A/N: 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
Chapter 61: Coronation
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!
A/N: 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 :)
