A/N: Hey everybody. Happy Nowruz to all my fellow Persian-Americans and Persians, and rejoice for I am getting the first dose of the Covid vaccine tomorrow!

Know the last few chapters have been rough, but this one should make everyone happy :D

Enjoy.

Chapter 67: My Darling Son

Such death… such pain.

Each suffering soul brought agony to her heart.

The one she loved said for her not to torment herself even further than she had - the knowledge that the dark one committed this deed being painful enough for her, but she shrugged it off. He did it because of her, and therefore it was her responsibility to put it to right.

Tirelessly she passed through the city, her long-ago chosen crafts of healing and comfort reaching the poor. Engulfing the sickhouses, drawing those on the precipice of impending demise back towards life. A slow change so as not to alert the mortals of a divine presence, but the sweet satisfaction of watching a family see their loved one return to them was itself a miracle to her. House to house, victim to victim, each saved from the plague of the dark one.

But it wasn't enough. It was never enough, too much even for her skills and power.

Innocents still died.

The ox-carts still crated away bodies.

The malevolent wildfire pits still burned brightly from within the dragonpit.

Death, the foul stench she knew he lived on, still hung over King's Landing - the city of her third set of champions. She hated it… it ripped out her heart and soul. The mortal death had to be less agonizing than watching this.

But there was worse… far worse. The ones she truly cared for above all others, the latest of her favored and loved mortals, they had fractured. Sundered by the evil spirit she once called brother. Torn, ripped apart, bombarded with sick malevolence until their minds cracked and the worst invective spewed out. It had been but for a moment where the most vile of perfidy was uttered by one, but such was enough.

She felt the crack, endured the disturbance, and now the boy joined all others in sickness. In the journey to her brother's clutches. Try as she might to pull him out as she was doing to the older boy, all attempts failed even her divine hand. Her brother's might was too strong.

Soaring above the city, unseen tears falling at the suffering below, suddenly she saw it. The faintest of lights - not that of the earthly realm, but of the spirit. It didn't take long in the darkness of night for her to find it. The Red Keep, home of her champions.

Her mind focused and the image came through. Of loving words, said through tears and shame. Of promised hopes, vague yet determined. Of sheer will, born through duty brought not by blood but by love. Everlasting love only one step below that of the divine. Her own heart soared momentarily before she steeled herself. How could she be sure if she did not see it for herself? With all speed, she dashed for the Red Keep.

As her sweet fragrance wafted into the dark, firelit chamber, the goddess Tessarion gazed upon the young babe of her champions. The great one, the promised one - his features almost exactly like her own love's from that tender age. Gaze frittering between the priestess and the desperate Queen, she hung back. Waiting for whatever this was to transpire.

And with it the fate of so many hanging in the balance. Choose wisely, dear Elia.

Sweat beaded upon Elia's forehead. She once thought Dornish summers were the worst of stifling heat, but nothing could compare to the lair of the Red Priestess. She breathed the fetid, smoky air deeply, willing herself forward in spite of being close to collapse after only a minute in the heat. In her arms, little Jon was on his last legs, murmuring softly and wriggling with discomfort.

For him, Elia would endure.

"Mmmmmm-Ummmmmm."

"Mmmmmm-Ummmmmm."

Dashing something into the flames of the largest brazier - one of a dozen of gold and dragonglass that ringed around the walls of the dark room deep within the Red Keep - Melisandre stepped back with a smile as the fires rose. Their flickering tongues stabbing high towards the stone ceiling. She hummed softly, synchronized in rhythm.

Jon's arms thrashing about suddenly in the daze of his fever, Elia's fear heightened. She rocked him, kissing his overheated brow to soothe the little boy she loved. Looking back up at Melisandre, her ire began to grow. "How much longer…"

The Red Woman held up a hand, silencing Elia without a word. Normally the picture of immaculate dress, her hair was down and matted with sweat - red robes discarded in the heat to reveal a shift of a light crimson. It hugged her curves, which were quite shapely and beautiful. As she turned, the ruby choker wrapped around her neck glowed and pulsed as if alive.

Elia was unsettled, but stifled it. It was all for Jon.

While the nervous Ser Oswell and Ser Lewyn guarding the floor of rooms left for the spiritual adviser to his Grace, Elia didn't expect for the door to open… but it did, revealing the Priest of Myr. Thoros, she was sure his name was. Someone she hadn't seen much of in many moons, but always assisting Melisandre when she did.

Thoros approached Melisandre and whispered in her ear, handing over something that glinted in the firelight. The Red Woman finally turned, a smile on her face. "It is time," she said in a firm voice - her eyes seemed to glow just as bright as the ruby.

Inhaling and exhaling, fighting the urge to cough at the smoke, Elia leaned down to press one more kiss on her son's cheek. I love you, Jon.

Please forgive me.

Lya, forgive me.

Gods, forgive me.

Suddenly the flames in the braziers morphed from red-orange to the purest, brightest white - equally as hot, but a more gentle heat. And a voice filled her mind, not the one of malevolent seduction but sweet. Kind. Forthright. "You are forgiven, Queen Elia."

Blinking, Elia felt the warmth spread through her… all doubts being lost. She straightened herself, ready for whatever sacrifices she had to make or risks she had to take. It was for Jon.

All for her babe.

"Oh Lord of Light," Melisandre began, sensing the color change and the new mood of the Queen as auspicious signs. "Gathered before you tonight is your promised prince." Of this she was certain… if it worked, then her suspicions would be correct. "Prince Baelon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen, first of his name." She tossed a sprinkling of spiced oil into the braziers, the white flames streaking with blood red. "He comes before you and your own divine champion to seek the gift of life… to restore his might and strength through fire and blood."

"Perzys Ānogār," Thoros murmured, loud enough for the two women to hear. Elia knew barely a word of High Valyrian, but recognized that particular phrase - it was emblazoned on the Three Headed Dragon banners of her husband. Fire and blood, the words of her adopted house.

"Joining him is Elia of House Targaryen, daughter of Mynara of House Martell, Princess of Dorne. She is not of his blood, but connected to him by motherly love alone." Melisandre's eyes flickered to Elia's, filled with a heavy certainty. No turning back. "She offers herself to you for judgement, offering her life to be bartered for her son's."

Elia could almost feel flames licking up her body. It was the most agonizing of pain, but she gritted her teeth and endured it. Not once lightening her hold of her babe.

Lips set in an emotionless, flat line, Melisandre held up what Thoros had given her. A knife of the sharpest, finest dragonglass. "Here rests the great artifact of your once chosen land. Forged in the fires of Old Valyria's Fourteen Flames… held by the great House Balaerys, now wielded by their descendants in House Targaryen." She brought the dagger to her own palm and cut a line upon it. Blood dripping into the brazier. "The blood of the servant, first willfully given to your might."

Thoros, quiet through the entire ritual, now gestured to Elia. "Come forward, your Grace. It is time." Elia swallowed and nodded, walking with Jon till they were but a foot from the white flames.

Black blade reflecting the pure whiteness of the flames, Melisandre grabbed Elia's hand. She yanked it forward to hover over the fire. Elia bit her lip as the pain of the cut stung, but concentrated on keeping Jon in her arms. The red liquid sizzled as it hit the coals and fetters. "The blood of the mother, not of blood but of pure love all the same. Given to be judged."

Nothing seemed to happen. The unseen flames that explored her vanished, leaving Elia drenched in sweat and honey-brown skin flushed but otherwise unharmed.

Melisandre took it as the signal to continue. "Thoros."

Without hesitation, Thoros took the knife from Melisandre's proffered hand and cut off a lock of Jon's dark hair. The babe squirmed, delirious from fever and pain. Elia fought not to wince or sob at her son's distress.

The lock of hair went into the fire. "The offering of the dragonborn, polluted with malevolent plague. Given for your blessing." Deep within the flames, Elia silently gasped as the hair refused to burn. Surrounded by an inferno, but remaining there untouched. "Please, great Lord of Light. Please, great pantheon above, spare Baelon Targaryen. Spare him of his fate, and grant him your providence and power."

In an instant, the white flames grew brighter than ever before. They roared to the ceiling, a deafening sound that filled Elia's ears with a cacophony of noise.

Looking down at Jon, she saw a sight that made her heart soar. There was her little child, violet eyes open and staring at her with clarity.

"Fire and Blood."

"I can't take it anymore!" Hands clasped right on his ears, Prince Viserys tried to no avail the muffle the squall that echoed through the nursery. "Get that brat out of here!"

"Viserys!" scolded Rhaella. "Don't speak of your sister like that!"

Whining, his mood did not change. "She hasn't stopped squalling since we got here! Put her to bed away from me, muna!" He turned his back, taking a down pillow from his bed and folding it over his ears.

Allowing her son the solitude he currently preferred, Rhaella kept rocking her infant daughter. "Daenerys my sweet." While patient, the babe's wailing was starting to get to her as well. "Please, calm yourself. It's alright." But little Dany didn't heed her. Arms flailing and face bright red with hot tears, the princess had truly been inconsolable since departing the Red Keep. And Rhaella thought she knew why. "You miss Baelon?"

The cries didn't end, but at her nephew's name Dany seemed to quiet - squalls shifting to whimpers. So she was right. Aunt and nephew were mere babes, but already inseparable. Together for most of their time on this earth. Coupled with the magic in their blood, double magic in Jon's case, the separation anxiety was intense.

Her own sadness selling up, Rhaella pressed her cheek against Dany's. "I know, darling. I know… I miss him too." Jon and Egg, both her grandsons on death's door. "It's not for much longer. They will be better."

They had to be better.

Dragonstone was where she had her happiest memories, just herself and her parents and siblings. Rhaella's heart broke thinking that Dany's memory of it would be the place where she languished as her nephews perished.

Spirit broken before it began.

It was in this state that she arrived at her chambers. Eyes rimmed red, face pale and sunken, knees wobbly… the dark dragon glass corridors gave way to the large chamber, where her love thankfully sat upon their bed. His armor was hung in the corner, Brightroar out of its scabbard and propped against the bedside for quick reach. As a Kingsguard, Jaime had adapted their chambers for personal use. Rhaella loved accommodating him, but now…

"Greetings, love…" looking up with a smile, Jaime's face immediately twisted in concern at her expression. He stood immediately, arms out. "Oh Rhaella…"

He hadn't stood for a moment before she ran into his arms. Greedily seeking the embrace of her handsome lion. "Jaime…" The tears started to fall, soaking his tunic. "Gods, it's horrible."

"Daenerys?" Jaime knew her so well.

She nodded into his chest. "I can't bear to think what would happen if she loses Baelon. I can't…" Only Jaime's soft stroking of her back kept Rhaella from falling apart.

He let her softly weep against him, allowing her time and space to release her sorrow and emotions without question or scold… not since his mother had left for Casterly Rock did she have someone to trust implicitly, and Jaime never ceased to thank the gods he was who she chose for that honor. "I bear some news from King's Landing," he finally said once Rhaella quieted down, though she still trembled in his arms.

Rhaella looked up, eyes red but expectant. "Tell me."

"Apparently, from what is being said the spate of corpses in the dragonpit is slacking off. The wildfire burns are only four a day instead of continuous." She shuddered at the thought of wildfire, Jaime holding her tighter. "Queen Elia has taken over Baelon's care personally, and they feel there's a turnaround in his condition."

A deep sigh left Rhaella. "Thank the gods."

"Aye." Jaime kissed her forehead. "Let's get you to bed, my love."

"Mmm-hmm." Without fuss, she let Jaime strip off her dressing gown, leaving only her thin shift that hugged every bit of her figure. Given how tired she clearly was, Jaime didn't initiate coupling, but Rhaella noticed his wandering eye and loved him for it. Soon, they both slipped under the warm covers. "Hold me," Rhaella breathed.

In moments, two strong arms enveloped her. With the moonlight, the same emerald eyes of Joanna watched her with love. "Always." I don't deserve this young man. But have him she did, and the last thought Rhaella had before sleeping was that she was never letting him go.

"Rhaella!" The young maiden turned to see Joanna and Mynara giggling together, the willowy blonde and buxom Dornishwoman a study in contrasts. "Father betrothed me to cousin Tywin!" Joanna simpered with glee. "He's so handsome."

Suddenly she was transported to the gardens of the Red Keep. Young she still was, but rapidly filling out with the beauty of a maiden. Across from her was a dashing young knight, one that brought the fondest of feelings. "I shall win the tourney for you, Princess. You shall be my Queen of Love and Beauty."

She blushed. "You are a charmer, Ser Bonifer."

"For you, I am anything your heart desires." Their lips met in a chaste kiss.

His kindly face was replaced before her with the stern face of her normally happy father. "I don't care, daughter. It is decided!"

"But father… please…" Rhaella's voice was pleading. "Don't make me do this."

Aegon V Targaryen was livid and unyielding. "I already sent that worthless knight packing. You will marry Aerys and that is the last of it!"

Such happiness morphed into sadness as Rhaella walked through the keep, stroking a large belly bump that she knew was to be her dear Jaehaerys - lost in the cradle before his second moon. In the distance, muffled voices carried out. "Please, Joanna," she heard her brother plead. "Don't leave. I command it."

An equally pained voice followed. "I don't wish to, Aerys, but I must."

"Tywin is a fool. Leave him, be with me. I love you."

"I…" There was a silence, followed by a muffled moan leaving Joanna. "I love you too," she finally murmured. "I love you so much, but it can never happen and we both know it. It's better this way." Rushing around the corner, Joanna was gone, only her brother remaining. She looked at Aerys with hurt, and he looked at her with sorrow. The beginning of the end for them… and for his own sanity, starting there.

In her sight, Aerys disappeared only to be replaced with a beautiful maiden… features so fair as almost pure silver and violet. "Your life brought you pain, but it has not ended dearest daughter." A hand clasped to her chest, filling it with warmth. "Kill the weak woman, and let the Mother of Dragons be born."

Rhaella's eyes flew open, the vibrant purple dark as the night's sky. Jaime had shifted in the night, his hold less tight. As if in a trance - though her expression was anything but trance-like - Rhaella escaped his hold and rose, shift clinging to her sweaty figure. The tile was cold on her bare feet but she cared little.

"Mother of dragons… mother of dragons…"

Sweet yet firm, the voice led her to the two eggs sizzling on the brazier. Rhaella slowly rested her hand atop them, the searing heat feeling soothing on her skin. Without delay she scooped both eggs into her arms. Eyes shifted to the hearth, logs lit and flames licking high towards the chimneystack. Larger, hotter, more powerful. With care she set the eggs into the fire, its crackling tongues not leaving a burn or a blister on her arms.

She turned towards the now empty braziers. Instinctively, Rhaella knew what she needed to do. What would fulfil her destiny.

Unlike the worries of Kingsguards old, the soft arms and tender embrace of a lover had not dulled Jaime's senses. At the loud crash, he roused immediately - arm shooting out to grab Brightroar's hilt as he stumbled to his feet. "Rhaella," he barked, standing there with his greatsword in but nary a tunic… she wasn't in bed, but there was no one else in the room. The door was locked, window shutters unmoved.

Only an unearthly glow from the hearth, red-orange flames turned into something a bright blood red. His eyes traced the overturned braziers - the likely cause of the clatter - to the hearth and…

"Rhaella!"

Somehow she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mini-inferno. Her shift was in flames, the fiery tongues enveloping her whole body. Tossing Brightroar aside, he scrambled to pull her out regardless of the burns that would follow… only to stop in his tracks.

The face of his lover looked straight at him. Features undamaged, the eyes glowed bright purple. Much like Aerys' gaze, but sure and mighty rather than the madness that his suffered. They entranced him, until…

Twin screeches nearly made him jump.

It wasn't long till Jaime saw the source of the noise. Two wriggling forms crawling up from Rhaella's lap. Though partially obscured by the flame, Jaime could tell. "Unbelievable."

Fire coursing in her blood, Rhaella calmly rose to her feet and stepped out of the hearth. Head held high, she walked to Jaime. "It is done," she said to no one in particular… or everyone rather. Tiny heads swiveling around, the gold-white and blood red dragon hatchlings clung to their mother. "The mother of dragons." She didn't recognize the voice that left her lips - meek and quiet Rhaella Targaryen had entered the fire.

A dragonlady of old emerged out of it.

And Jaime watched her in awe. "The mother of dragons."

Snapped out of her trance, the now nude, soot-covered Rhaella met the gaze of her lover and smiled. A strong smile, one of love but also of supreme confidence. One of the purest of fire and lust, the hot dragonblood craving such might. Such power and pleasure. It was sudden, but who was Rhaella Targaryen to deny it? "Time to sleep, my darlings."

The dragons chirped, continuing to scamper about her body with their tiny claws, but once she set them upon the large writing desk they merely curled up into balls and fell fast asleep. Hatching was quite tiring, apparently. Rhaella caressed their heads lovingly before the ache in her loins drew her back to Jaime - his own look of pure want only set off the inferno.

Both crashed together, lips hungrily attacking each other while Jaime groped her arse cheeks. Moaning, Rhaella felt herself lifted up - she wrapped her legs around his waist and they began kissing again as he carried her over towards the bed. It didn't break once, even when they fell onto it in a tangle of limbs and hair.

Hands were everywhere, his exploring every curve as if committing them to memory again while she tore his tunic, desperately needing him naked. Rhaella couldn't believe how desperate they both were, her own fire having coaxed his. She needed him, and he her. There was no stopping the furious coupling that would ensue. Both changed position multiple times, Jaime pinning her to the bed one moment while the next found Rhaella on top, grinding her dripping cunt on top of his hardened member. The glorious friction stoked their lust. "I can't wait any longer, Jaime," she said in that husky, powerful voice.

"Me neither…" Growling like the lion he was, Jaime flipped them over again and ended their wait.

"Ahhh…" One thrust buried him deep. Their eyes locked together, there was no wait before he started to thrust hard and fast inside of her core. "Jaime… Jaime… Jaime…" Rhaella's breathless moans were cut off as her lion - the young, virile man who so loved her - crashed his lips onto hers. He plundered her mouth, Rhaella placing both hands again around his shoulders and digging into his muscles. She bucked up into him as he kept on thrusting hard and unhurried inside of her - ensuring each of his powerful thrusts kissed her womb. "Oh fuck… Ñuha jorrāelagon, hen ñuha ābrar."

Jaime didn't know Valyrian, but remembered some of the same words she said to Daenerys. It filled his heart with pride and love. "Yes… I love you…" he grunted, continuing the fuck her. Elated as she so quickly clenched around his member, their mouths fusing together to drown out her scream.

Even as she wailed her climax, her lover did not stop. He continued to slam into her without abandon and she couldn't get enough. They kept on kissing each other fiercely, Rhaella clawing at his back and undoubtedly leaving bloody gouges. Jaime pulled away, merely smirking at the trembling queen. Before she knew what had happened, he had spun her around so that she was now on her stomach. Rhaella's yelp turned into a sultry moan as his cock quickly entered her needy cunt. "Oh, Jaime… yes... fuck your dragon!" Pulled by his powerful hand up to her hands and knees - ass high in the air - Jaime's hands dug into her hips as he continued his grueling pace of ramming her cunt. "Fuck your dragon!"

"My dragon!" he growled back, barely able to see, so tight she was around him.

"Yours!" Pleasure overwhelming, the fire was so bright in her that Rhaella still managed to slam her ass back against him, heightening the sensation. "And you're my lion! My lion!" Out of nowhere, she felt herself come undone once again… followed by the sheer bliss of his seed emptying deep inside her.

But she wasn't close to done. Nothing could sate the newest dragonrider that night…

The Mother of Dragons, hope returned to House Targaryen even in the darkest of times.

And in the heavens, the goddess Tessarion watched with a smile… and not a little fluster of her own.

Looking around her, Elia blinked. Disbelieving her eyes - she was in the Water Gardens, surrounded by the flowing pools and swaying fruit trees. Her childhood refuge, not to mention where she and Lya truly fell for each other. With all the tension in her heart it was quite the salve.

Sighing, she walked to one of the many lemon trees in the inner garden. Elia eased herself to sit against the trunk. "Oh yes," she murmured - the Dornish beauty could stay here forever.

"It is a beautiful sight, dear Queen."

At the almost angelic voice, Elia turned her head to see a stunning maiden sitting beside her. Her face was fair, framed by silver hair and violet eyes - as if Rhaegar were in female form, but completely flawless. "Who are you?" she asked, brows furrowing.

The maiden laughed airily. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Letting her knees bend, she impishly wrapped her arms around them - more a mischievous child than a woman grown. "I can see why the King desires you so, and the Northern Queen."

Thinking of Lyanna, Elia's calm mood collapsed. She grimaced, averting her gaze and bowing her head. "I doubt she desires me anymore… not after what I did."

"You were manipulated by forces beyond your comprehension. I'm sure she does understand and misses you too."

Elia shook her head. "Not after what I said. I wished her son dead… my son…"

The maiden placed her hand on Elia's cheek. It was warm, but comforting rather than feverish. "You know not what you've done… the sacrifice you were willing to make for your son. The other hand cupped her womb - Elia peered quizzically at the woman but said nothing. "I can't tell you of the rewards you have earned, but I can show you something to ease the burden on your heart." Around them, the beauty of the water gardens disappeared. Replaced with a blinding white…

Clashing swords filled Elia's ears before her eyes eased back to sight - and for a moment her heart clenched in worry. But that dissipated. She was in the Red Keep, and it was calm. Cloudless blue sky above and the signs of a peaceful day all through the halls. Following the noise, Elia walked to the balcony overlooking the training yard… and saw something that made her gasp.

Two young men engrossed in a fast-paced sparring with real blades - one wielding a short longsword with speed and dexterity, while the other wielded twin bastard swords like Arthur with even greater speed and dexterity.

"You won't win this time, little brother," the first one teased. Elia looked at him closer, seeing the silver curls and thick shoulders of her husband, but with a sun-kissed skin more akin to Oberyn's.

Sword twirling into an attack, the other laughed. "In your dreams." He couldn't have been more different, hair dark as night and with a leaner but no less toned build, but Elia could still see Rhaegar in him.

Her hands went to cup her mouth. Were they Egg and Jon, her sons?

"You chose wisely, Queen Elia," the maiden told her as the vision faded around Elia…

Eyelids fluttering open, Elia found herself back in reality. As of now, slumped in a chair placed alongside Jon's crib, where she had been watching over him before falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. For a moment her heart began to beat wildly in worry, but it lessened at seeing Qyburn and two acolytes tending to her son. "Grand Maester."

"Ah, you're awake, your Grace." Strangely, his hood had been removed - he noticed her quizzical look and laughed. "Protective measures are no longer needed. Prince Baelon is no longer capable of passing the vapors in my opinion."

Easing herself up, Elia looked into the crib at her squirming babe. Only two days had passed since the ritual and already did Jon change like night and day. His skin was a healthy pink, no longer covered in feverish sweat or red rashes. His breathing evened out and he squirmed with a healthy restlessness. As soon as he saw her, Jon reached out - silently begging for his muna.

Elia couldn't deny Jon - or herself - that. Without delay she scooped him up. "Oh my sweet little pup," she cooed, snuggling him. He ate it up, giggling. "You should have woken me immediately," Elia told Qyburn.

"Apologies, your Grace, but the King told me to let you rest." A gesture with his eyes found Elia looking at the doorway. There stood her husband, a tired smile on his face as he watched his wife and son.

She smiled back at him lovingly. "Jon is fine, then?"

"Aye."

"Then if you're done with your examination, you have my leave to go." Qyburn and the acolytes bowed and left, while Rhaegar hesitantly stepped in.

But when Elia beamed at him he rushed to her. Arms enveloping both his wife and his son. "Elia…" Rhaegar breathed, as if a weight being lifted on his shoulders. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied. "He's going to be alright." Thank the gods.

"I know what you did." He pulled back and looked into her eyes. "Melisandre informed me after I pressed her… gods… you…" Rhaegar's face was in awe.

She blushed. "I couldn't not. He is our son."

As if on cue, Jon reached up for his kepa… only to yawn immediately as Rhaegar lifted him up. Chuckling, he kissed Jon's cheek. "Time to sleep, pup." Jon fell asleep as soon as the blanket was draped around him. Casting his son one last loving look, Rhaegar said nothing - instead pulling Elia to him and kissing her deeply.

As their kiss deepened, a hunger mollified only by exhaustion welling deep inside them, the door being thrown open caused Elia and Rhaegar to break apart. Breaths heavy, they watched as Arthur burst in. "Your Graces…" His eyes were wide, chest heaving - it was clear he ran all the way here.

Rhaegar grew concerned. "Arthur, what is the matter?"

"Prince Aegon," he managed to choke out after several deep inhales to calm his racing heart. "He's awake."

Heart soaring, Elia spared but a moment to lock eyes with Rhaegar before the two of them rushed out of the room for their son's chambers. Hope was finally returning to their world.

All that remained was patching the final hole left by the dark one's manipulations.

It had been nearly a quarter hour since the red three-headed dragon sails were spotted by the harbormaster, bobbing in the gentle waves of that early spring day in King's Landing. For once the sky was not marred by the great plumes from the dragonpit, for once the gates open to more than just the barest commerce. The great plague of 284 AC was lifting and a new dawn breaking over the realm of King Rhaegar I Targaryen.

Said King rubbed the shoulders of his Dornish bride, trying to ease her nerves. "She'll be overjoyed to see you, my love."

Chewing her lip, Elia shook her head. "You don't know the kinds of things I said to her, Rhaegar." And you'll never know what I did… how the great evil manipulated me. No one would - Elia would take that shameful secret to her grave.

Jon was alive and healthy… that was all that mattered.

"And I am to believe she said just as hurtful things to you." The great split between the two Queens reminded Rhaegar of the splits between Jaehaerys and Alysanne… how they threatened to destroy the harmony of the Realm. Gods, he couldn't bear if it happened again. "The two of you love each other. It is time to forgive and forget."

I don't know if I deserve forgiveness… But her thoughts would have to wait as the roustabouts signalled to the deckhands aboard ship, the two tossing thick mooring ropes to each other and fastening them with expert speed. It wasn't long before the ship halted and a gangplank was dropped. As Rhaegar guessed, the delighted Princess was the first off. "Kepa!"

Rhaegar picked up Rhaenys and twirled her around, hearing Aegarax flapping and hooting above. The Princess racing to her mother as soon as he put her down, Rhaegar rubbed his hand along the snout of his landed dragon. "Thanks for watching over her, boy." Aegarax purred and nuzzled his arm, eager for the attention.

"More dragons, muna!" he heard Rhaenys giggling excitedly, pointing back at the ship. "Grandmother hatched them."

Narrowing his eyes, they widened into saucers as Rhaegar came across his mother. Jaime Lannister standing guard behind her, Rhaella Targaryen was transformed, her hair seeming to glow in the sun as she walked confidently down the gangplank. A lace dress of black and red hugged her body like a sheath, the colors of their house both graceful and formidable - accented by severe jewelry of silver and rubies. But such wasn't what shocked Rhaegar.

Clinging to the dress - one on her arm and the other on her shoulder - were two dragon hatchlings. The same size as Aegarax when he was born, but one a bright gold with white swirls and the other blood red.

He walked to his mother with awe in his eye. "Muna… you…"

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss his cheek as the dragons began to sniff the other one with the good scent. "Aye. Seems I discovered your little secret, my son."

"Seems that you did." Rhaegar laughed merrily as he sized up the dragons. "And their names?"

Rhaella smirked, patting the golden one. "This one I shall call Jaimexes, and she'll be my mount." The golden dragon purred at the touch, while Ser Jaime seemed to puff up behind with pride.

"After…" His mother nodded. A fitting reward for the man who sacrificed so much so the Dowager Queen could keep her reputation. "And the other?"

"I haven't decided on one for him. Perhaps he'll be Rhaenys' mount… or Viserys'."

Observing the two of them, Elia could only gaze in similar awe. Gods… more dragons. Elia kissed the crown of her daughter's head, mind a cauldron of emotions. "Love you, sweetling," she murmured.

"Love you too, muna." Rhaenys looked up at her sweetly. "Jon and Egg. They good?"

"Yes, Rhae. They're happy and healthy." Her daughter's elation filled her with a certain joy.

And then she saw her. A flash of chestnut hair revealed a dark grey dress - one that hugged the athletic curves of the most beautiful woman in the world. Elia stiffened, her eyes widening and mouth dropping in a sort of trance. All she could see was this woman, the northern goddess leaning over the railing of the ship and searching the docks. Almost as if desperate to see someone...

Lyanna caught a glimpse of Rhaegar first, her heart clenching at the sight of her Prince Daemon in the flesh as he spoke to his mother. But only a tiny swivel of the eyes made her breath hitch. Lungs sputtering at the sight of the exotic angel of Sunspear. Already her gaze grew bleary, but one thing was for certain. The honey-brown eyes Lyanna had slowly grown to adore - the violets of her husband ones she fell in love with at first glance - were staring right at her.

"Elia…" she breathed, and not a moment later did Lyanna not hurry to the gangplank.

"Lya… Rhae, go to your father." Kissing Rhaenys once more on the cheek, Elia stepped towards the end of the dock, feet wobbly but slowly gaining speed and traction.

Watching what was going on, Rhaegar looked at his mother apologetically, but she merely squeezed his arm. Silently telling him to do what was right. "Rhae." He strode to his daughter. "Go with grandmother, alright? I'll take you to your brothers soon."

"Alright, kepa." She was eager to play with all the dragons more anyways.

As Lya appeared on the gangplank, Elia had broke out into a run. Tears clouded her vision, desperate to hold her wife. To feel Lyanna, burning inside from guilt and shame - a feeling mirrored by the northerner. Great evil had nearly sundered the two from each other and each wallowed in the deepest pit of self-loathing because of it.

Only love could draw them out. The love they held for each other… and that held by their husband. Rhaegar, however, held back. They would need a moment to themselves.

Lyanna barely managed to step onto the jetty when Elia launched herself into her arms. Her gauzy, light dress didn't encumber her in any way, allowing for Lya's embrace to tighten round her shoulders as Elia hugged her round the waist. Force spun them around in a complete turn, but Elia didn't notice, instead burying her face into the join of Lya's shoulder and neck. The sobs that bubbled up were unavoidable. "Lyanna…"

Hearing Elia's voice broke Lyanna, wailing silently as she tightened her embrace. Pulling the gorgeous woman flush against her. It felt like coming home. "Elia, my love." Gods… how could I have hated this? It seemed so stupid and horrid in hindsight. "I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me." How could she survive without the love of either her or Rhaegar?

Clinging desperately to her wife, Elia knew she must look a mess. All hope of composure was shattered at Lyanna's fearful voice and unabashed cries. It broke her heart "Lya… you have no reason to apologize. I was the evil one," she sobbed. Her body shook with grief and self-loathing, only just registering the hot tears soaking her dress of the beautiful northerner pulled flush against her - equally distraught and pained. "I'm sorry… I love you so much." Each word was halting, but it came out.

"I love you too…" Lyanna nuzzled Elia's silky locks, refreshed by how wonderful it felt. Of how the familiar scent made her heart warm. Such made the guilt all the more agonizing. "You mean so much to me…" I can't lose you again…

Her declaration of love merely sent another sob tearing through Elia. "What I said… how could you ever forgive me?"

"Just love me… never stop, I couldn't bear it."

"Neither could I." Sniffling, Elia pulled her even closer. "I swear it. You have me."

Lyanna sighed, her soul repaired. "Forever." She buried her face in the crook of her wife's neck. "I'm yours forever."

As they melded together, neither man nor god able or willing to tear them apart, two strong arms wrapped around them. Rhaegar lowered his head to theirs, letting their tearful grief tremble through them. Giving his dearest Queens his heat and protection which they greedily accepted.

Three souls, nearly destroyed by their own hand. But fail it did, for together they had been, and together they had returned.

It was both somewhere and nowhere… a realm that inhabited not the earthly plane of mortal existence. A place that took many forms at the whim of those that ruled over it - mainly upon what each considered as preferable over the others. For Tessarion, goddess of knowledge and beauty, the place she called home took the form of a Lysene manse. Not the gaudy houses of debauchery favored by the current inhabitants but the more genteel variety. Modest yet beautiful, like the summer homes of the nobility of the Freehold.

A little plain compared to her sisters and cousins, but something she truly enjoyed to rest. To set up home with her love… he rarely left it, much to her chagrin. A great explorer and wanderer he had been while a mortal.

Brushing her lustrous hair with a golden brush, Tessarion viewed herself through the looking glass. The divine possessed the greatest of beauty and hers was no exception, but it was rather more… plain than her sisters. Figure lithe, chest modest, almost elfin in appearance with only an above-average height as a distinguishing feature, she held no complaints. The most important person in her life adored her body. Played it like a fiddle even before he was made divine by her own hand. Tessarion sighed in happiness. To eternity, a life I shall never tire of.

But there were moments of boredom, ones that drew her musings into the earthly realm. Setting the hairbrush, she looked straight at the looking glass. "Show me the champions." By her grandfather's name, a worry line did appear momentarily on her face thinking of how they were so close to destroying themselves.

As the surface rippled, the scene before her killed the apprehension… replacing it with a different emotion. Within King's Landing - the city of her third set of champions - the mortal Queens rolled about the bed, engaged in a torrid embrace. Lips and tongue were melded together, hands clutching almost desperately on whatever skin they could reach. A sensual dance of honeyed skin against alabaster, tears mixing with cries of pleasure as they reconnected.

From aside, the King himself entered the image… while clothed from the waist down the paragon of manly beauty. I sculpted him well. He watched from the sides, but two dainty but powerful hands pulled him into the bed, expanding their tryst of love and reconnection.

Cheeks blushing ripe red, Tessarion ended the image with a wave of her fingers. "Wow…" she murmured, feeling suddenly hot. "Didn't… expect for it to go that well." No prude, such a relationship was that of her father and mothers, so she had no problem with it. But her modesty led to such a description upon her - especially considering her elder sister.

Tessarion huffed. Meleys can have her orgies with gods and mortals alike. She was content with her paramour.

A heavy scuffle of feet made her smile. "Oh, have you come to me, my wolf?" she husked in her most seductive voice, thinking it her lover.

Only moments later did she feel the clammy cold that filled the room. "I'm afraid that I am no wolf, dearest sister."

Face ashen, Tessarion shot up from her seat to see the black-clad figure standing across from her. "Balerion." Ire rising, she crossed her arms. "Brother, you know you're not welcome here. If he found out you were here..."

Her older half-brother dismissed her with a snarl. "Do not speak of that mortal savage in my presence." It hurt his heart too greatly to hear of the man that stole her from him. Seeing her anger, the dark violet of his eyes softened. "Forgive me, but I truly did wish to see you again."

"It has been a century and a half… and frankly such is not long enough." Tessarion wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Just go. I've had enough of your games."

"And what games are you referring to?"

"Don't act stupid with me. I know how smart you are." They grew from the cradle after all. "You brought a plague upon the earth, simply to destroy their love."

Balerion chuckled. "Those weaklings, it was only too easy. At least your last sets of champions were of the dragonblood." She was always too sentimental for her own good. He stepped close to her, frowning as she backed up. "You need not be scared of me. I am your loving brother."

"I am not afraid of you… I merely cannot stand your foul stench." Long ago she had defied her grandfather, and considering what Balerion had become she made the right decision. "You always had a black heart, and my love for you died when I saw it for what it was."

He flinched inwardly, but composed himself. "And you instead sullied yourself with a common mortal."

She smirked. "I would do it again in a heartbeat. Now leave." Tessarion shoved him in the chest. "I never want to see you again."

Something snapped. In his anger at his defeat… in his bitterness at the long-ago wounds, Balerion lunged forward. His hands grasped her throat, squeezing as he overpowered her. "I can't kill you," he seethed. "But I can make you hurt."

Tessarion cried in pain, but it came out a painful wheeze. "Brother… please…"

"You should have chosen me! You should have chosen us instead of them!"

But suddenly it was Balerion who cried out in pain, a flash of flame slicing through his arms as a booted foot kicked him back. "Get away from her," growled the wolfish cry of the mortal. The one called Azor Ahai. His raven hair fell in wild locks about his shoulders, beard trimmed but fierce as the blizzards of his former home. He twirled his blade about him, sparks crackling off of it. "Don't make me kill you."

New hands grew back quickly. "You cannot kill me, savage," laughed the God of Death.

"Wanna find out?" He laughed darkly, readying the sword. "I've waited eight thousand years for this."

While satisfying it would be, Balerion watched his sister… her eyes filled with fear as she stepped closer to her lover. The man she chose… His anger fell into hurt, and then into a bitter resolve. "Mark my words, sister, I will destroy your champions. Grandfather's task of me will be achieved if I must do it myself." In a puff of black smoke, the God of Death departed from the manse… leaving nothing but an all encompassing cold.

Sucking in a breath, the Last Hero extinguished his blade and let it clatter to the floor as his lover launched herself into his arms.

A/N: Whew. That was close, but everyone is happy now :D

And so we've met Balerion and Tessarion, plus Azor Ahai as well. Just the beginning.

Rhaella Targaryen, Mother of Dragons!

Timeskip coming up. If I can get 40 comments by Friday, I'll update then :D