Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.

So, I have taken the interludes out of this story and put them together in another one, a mini-prequel that may get some glimpses of Aly and Oberyn's early years together added to it. A reviewer also helpfully told me that the Queen Who Never Was had Targaryen colouring, so that's now fixed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Alysanne VI

The Red Keep: 15th September, 298 AC

The morning of the trial by combat for the Lannister twins, Aly woke up after her husband had already left, as per usual nowadays. Disappointed but unsurprised by that fact, she summoned Arrana to help her rise from and then took a long bath, lingering in the water well after it had grown cold as she stroked her swollen stomach and thought of her children.

A letter had arrived from her goodsister assuring her that the children had all arrived safely and were settling in, even if they were going through some culture shock at the ways of Aly's homeland. It was one thing to hear about it, another to see it with their own eyes. Another letter had come from Rickard, requesting they write to him about everything that had occurred and inquiring about the family's welfare as well as updating them on how things were in Dorne. He had added that Myrcella was terribly frightened and confused by the turn of events, not truly understanding what her mother had done or why she was now a bastard and no longer his betrothed, but that the news of Tommen coming to stay had pleased her greatly (the boy had been bundled off quickly to get him away from Robert's temper, whilst Joffrey was currently under house arrest, waiting for an escort to be arranged to take him to the Wall. Aly had her own thoughts on that solution. Her husband thought it a kinder fate for the lad, but Aly had her doubts. The Watchmen did not like it when criminals were sent to them. Unless you had a good reason for your crimes you tended to get 'lost' on a ranging early on. No rapists ever lasted more than a moon at most. Joffrey, spoilt and psychotic as he was, would probably be dead within a year.) The governesses were doing their best to reassure the confused young girl and Rickard too was trying to be kind, though he confessed that he was really too busy to do much.

Her eldest was doing so well, and she was so terribly proud of him. It was hard to accept that he was four-and-ten now. It felt as if it were only yesterday that Arrana had laid him on her breast as a newborn, covered in blood and howling his tiny lungs out with rage at being forced out of the safety of her womb into the cold and harsh world. She had been utterly enchanted by his tiny form, how completely amazing he was to her eyes. It was the first time since the news of her siblings' deaths had arrived that she had felt anything other than rage or grief, and his birth had been what had finally broken her out of her haze of helpless, enraged, grief. She had given Oberyn a genuine smile for the first time when she presented their son to him. Seeing the way he had handled their child with such care, the utter adoration in his eyes as he looked at the babe and the way he had thanked her for what he had called as the greatest gift he had ever received in his life, had caused her to start feeling fond of her husband.

A lot of people simply assumed that she had been the one to request he be named for her late father, a very Stark, Northron name. In fact, it had been Oberyn's suggestion that they do so, and she had been as surprised as anybody. She had assumed he would want to honour his own House or even his foster family, as was typical. It seemed to her that the father's family was always honoured above the mother's in the south. She had been ready to reconcile herself to any name, just as long as it was not any variation of Robert. That was one thing that she would have fought tooth and nail against. She had not been able to keep herself from weeping at his suggestion of using her father's name for her firstborn child.

It had been similar with Aliandra's birth. Aly would have been willing to name her anything except Elia, and she had come up with a dozen different ways to convince him not to honour his sister, ranging from insisting with superstitious fear that it might bring her namesake's fate down on their daughter to threatening to drink moon tea for the rest of her childbearing years to keep from having another child if he made her endure such. She hadn't even had the chance to open her mouth when he had instead suggested that they name her for his grandmother, whom he had been fond of prior to her death shortly before he was sent to the Vale. She had been startled enough to blurt out that she'd thought he would want to call her after Elia.

"Do you really think that I am cruel enough to hurt you like that?" he had replied with a bitter twist to his mouth and an offended glint in his eye that had made her stomach twist in guilt. She kissed him and told him that she loved him for the first time after that.

"You ought to get out, my love," Oberyn himself interrupted her reminiscing, making her start in surprise, not having realized that he had returned to their apartments, let alone was watching her with a half-smile playing on his lips. "The trial is in two hours, and you will need time to get ready."

"Help me out," she instructed him in response, accepting his hand and letting him half-lift her from the tub and steady her. "I am always so ungainly when I am with child," she complained, holding onto his arm to keep from slipping.

He shook his head in denial, kissing her forehead. "The only sight better than you round with my child is you holding our babe in your arms," he repeated a sentiment she had heard him say a thousand times before. She gave a wry smile and kissed his cheek.

"You're a fool," she declared. "But I find myself terribly fond of it."

He gave a light smile, but she noticed that it failed to reach his eyes. He had been withdrawn ever since questioning Cersei, though he refused to say anything about what had happened. Garris had admitted that she had said something that had clearly deeply shaken her husband and Aly cursed the incestuous whore for the millionth time. Damn her for whatever she had said. Aly had warned Oberyn that she would likely lash out to try and protect herself, but even being prepared didn't always save you. Whatever she'd said had hit the mark, and combined with the stress of everything else he was growing wearier and more troubled by the day.

"What do you think that Tywin's plan is?" Oberyn asked her as he helped her walk back into their bedchamber to dress.

Aly pursed her lips, tilting her head in thought. "The evidence is stacked against them," she said slowly. "But a trial by combat is decided by the skills of the champions, and the Seven."

Utter nonsense of course, but trial by combat was deeply ingrained in southron culture, though in her homeland it was not considered a legitimate way to prove your innocence. The gods had better things to do than intervene in the judgements and fights of mortals. Unless it was a large-scale battle, which was an entirely different matter.

"Jaime is good, one of the best swordsmen alive," she continued. "If he wins, it clears their names and, as our House is the accusers, runs our name through the mud. The Crown would be shamed, and House Lannister would be in an even stronger position than before. That being said, Jaime has spent the past moon in the Black Cells, not to mention his questioning. He will not be up to his usual standard of fighting. I am surprised that Tywin did not have his children choose somebody else to act as their champion and fight for them."

She frowned as she spoke, her gut twisting in unease.

"They cannot change it, surely?" she murmured, looking at Oberyn. He paused, brow crinkling before his own expression became unsettled.

"They could," he replied slowly. "If the champion were declared unfit to fight by at least two maesters for some reason, they could elect another to stand in their place."

Aly felt her eyes widen in dismay. "Go and check," she advised him. "Now."

He nodded curtly, quickly kissing her before running off. Arrana came in, looking puzzled, and Aly quickly turned to her.

"You have it still?" she whispered to her most trusted confident. Arrana alone received Aly's full confidence. Much as she loved Oberyn, he was not suited to the murky world of court and the honourless acts one needed to preform for the sake of surviving it. It therefore fell to Aly to do those tasks, in order to ensure her marital House's safety.

Besides, a great deal of her plotting involved acting against the Usurper, and she had no desire to place her husband in the position of deciding between her and Baratheon. Unlike the Usurper, she loved him too much to put him through that guilt if she could avoid it. One day she suspected that she would have to do so, but she had no intention of doing so before it was absolutely necessary.

"I do," Arrana confirmed in the same low tone. "I was going to give it to him after helping you dress."

"Not yet," Aly responded. "I fear that the Old Lion intends to have another fight in his son's place, changing the fighters at last minute to put Ser Barristan off his guard, and I would not have our plan ruined due to the wrong person drinking the potion."

"He will dearly regret his actions," Arrana breathed.

"The North remembers," Aly agreed, in Andaii this time. Her tone was as cold and unforgiving as the icy plains ruled by her family for time immemorial.

ASoVASoVASoV

The outer ward had been chosen for the combat. When Aly arrived she found her husband speaking to a maester she didn't know and Tywin, scowls on both lords' expressions. She went to his side, mask of an obedient and submissive wife in place, and silently listened. Nobody took notice of her, save for Oberyn entwining their fingers and squeezing her hand softly. She ran her thumb over his knuckles, hoping to soothe him a bit.

"Ser Jaime is not fit for combat," the maester quavered.

Aly's lip curled for a brief instant in disdain. As she had suspected. She hoped that the note she sent to Ser Barristan had been received and taken notice of.

"I have been informed by Maester Ballabar of that already," Oberyn snapped at him. "Who shall fight in his stead then, my Lord Lannister?"

"Ser Gregor Clegane," Tywin smirked, and Aly barely managed to keep herself from reacting in a surge of raw fury to the mention of the man she hated most in the world, the only person she loathed more than Tywin himself. The man who had brutally slaughtered her sister, Lya's babes and been one of Barbrey's rapists. He had then been rewarded for slaughtering a woman and her infants with a keep and a new wife who had died mysteriously not even a year later. Amory Lorch, meanwhile, had received a knighthood for murdering Ben, Barbrey and Melara. She wanted both of them dead at her feet, and the mere mention of their names made her seethe in helpless rage. She had not known he was in the capital, otherwise she would have had him poisoned already. She nearly growled, feeling her fingernails dig into her husband's skin, drawing blood from the tiny indents she left there.

"I see," Oberyn answered coolly. "And is Clegane ready to fight this morning?"

"Yes," Lannister smirked. "He is ready and willing to prove the innocence of my daughter the queen and that of my son."

"The trial begins in half an hour," Oberyn stated flatly, not saying anything about Lannister's ridiculous insistence on proclaiming the twins' innocence, as if their guilt was not practically spelled out in the stars above. "Ensure that your children's champion is ready and waiting."

With that, he turned and stalked off, practically dragging Aly, who had abandoned her submissive mask in favour of trying to send daggers at the Lord of the Rock using only her eyes, with him. She could not stop herself casting another bitter look over her shoulder at the Old Lion as they left.

"Damn him!" Oberyn hissed. "Both Ballabar and the Lannisters' personal maester, Creylen, both declared Jaime unfit. They did this deliberately to set us off-balance!"

"Is Selmy capable enough to deal with Clegane?" Aly wondered, clenching her fist in her skirts.

"He is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for a good reason beyond being the last survivor of Aerys' guards save Jaime, but he is getting on in age," Oberyn ran a hand through his hair, looking stressed. "I just cannot say, Aly."

"He has to win," Aly breathed. "He must."

This was no longer just about ruining the Lannisters and seeing the White Lion and his bitch of a sister dead. This was an opportunity for the Mountain himself to die. Aly had never cared whom how her enemies died, just so long as they did fall, and fall epically, in a way that destroyed their precious legacies and ground the ashes of them to dust. She didn't think she would be able to keep believing in the Gods if Clegane won and she lost all of her chances at vengeance at once. If Clegane won, then Cersei would live on as queen, wearing the crown that had been meant for Lya, and Tywin would be in an even stronger position than before.

It couldn't be allowed to happen.

She glanced over at Arrana, meeting her eyes and using them to point out the Mountain, who had now entered the arena alongside the two accused, who looked as small as their dwarf brother in comparison to his unnatural bulk. Her handmaid gave a fraction of a nod in understanding, then spun on her heel and disappeared into the crowds, all gathered to watch the trial by combat. Aly was pleased and very much unsurprised to hear the vitriol being directed towards not only the Lannisters, but the Usurper as well.

Oberyn was not so pleased. His brows furrowed and his jaw tensed. "Are they insulting the king?"

Aly glanced at him. "Aerys might have been a tyrant, but he was only one person, and he hardly affected the smallfolk of the city," she told him. "Queen Rhaella and Rhaegar were well-loved, and very charitable. Smallfolk do not care whom sits on the Iron Throne, only how they and their families are affected by that person's manner of rule. The lives of the commons have gone down since the Baratheons came to power. And it is not just my dislike of them that causes me to say so. Speak to any commoner or servant who is old enough to recall life under the Targaryens, ask them which dynasty they prefer."

Oberyn was silent, looking distant and troubled, as they took their seats on the judges' dais. Ser Barristan had entered the arena. It seemed as if everyone in the city had gathered to watch and see if their hated queen and her brother were to die. Everyone save for the king, who was of course in a drunken stupor in his room under the guard of Ser Arys. The man had spent the past moon and a half being even more useless and irritating than ever, either drinking himself senseless (without even having the common decency to have heart failure as Aly kept hoping and praying for, the way anybody else with his lifestyle would have had years ago) or else practicing in the yard. Anyone who saw him spar could tell that he was far past his prime now, barely able to wield his own hammer, though she would grudgingly acknowledge that he was putting effort into regaining his physique. Aly and her Northrons had laughed themselves silly at the sight of him, red faced and struggling to lift his precious warhammer, before descending into bitterness over the fact that Rhaegar had died at the hands of such a pathetic man. Aly figured that if the Usurper had not been aided by her husband, the Silver Prince would most definitely have been the one to win the day.

How different would life have been for everyone in that world?

Oberyn stood, drawing the attention A dozen trumpeters blew a fanfare to quiet the crowd.

"Due to Ser Jaime Lannister being declared incapable of fighting in the defence of himself and Cersei Baratheon of House Lannister, the accused have appointed Ser Gregor of House Clegane to fight in their stead.

The crowd roared in disapproval, rotten food was thrown at both the Lannisters and Clegane.

"Childkillers! Rapist!" they yelled. "Murderers! Incestuous scum! Cheats!"

Aly smirked at the rage-filled expression on the queen's face at the way she was being treated by those she thought of as inferior. The Old Lion's own face was red, increasing Aly's dark glee.

"The trial will now begin!" Oberyn called over the din. The High Septon shuffled forward in his tall crystal crown, and prayed that the Father Above would help them in this judgment, and that the Warrior would lend his strength to the arm of the man whose cause was just.

Aly fixed her gaze on the pair who were striding towards one another, Ser Barristan the Bold in his gold armour and white cloak of the Kingsguard, and the Mountain that Rides in a long yellow surcoat bearing the three black dogs of Clegane. Underneath the surcoat he wore heavy plate over chainmail, dull grey steel dinted and scarred in battle. Beneath that would be boiled leather and a layer of quilting. A flat-topped greathelm was bolted to his gorget, with breaths around the mouth and nose and a narrow slit for vision. The crest atop it was a stone fist.

The pair wasted no time showboating simply beginning to clash. Ser Barristan was a good, talented fighter. Elegant. It was obvious that age had not hindered his abilities.

Clegane, meanwhile, was clearly all about his size and brute force, no technique or actual skill at all. His strength and bulk were what allowed him to terrorize so many.

Ser Barristan used his smaller frame to his advantage, avoiding the man's blows. He landed several strikes on the Mountain's armour, but nothing came of it.

Aly's heart was in her throat as she watched, imploring the gods, Old and New alike, to be on the side of justice that day.

'Let them die' she prayed, over and over. 'Please, let them die. Please. Let Selmy win, I beseech You. Let them die.'

She noticed, then, that the Mountain was beginning to slow down. Only a fraction, but enough that Ser Barristan, who seemed to be having no problems at all in the fight in spite of having lost the use of his left arm to a badly timed block, was quick to spy it for himself and take advantage. Aly briefly dragged her gaze from the fight long enough to seek out Arrana in the crowd and meet her friend's gaze. One look and she knew that her loyal confidant had managed to drug Clegane.

She spied the Lannisters as she returned her focus to the fight. Jaime was pale beneath his bruises. Tywin wore a distant and tight expression, the Imp was clearly horrified, and Cersei looked enraged. Aly smirked and went back to watching.

She lost her pleasure when she saw Clegane wound Selmy again, making him fall to the ground, separated from his sword. He rolled away, trying to get to it again, but the Mountain was nearing him too quickly for him to grab his weapon again unless something interceded.

Wargs only had one true familiar whom they could bond with. However, if they were strong enough, some of them could temporarily take over the mind of a nearby animal, though it was far harder than if they were warging into their companion's mind. Aly, like nearly every Stark, was a strong and well-trained warg, though she rarely did so. She had little reason to.

Now, however, she did. She didn't even consciously decide what to do, simply flinging her mind into the conscious of a seagull flying above the arena and grabbing control, sending it racing downwards to the ground. Clegane had reached Selmy, and was raising his sword to finish him off, when the bird flew straight at the Mountain's face, intent on scratching his eyes out through the visor of the helmet. It failed, but the action allowed enough time for Selmy to roll back to his feet, sword in hand once again.

Aly released the bird, a discreet look telling her that everybody was too busy being shocked by the bird's strange actions to have realized what she had done.

When she again returned her attention to the trial, it was to see that the battle was clearly about to be decided in the Crown's favour.

Ser Barristan got a strike behind Clegane's knee, one that sent the man crashing to the ground. The Lord Commander went over to him and, without fanfare, decapitated the man. The crowd went wild with glee, screaming their delight over both the Mountain's death and the impending executions of the 'incestuous lion whore!'

Aly stared at the corpse of her sister's murderer and fell into a swoon.