I thought you wanted to seek an alliance with the Targaryens, goodmother?"

"Alarie, I do, but to even subtly attempt to seek out one of the Targaryens for Margaery would be… badly taken." She tapped her cane. "Prince Baelon is basically inseparable with Princess Daenerys, and with the dragons born there will be a need to maintain closeness of the bloodlines."

A sigh from Garlan. "Ah, the argument of Jaehaerys I."

"It worked," Olenna replied. "No, we must look for what most of the fools will ignore. There is a cousin to Prince Baelon that I have heard has become rather close to him."

"Robb Stark, you mean?" Given she was a Blackwood, Melissa knew her fellow practitioners of the old gods.

"Precisely."

Garlan winced. "You'd have her move to that frozen wilderness?"

Olenna waved him off. "Oh, she'll be fine, and with the Starks so close to House Targaryen I doubt she'll stay there too much." She stared them all down. "I've planned this for a while, hence seeking to have one of the northern ladies, Mira Forrester, to foster here. Combined with your wife's knowledge of the First Men customs, we can prepare Margaery to properly become Lady of Winterfell."

"I wouldn't be too opposed, but Margaery must marry someone she wants," Garlan insisted. "I made that promise to her long ago."

"What man wouldn't want her?" Olenna found that none of her family had a response to that.

---

There was something to be said about the North. It's people were hardy and earnest, used to backstabbing and dangerous political games but not the honeyed words or palace intrigue common in the south. Usually, if there was discontent that didn't rise beyond that it was assumed a northman would express it explicitly, and that was what was happening now as Ned and Cersei held their court in the great hall of Winterfell - joined this time by the imposing figures of King Rhaegar and Queens Elia and Lyanna… the latter returned to Winterfell as a Queen rather than the she-wolf she was before.

Some of the Lords that filled Winterfell to greet the Royals looked at her with pride - most notably Howland - but others were simply too affronted by various grievances to care and the complaints began immediately.

"An outrage." Lord Rickard Karstark had been a hard man during the Rebellion and it had only gotten worse in the years since. The loss of his son affected him badly. "It is an affront to the traditions of our people!"

"Calm down, Lord Karstark," Ned proffered, but it wasn't taken well.

The old Lord was close to spitting. "Calm down… you promised that you would respect the integrity of my lands, but there are still Septons proclaiming their false gods upon my people." He pointed to the King. "My son died for your throne. I demand you fix this."

"Careful of how you speak to his Grace," growled Ser Barristan, only for Rhaegar to hold up his hand.

Ned had warned him of this eventuality, and a night of discussions with his Queens left Rhaegar with a possible solution. "I cannot officially expel the Faith from the North, Lord Karstark, but perhaps I could personally ask my good friend the High Septon to voluntarily restrict embassies to the North to where they are not wanted. Would that be suitable?"

"Not nearly enough," grumbled the Lord.

Lyanna had enough. "The High Septon rules the Faith and he wishes not to disturb those that practice the old gods," she insisted. "Or do you believe I would interact with someone who did try to convert me?" Lord Karstark said nothing to that. "I didn't think so." Under the table, Elia squeezed her knee while Cersei cast her a grin.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ned was steadied by Cersei's hand atop his as he waited for Luwin to call the next petitioner among the arrived Lords. "Lord Jon Umber and his heir, Jon." Oh, thank the gods… The Umbers were fiercely loyal to the Starks.

However Greatjon wore a frown on his face, while the much younger Smalljon - no more than one and seven from the looks of him - had an angry scowl. It was obvious that their ire wasn't directed at him or the crown though. "Lord Umber, I welcome you to Winterfell."

"Ned, Lady Cersei," Greatjon curtly replied. "Your Graces." He offered a formal bow of the head to Rhaegar and Elia, while his expression softened at seeing Lyanna with her crown. "Forgive me for impertinence, Queen Lyanna, but it is truly a wonderful sight to see the She-Wolf of the North upon the throne."

Lyanna accepted it, smiling softly. "Thank you, Lord Umber. Your kind words are much appreciated, but simply remember that I am a Targaryen monarch now and so while my heart remains here my priorities are shifted."

Unlike some of the other Northern Lords, who held this in a mix of emotions, Greatjon chuckled. "You are a Queen, wife, and mother, but you are still the same wild spirit I remember. Never change, your Grace." Lyanna shared his chuckle, after which he continued. "My son and I come to beseech you, Ned, and his Grace to focus on a danger developing to the north of Last Hearth."

"North of Last Hearth… you mean the wildlings?" Rhaegar asked.

"Aye, those savages," Smalljon growled. "They've selected a new King Beyond the Wall."

"We are aware, young Umber," Elia replied. "Mance Rayder, a deserter from the Night's Watch. He's been gathering the clans for a while but only recently have I been informed that he managed to secure all the holdouts."

Greatjon shook his head. "Thenns and a few others are still resisting his efforts, but it's only a matter of time and we are concerned. We need more men for the Night's Watch."

"Lord Umber," Rhaegar offered. "While I wouldn't be averse to that, the Watch has been in a sorry state for centuries. Even Lord Jeor Mormont couldn't hope to revitalize it, much as he is respected." Filled with criminals, the King could imagine people like Benjen Stark or Alliser Thorne could whip it up into a semi-decent shape with Aemon providing guidance, but all the competent people were in his own service alongside the wise Aemon. Thank the gods I got him out. "However, I will allow you to supplement your own banners to assist the Night's Watch in their duties. The crown will compensate you for a third of the expenses."

"House Stark will send some of its banners as well, Lord Umber," Ned added, glancing at Cersei. She nodded, smiling - while the Umbers were loyal, Starks needed to be seen assisting them or else the other Lords wouldn't see their Lord Paramount as concerned for the safety of the North. The new Lady of Winterfell could see that.

Eyes flickering about, she noticed that her lady Jeyne Farman had her eyes glued to the young Jon Umber - fuming as he was, he looked at times in her direction as well. While with a child of his own, Smalljon was a widower and she could tell her lady's thoughts. "My Lords, you must be tired from your long journey. If you don't mind we can discuss details later. Lady Jeyne will escort you to your guest quarters."

"My Lady," Jeyne curtseyed, sharing a twinkle with Cersei. "This way, Lord Umber. Ser Jon." Smalljon didn't correct her… eyes too busy raking over her waist.

As the Umbers left, Elia cleared her throat. "The Crown has approved the following fosterings among the Northmen. Lord Roose Bolton's son Domeric will foster at Winterfell at the request of Lord and Lady Stark." The quiet Lord Bolton gave nothing away, only nodding respectfully at the Queen as she spoke. No one trusted him, yet there was nothing but his house's reputation to hold over him… not that Cersei wasn't trying to dig something up. "Lady Mira Forrester will foster at Highgarden at the request of Lady Olenna Tyrell, while Robb Stark will foster at Ironrath when he is of a suitable age." That caused grumbles among the Whitehills and Glovers, the former due to their rivalry with the Forresters and the latter since House Forrester used to be their vassal. "And it is agreed between the crown and House Stark that Lady Sansa will foster at the Red Keep as the Lady in Waiting to myself and Queen Lyanna, while Crown Prince Baelon and Princess Daenerys will foster in Winterfell for one year."

Several whoops came from some of the Northmen at such an honor - no Crown Prince had ever fostered in the North. "Alright then." Rhaegar stood, and everyone bent the knee. "Dismissed."

"That went better than I thought," Lyanna mused afterwards.

"I still don't trust Roose Bolton," Cersei glowered. "And the Whitehills and Glovers will be trouble."

"There will be peace, love," Ned insisted.

Elia shared a look with her wife and goodsister… they hoped he was right, but didn't expect it.

---

Leaning down, Lyanna dipped the fresh wick in the flame to light a new candle, banishing away further darkness in the bedchamber and allowing her to read the words on the pages. Takes me back. Thinking on her childhood, staying up into the hour of the wolf while reading tales of dragons, warrior queens, and love stories by candlelight, she continued to feel a sense of girlish glee at the reality that her childish dreams actually did come true. If only she could go back and tell her younger self of the future.

There was one difference though. While her nighttime readings in the past were done alone away from others, that night… she was anything but alone. "Go one, muna, go on," insisted Jon, seated cross-legged on his bed and waiting patiently for her to continue.

"Yes, goodsister." Dany, resting on her belly with her head propped up by her arms, was also eager to hear the rest. "Sansa, best part is coming."

"Really, aunt Lyanna?" Eyes as wide as an owl, it was as if Sansa Stark was hearing these stories for the first time.

Beaming at the three of them, Lyanna leaned back in her chair resting next to the bed. Propped open on her lap was her favorite book on the Dance of Dragons by King Viserys, Second of his Name. The ancestor of her children - within, the child she had been let out a squeal of happiness at that thought. "Aye, patient as you pups are, we've reached the duel above the God's Eye."

Jon smiled widely. "Rogue Prince!"

"A mighty dragon fighting for his beloved," Daenerys sighed, no doubt filled with such romantic notions as Lyanna had been.

"I wanna see the dragons!" Sansa insisted, her eyes gravitating towards Syrax - the white dragon was asleep on the furs, curled up into a little ball. Valyrax and Saephyra were both there as well, but curled up in the rafters where they had flapped around before. All seven dragons were growing quickly, and each was attempting flight already, much to the joy of the children and pride of the royals.

"Be patient, pups, I'll get there." Finding her place again, Lyanna read on and on as the minutes ticked by. Watching the three of them hang on her every word as King Viserys narrated the furious clash between Caraxes and Vhagar. The three hung onto every word just as Rhaenys years before and Aegon only months before when she read the book to them - especially Sansa, who seemed in awe of the tales as if it was her first time reading it. Jon and Dany grew up in the shadow of the dragons, while they were just a far-away fact for Sansa.

But when the conclusion of the great duel was read, the fateful last charge of Prince Daemon against his nephew leading to both their deaths and that of their dragons… Baelon was utterly shocked, Sansa quiet while Dany on verge of tears. "They all died…" murmured the Princess.

Sighing, Lyanna nodded sadly. "Aye, they did." Her son and goodsister witnessed Ser Lewyn's death in Euron's assault of the Red Keep, while Sansa had known the death of her birth mother - all three were familiar with loss, moreso than many their ages. They could grasp it. "Daemon sacrificed himself so that Aemond would fall, for he would've ensured the end to his children." Such was how Viserys surmised it.

"But… dragons don't die." Baelon looked pleadingly at her.

"Dragons are mortal as all of us, my son."

"Why did they do that?" Sansa asked. "Why did they fight? They were blood." She couldn't envision ever turning against Robb, Jon, Dany, or her other cousins.

"Cause they didn't love family." It was Dany that answered, hugging her and Jon both. "I love my family. We'll never fight."

Jon nodded firmly. "No, never." Their hug made Lyanna melt. Seeing them yawn only a moment later, she closed the book and tucked them in under the covers - mindful of the sleeping syrax and not bothering to try and get Sansa to go to her own chambers. They really were inseparable. As she left, the last thing Lyanna saw were the hatchlings flying off the other bed to join their sister. It put a smile on her face.

"Those three…" Lyanna turned to see Benjen smirking at her. "A potential successor to the King and his Queens, Lya?"

Lyanna smirked back. "I wouldn't have a problem with that if it were to happen."

"The maidens and young knights of the realm might, three future beauties taken off the market." Ben laughed. "Forgive me, but I'm not here on duty."

"Really? I could technically punish you for insubordination."

"Your directives have no pull to me in our childhood home - here, I am but Benjen Stark and you are Lyanna Stark. The two of us siblings… tough I doubt you mind."

Benjen was right. She didn't mind. "So what has brought my dear brother to deny me from seeking out the warmth of my husband and wife?"

He shook his head. "Don't put those images in my head. I am no Targareyn." That only made her laugh. "Ned requested us to join him in his solar for a drink."

"Oh?" She wasn't about to deny that invitation. "Lead the way then, Ser Benjen."

While she had half-expected Cersei to be there since Lyanna could count on her hand how many times she had seen the lioness apart from her brother, Ned was alone and waiting for them. "Sister," he rose and hugged her, kissing her cheek.

"Dear brother," Lyanna replied. "Where's Cersei?"

A snort. "Am I not enough for you anymore?"

Lyanna shook her head. "Shut up, I'm just asking."

"To answer your question, she was forced to retire after… certain matters." Ned blushed, leaving Lyanna without any doubt as to what they had done before her goodsister went to sleep.

She bumped his shoulder. "Good job, big brother. Always knew there was a wolf underneath all that brooding." Cersei hasn't told him yet. If she had, then Ned wouldn't have left her. Seeing him blush harder, Lyanna relented. "So you have a drink to offer me?"

He nodded. "Aye, a mug of black ale as you like?"

"Gimme," she urged, taking the mug brimming with the delicious liquid. "I certainly missed this down south," she murmured, drinking the brew.

"I can have plenty of barrels sent to the Red Keep and Dragonstone if you want?"

"Please do." Looking to the side, Lyanna noticed all three of their direwolves for the first time. Initially they had been quiet, but were now playfully scampering together, Spirit playfighting with Sprinter while Frost merely watched with observant eyes. "Gods, they're just like we were back before you left for the Eyrie, Ned." Lya sighed. "Oh, how innocent we were then."

"Aye," Ben chuckled. "Me a third son lined up to the watch, you a second son more interested in brooding than anything, and Lya a little monster who made father's hair go grey."

That drew a snort from the Queen. "I don't think that really changed till the end, me giving father grey hairs."

"Least that worked out in the end, you and Rhaegar falling in love… then getting Elia to love you as well." Even after all of it, such still made him slightly uncomfortable in a prudish sort of way, which made Lya and Ben laugh. "Bran wasn't so far behind either." Gods, Ned had honestly lost track of the times he had caught his elder brother entering the brothel in Winterfell or taking a serving girl somewhere private whenever he visited. Least he was always responsible, unlike Robert.

"He was larger than life, that was for sure." The mood grew melancholy. "I still miss him though," Lya murmured, looking away. "I miss all of them. Bran, father... mother."

Ben nodded. "We all miss them, Lya." Although he much too young when she died to properly remember her, he still recalled her motherly love and warmth. "But I assure you that wherever they are now, they are immensely proud of us."

"And with good reason," Ned spoke. "House Stark is even more powerful than even when we were Kings of the North." One of their own was the Queen and mother of the heir, their Lord married to the daughter of the most powerful warden in the Seven Kingdoms, and the youngest child an already renowned brother of the Kingsguard.

"I'm sure they are delighted to know they are grandparents." Thinking of her children, nieces, and nephews brought a smile to Lyanna's face.

"Gods... who would've thought we'd all end up here," Ned murmured, drinking his ale.

"None of us," was Lya's laconic reply as she herself gulped her own mug. That truly wasn't much of a bad thing, though.

Notes:

Hope you liked all the names :D

Olenna and Cersei can't help but plot.

Truly, House Stark has come a long way. And it's got plenty more coming with the new generation ;)

Be sure to comment! The more I get the sooner I'll update.

Chapter 94: Appendix: The State of the Great Houses of the Realm

Notes:

Hey guys. Sorry, this isn't an update, but the sequel isn't quite ready yet and I want to get that fully geared to go before I post the final chapter.

Instead, since we're nearing the end, I was thinking I could create an appendix of sorts to leave no one in doubt as to who is who and what families are in existence that's changed from canon.

The Royal House Targaryen of Dragonstone:

• King Rhaegar, First of His Name - Rider of the Dragon Aegarax
• Queen Elia (formerly Martell), First of Her Name
• Queen Lyanna (formerly Stark), First of Her Name - Mistress of the direwolf Spirit
• Princess Rhaenys - Rider of the Dragon Nymerion - blood daughter of Queen Elia
• Prince Aegon - Rider of the Dragon Tessarion - blood son of Queen Elia
• Crown Prince Baelon (Jon) - Rider of the Dragon Valyrax - blood son of Queen Lyanna
• Princess Alyssa - Rider of the Dragon Stormfyre - blood daughter of Queen Elia
• Prince Rickon - blood son of Queen Lyanna
• Prince Daemon - blood son of Queen Elia
• Princess Visenya - blood daughter of Queen Lyanna
• Queen Mother Rhaella - Rider of the Dragon Jaimexes
• Prince Viserys - Rider of the Dragon Maerys
• Princess Consort Talisa (formerly Maegyr)
• Princess Daenerys - Rider of the Dragon Syrax
• Princess Myrcella - Rider of the Dragon Goldenwing

 

House Stark of Winterfell:

• Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North - Master of the Direwolf Frost
• Lady Cersei Stark (formerly Lannister), Lady of Winterfell - Mistress of the lion Lann
• Robb Stark - blood son of Cersei Lannister
• Sansa Stark - blood daughter of Catelyn Tully (deceased)
• Rickard Stark - blood son of Catelyn Tully
• Joanna Stark - blood daughter of Cersei Lannister
• Ser Benjen Stark, Knight of the Kingsguard - Master of the Direwolf Sprinter
• Lady Ashara Dayne, Paramour of Ser Benjen
• Allyria Dayne - blood daughter of Benjen Stark
• Serena Dayne - blood daughter of Benjen Stark

 

House Lannister of Casterly Rock:

• Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King and Warden of the West
• Lady Talla Rivers, paramour to Lord Tywin
• Ser Jaime Lannister - blood son of Tywin Lannister - Knight of the Kingsguard and paramour of Queen Mother Rhaella Targaryen
• Tyrion Lannister - blood son of Tywin Lannister
• Ser Kevan Lannister
• Lancel Lannister
• Martyn Lannister
• Lady Genna Umber (formerly Lannister) 
• Lord Jon Umber, Lord of Last Hearth and husband of Lady Genna
• Ser Gerion Lannister, Master at Arms of the Red Keep
• Lady Joy Hill, bastard daughter of Ser Gerion
• Ser Stafford Lannister, goodbrother of Lord Tywin and Castilian of Casterly Rock
• Ser Devan Lannister, nephew of Lord Tywin

 

House Tyrell of Highgarden:

• Lord Garlan Tyrell, Warden of the South
• Lady Melissa Tyrell (formerly Blackwood)
• Willa Tyrell - blood daughter of Lord Garlan
• Lady Dowager Alarie Tyrell (formerly Hightower)
• Loras Tyrell
• Margaery Tyrell
• Lady Olenna Tyrell (formerly Redwyne)
• Lady Janna Peake (formerly Tyrell)
• Lord Titus Peake, husband of Lady Janna
• Lady Mina Redwyne (formerly Tyrell)
• Lord Paxter Redwyne, husband of Lady Mina

 

House Martell of Sunspear:

• Prince Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne
• Princess Mellario Martell
• Arianne Martell - blood daughter of Doran Martell
• Quentyn Martell - blood son of Doran Martell
• Trystane Martell - blood son of Doran Martell
• Prince Oberyn Martell 
• Lady Ellaria Uller - Paramour of Prince Oberyn
• Lady Obara Mormont - blood daughter of Prince Oberyn
• Ser Jorah Mormont - Lord of Bear Island, husband of Lady Obara
• Nymeria Sand - blood daughter of Prince Oberyn
• Tyene Martell - blood daughter of Prince Oberyn
• Sarella Sand - blood daughter of Prince Oberyn
• Elia and Lyanna Martell - twin blood daughters of Prince Oberyn

 

House Baratheon of Storm's End:

• Lord Robert Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands
• Mya Baratheon - blood daughter of Lord Robert
• Gendry Baratheon - blood son of Lord Robert
• Edric Baratheon - blood son of Lord Robert
• Bella Baratheon - blood daughter of Lord Robert
• Ser Stannis Baratheon
• Lady Lynesse Baratheon (formerly Hightower), wife of Ser Stannis
• Shireen Baratheon - blood daughter of Ser Stannis

 

House Dayne of Starfall:

• Lord Alaric Dayne, Lord of Starfall
• Lady Yyns Dayne (formerly Yronwood), Lady of Starfall 
• Edric Dayne - blood son of Alaric Dayne
• Ser Arthur Dayne
• Lady Dacey Mormont - paramour of Ser Arthur
• Arthur "Artie" Mormont - blood son of Ser Arthur
• Lyanna Mormont - blood daughter of Ser Arthur
• Lady Ashara Dayne
• Ser Benjen Stark, paramour of Lady Ashara - Master of the Direwolf Sprinte
• Allyria Dayne - blood daughter of Lady Ashara
• Serena Dayne - blood daughter of Lady Ashara

 

House Mormont of Bear Island:

• Lord Jorah Mormont, Lord of Bear Island
• Lady Obara Mormont (formerly Sand, blood daughter of Oberyn Martell), Lady of Bear Island
• Lady Dacey Mormont 
• Ser Arthur Dayne - Paramour of Lady Dacey
• Arthur "Artie" Mormont - blood son of Lady Dacey
• Lyanna Mormont - blood daughter of Lady Dacey
• Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night's Watch
• Lady Maege Mormont
• Alysanne Mormont
• Jorelle Mormont

 

House Blackfyre (exiled):

• Princess Saera Blackfyre (daughter of Daemon III Blackfyre)
• Lord Illyrio Mopatis (deceased) - husband of Princess Saera
• Prince Aenar Blackfyre
• Prince Gaemon Blackfyre
• Princess Daella Blackfyre
• Prince Aelyx Blackyre
• Princess Aelora Blackfyre
• Lord Varys (relation unknown)

 

House Arryn of the Eyrie

• Lord Elbert Arryn, Warden of the East
• Lady Lysa Arryn (nee Tully), Lady of the Vale
• Sharra Stone, bastard daughter of Lord Elbert
• Jon Stone, bastard son of Lord Elbert
• Alayne Stone, bastard daughter of Lord Elbert
• Ser Harrold Hardyng, first-cousin once removed of Lord Elbert

 

House Royce of Runestone

• Lord Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone
• Ser Andar Royce - blood son of Lord Yohn
• Robar Royce - blood son of Lord Yohn
• Waymar Royce - blood son of Lord Yohn
• Ysilla Royce - blood daughter of Lord Yohn
• Lord Nestor Royce - cousin of Lord Yohn, Castellan of the Gates of the Moon
• Myranda Royce - blood daughter of Lord Nestor

 

House Tully of Riverrun

• Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun Lord Paramount of the Riverlands
• Edmure Tully - blood son of Lord Hoster
• Lady Catelyn Tully (deceased), former Lady of Winterfell
• Sansa Stark - blood daughter of Lady Catelyn
• Rickard Stark - blood son of Lady Catelyn
• Lady Lysa Tully, Lady of the Eyrie 
• Lord Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, Lord of Stokeworth

 

House Greyjoy of Pyke 

• Balon "the bold" Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke
• Theon Greyjoy - blood son of Lord Balon, Serving as Ward of House Stark
• Asha Greyjoy - blood daughter of Lord Balon, Serving as Ward of House Targryen
• Ser Victorian Greyjoy
• Aeron Greyjoy - Drowned Priest
• Ser Euron Greyjoy - in exile, Wanted Dead or Alive.

 

Small council:

• His Grace King Rhaegar
• Her Grace Queen Elia
• Her Grace Queen Lyanna
• Lord Hand Tywin Lannister
• Queen Dowager Rhaella
• Master of Ships Lord Davos Seaworth
• Master of Laws Lord Titus Peake
• Master of Coin Lord Tytos Blackwood
• Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Barristan Selmy
• High Septon Meribald
• Grand Maester Qyburn
• Master of War Lord Richard Lonmouth
• Master of Whisperers Lord Varys
• Spiritual Adviser Melisandre of Asshai
• Archmaester Prince Aemon Targaryen

Kingsguard:

• Lord Commander Ser Barristan Selmy
• Ser Arthur Dayne
• Ser Oswell Whent
• Ser Jaime Lannister
• Ser Benjen Stark
• Ser Arys Oakheart
• Ser Lyn Corbray
• Ser Brienne of Tarth

Notes:

So there we go. IF there is any family I've missed or that you wish to see, drop it in the comments and I will add it in

Feel free to use the comment section for speculation as to the future, I welcome it. The bigger the convos we can get the sooner I'll post the final chapter :)

Chapter 95: Godswood

Notes:

Hi guys. So, we've reached the end. Not the end of the tale, but the end of this particular part. Glad to have had you on board the whole way through!

Already, a much better fate than canon. Rhaegar alive, Lyanna Alive, Elia alive, Rhaenys/Aegon alive, Cersei and Jaime in good relationships, Ned with a solid partner, and baby Jon and Dany in happy childhoods surrounded by family that loves them. What a world.

And here we have the final part, where we conclude the first chapter and tease up the next ones. Enjoy.

"Thank gods the winds have abated." Lyanna ran her hand along the still clothed back of her beloved. One thing she disliked about the North… the cold prevented Elia from wearing the revealing Dornish dresses that the hotter climes of the south so allowed her to do. Granted, the Queen hated when the other men - and sometimes women - of court eyed her wife, but being able to ogle her herself made up for it. "A gentle snowfall this night, so we can sleep unmolested."

Straddling Lyanna's hips, the Dornish Queen frowned at the breaking of their kiss. Now was a quiet moment for them - the children busy, duties done for the day, and a rather active direwolf pup asleep in front of the fire curled up in warm blankets. All that was missing was their husband, but he'd return. But, she decided to play along - while grinding down on Lya's hips thanks to her hiked up dress. Elia reveled in how her wife bit her lip. "I actually like the blizzards. Louder the better."

Lyanna eyed Elia curiously. "Really? That goes against everything I've come to know about you." Of the three of them, Elia was the most voracious cuddler and it was Lya's contention that she did it to seek out warmth from both her and the human brazier that was their dragon husband.

"On the contrary." Elia leaned in to Lya's ear, tongue darting out to lick the shell as she was feeling frisky. "More noise outside means we don't have to be quiet here."

Her eyes fluttered shut as the Dornish goddess kissed down her neck. "Ohhh yesss…" There were no arguments from Lyanna as she grabbed two handfuls of her wife's pert rear…

"Your Graces."

"Go away, Arthur!" hissed Lyanna rather throatily.

Another knock. "Sister, open up." Ned.

Groaning, Elia eased herself off of Lyanna and fixed the skirts of her dress. "What do you two want?" she asked exasperated.

Ned gulped - they may have fixed their dresses, but couldn't hide their flushed skin. It wasn't hard to guess what they had been doing. "Ummm… his Grace requests you to join him."

That was unexpected. "Join him?" Lyanna's brow rose. "Join him where."

"He instructed me specifically to not tell you. That he wished for you to see for yourselves." Arthur was close to family, but he was still a Kingsguard and had his duties. "You have my honor as a knight that you will enjoy this, your Grace." He extended an arm to Elia, offering to escort her. Ned did the same thing for Lyanna, and while they were each at a loss they took the proffered hands, allowing the Warden of the North and Knight of the Kingsguard to lead them from their chambers as soon as they grabbed their cloaks.

While they were trusting of Ned and Arthur with their lives, when the two of them led the Queens out of the keep and towards the godswood of all places, Elia started to get suspicious. "What is going on, you two?"

"Nothing." Ned was the one who answered, and his face was like ice. "Rhaegar wishes to meet you in the godswood."

"Sounds more like somewhere I would summon him and Elia to, not he," Lyanna inquired, sharing her wife's suspicion. "He's always sought out warmth like the dragon he is."

"I thought the godswood was pretty warm," replied Arthur - at least compared to the castle it was.

Lyanna smiled at the thought of her mighty husband shivering at the beastly cold of the North. "He's a dragon… he needs more heart just as the Dornish lass does." She motioned to Elia. "Difference is at least she asks to be hugged, among other things." Grinning at Elia, her wife matched the grin.

Ned was still stone-faced. "If you think you can break me by mortifying me, you are wrong."

The Queen groaned. "Fine, I'll wait." Patience wasn't her strong suit, but how bad could it possibly be to require such secrecy?

Waiting at the entrance to the godswood were Benjen and Ashara, the former in the full dress armor of a Kingsguard and the latter in a formal white gown. Each held a red-black cloak in their hands - emblazoned with the sigils of House Stark and House Martell - and were smiling widely. "Thank gods, brother. We were getting worried."

"Hey, try convincing our sister to do anything," Ned retorted, and when Lyanna looked at him he couldn't contain his grin any longer. "We're here, Lya."

"Yes, Ned, I can see we're at the godswood. What's going on?" Looking at the tops of the trees that poked above the walls, there was a low glow about them… as if the center was illuminated by lanterns. Almost as if… "Someone's getting married?"

"Marriage in the godswood…" It became clearer to Elia. "Are you marrying, Ash?"

Lyanna couldn't contain her glee. "I told you! I told you that the vows of knighthood didn't matter in the North!" She threw her arms around her supposedly future goodsister.

Ashara laughed but gently pushed her back. "No, it isn't us marrying… Ben and I don't want to risk anything in regards to his vows and frankly, I'm content with what we have."

Conceding the point, Elia was still confused. "So who's marrying?"

"You are," was the answer from Ser Arthur, making both ladies blink in confusion.

"Um… Arthur, you know we are already married, right?" Elia was wondering if the Sword of the Morning had been hit on the head considerably hard during morning spars. "You were at both of our weddings."

"None of which were under the sight of the old gods, dear goodsister." Ned shifted his eyes to Lya, the greys filled with warmth. "Lya… you always dreamed of being married in the godswood of Winterfell."

Confused fully since Ned had first come to get her, finally the wool was removed from her eyes. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "Rhaegar… he's truly there?" Could it be? Could he truly be more of an amazing husband than he had been?

Ben nodded. "Shivering, but waiting happily for the both of you."

Gasping again, eyes filling with joyous tears, Lyanna moved to her wife and took her hands. "Elia… this… this is all I've ever wanted."

While it hadn't sunk in for her yet, how could Elia deny her love such a dream. "A second marriage… something I haven't heard of, but it sounds romantic." Her brows knotted together. "But who will give us away?"

Ned shrugged. "I know your parents are deceased, goodsister, but perhaps Arthur would be amenable to you?"

Looking at Arthur, she nodded. "I can think of no one better… at least since Oberyn isn't here." Arthur covered his chest, as if wounded. "And for Lya?"

"I thought I could handle it in father's stead." Instead of responding, Lyanna leaned up and kissed Ned on the cheek. Granting her assent.

They donned their cloaks only for a little head to poke out of the godswood. It was Baelon, dressed in a small set of northern leathers with a three-headed dragon emblazoned on his chest - he looked utterly adorable. "Muna! Muna! You're here!" He reached out to tug at Lyanna's hand. "Come on. Kepa's waiting!"

Elia laughed. "Well then, we shouldn't keep our dragon waiting." There was no denying the Crown Prince, the unprepared Queens being dragged along as Ned and Arthur followed.

The godswood was illuminated that night with the light of dozens of lanterns, each hanging from ropes strung between the trees along a snowy path through to the center. Lyanna watched with an awed look. "You planned this…" she murmured to Ned.

He gave a sheepish smile. "Was your husband's idea… Cersei and I merely put together the logistics of it."

She trembled slightly. "Thank you, brother."

Dressed not of wedding attire, they nevertheless saw the trappings of a proper northern wedding observed upon reaching the clearing around the heart tree. Gathered were three dozen, mostly family and their own household, but also the senior Lords of the North and even many of House Stark's retinue - eager to see their beloved lady be married again to her husband. In the van was their family, Rhaella beaming as the children looked to Elia and Lyanna with joyous eyes. The babes were held by their maids, and looked to be sleeping softly.

"You look so pretty, munas," Jon insisted. "Kepa thinks so." With that, Jon leaned up on his tip toes to kiss them both on the cheek before running off to his perch next to Daenerys - they both took each other's hands and watched with excitement.

Everything still surreal to her, it was only when Elia laid eyes on Rhaegar that the full weight of this hit. Her breathing quickened at the sight of him in his kingly leather armor and thick woolen cloak of Targaryen black and red, silver hair let loose to frame his face as it shone in the light of the lanterns. She flashed back to her own wedding, how he looked just as beautiful at the head of the Sept of Baelor… but there was a massive change.

Then, he had worn a mask of royal duty. Now, there was such a look of pure adoration at not just Lyanna, but herself as well. Elia had seen such a look before but this was different. This was a wedding, their wedding. My wedding.

He loves me and will marry me again… marry us again… She would marry both of her loves without anything held back or hidden, and her heart filled with the greatest joy.

Light dancing along the blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree, it was a beautiful sight around the two Queens as they were led down the snow path to their waiting husband and groom, the simple rugged beauty that the North possessed in abundance. Snowflakes glittering like diamonds in their approach. In places the clouds parted, leaving a glimpse of the starry sky and a full moon - a rather auspicious omen for the gathering. Both Elia and Lyanna stopped to greet all their children, gifting them kisses and quick embraces before their eyes settled on Rhaegar's… never looking away. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Howland began, officiating the ceremony.

"I, Lyanna of House Stark, a woman grown and true of birth. I come to be wed in the presence of the Gods." In this moment merely a bride again, she dispensed with all her titles. It was merely the three of them in love with each other - Rhaegar, Elia, and her.

Breath catching a little, Elia steeled herself lest she lose her composure with the emotions she was feeling. "I, Elia of House Martell, a woman grown and true of birth. I come to be wed in the presence of the Gods."

"And who comes to give them?"

"I, Eddard of House Stark. Brother of Lady Lyanna."

"I, Arthur of House Dayne, Knight of the Kingsguard."

"And who comes to wed them in the sight of the Gods?"

Reaching out with both his arms, Rhaegar took their trembling hands. "I, Rhaegar of House Targaryen, King of all Westeros." Perched atop his head was Aegon the Conqueror's crown, the rubies glittering from the lanternlight. "I take both Lady Lyanna and Lady Elia to wed."

"Lyanna of House Stark, do you take this man?"

Her smile widened to the point of breaking. "I take this man."

"Elia of House Martell, do you take this man?"

Elia felt her heart was about to burst. "I take this man."

"Rhaegar of House Targaryen, do you take these women?"

The King resisted the urge to close the distance and kiss them each so hard that they would be rendered mute. That time would come. "I take these woman," he breathed softly, never taking his eyes away from the both of them - sparing each equal moments of the purest adoration. From the small blush on Lya's pale cheeks and the tears in Elia's eyes, it was working.

Together, they knelt before the weirwood to make their prayers to the old gods. Man and wives long before this… for the life of them, it felt like the first true wedding they ever had.

---

"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,

"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,

"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,

"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."

Her song… the song that made her fall in love with Rhaegar all those years ago. Lyanna heard a rendition so beautiful that she was driven to tears, as were nearly everyone around her - but this time it wasn't Rhaegar who sang it, the utterly beautiful beautiful man seated right beside her at the high table of Winterfell. No, it was her dear son Baelon, possessed of his kepa's voice. Gods, Lyanna was so happy he inherited Rhaegar's voice.

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,

"Jenny would dance with her ghosts,

"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,

"And the ones who had loved her the most."

Not a dry eye in the entire great hall, claps and cheers rang out as Lyanna was first out of her chair. Running to her son and hugging him close. "My beautiful son. I love you."

"I love you too, muna," Jon replied, hugging her back.

After that, he quickly ran back to where the other young children were, given the honor of being at the feast and thus quite excited and hyper. Lyanna, meanwhile, sat beside her husband once again. "I'm starting to see why you think he's me with your coloring."

She looked at Rhaegar, lightly grinning at her. Gods, she wanted to kiss that grin off his face. "That was beautiful, Rhaegar… all of this… just perfect." He pressed his hand atop hers, which led to Lyanna taking it and bringing it to her cheek - nuzzling the strong palm. "You didn't have to do this for me."

"Fulfill your girlhood dream? Aye, I did. All you mean to me, it was a duty of mine." In that moment Lyanna felt like she fell in love with him all over again.

Their moment together was interrupted as Elia returned from speaking with Ashara, her delicate fingers brushing sultrily over Lyanna's neck before grabbing Rhaegar's hair and kissing him senseless. Tongue plunging in powerfully, drawing a ragged line of drunken cheers from the bawdy lords of the North.

Seated by himself - an eventuality that occurred ever since his aunt had been whisked away by a grinning Greatjon Umber for a dance - Tyrion didn't fret about that. He was used to it. No, the empty mug of ale was what brought him to the verge of sorrow. The dark liquid had tasted like watered down piss when he first drank it, but after a year in the North it grew on him. Got one drunk rather quickly, so that helped, especially how it helped warm a person in the icy chill.

"A'notha one, mi'Lord?"

Tyrion looked up to see a pretty maid, offering a large pitcher filled with ale. "Yes, please," he replied, holding out his tankard and receiving a refill by the smiling maid. "Thank you… forgive me, but I don't happen to know your name."

"Marcy, mi'Lord." Unlike many, she didn't look at him with disgust. "Just curious, mi'Lord. Forgive me, but does a dwarf have a dwarf cock?" Sipping at his ale, Tyrion looked up with a frown. "I's never seen one before you."

"I see…" He'd heard all the japes and insults before, and could tell this girl wasn't being scathing - and was quite pretty. "I have been known to be very pleasing to the women that it comes in contact with."

She giggled. "I might have to see that in person, mi'Lord." With a wink, she headed off on her duties, leaving Tyrion grinning.

"See… I told you he was doing fine on his own, now can we go…"

"Shut up, Cersei. Don't do this now." Tyrion looked up to see his dashing brother in full Kingsguard regalia, white cloak so bright it almost seemed chalked. "Greetings, brother," Jaime stated, taking a seat next to him. "Looks like you could use some company, though seems you're in better spirits than I thought."

"Aye, I am, but any company is appreciated." Shifting his gaze to Cersei, Tyrion could see her even more well-put together than Jaime in a woolen dress dyed a perfect crimson that hugged her curves, gold and sapphire jewelry. Arguably a contender for the most beautiful woman there. "Accept my apologies, sister. I didn't intend to draw you away from your husband."

Sighing, Cersei took a seat across from Tyrion. "Ned is currently spending time with the children and his sister, so it's fine." She didn't want to spend this wonderful night with her drunk brother… but there were less tolerable individuals at the wedding feast that she would be forced to entertain if not. "A wonderous thing the King did," she observed."

Jaime clapped his hands together. "Agreed… gods, it was hard to keep his secret… though harder for my dear Rhaella. She was so excited to plan the whole thing."

"An actually happy marriage ceremony," Tyrion observed. "Queen Lyanna's first, it was delightful but the specter of Aerys' madness was looming large. As for Queen Elia's… the less said about that icy ceremony the better." Tyrion had been there along with his father, and didn't wish to be part of such a tense, loveless environment ever again. Looking at the royal table though, Queen Elia was giggling like mad as the King pressed kisses to her neck and ear. Not a smidgen of unhappiness could be found on their faces. "Love is in the air, both for House Targaryen and House Lannister."

Cersei chuckled. "Even father, though he's not looking happy - being away from his new paramour."

"Oh, never call her that in his presence," Jaime mused, shaking his head. "Strike that, never even acknowledge her existence. Our father is in denial of how much she's wormed her way into his heart."

A snort. "And he said he wasn't ever going to replace mother."

"Rhaella thinks there was something between her and Aerys." From Cersei's glare. Jaime held up his hands. "We weren't really there, while she was. And is it such a bad thing, most marriages are arranged in that manner."

The glare remained for a split second before Cersei sighed. "Aye… it's rare to be you and I, brother. Both with those we love… and I suppose father is as well."

"That just leaves me," chuckles Tyrion dryly. "Ironic… we're two out of the three of the royal trio." Both of his siblings looked at him with confusion. "You, Jaime, are with a Targaryen. You, sister, are with a Stark. Just means I'm destined for a Martell - lucky lucky me."

Cersei laughed. "Oh brother, the Wall will melt before a Martell would ever be interested in you."

A raised brow. "Wanna wager on that?"

Thinking for a moment, Cersei nodded. "Alright."

"Come on, let's not do this…"

"Scared, Jaime?"

The Lion of Lannister narrowed his eyes. "Never."

His sister smirked. "Alright, Tyrion, if you do not seduce a Martell to the point of loving you before the Crown Prince marries, then you will have to work as the court fool for a moon."

"Just like Mushroom?"

"Just like Mushroom."

Running a hand through his hair, the dwarf nodded. "Alright, but if I do so, then Jaime's white cloak will be dyed pink for a moon, and you sweet sister will declare in front of the entire royal court how much you love and appreciate your little brother."

"This is ridiculous," Jaime murmured.

Cersei pursed her lips, but nodded. "I'm confident enough that such will never transpire." She raised her goblet of wine. "You're on." They clinked glasses to finalize their wager.

Besides them, Jaime snickered. "Well, Cersei, looks like you have some competition."

Curiously, Cersei looked around to see her husband dancing with Queen Elia. "Don't do that, you had me worried for a moment."

"Trust me, that man has eyes only for you," Jaime murmured, rising. "But you shouldn't be without a partner. Allow me to treat you to one." Cersei gave him a smile and accepted his proffered hand.

Slowly gliding along to the music of the rather adept northern minstrels, Elia chuckled. "Well, Ned. Looks like your goodbrother is the one dancing with your wife."

Ned laughed. "Good… I'd hate to wish to punch a man that put his lecherous hands on my wife. Jaime is who I'd wish to dance with her."

The Queen wanted to say something… she had heard rumors and whispers in her past, but declined. No sense in digging up the dead. Instead, Elia sighed happily. "You're a good dancer, Lord Stark."

"Jon Arryn taught me… said it would be a must to charm a southern lady. Happened with Cersei many a time though I never did find out with Catelyn."

"She wasn't much of a dancer, was she?"

He shrugged. "We never danced… never did much of anything not required by duty, to be honest." A flash of guilt passed over him, but only a flash. "Forgive me, Elia, but ultimately only Sansa and Rickard were worth anything from that marriage."

"Do not apologize, Ned. I know how you feel." Elia looked down, biting her lip. "Such was how I felt for Rhaegar before Lyanna came in our lives. A marriage much like yours and Catelyn's… now though." Elia looked to her husband and wife, the two of them watching her with love and a barely contained hunger. "This is how it should've been, Ned. No worries, no politics, no resentment or madness… just us. Just love."

"The heralding of a proper future. If only my father and brother were here to see it."

"I think they and my mother would've gotten along. Wolves, vipers, and dragons, who would've thought it?" Ned certainly hadn't, but it worked out.

---

The Dowager Queen was the happiest she'd been in a while. Her son proved himself just as much a romantic as her father had been - never once did she see her mother Queen Betha ever be saddened in regards to her marriage - righting the wrongs of the past and giving a symbolic reforging of the bonds that his marriage now had. Rhaella had once been shamed that she couldn't have provided him a sister to marry and be the warrior queen any Targaryen King needed, but with Elia and Lyanna by his side Rhaegar had rebuilt their family and reestablished the House of the Dragon. She couldn't have been prouder.

"I'm glad you've joined us, my sweet boy." On top of it all, her entire family save for uncle Aemon were here in the great hall - even Viserys, finally trudging out of his chambers where he had been since the blow up earlier… but the Prince didn't look happy about it, which dampened her happiness. "Please, Viserys. Do try to enjoy yourself."

Leading his mother in the dance, himself just as tall as her, Viserys scowled. "I'm here, muna. I wouldn't miss it, but don't expect me to be happy for my brother after what he did."

You put a child in the girl, Viserys. Much as Rhaella wanted to, she couldn't hurt him with such blunt comments. "Don't think of this as a punishment. Talisa was a good girl as I remember. You can be happy, especially since you are to be a father."

"She's not the woman I would've wished to marry, muna. Only one deserves that title."

Letting him guide her, Rhaella heard giggling all around. The particular dance was one of parents and children. Rhaegar twirled around a laughing Rhaenys, while Elia and Lyanna let Baelon and Aegon guide them respectively. Ned danced with a merry Sansa, while Robb looked a little shy with Cersei… the sight of Jaime dancing with her little Myrcella made Rhaella's heart burst with love. "Imagine it, my son. Dancing with a little girl of your sire. Looking a perfect Targaryen."

The thought made her son look… confident? Smug? "That is something worthy of thinking of, though hopefully she won't have any of her sullying features. A proper dragon." Rhaella sighed, leaning forward to kiss his brow. She'd cut her losses where she could.

Song ended, the children were hugged tightly by their parents, plenty of kisses pressed to cheeks and foreheads. Another song was put on, this one to be shared by King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna - the next presumably to be shared by the King and Queen Elia. While Lyanna wouldn't have minded to lead Elia in a dance, the show of modesty was at least needed for the sake of the Faith and others. Lyanna already resolved to share one in their chambers after they retired.

Viserys, feet aching, sat on one of the tables in the rear. Seeing Rhaegar and Lyanna dancing together, the latter leaning against the former's shoulder with dreamy smiles on their faces, he cursed under his breath. You're happy… you're content with your wildling. Why must you ruin me when you would never ruin yourself in such a manner?

"Normally it's your brother who broods that hard." Viserys looked up to see the tipsy dwarf brother of Ser Jaime. "You two clearly share blood with that look."

The Prince rolled his eyes. "Go away, dwarf."

Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow. "Quite blunt. Most try to make a joke out of it. I've heard them all." He sat across from Viserys, not that the Prince wanted to see him. "I can tell why you're upset, my Prince, and came here to offer some advice."

Viserys scoffed. "What advice could you give to the one who happens to be treated as a bastard of the Targaryen family?"

"All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes." Their gazes locked together. "You may feel lost or controlled or hated, but you have the blood of the dragon. Never will you not have power or influence, so do not let yourself destroy the good graces of your family. It's what I did." He pushed himself off the chair and ambled off, leaving Viserys to stew in his bitterness.

Once the two dances were done, Rhaegar clapped his hands, drawing all attention to him. "Lords and Ladies of the North, honored guests, your celebration of the renewal of my marital bond to my beautiful Queens under the sight of the old gods is much appreciated by myself as your King. However, now comes time that I must bid you goodnight."

"And we know what that means!" boomed Greatjon Umber, him and Genna Lannister - who hadn't left his side all night - both laughing uncontrollably. They were joined by many of the Northmen and quite a lot of the Targaryen household, making bawdy japes that were lost on the children but caused Lyanna to blush.

"What does that mean, muna?" Dany asked Rhaella.

Her cheeks flushed as well. "Don't worry about it, Daenerys." The Princess wanted to enquire further but saw her muna was not one to pry at that moment.

As Rhaegar led his smiling Queens out, Jon ran over to them with Alyssa in tow. "Where you goin' kepa?" He reached up. "Can I come?"

"Yeah, muna! Come with you!" Alyssa was much more insistent, while Baelon's tone was more a gentle pleading.

The royals didn't know what to tell them, but luckily Ned rescued his sister, goodbrother, and goodsister from a delay in their plans and an awkward explanation. "They need to rest after a long day, niece, nephew. But would you like to see something wondrous from the roof of the keep?" Both nodded, excited. "Don't say you don't owe me for this," he whispered to Lyanna.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Lyanna kissed him on the cheek and then tugged at her loves, leading them towards their guest chambers.

Ned intended for it to be just Jon and his spirited niece Alyssa - more a wolf than even Lyanna was ironically enough - but that was shortsighted on his part. "Do we have to go in the cold," shivered Dany. Normally very tough, the Princess did not enjoy the freezing weather of a northern night.

"Don't be craven, Dany," Rhaenys teased.

"I'm no craven," she shot back, only for her teeth to chatter.

"Here, Dany." Sansa came and wrapped an arm around her. "I help warm you up." That seemed to help Dany's mood, the Princess returning the embrace. It warmed Ned's heart.

Feeling a tug on his cloak, Ned looked down to see it was Egg. "What are we here to see, uncle Ned?"

Smiling, Ned ruffled the wild curls of the Prince. "Something we haven't seen yet cause of the clouds."

Sansa's eyes widened. "Oh, that?! Gods, Jon, Dany, you have to see this. It's amazing!"

"She's right," Robb conceded. "Very very pretty."

"What?" Jon was curious.

Ned grinned. "Look up."

They did, and jaws dropped and gasps were heard at the sight. "Wow…" A panoply of color danced in the sky, almost like a flowing river coursing through the entire landscape of the pitched black sky and thousands of twinkling stars. "It's like a rainbow," Rhaenys murmured.

"What is it, uncle?" Baelon asked.

"The Northern Lights. We grow up with it here in the North, so they're pretty recognizable. Southerners never see them so they hold an almost otherworldly beauty to them." They were just as beautiful to him too, now that he thought about it. "Do you like it."

"Yes, uncle Ned, of course!"

Dany watched them with amazement. "You're right, Sans, they're beautiful."

"I know." The two girls hugged close and watched the lights… only distracted when Baelon hugged them both from behind. That didn't last long, gazes drawn skywards again, unknowing that nearly three hundred years before another trio did the very same thing come winter, enjoying the majesty of nature and letting their minds wander to the vast future awaiting them underneath the wonders of the gods.

---

The more bawdy of the Northmen made japes over drink regarding the King and Queens. Over how soon it would be before clothes went flying - some suggested immediately pushed to the bed, others hypothesized that the King would pin one Queen against the wall and ravish her… or a Queen pinning the other Queen much to the lecherous grins of many men… and more than one woman. Boldest among them even laughed at the prospect of it starting even before they reached their chambers.

Who hadn't taken a woman in an alcove in the corridors?

Not that they would ever know, but none of them were correct. Ten minutes into shutting themselves within their chambers, spacious and well furnished for the most honored guests in Winterfell, all three of them were still dressed - if shucking their more uncomfortable garments. No passionate kisses. No frenzied tangles of libs and roving tongues. Just Rhaegar seated on the bed, playing his harp and filling the chambers with the most beautiful of music.

He had danced with both his Queens, but neither of them was able to dance with each other per propriety. Something Elia and Lyanna were keen to rectify.

It was strange for Lyanna, to lead in the gentle motions to Rhaegar's harp. She wouldn't have wanted to do this normally, but for Elia… the beautiful stare of her beloved made it worth it. "You're good at this," she heard her say.

"I'm only as good as my love for my partner." Gently Elia smiled and kissed her on the lips, letting her head rest on Lya's shoulder.

"You know, my loves, I could have serenaded you with my voice as well."

Lyanna leaned her head back to give him a smirk. "You very well could, dearest husband, and we would've loved it - but it is very hard to dance when one is bawling their eyes out." His singing… if it could make the birds stop and listen, it could reduce even the most iron-faced warrior to tears.

While giving them a cross look, Rhaegar's fingers still glided over the strings of the harp, gentle notes wafting out. Lyanna took the musical shift to spin Elia around, the latter giggling merrily as her eyes found Lyanna's again. Rhaegar couldn't maintain anything but a soft expression at seeing them so happy like this. "If you were afraid of falling to tears, then I could very well sing a bawdy song."

"Quite ill-suited to the mood, wouldn't you think, love?" Elia dipped, the dance finishing in a graceful flourish. "This though, this was perfect. You are perfect." Lyanna pulled her up, their faces meeting and Elia looping her arms around her neck. "As are you, my wolf." Without hesitation, the Dornish Queen pressed a kiss against Lyanna's lips, it quickly deepening though still sweet and languid rather than frantic. That could come later. Elia's lids drooped, fluttering from the kiss. "I love you," she murmured.

Lyanna wore the most dopey of grins. "I love you too." Her hands fell to Elia's trim waist. "You can lead next time if you wish."

But Elia shook her head. "No, it's fine…"

"I insist…"

"It's fine," Elia said softly, pressing a finger to Lyanna's mouth. "I like you leading." Her expression turned to a smirk. "If you and Rhaegar haven't notices yet, I rather enjoy having a… strong lover." Unabashedly, she ogled Lyanna's toned arms. Their husband's build was rather notorious, so she needed not emphasize it. "Someone that can carry me and manhandle me… and pin me to the bed and have their way with me."

Grey eyes darkening, Lyanna's hands trembled as she tried to restrain her desires. "Well, you certainly were fortunate in that regard - right, husband?"

Setting down his harp in its case, the gift from his Aunt Jenny quite precious to him, Rhaegar turned with a shit eating grin on his face. "I think Elia needs a demonstration of that, but first a toast." He went to a table where a pitcher of ale rested. "While I do not truly belove this, I also don't dislike it. You love it, though, Lya."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh yes, gimme." He chuckled and poured her a mug. "Gods, Elia, nothing beats this."

"Perhaps," Elia mused, taking her cup with an exaggerated hesitant that earned a swat on the shoulder from her wife. She sipped it. "Certainly fortifies you better than Dornish red."

"We make it to withstand the winters here. Of course it would." Lyanna gulped it down, unable to help herself. "I really need to take up Ned's offer to have this sent to the Red Keep and Dragonstone."

"No complaints from me, my love. I know what you like to do when you've downed a mug or two." Her sultry look after the fact only confirmed his statement. "But first, tell me. Was this surprise enjoyable?"

Their playful banter was replaced, Lyanna's gaze being filled with an intensity last seen on their first wedding night while Elia's radiated the warmest love and affection. "It was all I could ever dream of, Rhaegar," breathed the she-wolf. "Thank you…" Trembling, she set down the cup. "Thank you so much." They kissed powerfully, the passion so laughed over by the Northern Lords finally returning with a vengeance, bodies heating and cores flush with that such wonderful pressure. "Join us, Elia… now." There was no room for argument. "It is our first wedding night, truth be told."

Brimming with emotion of her own, Elia didn't wish to let it out at the moment. Lyanna's comment, true as it was, provided the perfect balm and with a growl she struck. Catching Lyanna with a yelp and shoving her out of Rhaegar's arms and on the bed. "My wife," she husked, unlacing her dress and letting it pool to the floor - leaving her completely nude.

Normally it was her being the aggressor in their couplings, but Lyanna had no complaints. Her naked wife crawling atop her like a stalking cat made the Queen lick her lips, ones soon covered by the Dornish goddess' mouth in a heated kiss. One filled with a frantic passion as the two of them devoured each other. Lyanna's hands gripped Elia's waist and hips while Elia's molested Lya's breasts through the thin gown. Coaxing mewls and whimpers by kneading them hard and thumbing her nipples. "Yes…" she gasped into the kiss. "I'm your wife…"

Seeing Elia in a frenzy, stripping their wife and continuing to assault her with a feral energy so unlike her, Rhaegar wasted no time. They were married under the eyes of the old gods of this keep, the fire was burning hot to banish away the winter, and there was no chance they'd be interrupted. With a grin, he quickly doffed his tunic and trousers, stroking his cock to make sure it was perfectly hard for what he planned on doing.

Sucking on Lya's neck, Elia admired the beautiful purple-red blotch marring her pale skin when she felt a poking against her ass. A split-second later she moaned into Lya's neck, Rhaegar sliding his wonderful cock into her. Stretching her walls, pausing halfway to adjust before bottoming out. "Yes, husband," she begged. "Fuck me… make me a mother again."

The last was said in the heat of the moment, but it seemed to spur both Rhaegar and Lyanna into a whole new torrent of lust. Lyanna crashed their lips together and bucked her hips, seeking contact for her now soaked cunt. As for Rhaegar, he gripped Elia's shoulder in one hand and her hip in the other while setting a bruising pace. "My love… my breeder…"

"Yes, yours…" Elia rocked back into Rhaegar's cock, meeting him thrust for thrust. Fighting the urge to get lost in the pleasure. She would've loved to, but Lya also needed her attention. Without delay, she sunk her fingers into Lya's heat. First two but then adding a third, causing her direwolf to wail into her mouth. "Take my fingers," Elia murmured into her mouth.

"I love your fingers… give it to me," Lya begged. "I can take it."

"Make her cum," Rhaegar ordered, pounding away. "Do it, Elia."

Opening her mouth to say something, it dissolved into a silent scream as her lips quivered, body tensed, and cunt spasmed. Elia never stopped her relentless assault on Lyanna's heat even as she dissolved into a powerful climax. One that shook her completely with one of the greatest pleasures of her life.

Fingers curling deep inside her, Lyanna succumbed as well. The moment occurring just as she caught a glimpse of her beautiful dragon, teeth gritted as he himself shot his seed into Elia.

If anything, however, among the three of them Lyanna's climax only fueled her hunger. "Sit on me, my love," she begged. "I need to taste you."

Elia looked up from where she had collapsed, surprised for a moment but it soon changing to lust. The benefits of being with the one you adored. "Fuck… yes…"

Two slender thighs soon were in place around Lyanna's head, and the northerner wasted no time in darting her tongue at Elia's folds. Moaning as the taste of both her juices and Rhaegar's seed filled her mouth. Hands reached up, going for Elia's breasts. Why did she never realize she loved the female body?

Was it just Elia's that she loved?

Made sense to her, since the only man she could ever desire truly was Rhaegar. Perhaps Tessarion did intend them only for each other?

Witnessing this, Lya's concentration and Elia moaning like a wanton whore at the licks, it made Rhaegar recover quickly. The stamina of youth and dragonblood, and he wasn't about to waste it. Cock naturally slick from Elia's juices, he lined up again with Lyanna, swinging her legs to rest about his shoulders and thrusting in. Not being gentle.

From how she screamed into Elia's cunt, he could tell Lyanna could take it. And take it she did. In no time at all, they simply dissolved. Shattering around and into each other for a second time.

Abdomen shaking, breasts heaving up and down with her pants, Elia gingerly swung her thin thighs off of Lyanna and toppled to her left. "You're amazing," she gasped, turning to face her… only for Lya to have the same idea. "Gods, you're beautiful," she murmured.

"So are you." They embraced and kissed sweetly… only for the bed to dip around them and for a shadow to drape over their forms. Lya looked up. "And now we're complete."

Rhaegar caressed them, his touches loving even as they passed over the most treasured and lustful parts of their bodies. His violet eyes had lightened, sparkling with unshed tears. "My loves…" His voice was hoarse with emotion. "Gods… you are perfect."

Lyanna beamed, never having loved any man as much as she loved him - but it was Elia affected the most. Even after the love blossomed between them, her wedding night had been cold and awkward - she didn't blame Rhaegar for it, but only now that they had married under the godswood did she realize just what she had been missing. The hole in her heart now filled thanks to him and Lya.

Squeezing Lyanna's hand, kissing her softly, Elia leaned up and pressed her forehead against Rhaegar's. "Do you love me, Rhaegar? Truly?" His and Lyanna's love was written from the beginning, but had hers been?

The King couldn't answer that, but he could for his feelings now. "Aye, I do. I am lost without you in my life." Propped on one arm, he cupped her cheek, softly stroking the skin there as she leaned into him. "I love you, Elia."

At that, she burst into soft tears, though it was clear by the smile on her face that they were ones of such great joy that it simply overwhelmed her. Elia leapt forth and hugged Rhaegar tightly, peppering him with kisses. "My husband… my love…" Everything she had prayed and hoped for at her first wedding had finally come true, sealed in her second and joined by the other person to hold her heart. "Lya… com'ere."

"Always." As the two of them collapsed on the bed, Lyanna wrapped her arms around their sides, kissing wherever she could reach as well. The image of a cold bed with a snoring, uncaring Robert next to her reeking of wine while she was curled into a ball could easily have been her life, not this wondrous one with the most beautiful man and woman in the world and so many amazing children. "Thank you, my loves… thank you for all of this."

"Only what you deserve, both of you," Rhaegar insisted, maneuvering himself to lay flat on his back. Lya and Elia were at his sides as they were most nights, only now not bothering any sort of distance - half beside and half laying atop him, hands splayed over his bare skin. "I am yours, and you are mine."

"This day till the end of our days," Elia finished with a smile. Lyanna simply sighed and nuzzled his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Seven hells, what a life.

---

There was no time to waste.

Tales of the sickness that affected Baelon Targaryen spread throughout the known world, of how only the efforts of a Red Priestess and the sacrifices of Queen Elia. Years later, as her beloved Daella laid on her deathbed with the red plague, Sarra knew that she had to attempt the same. If the Valryian gods would save the half-breed bastard son of the red dragons, so to could they save their true champion.

The other children were noticeably terrified. "Muna… will Dae wake up?" Gaemon bit his lip, trying to hold back his sobs. The youngest of them were trembling, while even the sullen Aenar looked as if he were to break at any moment.

Sarra leaned down to hug her children. "I promise, she will." Was she trying to convince them or convince herself?

"My Lady, we are ready," said the lead servant, himself fearful.

Nodding, Sarra motioned for the maids to take the children to their chambers as she made her way to Daella. The normally lively girl was covered in blisters, her breath ragged and sweat marring her clammy forehead. "Gods… muna… it hurts… help me…" Her voice was halting, fading away.

Furiously waving to the servants, they began the procession out of the manse. It was on the outskirts of the city - on the mainland. A perfect place to remain unseen. The servants - all slaves purchased especially for them - were noticeably fearful but complied under threat of whipping or crucifixion by a desperate Sarra. Reaching the perch under the starry sky in the midst of a rocky plateau overlooking the entirety of Braavos in the distance. "Go away," Sarra hissed as soon as they had laid Daella gently on the ground and set up what she needed.

The servants were glad to comply, scurrying away.

Reaching down to stroke her daughter's hair, Sarra looked at the chest resting some feet away. Opening it, and finding the scaled spheres inside. Ones stolen from the weak King by the founder of their house. Ones she hoped to give her girl the most immense luck.

With trembling, mindful hands Sarra placed each of the six eggs in place - two in the crook of her neck, two between her forearms and her body, and the last two at her hip. The ovals surrounded Daella, making the still writhing, sweating girl look even more frail and sickly. "Muna… muna… help me…" she murmured, barely coherent.

Tears dropping from her eyes, Sarra avoided the garish rashes and the blisters among them to kiss her dearest girl's eyelid. "I will try, my sweet girl. I love you." Such was the one thing that separated her from her fool of a teacher - that spiteful hag didn't have the capacity to love or care for anyone but herself. Sarra had her children and her legacy, and such drove her power to even greater heights.

Shiera claimed this to be the most powerful of the ancient bloodmagic, but she lied to me before. Hopefully, this would be one of the few truths she had ever been told. Whatever she would have to sacrifice, Sarra knew that Daella's life would be worth it.

Taking in a staggered breath, choking on sobs that threatened to form, the great-great grandaughter of Daemon I Blackfyre took the candle next to her and tossed it into the pile of pitch-covered fetters arranged in a pile just feet from Daella's still form. The flames immediately rose high, cracking and popping as they danced before her. No going back.

"Glorious fire… the blood of those born of you courses through my veins," she began in the purest High Valyrian, the same language of the premier dragonlord families of Old Valyria. "Through you, I seek audience with those that birthed the world and provided glory to my people." As she spoke, she sank to her knees in supplication.

Reaching into the sack by her feet, she removed the first artifact - the first sacrifice she needed to make. "Bone of thy father, unknowingly given, you will renew your daughter!" Without hesitation, Sarra tossed Illyrio's humerus into the flames, seeing it already start to blacken. One last thing you can do for me, you fat wretch.

"Blood of the mother," she continued, drawing a dragonglass knife and slicing her forearm. It hurt, but she bit back the pain, enduring it in steely resolve. "Willingly sacrificed, I show my devotion before the pantheon for the life that I cherish most." Bright crimson blood - reflecting the orange flames off its surface, sprinkled onto the blisters marring the bare chest and stomach of her daughter before Sarra then let it drip into the flames themselves.

Already, Sarra could feel the fire changing - growing hotter yet more comforting, as if under her control. The power filled her, and she pressed on. "Flesh of your child, brought forth to be judged in your name. If there is one among you that seeks her salvation, come before the flames of the line of your noble martyr, Daemon of House Blackfyre, First of his Name, and grant this innocent soul the glory of life once more!" Unafraid of the plague, she cast herself upon Daella's body, beginning to weep from the enormity of it all. Please… please save her…

She didn't know how long she held Daella's body, sobbing in a manner that would've provoked a beating from her teacher… but it seemed like only moments before a loud whoosh was heard. Slowly she raised her head, eyes widening at what she saw. In front of Sarra and Daella were the flames, but instead of the red-orange hue they were jet black. A dark black, malevolently so but still almost calm.

'I have heard you, my daughter…' The flames seemed to pulse as Sarra heard the words. 'Fear not what is about to happen, for all shall be well… as long as thy do my bidding.'

Gulping, Sarra nodded. "I am your humble servant, oh…" She realized she didn't know the name of the deity that seemed to answer her prayer.

As if reading her mind, the flames pulsed again. 'Balerion… I am Balerion.'

The god of death himself. Most would be terrified, but Sarra only smirked softly. Equally darkly. She had gotten the most powerful of gods as her champion. "Great Balerion, I am your servant."

'Hold yourself…' In a sudden gust of wind the flames erupted from the pyre and enveloped Sarra, Daella, and the eggs. A scream almost left Sarra's throat, but she quickly realized that she wasn't aflame. The tongues of black fire were all around the two of them but they were untouched. Unburnt.

"Muna… muna… what…"

She embraced her still delirious daughter tightly. "All is well, my love. All is well." Eyes closed, Sarra soothed Daella in a tight embrace, feeling the roaring heat of the flames as a gentle balm on her skin rather than the ghastly torrent of death as would afflict one without the blood of the dragon.

Eventually, the flames died - leaving not but the first tendrils of the sun poking over the horizon to the east of Braavos. Pacing her breaths among the acrid smoke, Sarra opened her eyes to see the greasy soot covering both her and Daella. Her clothes were burned to ash leaving her supple form nude to the world, but she cared not. Immediately wiping off the soot from Daella…

And finding her skin clear and unblemished. Her breathing was even, no longer labored, forehead no longer grey and mottled but a healthy glow.

She was cured, and Sarra almost collapsed into joyous sobs.

But a tiny cry off to her side drew Sarra's gaze… causing her jaw to drop in complete shock. Crawling about Daella's hip was a tiny dragon hatchling, its body a mix of red and black, head cocked at Sarra before continuing its journey. Something grabbing to her skin made Sarra look down, seeing two other hatchlings… no, six in total. All the eggs had hatched.

"Muna?" Eyes snapped back to Daella. Her form was sluggish, but strong. Devoid of the plague that was so gripping her. She stared in wonder at the red-black hatchling hopping onto her chest. "Is that?"

Sarra embraced her daughter. "What this is, daughter… this is hope. This is our victory." This is how we complete the founder's work… ridding the red line from Westeros. The largest of grins crossed Sarra's face as the hatchling spread its wings and screeched to the sky.

And from the heavens, wearing a matching grin, Balerion could only whistle as he tasted the beginnings of his triumph. All that was left was to wait.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Notes:

And there we go. A fitting end to this journey.

If I can get 40 comments before the 26th of December, then I will post the sequel on Monday December 27th.

Chapter 96: Sequel Posted

Just letting everyone know, the sequel "The Hedge Knight" has been posted!

Be sure to check it out!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Longclaw

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Succession