The tug on his cloak was a feathery thing. Jaime looked down, fully expecting a pair of big eyes to be peering up at him. He was not disappointed. The Princess, bedecked in the finest of silks with Myrish lacing, grinned up at him, slight mischief playing upon her features. "Will you play with me now?" He wanted nothing more than to find his bed and slide into slumber.
"I am at Your Grace's command," he answered, sketching her a courtly bow. For one so young, she'd learned her craft well. A few more years and knights would be fighting over her; Jaime's mind conjured an unappealing picture of hounds quarrelling over bones. Poor thing, and she was so happy, so sovereign in her consequence that she thought nothing could hurt her.
Where was her septa? Did the woman often lose her charge? Was he to take this to the Dornish Princess? A heavy sigh left him lips as he listened to the girl's instructions. Helping those in need was proving more and more complicated by the minute.
"Are you quite certain I can defeat so many foes, Your Grace?" he questioned.
"You are a Kingsguard," little Rhaenys argued. "The best of the knights."
He did not feel like it at all. But why shatter her illusions?
"If we wait much longer, I shan't be able to help at all," her uncle was saying, his brow furrowed. "It would be best to leave under the cloak of darkness, Your Grace." Elia looked at him with silent sympathy. Not privy to the plans she'd made with her husband, one could not blame him for worrying.
"I am the wife of the Crown Prince and my husband fights in the fields. What manner of woman would I be if I ran away?" Aside from which, the madman on the throne would never allow her escape. Her family would pay. "Nay; I remain here by choice, uncle. Best you see to your duty as well."
She had to contact Lady Lyanna by some means. What ravens could she send? In whom could she place her trust? Not her uncle, for one. He would write to her brother. And the gods only knew what manner of peril it would engender should a note of such nature fall into Oberyn's hands.
Life at court had drilled into her that lesson well; act in haste, repent at leisure.
She'd no plans to repent, at leisure or otherwise. She meant to win. By means fair or foul.
"I've no quarrel with either of you." Words he did not think were believed. But that was not his concern. The chains could not be helping matters. "Once I have returned to King's Landing, I will see about pardons and such. Meantime, best not seek death too blatantly."
He'd won by a stroke of luck. A moment of distraction on Robert's part. Rhaegar would not lie to himself that his skill had seen him through. He watched for any sign of outwards disagreement towards his words. None came.
"You may take Lord Baratheon away." The guards did as he bade. Left with only Eddard Stark, he felt a tad more at ease. It was no comfortable thing knowing himself one of the leading factors in what turned out to be a ravaging war.
"We must speak of your sister."
"Must we?" The quiet wolf had never seemed to him a threat. Ought he reconsider?
"I know not whether word ever reached you, but she is in Dorne." Surprise failed to materialise. "She feared you would not know. I made her a promise I would tell you, should I face you."
"Even if I were an enemy."
"Especially if you were the enemy. We travel to King's Landing, I shall write to my men and you may go retrieve your sister."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that," he agreed.
"It is a simple matter, truly, and you would not be harming him," the Princess argued softly, placing one hand upon her heart. "You have my vow that this does not go against the words you have spoken. We are protecting the King. 'Tis for his own good."
And even better, it served his son's ambitions. Jaime last protest died upon his tongue. The King was not a good man. Not by anyone's definition of it. And he was mad. Madmen ought not to govern kingdoms, no matter the illustrious line they came from. Might be it would serve his vows better to protect the King from further turmoil, as the Princess had put it.
"And Her Majesty?" Only the other day he'd seen her, weeping quietly as she left for her own chambers. 'Twould be the height of cruelty to send her with him to Dragonstone.
"She will remain here, with me." That seemed fair enough. Jaime nodded his head, retreating should his interest be interpreted in an unlikely manner. There had been stranger things, no doubt.
Truly, it had taken His Grace much too long to act. This should have been done long ago, as far as he was concerned.
"Lord Lannister must have finally come to his senses, Your Majesty. He desires to swear loyalty, I've no doubt." Jaime did not trust the Spider. He trusted his father in the guise of a loyal subject even less. But it was rather too late, was it not? His father had come with a small guard at his disposal, he was waiting to gain audience with the King and Jaime was, as always, helpless.
He masked his less than charitable reaction to his father's interference. It would not help at all to voice his concerns. Madmen did not listen. To anyone, excepting, of course, slimy characters such as the unctuous Varys. But that could not be helped, or so Jaime supposed.
"Be it on your head then, Spider," the King commented. "I will see him." He turned towards Jaime who had until that point remained at the foot of the throne. "And you, Ser Jaime, are to remain here and greet your sire. He must be equally desirous to see you as well."
Doubtful. Jaime nodded his head, biting his tongue. There was no way to warn the Princess in time. Naught to be prepared. The king would remain within the Red Keep to further torture his faithless subjects.
"What do you think you are doing?" Elia snapped at the man holding her daughter's hand. Just because his master thought himself victor, every raggedy villain got it into his head that he was somehow above his betters? "Release my daughter this instant, you vile worm, or I vow you will regret your mother did not strange you as soon as laid eyes on you."
"She was making a ruckus," the man shrugged, releasing her daughter's arm. Rhaenys dashed to her, hiding away from the threat. "I did not mean to frighten her, Your Grace." The mocking tone explained it better than he could ever imagine.
He would die.
"Out!" He went, but not before throwing her a suspiciously malicious look.
Damn Tywin Lannister and his schemes. She was cut off from every single person that might lend aid. Her husband first and foremost among them.
How could one be expected to foil a plot when one was ignorant as to what it entailed?
"Rhaenys, dearling, come stand before me." Her child listened. Elia scrutinised her with great care before kneeling to embrace her. "Are you unharmed?" She sniffled softly, but shook her head contrary to her expectations. "Keep away from the man, my sweet. Stay with your septa."
Lyanna's chest heaved as she forced herself to her feet. The child in the cradle wept bitter tears, as though sensing the danger without. She grabbed hold of the flower-filled vase and spilled its contents upon the precious rugs adorning the floors.
Meantime, she tried to calm her precious babe, "Lullay, mine liking, my dear son, mine sweeting, lullay, my dear heart, mine own dear dearling." Voice shaking with fear, she placed herself before the cradle, still holding the vase as footfalls thudded upon the stairs. "I saw a fair maiden, sitting and sing, she lulled a little child a sweet lording."
The door opened with a thud.
Two of them. Dear gods, she could barely handle one, let alone a couple. The first lunged for her. Faster and not suffering the effects of delivering a child, the man wrestled her weapon away and knocked her easily to the ground. Ringing pain left her boneless upon the floor, yet still capable of seeing all that went on.
Terror filled her. "Nay; I am begging you, do not harm him."
The man holding the child turned to her. Her babe shrieked and she cried with him, fighting to climb to her feet. Hands grabbed roughly at her arms.
Rhaegar held his daughter, allowing the child to hide away her face. Her stricken mother, flanked by imposing guards, remained rooted to her spot. He could not blame her. Chiding himself for having not foreseen such a turn of events, he kissed the top of Rhaenys' head, contemplating his choice.
"Leave us," he ordered the guards.
The door closed behind them with a harsh thud.
"You will return to Dorne," he told her, "your brother will give you shelter." Elia shook her head; tears filled her eyes. She was thinking of Lyanna and her babe no doubt. The ghosts had been with him as well. "Aegon will go to the Wall."
"He is just a babe."
"Much safer in the hands of Aemon than in the clutches of Tywin Lannister." He turned his attention to his daughter. "And you, my sweet, will go with your septa and await my word."
"Must I, father?"
"You are a smart girl, Rhaenys. You know I would not have you leave if you did not need to." He placed her upon the stool, where some of her toys awaited her attention, then returned to Elia and took hold of her hand. "Wait until the moon turn and then tell your brother to arrange you a marriage."
"Rhaegar, I would have to live as wife to any man I wed."
"Aye; you will live. You must."
"And you?"
"I will give Tywin Lannister what he wants."
The dark Valyrian steel glinted with hunger at the sight of its quarry. Rhaegar gave Tywin Lannister a bored nod and the man made his exit, no doubt feeling his sacrifice was justified in the face of what he was to gain. For his part, Rhaegar swore the same steel would cut the man to ribbons one day. Just as soon as he had made him suffer tenfold his pain. Meantime, Amory Lorch was owed aught for his service.
"I understand my daughter was under your care, ser." He stood, steel hidden at his back. The knight nodded. He betrayed naught. "A father is always grateful in such cases. I confess, though, I am slightly confused."
"Your Grace?"
"Where in your duties was it specified that you ought lay hand on her?" All the blood drained from the man's face. "You see, that is not aught I can let slide."
Up went the blade, slashing across the man's eye. But Rhaegar was not satisfied with the cry of pain. He took hold of the man's wrist. Valyrian steel could easily cut through bone. Thus he pressed his claim upon the limb, ignoring all attempts at escape.
"Lay hands on my daughter, would you?" Down came the blade, plunging into the man's chest. Once. Twice. Trice.
Then Rhaegar took his other hand.
It did not matter, the object of his vengeance was unresponsive.
"You've a son of your own," Elia pointed out, hopeful. He was not a bad man, after all. "I know I have no right to ask, but I thought that, from one parent to another parent, you would understand." She eyes the woman upon the cold slab. The bundle of cloth placed upon her shoulders disguised the lack of a head rather poorly.
Eddard Stark gave her a vary look. "All I wish is to return to my home and return my kin to where they belong." There was no malice she could detect. She turned her attention to the small bundle of broken bones.
"Even the little one?" She must have been frightened. To die so without as much as a fragment of hope. She regretted choosing her.
He nodded. "I do have a son of my own."
At least neither of them were to remain for the wedding. Elia consoled herself with the thought. Cersei Lannister would have a hollow crown for her efforts and unstable ground beneath her feet. And Elia would be there, waiting for the first sign of weakness. It would come.
"I do not expect we shall see one another again, my lord. Fare thee well. And," she paused, wondering if it would suffice, "pray accept this." She pressed the brooch in his hand. "For Lyanna. It was supposed to be Visenya's."
He did not balk, but took from her the gift.