To Monty Burns: Catelyn, Robb and Sansa are in Winterfell, yes. Occasionally, characters will get info wrong. It's usually a sigh though. :) Thank you. I'm glad you liked it.
To TheTiroshi: Voila!
To Guest: Here you go. :) Glad you enjoy it.
Rising one hand in a sign that the courtiers were to fall silent so business might be concluded, the Crown Prince nodded towards his helper and Renfred Rykker's name rang loud and clear throughout the hall. The named lord stepped forth, making his way to the forefront, between the courtiers who, for some odd reason, never seemed to learn it was appropriate to allow one to pass. It had to be noted that Lord Rykker himself did not shy from pressing the lot of them aside.
"Well, then, Lord of Dusekendale," Rhaegar began, "what trouble has brought you to court?" He still remembered when Lord Darklyn had held Duskendale for the Crown. In fact, Rhaegar could recall most details pertaining to that period in time. Had the man had ore of a care with his plots and disobedience, he might have lived ye another day.
In his stead, Renfred had received lordship of the Dun Fort and hi t had remained until night a decade later. He'd not been to court in some time, according to the notes of the scribes he had pursued, nor had he asked for aid. To see him before the Throne, Rhaegar should think the man had good reason.
"Your Grace," the man greeted, his tone flat, "you are aware that His Majesty, the King, has named me lord of the Dun Fort in the wake of Denys Darklyn's defiance." He waited for a nod so as to continue. "Then Your Grace knows I am a loyal man."
"With a shadow of doubt," Rhaegar agreed easily. He was as loyal as most other lord were. It was commendable in a way. "Were it not so, I doubt that Duskendale would have been awarded to you, my lord."
"Then, Your Grace, in the name of this loyalty, I ask to be awarded protection." There was trouble brewing. "The Crown has made a promise to me when I assumed lordship that in need, I should have men of the King, so that I might see the rightening of the situation.
"Protection from whom, Lord Rykker? What enemies have cropped up at Duskendale?" Curious. There had been no more trouble in those lands since the elimination of Denys Darklyn. It would be best to deal with whatever boil was set to bursting sooner rather than later.
"These past few moon turns, there has been an outbreak of thievery and other wrongdoings, all perpetrated by a band out reprobates," the man said, voice maintaining the very same flatness from before.
Rhaegar stood to his feet, stepping forth until he had neared the petitioner somewhat. "Lord Rykker, I have it on good authority that the Duskendale men-at-arms are quite reputable. Why not send them to catch these outlaws."
Thieves and robbers were not uncommon. Even in times of plenty they had to be suffered, for some man understood to survive in that fashion. Given that winter had settled over the lands as well, it was not something to be marvelled at that all the rats were scurrying out of their wholes to pray upon whoever they caught at their mercy. It was the duty of every lord to enforce the law upon his lands. That Lord Rykker had come with such a matter to him was beyond absurd.
"Has Duskendale been so very bereft of criminals that my lord would have difficulty dealing with them?" someone jeered from the crowd, distracting Rhaegar for a moment. He gazed warningly in the direction from which the voice had come. How like children these lords and ladies were. Had he had the dubious desire to herd a bunch of overgrown infants, Rhaergar was quite certain a few hours of penance upon the floor of Baelor's Sept was cure enough.
"Begging pardon, Your Grace, but if I send my men out, I risk losing their service." The explanation was met with a raised eyebrow. "It is not a simple matter of outlaws taking from the people. Their leader claims to be a Darklyn and would have his keep back. By his own admission."
Stunned, the Crown Prince stared at the lord before him. It could not be true. "There is no seed of House Darklyn to have survived the purge "This man, whoever he is, is a liar, a fraud. He should be dealt with exemplary."
"Of course." The Lord of Duskendale agreed half heartedly. "But there is already talk and a few of my men have defected to his service. The common man cannot know the truth of it. With a promise of plenty he would buy a strong enough force to create trouble not only for myself, but for the Crown as well."
That could not be denied. The crowd went where the wind blew. With that quandary at hand, Rhaegar saw himself facing the very firs challenge of the day. What ought he do to contain the matter and prevent bloodshed? If he sent men, no doubt they would take prises for their work, leaving behind embittered peasants all the more willing to help the next claimant if ever there was one. If he did not intervene, then he would be breaking a vow and losing credibility. The lesser evil.
"Ser Barristan," Rhaegar called for the Kingsguard. "You shall take the man you think appropriate and see to this situation. You ride at dawn." There was no need to look to know that Barristan Selmy was bowing his acceptance of the mission. "There, milord, you have the help promised."
"I am much obliged, Your Grace," came the reply, followed by a triumphant look towards the crowds. The ego of some of these lords. Were it a piece of mummery, it would be no tragedy.
"You may retreat," the Prince have the man leave, mentally preparing himself when he saw that Lord Bracken had started pushing his way through the crowd. Lord Blackwood was not far behind. Without waiting for them to reach the front, Rhaegar returned to his seat and nodded towards Jon.
"Lord Jonos Bracken," Connington announced, "here to lodge a former complaint against Lord Blackwood."
Tensioned snapped between the two lords as they came to stand side by side. Brackens and Blackwood had a feud as old as time itself. This was about no complained. Rhaegar was certain they simply enjoyed these painful displays of rivalry too much to quit them and would not allow the rest of the realm to forget about the either.
Unfortunately, that meant that he had to see to it. Rhaegar nodded towards Lord Bracken allowing him to speak. In his bones, he could already feel the regret. Alas, he had no more time to contemplate for the torrent of words began.
"Your Grace, this is unacceptable." Lord Bracken had the sort of voice which put one in the mind of a bovine being slaughtered. He swept cold eyes over his rival and jabbed a finger at Lord Blackwood. "His men are poaching in my woods. They have killed the best of the boars and would continue on had I not caught them at their crime."
"Is that true, Lord Blackwood, have your men been hunting of Lord Bracken's lands?" the Prince questioned, anticipating the answer even before Tytos opened his mouth. Seven be good, it was going to be a long day.
"Not at all, Your Grace," Lord Blackwood denied vehemently, his head shaking from side to side. "My men were hunting on my lands when Lord Bracken happened upon them with his own hunting party and had them all tied for poaching when he himself was hunting on my lands."
Whatever else Lord Blackwood had been about to say was lost in Jonos Bracken's outraged bellow. "You would dare lie to His Grace? That land is mine."
"Nay, 'tis mine, poacher," Tytos replied, quick as a whip.
"Why, you poxy whoreson," Jonos yelled, unable to keep his temper in check.
The next thing anyone knew, the two lords had started brawling there, in the middle of the hall, before the whole court, presumably without an ounce of shame. A few yells of encouragement rang through the hall and laughter followed.
More than one man stepped forth though to get between Blackwood and Bracken. A young man advanced, with quick movement, until he'd reached Lord Blackwood. He caught the man by the back of his tunic and pulled his backwards. In the middle of his war, Tytos drove the back of is head into he young man's face.
Only when did the injured man turned around did Rhaegar recognise him.
Benjen Stark wiped away the blood from his split lip and returned the favour he'd been granted with a well placed punch. Lord Blackwood doubled over and a man that had been standing behind him caught him by the arm, twisting it behind his back. Lord Bracken was treated in similar fashion.
A far as the Crown Prince was concerned, however, Lord Bracken and his bitter rival might well have hopped one another to pieces. His eyes ere trained upon the young man with the bloodied lip. He saw through eyes seemingly not his own as a child scrambled over, a miniature version of the elder one, a Stark by any other name.
Heart pounding a painful tattoo against his ribcage, the Rhaegar could only stare. Benjen grinned down at the child appearing proud of his deed, but the nameless boy frowned up at the man, lips pursing in a gesture so familiar that Prince's head snapped to the side from which the child had come running and certainly enough what he saw was northing short of extraordinary.
Staring back at him, the worried face of Lyanna Stark glared like the visage of a ghost, a figment of his imagination. For one moment he thought it might just be the letter he'd read. He was imagining her, willing her into existence. The stillness of her form had him nearly convinced, only to break his certainty in the very next moment when she looked down. His eyes followed as well.
Another ghost. A child with Baratheon looks was pulling on her skirts insistently, saying something Rhaegar could not hear over the din. But Lyanna's gaze had already returned to her despite the boy.
Time froze. It still of its own volitions, leaving his caught in the woman's stare, unable to either reach out of shrink away. He could not even think. The shock of it still rattled him. Lyanna Stark was in King's Landing. And he had not known a thing.
Quite on the side, he decided that Merryweather deserved something more than a hanging. It was a good beating the man was wanting.
Just as these thoughts whirled inside his head, a thin, weak voice reached his ears, as if from far away. "Your Grace." He would have ignored it but for the fact that a hand came to rest upon his own, Rhaegar blinked, and there it was again. "Your Grace."
Eyes moving away from Lyanna, Rhaegar came face to face with his lady mother. "I believe Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood need some reminder of where they are standing at this very moment."
Rhaegar glared at both mentioned men. "They shall have more than a reminder of me. Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood are welcome to spend the night in the King's dungeons for their blatant disregard for common decency."
Despite the loud protests of the two men, they were dragged away, to be released into the loving comfort of a small cell with straw upon the ground and the option of meditating upon their faults. A few hours of that should do them well. The whole realm would benefit from it.
With a small sigh, Rhaegar refused to give in to the urge to search for Lyanna. "Shall we proceed then with the next petition?"
Jon picked another scroll and opened it, his voice loud once more.
The moment the first punch flew through the air, Lyanna knew, in her bones, that it could not end well. The famed feud between House Bracken and House Blackwood was a thing of the legends. Everyone had heard of it, everyone presumed there was some truth to it and most everyone was inclined to say, if asked, that they believed it to be an exaggeration.
In this case the common belief was made quick work of by cold, hard facts. Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood loathed one another and would fein show it to the world if permitted. Certainly the shed little shame with their display.
And to think she had been enjoying reacquainting herself with Rhaegar's visage from a rather safe distance. It was for the best, after all that she keep as much of a distance between them as possible. If, that was, she wished to hold onto her heart.
The fickle thing, far from having steeled itself as it had promised, her heart somersaulted at the sight of Rhaegar and set to thumping so loudly in her chest that the young woman was tempted to look about her so as to assure herself no one had noticed. And by the gods did her heart have reason to act so.
The rush of memories swept over her mercilessly. The she-wolf was much grateful that she was holding onto Brandon or she might have, without meaning but, but wanting very much to, strode up to him just there where he sat.
She did not, for all her heels itched to move. It would have been a pity for her not to have learned any sense of control. All the same, heart and mind tugged into different directions, leavening the she-wolf at the mercy of this disjunction. And she would have happily endured a whole day of such, until those two lords saw fit to act no better than two dogs squabbling over a bone.
To her great surprise and mild distress, Benjen had jumped into the fray, earning himself no more than he deserved. The bloodied lip she would have overlooked, but the moment she saw her Jon follow after his uncle, she tore herself from Brandon's arm and hurried towards the boy. Thankfully, Benjen could well put an opponent in difficulty if he so wished and he made quick work of Lord Blackwood.
Jon was safe, for the moment. A relieved sigh made its way past her lips. Renly, who had stayed behind, told her something to which she could only nod, for her gaze had found the Prince once more. The dragon was not looking at her though. He stared at her brother and her son. Fear gripped her. What if, somehow, by some miraculous manner, something gave Jon away?
But nay, in the very next moment his eyes were upon her. Lyanna held his stare for as long as she could in the face of Renly's insistence that she look at something he pointed out. Giving in, she stared down at the child, but only for a moment. She looked back at Rhaegar.
His eyes, she knew those eyes so well that in that one moment, their gazes connected, a lifetime passed between the, winding and entwining. A sense of longing filled her, not the one that demanded tangibility as much as one pressing for connection.
The world fell away to leave him and her. Only them, outside space, outside time. Lips trembling, the she-wolf fought the urge to speak. In a hall full of people she could not even whisper what was forming within her.
Lyanna had not been foolish enough to think seeing Rhaegar for the first time since that stolen moment in the meadow would have no effect on her. But, in the manner of the optimist, she had thought it would not affect her to such a degree that it might resemble a song. How foolish of her to not have trusted that absence could only make the heart grow fonder, her heart that was, for the more she gazed into Rhaegar's eyes, the less sure she became of what was being said between them. She needed words.
And then it was over.
The contact broke, leaving her grasping at the vestiges. Frustration welled up within her.
Benjen returned by her side, a small smile upon his face. To her horror, despite father's somewhat dubious pride, her brother received praise for his recklessness. She, for one, would nit spare him.
"What in the name of the gods were you thinking?" she hissed at him, taking Jon's hand from her brother's as they retreated towards the back of the hall once more. "Jon could have been hurt." Her voice was hushed, barely audible, covered by the human noises flooding in from all around. Still, Benjen was close enough to know exactly how she felt about his stunt.
"He wasn't. The situation was not dangerous," Benjen dismissed her concern. "Besides, I have aided you." The way in which he said it had Lyanna fuming. "You might as well thank me."
"The only thing I shall do is have you sent to the Wall," she grounded out. "You knew very well that Jon would follow did you not? And you still jumped into the brawl like a common drunk in the tavern."
"I have more finesse than a drunk in a tavern as you put it," her brother huffed. Lyanna glared at him. The gods were to be thanked that Benjen's wits had not all abandoned him, for the young wolf had the grace to blush. "Very well, I suspected he would."
"Why would you do that?" If he was doing what she thought he was doing, he needed to put an end to it, Lyanna would not accept such an endeavour, not from him. Eyes barrowing, she warned softly, "This is no matter to be fooling around with."
"I am not. On the contrary, sister mine, I am as serious as humanly possible," Benjen assured her.
That was exactly what Lyanna had feared. He thought he could somehow bring her into the world she wanted, her poor Benjen. It was cruel and callous of her to rip that from him, yet she must. He dreamed of the impossible and thought to fashion reality by it, Lyanna dreamed of the impossible and despaired at reality for it. Only one of these two options could be upheld.
"I do not require your assistance,: she said at a long last, as they settled comfortably near the wall, barely aware that another case had been brought before the Crown Prince. "You do more damage than help." She eyed Jon ho was too busy marvelling at the Iron Throne to pay them any mind. Renly was right beside him, engrossed in whatever discussion was taking place. "It is fly ad you know it."
"I think 'tis bravery." The short, sharp answer struck her like the blade of a knife. Benjen wore on, heedless of her discomfort. "I have always counted you among the brave. Yet you would hide away and spit in the face of chance. That is not my sister."
"You dream," she snapped. Chance of what? Lyanna wished he would understand. "Keep such thoughts to yourself next time."
Benjen snorted. She knew well it meant he dismissed her world, but the she-wolf did not have the heart to argue at the moment. Neither the head. She simply wished, for the most part, that she could go somewhere far away, turn her back on all these complications.
"Teasing our sister again, are you?" Ashara Dayne cut in, saving them from an embarrassing silence. A sullen silence that would have attracted more attention than necessary. Benjen laughed softly. "Nay, do not deny it or I shall ask Jon for confirmation." When Benjen shook his head, the Dornishwoman proceeded to keep her word. "Say, little lordling, is your uncle mercilessly teasing a poor, defenceless lady?"
"Mother is not defenceless," Jon returned after a moment of hesitation. He looked up at Lyanna. "I'll defend mother." And then he glanced at Benjen, repeating his statement. "I'll defend mother."
"And I as well, 'tis what knights do," Renly joined in, no doubt ecstatic at the thought of proving his worth.
"If such fierce opponents are about, then I reconsider my attitude. Sister mine, forget I said a word." Despite knowing he jested, Lyanna could not help but smile. "Truly."
"Fiend. I believe I shall set my knights upon you," her very swift reply came as she settled into the role of loving mother once more. "
"Mercy," Benjen preyed, not at all serious. Renly and Jon, much delighted by their duty, set to grabbing onto her brother until Lyanna disciplined them.
"Another time," she assured the despondent boys. "Now let us see what is going on in this realm of ours." Truth be told, she herself had no interest in anything but Rhaegar's voice. It served her well that curiosity ran rife within their family.
Soon came the end of the court session and Lyanna found, much to her surprise, that she was being pulled away from the children by her father. Rickard insisted upon her nearing him and Stannis, even as she opposed it with a slight jerk. "Not now, Lyanna,' her father said. "'Tis important that we stay together."
Aye, but she wished to be nowhere near Stannis. A glower settled upon her face. Her good-brother stared back dispassionately. Lyanna prayed that whoever was the maiden unlucky enough to wed him had a taste for burnt fish. She imagined a marriage to Stannis was no more and no less than akin to eating burnt fish.
The uncharitable though nearly brought a smile to her lips, but she managed to brush it away. There would be time enough to contemplate the virtues, or lack thereof, of such a match as the one proposed. If anything, she could laugh to her heart's content in her own chambers. Until that moment she contented herself with standing to her father's left, putting as much distance as possible between herself and Stannis. Why was it that she had to endure his presence, she wondered. But to no avail, for answers were not forthcoming.
"Should we not be leaving as well?" she asked after a moment of consideration. "Mayhap come back on the morrow?"
"Attempting to waylay the investigation?" Stannis snipped, more to needle her, she supposed, than to make a scene.
Unwilling to give in to such low a blow, Lyanna shook her head. "Not at all. I wish this to proceed with speed."
"Then we remain here," Rickard said. He nodded towards the Prince who was now standing and speaking to a lord Lyanna did not know. "When next there is a moment I shall inform His Grace that we desire a private audience."
A private audience? The words reverberated through Lyanna's mind, a shudder running up her spine. In her mind she knew it was for the best. Stannis had nothing solid, but neither did she. Were they to expose the business to the whole court who knew what repercussions would be faced. Nay, it was better to have only those strictly involved.
The idea that she would be enclosed in an intimate setting with Rhaegar was one she refused to consider. Lyanna breathed in slowly, watching the Prince at conversation. He'd not changed that much. There was still that same posture, straight and stiff, almost awkward but for the Targaryen beauty that somehow made it negligible. His hair had been cut shorter, not by much, but Lyanna remembered it to have been longer. There was also something to be said about the way he moved within court.
He had told her, a lifetime ago, that if he could, he would flee to a place where no one knew him. It seemed he'd grown used to being known. She was glad, if only for that. She was glad that he had found himself in the end. Even if she would play no part.
"Lord Stark," Rhaegar said as the man approached him. Undoubtedly it had to be Rickard Stark, Brandon was glowering from somewhere near his sister, the younger brother was exchanging words with Lady Ashara whom, Arthur had told him, wedded the quiet wolf and the third brother was talking to those two young boys. Lyanna was looking towards them, might be at him even.
"Your Grace, a moment of your time," the Northerner lord requested, nodding softly, as if to indicate attention was required.
Loathe as he was to part from the sight of Lyanna when he had just so recently found her, Rhaegar gave in to his better nature. "I am listening."
"You are aware, I believe, that my good-son, Lord Robert Baratheon, is no longer of this world." The implied question was answered with a noncommittal sound. "His death is as such it pushes both House Stark and House Baratheon into a delicate situation. If Your Grace would be so good as to accept my formal request for a private audience."
The request was startling. "A private audience," Rhaegar repeated, involuntarily looking at Lyanna. She gazed away. "Lord Stark, if I grant you the request, may I know the reason for it?"
"Inheritance," the man replied.
And then it hit him. The child, the younger one, was not Benjen Stark's. He was Lyanna's. Something dark snaked within his heart, twisting like a blade. "I see." Robert's son. Robert's child with Lyanna, how strange it was to witness that. How strange to see her the mother of a child he wished were his. "Consider my permission granted. Follow me when I leave and we shall discuss the matter in more detail."
He could not remain there longer. He could not gaze at Lyanna with the knowledge he now possessed and not feel ashamed of himself for the thought within his mind. She had done nothing to deserve censure. Not his, in any event.
"I must away, my lord," he said quite abruptly, avoiding gazing over Lord Stark's shoulder.
"Of course, Your Grace. Gratitude." As he left, Rhaegar wondered if the man still remembered the events of the tourney. He had not been there. But surely he'd heard. Was Lord Stark trying to take advantage of a presumed soft spot? And if he was, was he successful in his endeavour? Such questions consumed him even as he entered another conversation.
And Lyanna? What of her? Was she knowingly coming to him with the matter with the hope that their past would sway him? Rhaegar hoped it was not the case. But if it were, what would be do?
He had no answer for that. Turning his attention to the conversation at hand, the Prince listened attentively to the man standing before him, failing to take note of the fact that his lady mother was approaching the very object of his consideration.
"My lord, I do believe that matter would be best solved if you wed your son to this youngest daughter," he replied to the problem posed before him.
The famous, or rather infamous, Lyanna Stark was nothing like Rhaella had expected her to be. They told her, shortly after the tourney, that her son had crowned a Northerner maiden as his Queen of Love and Beauty. She had supposed, and rightly so, that the girl had been a seductress, a Shiera Seastar from the North, as it were.
But the woman standing by the wall could no more be a seductress than Rhaella could be at ease with the thought of her son having fallen in love with her. The Northerner woman was another danger, indeed, then.
It was mayhap time for Rhaella to decide, once and for all, if her deeds had been well done. And for that she would have to face the Rhaella that had wished for her son to have a marriage different from her own, an understanding lady wife to help him. The answer, glaring as it stood, rushed at her. She had simply done what she though was best. How could she have known then that a day would come when Rhaegar would meet a she-wolf?
How could she have possibly known? The Queen stood to her feet. She needed to speak to this woman, to hear her speak, to know, even if a fragment of, her.
Without further ado, she made her way to where the Starks stood. If Lyanna was surprised by the approach she did not show it. Instead, she curtsied, her face pleasantly bland. A fine mask. "Your Grace," she greeted, her voice young.
"Lady Lyanna, aye?" The she-wolf nodded, something wary in her eye. "What brings you to King's Landing, if I may be so bold?" The Queen offered slight smile, a sign that she bore no ill-intentions. Best to know from the very beginning what to expect.
"I have come with my son, Your Grace, to settle a matter of inheritance," she answered evasively. Rhaella wondered if she should press for more details. Ultimately she decided against. Mayhap another time.
"I hope the solution is swiftly delivered then," the older woman answered. "Have you seen much of the Red Keep?"
"Nay, I fear we have made for the grand hall first thing upon arrival." The Northerner's shoulders relaxed, her posture softening. "I should hate to lose the opportunity. Jon and Renly would too. I believe they are much convinced they shall find dragon eggs about."
The Queen laughed. "They are welcome to their hunt. I should be glad to know then result of it." The understanding between them was easy to make out. "I take it that Jon is Robert's son. And where is Robert?"
Puzzlement shone upon the younger woman's face. "Your Grace, my lord husband is deceased." Rhaella gasped. "Is it possible that this has not reached King's Landing?"
"Nay, not a word," the eldest said. "How is it possible for such to have happened?"
"I confess I am just as befuddled, Your Grace. I myself instructed my maester to write."
It seemed they had a mystery upon their hands.
Renly had little trouble accommodating himself to the nursery at the septa that stood in the corner. Jon, on the other hand, found himself holding onto Betha's skirts, unwilling to step further in. "Come, young master, I must be off to the kitchens," the woman said, her voice trembling slightly. Jon wondered if anyone else knew that she was ill. He hoped she got better soon.
"I want to go with you then," Jon answered, startling her. He supposed she'd not grown used to his speaking yet. Entirely understandable, yet the fact remained that he did not wish to go within the nursery.
The King's children, he'd been told they were the King's, were in there as well. The girl kept staring at him with wide eyes. He didn't like it. In fact, Jon wanted mother. He cared nothing for the fine toys of the royal offspring. Why could he not stay with her? He would not have interrupted whatever conversation she had to participate in.
"Come, Jon," Renly called after him. "Don't linger in the doorway."
The other child was a boy. He was older than both he and Renly. For some reason he had been forced into a chair with his leg slightly elevated. There was something about the sharp smile that played upon the boy's face though. "See Dany, I told you, you frighten everyone."
"Do not," the girl, Dany, argued. As if to prove it, she stumbled to her feet and made her way towards Jon.
Once before him, close enough to reach, her finger made to touch the lower scar upon his face, the one that still smarted. Instinctively, Jon recoiled. But no sooner than he thought himself safe that the girl jumped at his, catching a handful of his hair in one hand and pulling with surprising strength.
"Let go," Jon cried out as pain lacerated his scalp at the rough handling. But she was unwilling to listen until she had him within the nursery. He shoved blindly at her, yet agile as a cat, the girl moved out of the way.
"Worry not," he heard the voice of the older brother say, "that means she likes you." It was mockingly said, but the young boy suspected the Princeling had the right of it.
Distraught at the notion, he darted in the other direction, going behind Renly. He stared over his uncle's shoulder. It might have been easier to avoid the sweating sickness though, for the girl had no qualms about following him, a grin upon her face.
"Well then, now that he is settled, I leave him in your care, my lady," Betha addressed the septa, waving at Jon. "I shall inform your lady mother where she might find you," the servant assured him, a smile playing upon her lips.
For a moment, Jon thought of dashing after her. He reconsidered the notion a moment later. He would only be forced back into the nursery
With a glare, he tuned away from Dany. If only he could avoid her.
"Play with me," the demanded, although his back was turned to her he caught onto his sleeve and tugged it, hard. "You mu listen to me." His refusal to do so seemed to baffle her even further. "Viserys, tell him he must."
Viserys groaned. "I will tell him no such thing," he replied to his sister, crossing his arms over his chest. "If fact, I think you should stop pestering him."
"Now, now, children," the mild tempered septa interrupted the squabble, "might be you should all be happier to hear a story rather than make a ruckus."
The suggestion was met with enthusiastic nods and relief, at least on Jon's part.
Rhaegar sat down behind the desk, looking at the three people standing before him. If he thought, even for a moment, that he might get away with it, he would have stared unabashedly at Lyanna. But her father was present and while he had been lucky enough to escape Brandon Stark, he did not wish to tempt fate. The Seven help him otherwise.
A/N: Clues.: 1) Rg'h vcgivnvob vzhb gl wfkv kvlkov, vhkvxrzoob dsvm gsviv rh ml xovzi wzgzyzhv rm lmv kozxv, yfg rmulinzgrlm hkivzw zoo levi.
2) Qlm'h mrtsgnzivh droo kilyzyob rmxofwv gsv kivhvmxv lu Wzvmvibh uiln gsrh wzb uligs...rg'h gll nfxs ufm mlg gl. Drgs tllw ivzhlm.
3) Iszvtzi rh hl lm gsv xzhv. R kilnrhv rg'oo rmxofwv vevibgsrmt uiln khbxsloltrxzo gligfiv gl gsv ksbhrxzo prmw.