A/N: Greetings all. It was a hellish week past. As most of you are probably aware, the Texas blizzard exploited wind turbine limitations, corporate greed, and the federal government's lack of giving a damn for the average person into the entire state being without power and water for days. Was planning to update last week, but... let's just say circumstance intervened.

But all is well. Power's back, water's back, and the weather is a balmy 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Let's do this.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 63: Gathering Darkness

"Well?!" Arms crossed, honey-brown eyes blazing the same dragonfire as her husband's dragon, Queen Elia Targaryen glared at the two men standing ramrod straight before her. "How did they get in?! Answer me!"

Alliser Thorne, Lord of Duskendale and acting commander of the Royal Targaryen Guard gulped. "Your Grace… I…"

"Choose your words carefully, Lord Alliser." If the Queen was frightening, the King was truly a portrait of demonic fury. Even Lord Commander Barristan Selmy trembled, though neither he nor Lord Thorne could blame their monarchs. Had their wife and children been close to slaughtered, the rage would overwhelm them. "Answer the Queens' question, how did the assassins get into the keep?"

Sighing, Lord Alliser looked his King and Queen directly in the eye. "Your Grace, we did a search of the areas around the Red Keep… several bodies of guardsmen were found tossed in one of the catacombs that led out to the beach beneath Aegon's High Hill. They showed signs of ambush."

Elia trembled. "So, you're saying they impersonated these guards and snuck in through the catacombs?" Never since Starfall was she this afraid… Egg, Jon, Ash, and Lya nearly died under their very noses. Gods, she needed to be with them. Not here, arguing with their guards as if they weren't competent.

They should have been competent.

"Aye, your Grace," Barristan answered. "I've instituted a sign-countersign system among the guards and barricaded the Red Keep. Prince Aegon and Prince Baelon are as protected as can be."

"Good, good." Sensing his wife's growing discomfort and needing to hold Lya as well, Rhaegar made his last question brief. "Any identifying the assassins?"

Thorne nodded. "Most were cutthroats from Gin Alley, common sellswords that partook in the more… seedier tactics of war. One of them though… none of the Goldcloaks could point to any clue regarding his identity. It's my contention that this person was instructed to hire the cutthroats. Lord Varys has asked me to inform you he wishes to begin a proper investigation."

Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar sighed. "He has my leave to do this. Dismissed." Both men bowed and exited the room… Barristan taking his position on watch at the entrance to the royal quarters. Elia nearly collapsed, but was taken close in Rhaegar's arms - the King embracing his Queen. "They're all alive, my love," he whispered into her ear, sensing her tremors.

Tears welling in her eyes, Elia nodded into the crook of his neck. "I know." She wordlessly kissed him, seeking comfort to regain her composure. "I want to be with Lya."

"As do I." Nothing was stopping them now.

They found Lyanna sitting at her vanity, just gazing quietly at her reflection in the looking glass. The beautiful gown she had been dressed in was hastily stripped away and her sword tucked to the side for cleaning, instead a gossamer nightgown donned that hugged her curves. Hair released over her shoulders, she looked absolutely breathtaking, though a hollow look left those beautiful grey eyes. "My love…" Elia made her way to behind Lya, leaning down to wrap her arms round her neck and shoulders. Noticing an ever so slight flinch. "Forgive us, but we're here now."

While having initially wished for solitude in her internal conflict, the feel of her loves close by brought Lyanna the greatest comfort. "I'm glad you're here." Tilting her head back, she accepted Elia's sweet kiss with need. It warmed her.

It brought back the harsh words from earlier.

She felt guilty for remembering them.

Elia pulling back, they rested their foreheads together as a warm, calloused hand stroked her arm. Rhaegar… my King… "Are you alright, my Queen?" she heard him ask.

"As well as I can be," Lya replied. "So who were they?"

Such a clever girl. Both King and Queen smirked through their eyes at how perceptive their direwolf was. "Cutthroats from Gin Alley, though one can't be identified."

Lya bit her lip. "I knew I shouldn't have killed that last one… but I needed him to die. I… I had to kill them." Her eyes darkened, voice hard. "To kill them all."

Rhaegar nodded. "I understand - they would have all burned had I had my way." He wrapped his arms round her chest, easing her up from the chair. She didn't resist. "Lya… you saved our sons."

"We almost lost them," she replied in a whisper.

Elia trembled at the thought. "I know… gods, we all do." No words were needed after that, embraces turning lewd. Touches turning prurient as lips locked, hands ghosting over intimate places as both Rhaegar and Lyanna led her to bed. Barely giving her a chance to breathe as they swapped kisses, making her sigh in pleasure and comfort. Lyanna was guided flat upon the bed, eyes closed and heart pounding at the thought of either of them pleasuring her. The weight that slid upon her form was slender and soft. Elia…

Kissing her soundly, Lyanna leaned up, cupping the outline of Elia's breasts. Moaning at their supple feel…

"Adulterer!"

Inwardly, Lyanna tensed.

"You are evil… you betray your honor." The voice was sweet, syrupy, but malevolent. Biting. "You caused their deaths, fornicator."

The soft touches of her love mixed with the harsh judgement of the voice, which transformed into her father's… her brother's… even her mother's...

"Lyanna Stark. You have betrayed the gods of your ancestors!

"You have laid with someone not your husband. Polluted your marriage bed with the darkest perversion."

"Why did you do it, little pup?"

Her heart hurt, electricity passing painfully through her.

"Our death was your fault!."

No...

"You put everything at risk. Our entire House close to extinction because of your lust!"

No!

The feel of Elia's lips piercing her own broke the haze she was in… Her heart pounded, her skin pricking and form shaking.

"Adulterer!"

"Fornicator!"

"Whore!"

"Stop…" she murmured, barely hearing her own voice. "Elia… stop…" Louder now, but still Elia didn't hear it, kissing down her neck and pulling down the straps of her nightgown while Rhaegar played with the hem of hers - teasing it before he would dive in and enjoy his midnight snack. A finger ghosted over her silk-covered nipple, which sent Lyanna's eyes widening. "Stop!"

In a split-second, the passionate moment between the three lovers had turned into one of confusion and incredulity. Lyanna - without meaning to - had shoved Elia back, pushing her into Rhaegar who stumbled out of the bed entirely… falling to his knees on the floor. It took a moment before they managed to piece together what had happened. "Lya?" Elia asked, less hurt rather than stunned and concerned.

"What's wrong, love?" Rhaegar asked, pulling himself to his feet. Never in their passion had they ever seen her like this. So… afraid…

Seeing the looks of worry and love on their faces, Lyanna felt guilt stab at her like the worst of blades. "I'm sorry…" she stammered. What was happening to her. "I'm so sorry, I… I…" Tears welled in her eyes.

"Lya…" Rhaegar was at her side in an instant, while Elia crawled opposite him. "Tell us what's wrong."

"Whore!" The malevolent word bombarded her brain… the voice sounding so much like her own father.

"Whore!"

"Whore!"

"WHORE!"

She wrenched herself free and stood, covering her eyes in shame. "I… I have to see Jon!" Enough sense remaining in her to grab a dressing gown, she bolted out of the chambers leaving her two stunned lovers in her wake.

Watching like an ever present apparition, the dark one smiled at his work.

"Leave me alone, Little Man!"

Try as he might though, Sandor Clegane would need to try harder to dislodge the teenage Imp of Casterly Rock from his tail - stubby legs working overtime to keep up with his massive strides. "It's just so intriguing to me, you fought alongside his Grace the King… what was it like?"

"Cold, wet, and bloody. What the fuck do you think war is like?!" Seven hells… please shut up!

"But it's the Sunrise Dragon!" He wasn't going to be so lucky. "The first dragon to grace the world in centuries." It was as if Tyrion's childhood dream was finally to come true. "Did you see the dragon? How big was it?"

Groaning, Sandor wanted to punch something… or someone. Gregor would have. But even Lord Tywin's least favorite son getting a broken nose or worse would very much displease the Old Lion - if for reasons other than sentimentality. "About the size of a house cat…" Sandor remarked quietly as he made for the Lord's wing of the great keep. "Or a small dog."

He witnessed Tyrion visibly deflate, disappointment written on his face. "That small?" What a letdown.

"What did you expect? For him to be burnin' Harrenhal like the fuckin' Black Dread a moon after hatchin'?"

"I suppose so," Tyrion murmured, looking out the window to the vast expanse of the fertile highland farmland. Not yet would he see his dream of great dragons soaring atop the winds and currents.

Frowning, a chorus of girlish giggles from one of the chambers drew his ear. "Fuck, your depression is annoying. Let the giggle sisters fuckin' downer on your mood." With his foot he half-nudged, half-kicked Tyrion to the door of the Lady Cersei's chambers and stormed off… letting out a sigh of relief to find the Imp not following him.

Pondering both his crushed mood and the Hound's suggestion, Tyrion shrugged. Perhaps teasing my sweet sister would be just the right thing for me. The more he thought about it, the more amused he grew at the thought. Without knocking, he pushed open the door - latch just within reach he was glad to note - and entered Cersei's private chambers. No longer muffled, the giggles and coos of more than one woman came to notice.

What he saw really improved his mood.

"Come here, darling… come to mama!" Hair let down, clad in a dressing gown tied round her waist, Cersei rested on her knees atop the floor. Her arms were out in an inviting pose, though at the moment it was quite innocent. "You can do it, crawl to me, Robb."

In his five moons of life, little Robb Hill - or Robb Stark as Cersei insisted - had transformed into an active, delightful little babe. Precocious and full of energy, Tyrion wasn't shocked since Robb had developed quite a resemblance to his uncle Jaime. Golden hair thick and lustrous, green eyes sparkling with vibrance.

The entirety of Casterly Rock was smitten with him even in spite of his parentage.

Beaming a toothless smile and clapping his hands, Robb's eyes darted everywhere as both Jeyne Farman and Malera Heatherspoon bombarded him with equally sweet exhortations, almost overloaded with stimulation. Propping himself unseen against the wall, Tyrion crossed his arms and watched with amusement. He would have loved to tease, but he was smitten with his nephew as well.

Eventually, Robb's attention rooted firmly to his mother and he began to crawl towards her. Cersei's eyes sparkled with a happiness that Tyrion hadn't ever seen in her before - radiant happiness and contentment, and it truly suited her. "My baby boy!" When reaching her, Cersei picked Robb up, sweetly blowing a raspberry on his belly to his shrieks of laughter. "You're perfect."

At Jeyne and Malera's giggles, Tyrion finally couldn't help himself. "Usually, I hear those giggles in a different context."

Once, Cersei's handmaidens and friends would have been scandalized - now though, they shared Cersei's ire and bored acceptance of his lewdness. "Brother… I would say I'm glad at your presence, but that would be lying."

Not the most biting of insults. They truly were getting along more and more. "I suppose someone is." Brows rising, he smirked as Robb reached out for his uncle. The little one had taken to him more than anyone other than his mother, and Tyrion with him. "May I hold my nephew?"

Cersei frowned but then sighed. "You may." She may have disliked Tyrion, but Robb loved him and she couldn't deny her little direwolf his family. He's never met his Stark family… Such tinged her frown as Tyrion took him.

Tyrion held his nephew gingerly, trying to keep Robb's hands from smacking at his face with giggles. "Yep, he's your son, Cersei." Normally his charms were lost on Jeyne and Malera, but here they laughed. "Good news, uncle Gerion's returned."

That drew surprise. "He actually survived Old Valyria?" Jeyne asked with wide-eyes.

"Even Aerea Targaryen didn't," added Malera. "And she had Balerion the Black Dread."

"Us Lannisters are a stubborn, tough bunch. If anyone could do it, it was uncle Gerion… and he found Brightroar!"

Smirking, Cersei leaned back on her knees. "Well, I hope he gave the sword to Jaime."

"He did."

"Jaime with the Lannister Valyrian steel?" Jeyne sighed dreamily. "He'll look so dashing with it." One day, both siblings knew, with his golden looks Robb would get the same attention from the maidens of the world… if they overlooked his bastard status.

At that point, Robb started to fuss and whimper, which had Cersei standing up. "He needs a bath."

Before she could take him from Tyrion, Malera swept in to do it. "No, let us do it, Cersei. You relax."

"But…"

She was insistent. "Relax. We're happy to do it for our little lion." Jeyne in tow, Malera took the fussy Robb to the bathhouse of the keep, installed by Lord Tywin to accommodate his fastidious need to be clean.

"Little wolf," Cersei whispered under her breath, heart clenching at the thought of her Ned.

Such was not lost on Tyrion. "He won't be a Stark, sister," he warned, not wanting to hurt her but knowing it would only hurt her if she kept her insistence. "Not unless you marry Ned Stark and the King legitimizes him."

"I know, I know…" She stood, walking to the window. "It just hurts greatly. I love Ned and I'm sure he loves me… we have a babe, a healthy heir for House Stark." Her fists clenched. "I'd make a better Lady of Winterfell than that glorified Septa he was forced to marry."

Ah yes, Catelyn Tully. Wasn't a secret what his sister felt about her. "She's borne Lord Stark a daughter." He watched her stiffen. "Name is Sansa, and the whispers say she's rather healthy."

Cersei was silent. "I'm happy for him."

"Are you truly?"

Biting her lip, Cersei hesitated before nodding. "I'm happy that he has a child to love, but simply wish that she were mine with him. That Robb could have a little sister to grow up with."

"And Lancel isn't a good companion?" She turned around and glared at him, to which Tyrion raised his hands. "Sorry, bad jape."

"I hate her, brother." The old Cersei returned in force, bitter and haughty, but it seemed less childish. More focused and grounded. "She's hurting the North, hurting my love."

"Are you referring to her decision to allow septons and septas to proselytize in the North?" It was longstanding practice that only White Harbor could operate a true sept, and even there it's activities were limited. "Aye, that will hurt."

Sitting with her hands in her lap, Cersei fumed. "The North hates the Faith of the Seven. They've learned to live with the Andals but see the Starry Sept as an encroachment. That Fish Whore is only going to harm Ned's hold on the North - hyenas surround him, and he doesn't have someone like father to support and protect him." Tears started to prick at her eyes at the thought. "I wish I could get rid of her."

Tyrion winced. "Cersei… don't go there, please."

"No one would know if I do it well enough. I doubt Ned loves her… then we could get married."

"Father would kill you if you tried." Tywin Lannister was a schemer, but hated common schemes. His were more… intricate and grounded. "We know that our father runs this family as an Iron fist… only Jaime has ever defied him on his plans, and had he not become a Kingsguard there would have been a reckoning."

She sighed. "So only he can make this decision… typical. All of us dancing to his jig." She had been a pawn, conditioned to fall for the Prince - only to fall for the enigmatic Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Her only decision for herself.

"We're all monsters, I suppose, for acting like the great Tywin Lannister." Tyrion chuckled dryly. "I feel our father wants to be the monster for House Targaryen, lest they need someone to actually deliver fire and blood."

"They'd need a marriage alliance to seal that."

"Aye. You're just going to have to let the gods guide us to a proper end."

Huffing, Cersei leaned on her bed and turned her back to Tyrion, cheek on the pillow. "Piss on the gods." What use was honor if it got a person killed and their family attained?

She could almost hear Ned scolding her for such a thought, and it only added to Cersei's pain.

Leaning down over the lining of the crib, finger extended, Princess Rhaenys' eyes were alight with excitement as she touched the chin of her much younger aunt. "Hi Dany," she giggled as the little babe squirmed and waved her arms. "I'm your niece. Grow up quick cause I need a girl to fight my brudders."

One of her said 'brudders' was currently snuggled in his mother's arms, Lyanna gazing down at him. Her nipples were tender from his hungry suckles, but the Queen wouldn't miss quality time with her miracle for the world. "Oooh… easy on muna, pup." That didn't mean it wasn't uncomfortable.

"Eww!" Lya's head went up as Rhaenys pulled back, shaking her hand vigorously. "Dany drooled on me!" Giggles left the crib where the Princess dwelt.

The Queen stifled a giggle of her own. "Babe's drool, Rhae… not on your dress." The girl stopped just as she moved to wipe her slobber-drenched hand upon the pretty saffron children's gown she wore. "It's freshly laundered."

Groaning - so much like Rhaegar it was uncanny - Rhae wiped it instead on Daenerys' blanket… considering Dany likely slobbered all over it, Lyanna couldn't speak up.

Jon took the moment to detach from her nipple, smacking his lips after draining his fill. Smiling, Lyanna placed him atop her shoulder and gently pressed until a loud belch echoed through the nursery. Egg slept soundly in his crib, while Dany's violet eyes zeroed in on her slightly older nephew with… awe? Rhaenys merely laughed, discomfort forgotten. "Jon funny like Uncle Ben." Northern to the core, Benjen always liked to delight his family with his antics. He's lucky Ash finds him charming.

"Don't let Uncle Ned fool you, Rhae. Northerners have quite the sense of humor." Her elder brother was an oddity in that regard - most northmen were more like the Umbers than icy enigmatics like Roose Bolton.

Walking right beside her, Rhae gave her a curious look. "Muna, do I call him Jon… or Baelon. Grandmother calls him Baelon."

"Your grandmother is a stickler for propriety… you may call him Jon, as I do, unless in a formal occasion."

Her head bobbed up and down. Rhaenys reached her arms up. "Can I hold Jon?"

She sighed. "Sorry, sweetling." Lyanna didn't want to deny her, but the worry of her dropping Jon was pressing now. "Perhaps when you're older." Rhaenys pouted, this time looking like a mini-Elia.

Elia…

Jon was a mix of Rhaegar's build and her own coloring, Daenerys pure Valyrian while Egg was an almost sun-kissed Valyrian - everything but the alabaster skin. But Rhae… while she inherited the graceful bone structure and violet eyes of her father's line, the rest was pure Dornish. Not just any Dornish, but of her wife. Of her love…

"Adulterer!"

"Fornicator!"

"Whore!"

"Muna?" A hand tugged on her dress. "Muna? You good?"

Lyanna looked down to see the expectant, concerned expression of her daughter. Rhaegar's eyes, but Elia's expression. Guilt immediately flooded her, feeling as if she was betraying her family. "I'm fine," she lied, not wanting to worry her. "I'm fine." Placing Jon in his crib, perhaps that was more for herself than Rhaenys.

"Must I, muna?" a sullen, indignant voice stated from the hallway.

"Come on, Vis. It'll be good for you to get out of your chambers."

Door opening, Ser Barristan walked in from where he and Lyn Corbray stood guard - always one to give a small sweet to the children, Ser Lyn was a favorite of theirs leading to his assignment to their guard full-time. "Your Grace," he stated, "Queen Dowager Rhaella and Prince Viserys." Announcement completed, he stepped back out.

Finally, the slender, smiling form of Lya's godmother walked in with the frowning Viserys in tow. Ser Jaime brought up the rear, guarding Rhaella as he always did. Charming and self-assure he always was, but in the last weeks he had been the picture of happiness. Lyanna had an idea why. "Your Grace," Rhaella bowed, though there was a hint of a smile on her face.

Lyanna cracked a bit of a smirk. "Goodmother." She chuckled at Rhaella curtsying even deeper. "Get up please… it feels weird if you do it."

Rhaella rose, laughing as well. "Couldn't help myself, dear Lyanna." Happily, she pulled her granddaughter in for a hug. "How are my daughter and grandchildren?"

"Growing like weeds, I can honestly say." Lya watched as Rhaella kissed Egg on the head before cooing at Jon, making silly faces that he went wild over. "Baelon has Aegarax's appetite, as does Daenerys. Gods, I hope they don't grow as quickly."

"Aye… he's as big as a large dog at this point." Aside from Rhaegar himself, Rhaella spent the most time of anyone with the first dragon in centuries. The power of their house restored, it filled her with fire. One that didn't last too long, but was there. Kissing Jon, now she finally got to her little daughter. "There's my sweet Princess!" Beaming, Rhaella picked up Dany in her arms, bouncing her gently. "How are you today?" Dany gurgled and giggled, greatly enjoying the attention. "Say hello to your sister, Viserys."

Arms crossed, Viserys finally looked at his sister from where his gaze had been directed elsewhere. Lyanna came to notice that unlike the sweet boy that she gave a flower on the fateful day that Aerys took Visenya away from her, the sullen older child hadn't once greeted her. "I see Daenerys… does she always slobber like that?"

Rhaella ignored that. "Babes are like that, my son. Here." She held out Daenerys. "Hold her, please."

Rolling his eyes, Viserys nevertheless took the babe - cradling her in his arms. "Um… hello, sister. I'm your brother, Viserys." Daenerys simply stared up at him. The older Prince wasn't one to associate with his niece and nephews, first barred by orders of Aerys and later by choice, so this was his first time holding a babe. He seemed… entranced. "You're a pure dragon, just like me." A hesitant, proud smile came to his face. "We're going to restore our family to glory, sister - I can tell."

The moment was broken when Daenerys - seemingly out of nowhere - let out a shrill cry, wriggling in obvious discomfort that nearly shocked the Prince into dropping her. He looked confused and angry. "Muna! Make it stop!"

Ever patient, she and Lya both knowing babes were unpredictable like that, Rhaella reached down and scooped Dany up. "There there, she's probably just hungry and tired, right hatchling?" Dany kept crying, but it lessened somewhat.

"She's useless!" Without another word, Viserys stomped off to gods' know where.

Watching, Jaime winced. "Ser Lyn, please follow him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"Aye, Ser Jaime."

Jaime shook his head. Seven hells, what have you done to that boy? Not for the last time, he cursed the name of Aerys II Targaryen. Concerned for Rhaella, his own love, he found her coping well. "Poor boy. He still hasn't healed from those awful months." It brought her grief, but she understood.

"I'm sure he'll heal," Lyanna told her as Dany's cries began to fade.

Rhaenys tugged on her dress again. "Muna, read a story to me again!" Oft, Lyanna and she would spend an hour together in the library pouring through book after book, the Queen determined to impart on the Princess the knowledge of the Realm. "I wanna story of direwolves!" With dragons back, now her curiosity was on the Stark sigil.

About to smile and agree, suddenly the words slammed through her head.

"Adulterer!"

"Fornicator!"

"Whore!"

"Whore!"

"WHORE!"

She shook her head. "Perhaps another time, sweetling. I… I need to be somewhere else." None noticed the tears pricking as she raced off.

Rhaenys looked puzzled. "But… we always read stories…" She sounded heartbroken.

Frowning, Rhaella had no idea what was up with Lya… or the entire royal family recently. There seemed to be a… tension, one Rhaegar denied and the Queens didn't speak of but that existed. Sharing a concerned look with Jaime, she turned to Rhaenys with a smile. "Let me feed Dany and I'll read you a story, alright?"

"Alright, grandmother!" Crisis averted… for now.

Watched over by the two massive twins, Olenna Tyrell heard the clash of steel on steel before she entered the training yard of Highgarden, somewhere her son hadn't visited much in his lordship but the new Warden of the Reach usually found himself in. As such was today, her grandson Garlan dressed down into a tunic and breeches and sparring with Ser Igon Vyrwel… rather well for a boy of ten and four. A man-at-arms watching the spectacle noticed his Lady and stood, offering his seat for her. Olenna took it with merely a brusque nod and watched for Garlan to finish.

Blunted sparring blades meeting in a series of strikes and parries, Garlan gritted his teeth as he sidestepped a lunge, swinging… only for it to be caught. "Very good, my Lord," Ser Igon breathed, pushing the blade back with his own. "Excellent form."

Nodding, Garlan lunged himself, though twirled the blade and swiped sideways in the nick of time, crossing the chest of his opponent and delivering a quick kill. Everyone around him clapping, he drew back with a smirk. "I believe that's two for me."

"And ten for me," Ser Igon replied with a smirk of his own. "Nevertheless, you are advancing quite well, My Lord." He noticed a newcomer in the corner of his eye. "My Lady," he bowed.

Garlan noticed her too. "Grandmother."

Olenna motioned to him. "Let's talk privately. Enough training for the day."

Minutes later, the two of them were in the Lord's private solar. "Gods, that was exhausting." All Garlan wanted was a pitcher of wine and a hearty meal. "You wished to discuss something, grandmother?"

Sitting across from him, Olenna looked bored with everything… It was her usual expression. "I'm going to not mince words, Garlan."

"I'm shocked," was his reply.

She had a nod of approval. "I'll turn you into a mini-me yet," Olenna chuckled. "But in any case, it is time for you to find a wife."

In the process of gulping down a flagon of watered-wine to quench his parched throat, but the moment his grandmother's words reached his ears almost choked upon it. Dropping the flagon on his desk with a clang, he pounded on his chest, coughing violently. "Grandmother…" Garlan sputtered out, trying to gain his composure back… "Marriage… but I'm not even of age yet?"

His grandmother snorted. "If a woman of ten and four can marry then so can a man."

"But… but…" While as a handsome young Lord he had started to get quite a lot of attention from the various highborn ladies and smallfolk maidens that populated Highgarden, Garlan didn't see himself as ready to be bound to someone in matrimony. The thought of it filled him with apprehension. "It's too sudden."

"Seven hells, stop being such a coward." She tapped her cane on the stone floor, eyes glaring out from wrinkled lids still sparkling with cunning. "Let me tell you our situation right now thanks to your idiot father taking the craven way out." Garlan winced - Olenna didn't mince words, and as much as he loved his father she was right. "Your heir is Loras, right now, and he's barely past the pony-riding stage. After that is Margaery, who's still in swaddling clothes. I'm not risking Higharden passing to your fat uncle or your addled cousins… no, no, fuck no!" She smacked her cane for good measure.

Grimacing, Garlan sighed deeply. Taking another swig of his wine… wishing it were stronger. "I suppose you've already found several choices for my future bride."

At his resignation to her efforts, Olenna's lips turned into a tiny smile. "Excellent." Prickly as she always was, this indicated a good mood. "And I have picked the right person already." Garlan raised his brow in a curious worry. "Lady Melissa Blackwood."

"Melissa Blackwood… Melissa Blackwood…" The name was familiar on Garlan's tongue, but aside from the long dead mistress of Aegon IV he wasn't… his eyes widened in recognition. "Tanton Fossoway's widow?! That Lady Melissa?"

"The very one."

"She's three and one, twice my age!" Garlan exclaimed, a sheen of sweat not related to the sparring session forming on his forehead. "More than twice."

Olenna simply looked at him. "Yes? So?"

Mouth opening, the words died on his tongue, apprehension replaced with a fear of a different sort. "How would I… satisfy her?" It felt uncomfortable discussing it with his grandmother, but who else could he talk to?

Leaning forward, Olenna suddenly slapped him upside the head. "Seven Hells, you're not some priss! You're a Lord of House Tyrell, start acting like it. As far as I know your parts work, yes?"

He flushed red. "Grandmother…"

"I'll take that as a yes." She crossed her arms. "You will marry Lady Melissa, Garlan. Her brother, Lord Tytos, is a friend of King Rhaegar and of First Man blood, which will ingratiate us with the Starks. Her mothering of three Fossoway boys proves her fertility and connects us to a powerful House to cement our control of the Reach after your father's mistakes." Gods know we need it.

Garlan ran a hand through his hair. "The Fossoways hate us for the trial by combat."

"Aye, they do, but they won't go against their own mother." Standing, Olenna brushed off her skirts. "Your mother is already in Cider Hall to fetch your bride. You'll be married upon their return." Not allowing for any other complaints from him, she left.

Slowly standing himself, Garlan made his way to the ornate liquor cabinet propped against the wall. There was nothing that would stop him from getting drunk tonight.

Pain pulsing between her eyes, Elia pinched the bridge of her nose - not caring that she exposed her mood to the person she spoke with currently. "Are you telling me, Lord Varys, that none of your little birds can divulge to me any information of the state of Lord Quellon Greyjoy?"

Looking up at her perch upon the Iron Throne, the increasingly plump eunuch didn't give anything away. Such a placid shroud was the most irritating yet most effective characteristic of him. "I cannot say anything to your Grace, except that it is the truth."

"I find it hard to believe your birds do not extend into the Iron Islands."

"That godsforsaken cluster of rocks has always been an enigma, your Grace."

Elia frowned. While Rhaegar was riding through the Crownlands establishing his newly appointed Lords in their keeps, she had taken over in holding court. She loved it - supposedly - but current events were weighing on her greatly. "Well, what do you have for the Crown? Tell me everything."

Varys nodded. "Apparently, Lord Quellon has lost the ability to leave his bedchambers but from what the whispers tell me… he is still in control of the Iron Islands."

"Are you sure about that? From what I've heard…" She wasn't about to give away her sources, as it was still young and threatened to fall apart. "That he and the majority of his sons disagree greatly over the role of the Ironborn and the use of the Iron Way."

"I cannot be sure of the feelings of the younger Greyjoys, but their inclination would lay in the directions of a more traditional role of the Ironborn, yes." As cryptic an answer as Varys could give.

This caused Elia to narrow her eyes. If it had been up to her, the Master of Whisperers would have been taken to the block with Staunton, Merryweather, and Pycelle out of an abundance of caution… but it wasn't. "And the rumored deal between Jon Connington and Balon Greyjoy to raid the North?" North… she suppressed the pain that hit her mind at the word.

If Varys detected something, he didn't show it. "I heard those whispers, though others suggest Victarion Greyjoy acted on his own accord. The lad has been described as an ill-tempered thug that doesn't take well to orders and direction."

Pursing her lips, Elia leaned back. The Iron Throne was quite uncomfortable, but the twinges of pain focused her. "Very well, Lord Varys." She looked to the right, finding her brother merely standing there. "Lord Hand, do you believe that Lord Quellon's accord between the Iron Islands looks to continue, or will they revert to their traditions of raping and reaving?"

Oberyn merely looked at her, shrugging. "I would never wager against the perfidy of the Ironborn."

She nodded. "Succinct, Lord Hand." Elia sighed. "Lord Velaryon," she addressed the Master of Ships. "Keep in contact with Lords Lannister, Manderly, Redwyne, and Seaworth about the maintenance of our fleets."

Lord Lucerys' nose wrinkled. "Seaworth, your Grace?"

"Aye, Seaworth." Elia's eyes narrowed. "A problem?" Davos had certainly drawn her notice for his skilled sailing and loyalty.

Sensing the ire and steel in the formerly frail Dornishwoman, Lord Lucerys pulled back. "No, my Queen. I shall establish contact forthwith."

"You'd better. Dismissed aside from the Hand." Once the courtiers and guards aside from her uncle Lewyn disappeared out the doors, Elia deflated against the back of the throne. "Gods… to think I wanted such authority." She felt exhausted, close to tears.

"You did well, dear sister." Oberyn placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You have our mother's wit and skill, the ability to strike down a person with words, not weapons."

A small smile formed at the thought of their late mother, someone Elia looked up to for so long. "Still have quite a ways to go before I'm at her caliber."

"Less than I would think," he replied. "Obara and Nymeria think you walk on water."

She laughed. "I should thank my nieces for their support. I would enjoy Tyene's support, but I fear her too young to even know my name." Ellaria had given birth to her newest niece, and Elia hated herself for being too busy to drop by to see the new babe. "I'm sure she and Dacey are enjoying being new mothers together." Those two… bosom buddies.

"No doubt, nor do I think Queen Lyanna wouldn't enjoy such moments as well." Unfortunately, he noticed Elia visibly stiffen. "Sister? Something the matter?"

"No," she quickly replied.

Oberyn frowned. "Elia… you know I can tell when you're lying." Truth be told, he had seen a sort of distance between the two of them… or more a lack of closeness. Before, it was quite often in which he witnessed them practically devouring each other, but since the attempt on his nephews' lives none of that occurred. "She's still hurting over the near loss of Egg and Jon?"

Elia closed her eyes, lip quivering with a hated weakness. "I wish I knew." Lyanna simply didn't talk with her. They had no fights, they held each other in bed while asleep, they carried on ruling with professionalism, but few words were shared. Not one instance of lovemaking either, and that included Rhaegar as well. "It's like she wants to put distance between us."

"I'm sure it's just fear over the children."

"Yes… it has to be."

"No it isn't!"

Elia stiffened again, voice a pulsing pain within her skull.

"She hates you."

"She'll kill you… kill your children for hers."

She pressed her fingers against her temples. No… no… no… Lya loves me!

"And yet she shuns you."

"The wolf pushes you aside."

"Pushes your daughter aside."

Oberyn called to her, but Elia didn't notice. Instead her mind remembered something Rhaenys said, about her muna no longer spending as much time with her. It's not true!

"But it is."

"She'll betray you for her bastard brats!" Doran's words bombarded her with the others.

"Usurper… she is a usurper. She'll take everything from you."

Lyanna's grinning face from her dream came to mind. "Go, my love… Take what's now yours."

Take what's yours.

Take what's yours.

Usurper!

Kinslayer!

Betrayer!

"Stop!" she suddenly yelled, only to open her eyes and see her brother and uncle staring at her. "Fuck… sorry. I… I have a blistering headache."

"Should I send for Grand Maester Qyburn?"

She shook her head. "No, brother. It's fine. I just need some rest. Uncle, mind escorting me to my chambers."

"Of course, my Queen."

Much as he had done before, the specter slinking around the shadows felt the widest of smiles on his face. Oh, this was going better than ever expected.

Suddenly, the rickety rope bridge lurched to the right - swinging at the force of the winter's gale that bracketed the island and castle of Pyke. Areon Greyjoy whispered a beleaguered prayer to the drowned god, asking for his mercy as he held firm to the ropes. Soaking wet, inwardly he cursed a blue streak at those who built the castle. Only the perverse manhood of our people keep these deathtraps in existence. The reigning excuse was defensive, but if cutting the bridges was necessary then they were all doomed anyway.

Murmuring another prayer, he scrambled his waterlogged frame forward until he safely reached the overhang. Praise be to the drowned god.

Father better have a good reason to call this council.

Castle Pyke was the same as the entire Iron Islands, cold and hard. There was only the barest hint of comfort among the dark rooms and severe furnishings, one that bred the hardest and toughest even with the highest of highborns - such it had been with Areon and his three brothers, as it did with his eldest's two boys and would be for his young niece and nephew. The Hoares preferred the bounty and gluttony of the Riverlands, which many Ironborn said was their undoing.

It was the Iron Way or death. Areon believed this for most of his life, but recently he had begun thinking of different applications for their seafaring ways. Not that he had much decision-making authority, though.

Passing by the narrow hallways lit by flickering torchlight, Areon passed two guards to enter the council chamber. Many stood for the son of their Lord, while his three brothers kept to their seats, outranking him. Areon said nothing as he took his uncomfortable chair next to his brother Victarion, sitting straight and placing his hands on his lap. "Forgive me for my tardiness… but I had to say an extra prayer."

One that held the look of a crabby old man even when he was a child, his elder brother Balon scowled at him. "Excuses, excuses…" I doubt he's gotten along with anyone in his entire life. "Now, let us begin with a piece of news." Blunt as always - Ironborn hated evasion. "My father, Lord Quellon, has fallen into a delirium."

"I trust that this news will never leave this room." Across the table, Areon's younger brother Euron placed a gutting knife nonchalantly on the table - implication obvious.

Clearing his throat, Lord Dunstan Drumm cleared his throat. "My Lord, please elaborate about Lord Quellon's condition." Though bald and grizzled, he was the veteran of a hundred major reavings and thus couldn't be dismissed.

From the deepened scowl on Balon's face, he knew it. "He has no idea of the date or reality. Thinks he's a man of ten and eight namedays, but his age makes him weak and bedridden. The maester gives him but two years at most." There was a silence. Areon couldn't say a thing. Likely kept a secret between his three brothers, the grief of losing his father to a delusional mind was threatening to crush his heart. While Victarion had a flicker of grief as well in his eyes, Balon and Euron exhibited none of it, however. "I will assume the title of acting Lord, but no one will disclose that information. The greenlanders must never know."

Rodrik Harlow seemed confused. "Why is that necessary?" Older and not martial, only his wisdom kept him respected enough to be on these councils. Beside him, Areon could see Victarion raise his brow at their two brothers. Did they not tell him?

What have Balon and Euron spoke of?

As it sat, Areon didn't have to wait long for his older brother to divulge that information. "We don't want them to prepare for our coming attack upon them."

If there was silence at the earlier announcement, Areon couldn't find a word to describe what followed that. "You mean war against the Greenlanders, father?" Young Rodrik Greyjoy, attending his first council, asked with a hint of youthful zeal. Much like Victarion, he was.

"Yes. The avenging of our humiliation at the hands of Aegon the Conqueror and his bitch wives. We will resurrect the Driftwood Crown and achieve our glorious destiny."

Unable to help himself, Areon scoffed. Such drew attention from all. "You're mad, brother," he said simply. "We have not the power to do this."

Balon crossed his arms. "Lord Orkwood, tell my brother the status of the Iron Fleet."

Broad and oafish, Alyn Orkwood lived to plunder. It wasn't a shock that Balon would entrust him to do his aggressive bidding. "We have begun construction on five hundred new oceangoing ships. That joins our current fleet of two hundred."

"Outnumbering anything the dragons can provide."

Areon couldn't believe what he was hearing. "After your plots with Lord Connington failed completely to secure us anything, you aim to bring the entire Seven Kingdoms upon our heads? Why now? Why after Rhaegar Targaryen secured peace?"

"Lord Areon has a point," commented Rodrik Harlow. "It seems to me we should have done this while the Realm was fighting itself?"

Pursing his lips, Euron leaned forward. Out of all the brothers, he was the leanest and the most… classically handsome. In spite of his inner malevolence, he had no trouble attracting followers and companions. "There… is in existence something that gives us a short time window to go about our long-held dream of glory."

"You mean the dragons?" Ser Harras Harlow asked.

"Precisely." The tale of Rhaegar Targaryen and his dragon Aegarax had reached Pyke moons before. It scared everyone, while Areon felt it an omen from the drowned god himself. "One day, that dragon will be large enough to annihilate us, so we must strike first and strike hard before it can. Hit them with such ferocity and savagery that they simply think we aren't worth the trouble." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the naval capabilities of the Greenlanders just like that.

Areon stood, incredulous. "You'll lead us to our deaths…"

"No." As if a sage, Lord Drumm held up his hand. "Sit, Lord Areon. I want to hear your brother's strategy." No arguing with the oldest and most senior warrior among them, Areon had no choice but to accede. Across the table, Euron smirked darkly at him, handsome blue eyes sparkling with malevolence.

Eloquently divulging his plan - the various stages and strikes that would run the length of Westeros from the Wall to the Arbor - the skeptical attitude of the council began to give way to a grudging admiration… and then to enthusiastic support. Both Lord Rodrik and Areon tried to argue against it, waxing poetic about the will of the drowned god and the efforts of the still living Lord Quellon to move the Iron Islands past their destitute existence of living off the fruit of other, greater powers. It had been the speech of Areon's life.

Only for it to be a failure. In the end, there was no difference he could make. The Iron Way was the only way for them.

Out of the bobbing water leapt some sort of creature. Its streamlined body disgorged a wave of droplets, each glinting in the sun as they fell back to the surface of Blackwater Bay. The creature let out a half-honk, half-grunt, diving back into the sea from whence it came.

Standing on tiptoes - eyes peeking right over the railing - young Dale Seaworth clapped his hands merrily. "Papa! Look here!" Again leapt the creature, honking. Behind it, two others jumped out, seeming to ride the currents of their caraval. Brand new from the drydocks of King's Landing, it had been a personal gift from Queen Lyanna. "Sea Dragon!" he giggled merrily.

Striding up to the side and placing his hand on his eldest son's shoulder, Davos found the 'sea dragon' Dale was speaking of and chuckled. "That's not a dragon, my son. That's a sea lion."

"Sea lion?"

"Aye, sailors and fishermen always consider them good luck." Where they went, fish and land were both close by. "Them and dolphins."

Dale turned back to the sea lions scampering on the surface. His blue eyes remained transfixed by the graceful beings - the large bull emerged with a fish caught between its teeth, almost smirking in triumph. It didn't take much to awe a young lad, but to Dale's credit the animals were quite majestic in their own way. Davos had been quite the same on his first sea voyage at Dale's age.

With that in mind, he ruffled the boy's hair, ruining the last of the orderly curls that the sea breezes hadn't yet damaged. "Yer' can watch them as much as ye' like, my boy. Just don't get in any trouble, and…"

"Make sure to not fall in…" he recited from rote. "I know, papa." Apparently Marya was quite the overprotective mother, but Davos wouldn't have it any other way.

Speaking of Marya, out of the aftercastle of the sleek ship emerged his still blushing bride - no longer a maiden, but still as beautiful as when she was one. "Dear wife," the former smuggler called out with a beaming smile, wrapping her and the little bundle in her arms with a tight embrace. "And how are the little ones?" Davos leaned down and kissed the newborn Matthos on the head as he dozed.

Lips curled into a serene smile at her dashing sailor, Lady Marya Seaworth pecked at his lips. "This one is doing quite well, husband, while poor Allard has the sea malady."

Davos sighed. "Poor guy." If it wounded his pride that one of his brood didn't have the calling of the oceans, he didn't show it. "Well, I suppose he'll get used to it." A tiny grin formed. "His mother did."

With her arms cradling Matthos, Marya could do nothing but glare at him. "Shut it." He laughed… which served to make her giggle as well. This man, he was still as charming as the day they met.

"My lord." From behind him, Davos heard one of the crew call out to him from the top of the quarterdeck - he didn't respond until a second call echoed out, the former smuggler not used to the new nobility that King Rhaegar had so shockingly bestowed upon him along with a knighthood. "We've approached the mouth of the Wendwater."

He raised his brows in interest. "Well, mi'Lady," he grinned. "Would you like to see your future estate?"

She grinned back. "Lead the way… mi'Lord."

Mi'Lord… My Lord… Climbing up the stairs to the quarterdeck, such simple and teasing words from his wife belied the significance of the gift King Rhaegar bestowed upon him. A highborn, a knightly house… me. He was a crabber's son, a common smuggler and sailor, and yet based on the luck of sneaking food into the right keep at the right time he had been plopped into nobility. A landed highborn of the Crownlands alongside some of the most august houses.

It all seemed quite surreal. Undeserved and surreal. Alone, he may have declined it, content to serve his King and Queens, but for Marya and his sons… Davos couldn't deny them such a better life.

Regardless, it was done. Eyes peering off the starboard side along the southern shore of Blackwater Bay, Davos stared at the stretch of land that was now his. "The lands here used to be part of the King's personal estate," explained the local game warden, the only person knowledgeable of the area that they could find. "Daemon Blackfyre was granted them by Daeron II, but his rebellion attained it to the crown." He pointed at the delta fanning into the bay, islands of brackish reeds and cyprus trees dotting the landscape. "The bay road runs through Wendwater bridge about a mile downstream, while there are considerable farmlands and hamlets in the coastal plain between here and the Kingswood."

"How many live on my lands?" Davos asked, brow furrowing as he looked for a place to put a keep. Someplace strategic… yet close to an anchorage.

The warden nodded. "About a thousand or so, my Lord. Spread out over the entire area."

"That's not much for a proper knightly house to project power for their liege." Marya had asked around - houses such as Velaryon or Celtigar had tens of thousands under their charge. "Where's the closest keep to here?" Marya asked. "Stonedance?"

"Sweetport Sound," Davos responded. With house Sunglass attained, the new landed knight in charge didn't have the power and clout to challenge them. "And even they have more men than ours."

"Perhaps we could bring some of our neighbors in Flea Bottom…?" Marya suggested. Davos smiled warmly at her, kissing her cheek in appreciation, which made her blush. Below, another sea lion honked, darting under the water in pursuit of fish. "There are so many of them," she mused.

"Aye, my Lady. There's a colony that nests on a rocky outcrop that juts into the bay." He pointed a bit away from the delta, and just well enough, they could see dozens of dark shapes moving around the peninsula. "Locals call it Sea Lion Point."

Sea Lion Point… The animals were the best of luck. Perhaps the gods were sending him a sign?

"What are those?" His wife pointed towards the coast at the mouth of the estuary. Taking a pair of spyglasses out of his pocket, Davos aimed them at the same point. It was a group of men, their mouths covered in cloth. From an ox cart, they gathered a long shape wrapped tightly in soiled linen… a body?

In the cart, there looked to be twenty of them.

A/N: Well fuck, whatever is hurting Elia and Lya is kicking it into high gear.

At least they have Dany and Jon being utterly adorable, as is Robb for our Lannister family :D

Fuckin Greyjoys...

Davos notices the coming malevolence. Things are not going to go well at all...

Till next time.