i. Rhaella considers herself a bright women – if not downright smart, but she has always been told that modesty is appreciated in a woman, for which reason she won't boast – and rather reasonable. She cannot be anything but, what with her three children – four even if she counts her husband – and their constant need for supervision.

"Viserys, don't pull your sister's hair!" she says over the racket of a vase crashing to the floor. "If the two of you don't behave, you'll get no lemon cakes." A look of pure, unadulterated horror crosses the faces of her younger children, followed by disbelief. "I mean it." She doesn't actually, but it's the only way she'll ever get them to stop. Rhaella, for all that she pretends to be a hard taskmaster, hasn't ever even struck her children.

Perhaps that is why they find it so easy to eschew her directions and do exactly as they please. Rhaella is left with no alternative but to call on her hidden weapon. "Put an end to this tomfoolery or your father shall hear about this!" Time stands still and two pairs of violet eyes are fixed on her in dismay.

Finally, some well deserved peace and quiet.

ii. The Queen congratulates herself on the well-thought out plan. At the same time she keeps her hopes in check. Ah, her son may be cooperating for now, but who can tell when Rhaegar will find it all too much and flee on the first ship to Essos. She is violently attacked by images of her son in ratty clothing, forced to win his bread by selling his sword – the gods know he is good enough to pull it off. But before the full horrifying future can settle in her mind, Rhaella remembers that Rhaegar did promise he will stay until the end.

How very good for her. The mother wonders if she ought to catch a sudden chill or complain of a weak heart – Rhaegar is a loving boy, despite the frequency with which he finds it compulsory to leave once she so much as hints at settling down or grandchildren.

She can hardly wait until it comes Viserys' turn and then her daughter's. Who would do for little Daenerys? Someone young and handsome, and brave. And loving and gentle. Realising that the moment won't come for some time, Rhaella curbs her excitement. "Rhaegar first, and after that we'll see."

iii. The marriage between herself and the King was not of her choosing. But Rhaella has learned to live with it, and she is quite comfortable where she is. After three children and almost thirty years between them, it would be foolish to long for anything but what is. So when Aerys enters her rooms, silent as a shadow, she can do little but shiver at his approach. It is not a bad shiver – it's just her body signalling her husband's presence. She greets him cheerfully. His reply is a grunt.

"Now what could have put you in such a foul mood?" she asks, taking him by the hand. "Don't tell me Viserys has been playing with the quills again."

"Nay, the quills are – or rather were in good condition the last I saw them," he answers shortly. Rhaella waits for him to continue. He doesn't.

"I would like to pint out that while we may be close, we are not yet of one mind. I cannot tell what you are thinking if you won't speak to me." Her words are accompanied by a glare. There are times when she thinks he is just as bad as his sons and can only pray Daenerys resembles her alter on.

iv. A point of contention between the two of them, her eldest son's marriage crops up again. "Must you be so insistent? He will wed when he feels the need to."

"He will never feel the need to," she replies crossly. "When the likes of Oberyn Martell and Arthur Dayne stand by his side and pull him into all sorts of Dornish pursuits, one can hardly be surprised." There has always been something she didn't quite like about those two, but Oberyn Martell holds a special place in her dislike ever since he dared express a very lewd and inappropriate wish as pertaining to her somewhere in the vicinity of the court ladies. She knows that rules differ from region to region but a little decorum would be most welcome even from such free lovers as the Dornish.

"Not that long ago you were quite adamant that he wed a Dornish bride, need I remind you?" Pointing out her past positions never really makes her any more amenable to letting go of a matter, so the only result it all yields is Rhaella's growing red in the face and quite vocal in her complaints of her son's choice accomplices. "There, there, woman."

v. When a woman starts speaking she stops only for two reasons; generally they are: either she has finally made her point or she has worn her victim down as she takes a moment to savour the victory. Rhaella stops the very moment Aerys' lips touch hers. She was in the middle of pointing out the nefarious influence those so called friends have on her son, when her dearest husband sees fit to interrupt her. This one time she will put up with it – only because she quite likes being kissed.

"Why that was the single most rudest thing you have –" she is interrupted yet again.

"I have all night," Aerys tells her with a small smirk, "and if you insist on being difficult even some on the next morning. Our son is a grown man, my dear. Isn't it time you allowed him his freedom of choice?"

"He'll squander it." This time she is the one to initiate the kiss. "I am simply trying to put him on the right path."

"And a wife will accomplish that how?" Aerys questions, clearly not seeing her point.

"You would ask me that?" She is needled, but amused at the same time.

vi. Aerys takes his time calming down his wife. He wishes at times that she displayed more maturity – and is rather put out when an image of Joanna Lannister springs to mind – but he does confess there are some advantages to her plotting brilliant mind.

There is certainly never a dull day spent at her side. He wonders where she gets all her energy from. "Somehow, I don't think out son appreciates your meddling as much as you think he does."

"He'll thank me later," his wife assures him, nails scarping gently at his back as she sits on his lap in the chair by the fire. Her fingers take a piece of blood orange and hold it up to his lips. He accepts the morsel. "I don't expect him to fall to his knees and thank his maker-"

"You don't? How interesting." His comment is not appreciated. Rhaella eats the next piece of blood orange – though she doesn't like this fruit all that much.

"Nay, I don't." She is silent for a few moments and just when Aerys was getting ready to think himself the victor she turns the situation around. "You encourage him. If only you would take a firm hand with the boy, he wouldn't act like he does."

vii. He should have just chosen a woman to wed his son to, Aerys realises as the sun comes up. Rhaegar would have been much happier. Rhaella would have been ecstatic. And Aerys himself thinks that indeed he would have slept all the better for it. But he hasn't. So now he must watch his son struggle through endless interweaves with lady and after lady, no doubt wishing for salvation.

"How will you ever meet the suitable lady if you lock yourself in the library?" the King asks his son, who is startled slight by the sudden appearance. "You do realise your mother will hunt you down and drag you out herself if you are not down by the time she has finished breaking her fast, do you not?"

"Ah, of course." He is no stranger to his mother's handling, after all, and not at all stupid. "I was just hoping for a few more moments of silence." Rhaegar stares at his father. "Could you not have stopped her?"

"Think you I did not try?" When has anything been able to stop his wife? "Nay, my son, 'tis best we comply and do as she bids." Or face her wrath, which Aerys doesn't want to do."

viii. It seems that no one is inclined to take pity on him today, Aerys thinks as even Tywin Lannister hints subtly at matches. "It would benefit us both." And Joanna Lannister smiles somewhere at Casterly Rock, no doubt glad that she has put her husband up to this.

"Indeed," Aerys agrees lightly. Don't they know it is his son that will make the choice and not him? He would laugh if he didn't worry that it would shock Tywin into an early grave. "Is there anything else we should discuss, or have made quite enough decisions for today, my lords?"

They don't exactly look like they don't have anything to say. No doubt all of them have daughters of marriageable age and are willing to foist them upon his oldest son – even the younger one if it doesn't work on the first; let it not be said that the lords of the realm are greedy. While it is commendable that they hold the fate of the realm in such high regard, but Aerys does whish they would show some discretion.

He stands from his seat and leaves the small council with a headache coming on. He dearly hopes his son hurries.

xix. "Ladies," he murmurs as he passes three young woman. They giggle and Aerys barely holds himself from pointing out that a greeting curtsy should be lower.

The next lady he finds in crouching on the ground, seemingly very interested in the grass. Either that, or she is quite simply out of her mind. "Are you looking for something, my lady?" he asks, signalling for Gerold Hightower to offer her a hand should the need arise.

The young woman looks up and flushes immediately. She jumps to her feet and curtsies – an exemplary demonstration. "Your Majesty." Her voice shakes. "Is he that terrifying?"

"Well, my lady, do you require aid?" he questions again when she fails to answer.

Bright eyes regard him curiously. "I seem to have misplaced my brooch, Your Majesty. It is hardly fair that I detain your valiant guards for so small a trifle."

It is settled. Gerold steps over the low bushes and it occurs to the King that the woman is quite uncomfortable. And how could her brooch have ended all the way down here. Ladies usually prefer the rose garden. Abashed the woman allows Ser Gerold to kneels next to her and describes the lost object to him. Ah, she is a Stark then.

x. "I am not certain I should be asking, but why exactly does our daughter have to accompany her brother?" Aerys is reluctant to hand Daenerys over to the Septa, and his daughter even more so to let go of her father. Rhaella is determined to have her way. "Rhaella, why?"

"Because Daenerys hardly ever manages to spend much time in her older brother's company," his wife tells him, mouth pinching in a thin line. "And it would be nice to spend an evening with Viserys and not have them trying to outdo one another in causing mischief. Rhaegar, please!"

"Very well, mother." Daenerys is glad for his acceptance and is well pleased to e taken in her brother's arms. Aerys rather thinks she would go to the arms of anyone that is not her Septa – except for maybe Viserys on account of pulling her hair.

"What are you planning?" he finally gathers the courage to question her after they are alone. "Rhaegar must entertain the lady he meets, not have her watch his sister."

"I merely want to know how the ladies react to children," the Queen offers.

Aerys can do little but beg the gods that the woman his son meets will take good care of his daughter.

xi. "Don't do it," Catelyn tells Lyanna seriously as the younger woman takes aim. The mashed peas in her spoon are about to drip over. "She more trouble than she's worth. Is there anything to be won by it?"

"Only revenge," Lyanna replies, her eyes going back to the target. "She threw my brooch out the window. It was my grandmother's." The distraction makes her hand slip and the green food falls on her dress. Lyanna mutters something under her breath and fills another spoon with the substance. "Don't even try to speak to me about mercy; this is far less than she deserves."

She did trip that poor Tyrell girl down the stairs. She could have broken her neck. Lyanna thinks it would be a real pity if no one tried to put the blonde witch in her place. The food flies from its temporary container. As it turns out her aim is not quite perfect. But the green stuff ends up smeared on Cersei's shoulder, and that's good enough for Lyanna. "And that's not even mentioning the straw she dumped on me. Do you know a horse actually started feeding on my hair?" She is still irritated by that episode.

xii. Cersei comes rather like a storm. She stomps her way to Lyanna'[s table, cheeks red and dress stained. "How dare you?" she spews, grabbing Lyanna by the shoulders. Her sharp nails sink into the other's skin despite the protective layer her clothing offers. "If you cannot behave in distinguished company then perhaps you should stay in the stables with your brethrens, you Northern mare!"

But Lyanna is not easily intimidated; she knocks her plate in Cersei's direction, spilling even more food on what looks to be an expensive dress. "My hand slipped," she says without any real apology in her voice. "Are you aware of how thieves are punished, Lady Lannister? Or has your father not told you, yet?"

"You cannot prove anything," Cersei hisses even as her face turns pallid.

"Then don't make me search for proof. I told you I do not want to get in your way, and I won't, so long as you stay out of mine." This is the last truce Lyanna offers. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

The lioness bares her teeth, but she accepts the terms – albeit grudgingly. Yet she still gives Lyanna a chilling glare.

xiii. A yelp leaves Cersei's mouth as her leg collides with the edge of Catelyn's chair. "I am so sorry!" the Tully girl offers her sincerest apology. "I hope you are not hurt." Cersei simply glares at her too and stomps away, followed by two girls that seems to be her shadows. "Now she won't leave you alone."

"I know." Yet Lyanna does not seem bothered even when admitting to it. "But how long can we be here for. It's been only a couple of weeks and almost half of us have seen the Prince by now. What is half a moon, anyway?"

"With Cersei, probably unbearable," Catelyn appreciates with a sly smile. The girls at the table laugh. Most of them have suffered some slight or another at the hands of the lioness. "I would watch my back."

"She's already embarrassed me in front of all the persons that mattered. The only thing I have to do is endure a few hours in the Prince's company and then I'll be free to go home and I shall not have to see her face again." Lyanna smiles sweetly at the thought.

It all seems very reasonable. A pity fate has other plan in store.

xiv. Catelyn smiles sympathetically when Lyanna finds her bed has been doused in water. She does not mean to tell Lyanna that she knew this would happen, and by the look on her face Lyanna will not appreciate her pointing it out. "You can share with me and Lysa if you do not mind." Her offer is met with a ridiculously thankful smile. She doesn't think Cersei will stop here, but the very least she can do id offer Lyanna some help. "What will you do to her this time?"

The Stark closes her eyes for a moment. "Nothing," is her reply. "I shall let her enjoy this victory of hers. I don't exactly mean to start a war here." It must be killing her, Catelyn decides. "Besides, I wouldn't wish for her to turn on you too. She could do some real damage and I would feel very bad indeed if I ruined your chance at queenship."

"You are quite convinced he will choose me." But the rumour is the Prince is looking for a certain someone amongst them. Catelyn wonders who he is searching for. "You should mind the other candidates too. You could actually impress him if you tried."

xv. Lyanna doesn't want to impress anyone. She shifts under the covers, pushing Lysa's hand away. Good gods, she even dreams of Baelish. This is getting out of control. Shoving her towards her sister, Lyanna turns around hoping she won't be taken for the elusive lover – which has quite gotten on her nerves by now, so much so that she hopes he remains elusive. She will drag them to a Septon herself if she has to; anything to stop Lysa from talking in her sleep anymore.

The cover leaves her body quite abruptly. Lyanna yelps at that and turns around once more to recover what is her due. She elbows the younger Tully – albeit gently – and thinks the girl could sleep through an attack led by the barbarians of Essos. The corner finally happens in her hands.

This night is not going to be an easy one, Lyanna can tell. But she grits her teeth and moves closer to Lysa. As if this is the moment she had been waiting for, Lysa's arm shoots over Lyanna's waist and pulls her uncomfortably close. She whispers something nonsensically about sweet Petyr Baelish whom Lyanna is going to kill when she finally meets him.

xvi. Rhaegar is happily taking in the woman before his eyes. She is not a wit, but he is having fun. The lady entertains him with the difficulties of court life. "I do not understand how the lady could do something so unladylike. But her aim was not off."

"And who exactly was her unfortunate target?" he asks, taking a sip of his wine so as to not seem to eager. He is certainly sorry to have missed the event. He should convince his mother that they ought to hold a small ball – or something of the like – just to see the dynamics.

Janney Whent smiles. "Cersei Lannister. That much I do know." The perpetrator is unknown to the lady much to Rhaegar's disappointment, but to hear that Cersei Lannister was the target of such an assault makes him temporarily forget that. He lets out a sift chuckle. "I'm afraid Lady Cersei was not half amused, my lord." He gives a curious look and Janney continues, "I've heard her retaliation was not long in the making. There are many rumours of what exactly it entailed; alas I am not certain just how horrible it was. But I shall yet discover it."

xvii.A flurry of forgettable faces parade before him for the days to come, and Rhaegar starts despairing of ever finding the lady that hasn't quite left his mind yet. He has noticed that the more important houses have been left towards the end. So he naturally comes to the conclusion that she is indeed of an elevated status. Of course, that in itself means very little to him.

He wonder when he will finally meet her. She is more elusive than dragons, he swears – and he might be happier to find her than to find those fire breathing beasts, anyway. He has been visiting the stables regularly in hopes of catching even a glimpse of her. It's so bad that even Arthur is at a loss by now. Oberyn tries to make light of the situation and earns himself a glare or two and an irritated monologue from the Prince he calls friend. They are quite baffled by his impatience as Rhaegar is arguably the more even tempered out of the three of them and the least likely to show his emotions.

"I bet he won't wait longer than the end of the month before he finally gives up and just looks for her on his own."

xviii. Catelyn Tully wonders what has the man before her so distracted. She perceives that the stream of conversation is held more by her than by him. He is not at all impolite, yet not interested either. Her pride smarts, but she recognises a lost cause when she sees one. "If I do not speak out of line, who is she, my lord?"

"I beg your pardon?" He is startled by her frankness, violet eyes burning into hers. "Lady Tully, what are you speaking of?"

"About the lady on you mind, my lord," she replies simply.

"I do not know. She did not give her name." And Catelyn is struck by Lyanna's story about meeting the current Lord of Dragonstone at the stables. "I am usually not this distracted."

"I am certain you are not, my lord." She is quite at a loss. Should she say something? Lyanna would not want her to, but then again Lyanna doesn't know what's good for her. She wrestles with her doubts and tries to find a good way to reveal her knowledge. She doesn't know how to proceed. And what if it is not Lyanna he is thinking about?

Catelyn waits for a sign.

xix. Oberyn is this close to taking his friend's harp and throwing it into the path of stomping aurochs. Rhaegar is melancholy. He understands. Actually he doesn't understand, as he doesn't dwell of matters that are beyond his helping. If there is something he cannot have he simply moves on to something that he has access to. "Dayne, make him stop, or I won't be held responsible for my reaction."

Arthur wisely keeps his mouth shut – at least as far as Rhaegar's behaviour is concerned. "He'll get over it." There are not so many ladies left, two dozens at most. "Bear it a while longer, Oberyn." The apathy of his friend's doesn't worry him nearly as much as Oberyn's threats. Rhaegar will eventually find his s mile again when he sees this mysterious woman of his, or he'll run away in search of her if she isn't anywhere among those ladies.

"Play something that doesn't make me want to have my own coffin made," Oberyn explodes, no longer able to take it.

Rhaegar ignores him. It's a useful enough skill when one deals with stubborn Dornishmen, yet something tells Arthur that Oberyn is a notch above others of his own kingdom. Arthur closes his eyes and tries not to be amused at the suffering of others.

He fails miserably.

xx. "I think you're scared," Barbrey accuses Lyanna as she creeps back under the covers. "And rightly so, that Lannister girl could crush you." There is something spiteful about the way she says it. Lyanna rolls her eyes and pulls the covers over her head, hoping to block her voice. "It doesn't really matter even if you stuff wool up your ears, little she-wolf, the threat won't go away." She can hear the older woman chuckle.

Why did she return to his room again, Lyanna wonders. Her legs stretch out. Ah, that's why. At least she won't have to share the bed with Lysa – nay, Lyanna will happily leave the sisters to share the bed and she will take this one here, even if she does have to listen to Barbrey Ryswell's talk. She takes comfort in the knowledge that she won't have to endure all these persons she never likes. The Prince is bound to find himself a woman he liked enough so that he may wed and the rest of them may go home.

But before she sees Winterfell again, Lyanna really wants to pay Cersei back for her latest trick. Her mind searches for the perfect revenge. So many ideas, so little time.