A/N: Exciting news, my friends! Two new projects of mine are close to fruition: my Maegor the Cruel story called Dragonshield and a fluffy/smutty comedy short I plan to publish as a counterweight to the second anniversary of "The Bells," aka the Fall. Further details will come, but tell me what you think in the comments :)

Be sure to check out my other in progress stories: Heart of the Blessed, Last Hope for Westeros, A Targaryen Dynasty, and Howl of the Dragonwolves.

Enjoy.

Chapter 68: A Difficult Choice

One moon later

"This place is depressing."

"The symbol of our house's collapse."

"No longer though, the Gods have blessed us."

Ahead, King Rhaegar I Targaryen listened quietly to the conversations shared by the women in his life - taking them all in. His mother, free from her meekness and accepting the mantle of a powerful dragonrider in the making. His wives and Queens, starting to escape their melancholy and guilt in forgiving each other, finally settling into a renewed hope and happiness. It filled his heart with warmth.

Rhaegar stood alone, hands clasped behind his back and pondering it all. Eyes flickered about the ruined dragonpit, long since fallen to dust and worn rubble even before the faded scorchmarks of the great sleeping sickness and the recent, blackened scorchmarks of the red plague ever came to pass. Once, this place had been grand, a wonder of the world seen for miles in every direction - decorated as any gilded sept or shining castle. Much as our family, it had fallen to ruin. Gutted in the Dance of Dragons, never to be rebuilt again.

Why would one need a nesting ground for dragons if there were none to be found?

A hoot echoing through the massive bowl brought a smile to Rhaegar's lips. None to be found no longer. Green scales glinting in the sun, Aegarax banked sharply from above - spiraling down towards where his kepa waited in the sandy soil. Wings flapping frantically, he managed to lower himself to the ground with a gentle thud. "Good boy," Rhaegar lavished him with praise, reaching out to scratch and pet his head. It was the size of Rhaegar's, no more a tiny hatchling. "You're growing quickly, wings almost larger than I." The dragon cocked his head, as if amused. "I'll be riding you in no time."

Aegarax chirped his approval of that.

"No, hatchlings, stop that." Rhaella's firm voice was punctuated by twin shrieks. Rhaegar turned and found both Jaimexes and the as-yet unnamed crimson dragon snapping their jaws at each other. Tiny as they were, it would have been amusing had they not been perched on his mother's chest and shoulder. "Easy… that is not how you treat siblings…" In their ire-infused play, they ignored her…

EEEEEEEEHHHHHH! Mouth bared, showing off rows of sharp teeth, Aegarax's piercing screech pained the four royals, who winced and clutched their ears. Both hatchlings stopped what they were doing and craned their heads at the larger dragon. His amber eyes seemed to glow, staring them down.

Eventually, Jaimexes and the crimson hatchling whined and deflated, snuggling up to their mother - sufficiently chastized. Sharing a look with Rhaegar, the Queen Dowager pet each of them. A few sweet nothings in Valyrian managed to ease their tension.

Laughing at the heartwarming sight, Lyanna took Elia's hand in hers and walked to their husband. Both dressed in northern style dresses in the still chilly temperature, they changed up their colors - Lyanna wore burnt orange of Dorne while Elia's olive skin contrasted nicely with a northern ice blue. "Husband," Lya smiled, pecking his lips.

Rhaegar gave them an appreciative once over. "Have I mentioned how breathtaking you look?"

"This morning," grinned Elia. "Though it was in a far different context. And I thanked you." Her eyes shifted. "Lya didn't, but in all fairness her lips were rather… preoccupied."

"Lecher."

"You're both lechers," Rhaegar smirked, drawing them both in. Enjoying as they pressed their cheeks on his shoulders.

"Achhem…" A scowling Rhaella, arms crossed, drew them in a more professional disposition. "We may be alone, but we're still on royal business."

Rhaegar sighed. "Of course, muna." It was only natural that Rhaella spoke - unlike Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, and Ser Jaime waiting further off, Rhaella never kept her opinions or advice to herself anymore. Dressed in the black and red of their house - her only colors since returning from Dragonstone with Jaimexes and the crimson dragon - such an event explained most of her newfound confidence. Although… the pin on her left breast had something to do with it as well. "So, what does my Hand recommend for the renovations?"

With Oberyn gone, ultimately Rhaegar could think of no better person to take over as Hand than his mother. Rhaella could be trusted implicitly, and the lack of entangling alliances that could upset the delicate balance in the Realm greatly outweighed the worries that a woman in such a position would damage his image. Not that Rhaegar cared - both Lyanna and Elia, as well as Melisandre - had seats on his Small Council. Pursing her lips, Rhaella looked about the Dragonpit. "This will need the most renovations. With how fast Aegarax grows, he'll need this place to sleep in within a few years."

"There are many renovations and building projects in need of funds," Elia reminded them.

Lyanna nodded. "Namely the sewer system for Flea Bottom." She looked forward to the noxious stench gone from King's Landing.

"We'll start with funds for both that and this… as well as hiring dragonkeepers."

"I worry that would be difficult." Few could approach the dragons without getting screeched at. Other than those with dragonblood, Lyanna, Elia, Dacey, Ashara, and a few of the Kingsguard were the only ones. "But if they can grow used to them, then we could avoid true problems."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna remembered something from her favorite book. "The last dragon, it was no bigger than a cat, right?"

"Aye," Rhaegar said. "Decades of captivity in these walls… a dragon was not meant to be chained. Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor - a dragon is not a slave."

"Which is why there should be no dome to the dragonpit." They both looked at Elia. "Think about it, they sleep and rest here, but they can fly free whenever they so choose. Given the bond of a dragon to dragonrider, they will always return." It was a smart plan.

"We're going to need more eggs," Rhaella announced, jaw set in determination. "I do not intend to pass before my time, and I presume that Lya wishes more children than simply Egg, Rhae, and Jon?" She chuckled as Lya blushed at the implication, to which Elia joined in her laughter. "Rhaegar?" Her son averted his eyes, which she found equally comical. "Anyways, the remaining eggs that your father found are enough for Rhae, Egg, Jon, and Daenerys, but more dragons will be needed. More eggs obtained."

"How many dragons would you like, goodmother?" asked Lyanna, once she managed to overcome the awkward discussion of her and Rhaegar's intimacy and procreation habits. "An army, like the Rhoynish Wars?"

"Yes, though I acknowledge I won't live to see that happen." Watching her dragons try to scorch the ground over the watchful eye of their elder, Rhaella's violet eyes shone bright. Powerful. "I watched as the majority of my family died in the flames." Her heart pounded, head spinning as Rhaella's stomach churned at the great emotion. "I watched as only I, my brother, and my son were the only Targaryens left on this earth." She cupped her stomach, willing it to cease. "Never again. Never…" Trailing off, the Hand suddenly bent over. Voiding her stomach all over the ground. Fuck...

The dragons screeched and flapped their wings, milling about in a wide semicircle with what was clearly concern. Rhaegar frowned, quite worried, as Lyanna approached his mother. "Are you alright, goodmother?" Gingerly, she pushed Rhaella's silver hair away from her face as the Hand cleared out the rest of her gut's contents upon the sand.

Trembling from the sudden malady, Rhaella nonetheless nodded. "Perhaps I ate something problematic."

"The fish did taste funny last night," Elia remarked, only to get a certain look from Lyanna - her wife smirked ever so slightly. Frowning with a raised eyebrow, suddenly elia understood, eyes widening. Oh…

Perhaps something else was afoot.

In his worry for his mother, Rhaegar was oblivious to the silent deductions of his Queens. "Muna," he approached her, placing a hand on her upper back. "I think you should see Uncle Aemon."

She glared up at him. "I'm not weak, Rhaegar."

"Your Grace…" Jaime tried to cut in, only for her glare to fall on him. He backed off, biting his lip under his helm. Gods, he wished he could openly comfort her as the King was doing. He certainly would that night in her chambers - pretty much shared by them at this point.

"No one thinks you are weak, goodmother," Elia spoke up. "You know they call you the Mother of Dragons." Rhaella sighed and nodded. She had heard the very name called out from gathered crowds whenever she left the Red Keep on her duties. Of course Rhaegar spread that story. Made their House look strong and powerful again.

It made her feel strong and powerful again. "Alright." She needed not prove her strength as strenuously after birthing the two dragons. "I'll see Uncle Aemon."

Rhaegar hated supping alone. With the demands of being King taking prominence, the youthful ruler found the moments with his brides, children, and mother fewer and farther in between than he would have liked, and often he would skip meals in order to avoid the solitude and enjoy them with those he loved. Naturally, Lyanna and Elia thumped him for such a tendency, leading to moments where he combined meals with work. As was the case now.

"What is this?" Though, if Rhaegar found a moment with family, he took it. Even if his younger brother was at times more trouble than pleasant. "Is this some sort of roasted beef or auroch?" He held up the fork-speared cube of meat in his hand, eying it with confused distaste.

Chewing with gusto - sparring with Lyanna had made him quite famished, his northern bride not one to go easy on him - Rhaegar swallowed his bite and chuckled. "It's Dornish, brother. Grilled lamb." Elia introduced him to the skewered chunks of lamb, beef, or chicken and he took to it, as did Lya.

Viserys blinked. "You're supposed to stew lamb…" He took a bite, shuddering. "And it's dry."

"Variety is the spice of life, my Prince," commented Ser Arthur, seated across from his King. "My brother, sister, and I came of age with such meals."

"I did not address you, Ser," Viserys snapped. "Speak when you are spoken to."

"Viserys!" Rhaegar didn't truly mean to bark so loudly, but it did manage to shock the ire from his younger brother. "We are not in court," he softened his voice, but was no less firm. "There is no need to be so formal… and eat your supper. It's better with a helping of the rice," the King added with a smile. Mumbling something under his breath, Viserys did as bidded. Eating in silence. Mollified, Rhaegar turned to his other guest that meal. "Apologies, Lord Varys."

The eunuch demurred. "On the contrary, your Grace. This dish reminds me of the communal dinings during my mummer's days. One large leg of lamb hung up, and we would each slice off a bit of it." Varys ate daintily, though always sprinkled a bit of reddish powder onto each bite. "The southern free cities developed a taste for spice, and the best were a luxury from the summer isles that I've always come to indulge."

"Ironic," smirked Arthur. "For a dragon, Rhaegar hates scorching spice. The little Princess doesn't have such compunctions."

A shrug. "Rhae gets it from her mother, I suppose." Forking another clump of rice, he speared a lamb chunk and brought it to his mouth. Enjoying the flavor, but less than before - his mind wandered elsewhere. "Lord Varys, there is something I need to inquire with you."

The Master of Whisperers' placid face did not change. "Oh?" He sipped at his watered wine. "But of course, I am at the King's service."

"You provide much by the way of information from the Realm and abroad, but barely anything from the Iron Islands." The Ironborn hadn't sent any dignitary to the coronation and with the plague having largely passed, Rhaegar was free to turn attention towards less pressing worries.

Varys clicked his tongue. "Ah, that. It can't be helped." He offered a frown. "Certain societies are hard for outsiders to pierce. The Ironborn are one of them."

"He may say things that conform to sense, but be wary, my love. I believe he hides whispers he doesn't wish us to hear." Elia's words from some time before filled Rhaegar's mind. Varys had been his father's creature, but loyally supported him when he needed institutional support. He trusted Elia above all others, so there was an impasse. "See to it that you do pierce the cultural divide."

"I shall do so, your Grace."

The midday supp winded down after such heady conversation, less pressing matters such as gossip over the inner discussions within the Iron Bank or Masters of Slaver's Bay passed the time. Lord Varys had already excused himself, while Rhaegar pulled aside his brother. "Viserys, you must understand that as a Prince, you must watch what you say and do in front of others."

While he was prone to rages immediately after the fall of their father, Viserys merely rolled his eyes and frowned. "Father said a true King and dragon didn't mind the opinions of sheep."

"Others can easily destroy a King's reign if they sense weakness, either in him or his family."

"As you did."

Rhaegar sighed. "You know why I did what I did." Viserys said nothing, leading Rhaegar to kiss his forehead. "Go off and play with your niece before your lessons with uncle Aemon." Lip quivering for a moment with something else to say, instead Viserys merely turned and walked from the chambers. Plopping into his chair, Rhaegar massaged his temples. "What am I going to do about that boy, Arthur?"

"He's eight namedays and endured Aerys burning men in front of him. It'll take time."

"Attitudes harden after time. If I wait it may be too late… perhaps fostering. Winterfell perhaps?"

Arthur shook his head. "Too far, he needs his mother. Send him to Duskendale - Thorne won't let him get away with anything."

Rhaegar snorted. "That man has a stick up his ass, but is loyal and a good warrior." A knock on the door drew his attention. "Enter." Arthur straightened, ready to protect his King to the death if need be.

He needn't that time, the wiry form of the Grand Maester walking in. "Your Grace," Qyburn bowed.

"Maester Qyburn, take a seat." If there was anyone that had earned their title in the past few moons, it was the Grand Maester. Even the Citadel had stopped grumbling over him. "What brings you here?"

The poor man had aged decades over a moon or two, the stresses of coordinating the Seven Kingdoms through the plague having weighed on him. Wrinkles and grey hair were predominant, though his eyes still sparkled with sharpness. "I'm afraid I do, and hope you will not punish the bearer of bad news.

Rhaegar sat straighter, steeling himself.

Arms resting along her sides, Rhaella winced as a hand pressed against her stomach rather hard - a cold hand at that. "Must this…" Another push against the still smooth skin. "Is this necessary, uncle?"

"When one suffers from the malady of the stomach, a good maester starts with inspecting the stomach." Removed from the isolation and bitter cold of the Wall, Aemon Targaryen seemed to hold the countenance of a much younger man. Extra spring in his step and color in his rosey cheeks, the man bloomed in his new role as the personal maester to the Royal Family. Which included his beloved niece. "You know, your mannerisms are much like your mother's were."

Still uncomfortable with the examination - not to mention having to strip down to her underclothes - Aemon's statement put a smile on her face. "Truthfully?"

"You don't remember, your Grace?" asked the woman standing off to the side, Rhaella's new Lady in Waiting as approved by both her and the King.

Rhaella sighed. "I'm afraid I do not, Marya. My mother died when I was young." It was hard, though Queen Betha had the mercy of not having to endure the Tragedy of Summerhall nor Aerys' descent into madness.

Marya Seaworth, newly admitted to the highborn ladies of court, bowed her head. "Forgive me, I didn't know."

"It's alright." Rhaella smiled at the woman she was quickly growing fond of, living in the capitol with her husband Lord Davos as their keep at Sealion Point was being constructed. "Pretty soon we'll know all there is to know about each other… oww… uncle!"

Chuckling, Aemon rapped her stomach one last time. Blind as he was, one never lost a knack for tactile examination, something he excelled at in the Citadel. "All is done, Lady Hand. You may dress."

Dress being held upright by Marya while the examination commenced, Rhaella motioned the woman forward while she rose. "Uncle, you need not call me by my title. 'Niece' or 'Rhaella' would suffice."

"The first female Hand of the King is my dearest niece. Allow an old man to gloat about such a first in an entire house of such firsts." No matter the frailest he looked, his mind was still sharp as a tack and it delighted the entire family. Even grumpy Viserys was kind to his uncle Aemon. "Now, I believe I've found the cause of your malady."

Hands up and bending over, Rhaella huffed as she wriggled into her dress. "Hold still, your Grace," Marya chided - most highborn ladies would hate such a blunt former street urchin from Flea Bottom. Rhaella was not one of them.

"Alright, alright… this thing takes forever." Even the simplest dresses in westerosi high fashion took ages to don. "Give me a moment, uncle."

"Of course, of course." At that moment the doors opened to reveal… their Graces the Queens. Aemon bowed. "My Queens."

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "Uncle Aemon, you need not…"

"Save it, gooddaughter." Rhaella smoothed down the creases of her dress. "You're not going to get him to be less formal if he wills it not."

Aemon offered a toothless grin. "It's hard to teach an old man new manners, and mother was a stickler - the old caricature of a libertine Dornishwoman she was not."

Smirking, Elia kissed his cheek in greeting. "A reputation built by a few, much as the many try to disprove it… so is our goodmother alright? We were greatly worried after that incident in the dragonpit." After such loss and near loss their family suffered, to have yet another tragedy…

"Uncle Aemon was just about to say." Four sets of female eyes fell upon the wizened maester.

Hobbling to his chair, Aemon didn't look like the bearer of bad news. Instead, he seemed almost jaunty. "Now this diagnosis involves certain pieces of information that I may not be privy to, so I will need to know. Are you currently… intimate with anyone, Lady Hand?"

Rhaella blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"She is," Lyanna remarked, beginning to piece things together. At Rhaella's glare, she scoffed. "I doubt that Uncle Aemon would break such confidence."

"A poor maester I would be if I do, now…" Aemon wet his lips, cracked as they were. "Have you been intimate with anyone longer than a moonturn?" Biting her lip, Rhaella nodded. Smart as she was, she began to piece it together as well and felt her mind withdraw into itself. It can't be… no… I'm not that lucky…

"What are you saying, uncle?" Elia asked.

The response wasn't heard by Rhaella - in honesty, she didn't need to hear it to know what it was. Especially considering what Lyanna blurted out immediately after Aemon finished. "I knew it!"

Hours later, the Hand of the King waited in her room - hands folded atop her lap and seated upon the bed. Her mind was whirring with different thoughts, some joyous, others nervous and fatalistic. None even skirted the line of being upset at this news. A babe… I carry another babe in my womb.

The babe of my love and I… As much as the worries of danger rocked her, Rhaella couldn't stop smiling. Her hand absentmindedly stroking her still flat belly, taking notice of the life within. So many dwelled here… only three survived. Four. If she had anything to say about it, that would reach four.

She jumped a little as the door opened, revealing the one person she most desperately wanted to see. "Rhaella!" Quickly closing it, Jaime rushed to her side. "Rhaella, darling?" He cupped her cheeks. "Are you alright?"

Rhaella leaned into his touch, smiling. "Yes my lion, nothing's wrong."

"Thank the gods." He sat beside her, clasping her hand. "When Oswell informed me of your summons, I assumed something horrible had happened. Thank the gods you're fine."

Biting her lip, the Hand blushed a little. "Aye, I apologize for worrying you." This very much reminded her of when he would arrive after Aerys' worst bouts of madness - tending to her wounds with a tenderness that she now recognized as love. She could see the same concern in his eyes now as back then. I can grant him good tidings this time. "I'm more than fine." Rhaella smiled. "In fact, I'm elated"

Jaime blinks. "How so?"

"Because uncle Aemon has just given me the most unexpected, yet wondrous news."

"Oh? And what is it?" The Kingsguard's mind wandered into the more obvious quarters as to her cryptic statement. "Is the Queen expecting?" In honesty such could refer to either of them, but all knew he meant Queen Lyanna. The trials of Queen Elia's womb were known throughout court, given Aerys' tendency to scream and rant about it from the Iron Throne while he was alive. Sick cunt.

She looked at him, purple eyes misty with the joyous weight of it all. "Add 'Dowager' to the title and it will be… a true statement." Rhaella grabbed his other hand, stroking the back of his palm softly.

His brows furrowed before his eyes grew wide, suddenly catching on. "You...?"

Without delay, she took his hand and placed it in her still flat abdomen. "Yes my lion, the product of our love is now growing in me."

"How…" Jaime gulped, stammering out. "For how long?"

"A few weeks my love." Already Rhaella knew that their child together would be the blonde maiden she saw alongside Daenerys in her dream. "Jaime?" Suddenly squealed as she was lifted in his arms, twirled around. "Jaime!" She half-screamed, half-laughed.

"I love you!" He let her down and kissed her deeply.

Rhaella gladly returned it, her hands weaving into his golden hair. "I love you too." She buried her face into his neck. "I'm so happy, my love… but I'm also a little nervous. What if I lose this babe?"

"Don't think like this My Dragon." He held her tighter. "Lannister blood is strong, and yours is hot with dragonblood. Our babe will live"

She nodded but the worries still pricked at her. "I don't have the best history..."

"It's all because of that fucking cunt Pycelle," he hissed, still remembering the discoveries of how the Grand Maester poisoned Rhaella for reasons still unknown - many considered it by the same parties that tried to assassinate Prince Jon. "Rhaegar, Viserys and Dany will have a new sibling if I have anything to say about it." She said nothing, rather pulling him into another bruising kiss. When they pull back, they wore matching smiles... until Jaime's falls... "What will his Grace say?"

Rhaella winced, she had no doubt that her firstborn would be... displeased to say the least "I won't lie Jaime, my son will be burning with dragonfire."

"I'm still shocked he hasn't found out about us... I'm sure Lyanna knows though."

"She does, I told her." Rhaella giggled at his confused glance. "She and Elia also walked in when Aemon told me about the babe."

"Perhaps she could soften the blow?"

"And it wouldn't hurt if his Grace had either Jon or Dany in his arms."

Rhaella giggled. "That may be a good strategy… but enough about that. Kiss me again." He greedily obliged.

Ser Arys Oakheart entered the Small Council Chamber, boots clicking together. "Presenting his Grace, King Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name."

Gathered around the large table, the many confidants, councillors, and family of the young King sprang to their feet as Rhaegar entered. Clad in a red-black doublet and with the crown of Aegon I resting on his freely-flowing silver locks, he nodded to the others and walked towards the head of the table. The hard, wary eyes softened upon meeting the gaze of his brides. "My Queens."

"My King." Each hugging him, pecking his lips, they eyed him worryingly. The order for a full meeting of the council was sudden, and he hadn't told them why - nor did Rhaella know as Hand, seated across from Rhaegar. One by one, they all took their seats after the King, waiting for him to begin.

Rhaegar eyed all of them. Lya, Elia, and his mother were his rocks in a storm, calming him just by being there. Varys, Lucerys Velaryon, Titus Peake, Wyman Manderly, Barristan Selmy, and Richard Lonmouth were there by rights, while Rhaegar's insistence brought Arthur Dayne, Alliser Thorne, Myles Mooton, and Davos Seaworth - the latter drawing haughty irritation from the majority of the other councilors. Grand Maester Qyburn hunched over at the edge of the table, deep in hushed conversation with his Uncle Aemon, while the newly appointed High Septon Meribald rounded them out. The first of the Faith to grace the Small Council since the reign of Daeron II, but one Rhaegar trusted completely.

And last but not least was the Lady Melisandre. Everyone kept a wide berth from her, especially for the small smile she wore on her face. As if she had been looking forward to this moment for her entire life...

"Time to begin, my Lords," Rhaegar said abruptly, clearing his throat. "I have kept up to date with your reports on the progress with both recovering from this plague, riding out the last of this long winter, and starting the reconstruction projects for the city - however, that is not why I called this meeting." He frowned deeply, worrying his wives and his mother. "Recently, Grand Maester Qyburn came to me with concerns he had about the health of my children, ones I found to be jointly shared with my uncle, Maester Aemon."

Lyanna and Elia looked around their husband at each other, eyes outwardly placid but inwardly petrified. I thought we were behind this… Elia grew white while Lyanna's heart pounded - but it was Barristan that spoke up first. "I thought both Prince Baelon and Crown Prince Aegon made full recoveries?"

Solemn, Rhaegar shifted his gaze. "Grand Maester, uncle, I believe the two of you can explain this better than I can."

Rising on his spindly legs, Qyburn started off. "The vapors have passed from the both of them, yes. They no longer pass it nor suffer from the fevers, fatigue, or other maladies that acute plague sufferers exhibit. However, only Prince Baelon has recovered fully."

"What does that mean?" Lord Thorne asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Tell me about my child," demanded Lyanna. Rhaella merely looked at her son. She couldn't find the grief of a parent grappling with a dying child… no, her son had the wariness of a suffering ruler. Oh gods, this won't be good.

Aemon's voice was mushy but loud. "I and my acolyte examined the Crown Prince personally after the Grand Maester came to me with concerns. Most of the time, he is a healthy boy and growing normally. However, the disease left him with certain… long-term maladies."

Rhaella frowned. "What sort of long-term maladies?" Across the table, Rhaegar took his brides' trembling hands in his own.

"Rashes," answered Aemon. "Recurring rashes that inflame the skin. Some sufferers get them long after the vapors leave their body. It is controllable with medicinal baths and salves from certain trees. In and of itself the rashes are but an inconvenience rather than a debilitation… it is the wheezes that worry me."

"Wheezes?" asked Lord Thorne.

Casting an unseeing glance at Qyburn, Aemon handed the floor to him. "It's quite common in certain parts. A sensitivity of the lungs to all sorts of things - chaff, dust, cold temperatures, animals, exercise… I could go on. The inability to breathe is part of it. Unfortunately, the side effect of the treatment I used on the Crown Prince exacerbated a previously dormant susceptibility to wheezing."

"So you did this to his Grace," growled Lonmouth.

Aemon shook his head. "Egg would have died without Grand Maester Qyburn's intervention, and the wheezes would have happened regardless. It is in the family histories."

"How so, uncle?" Rhaella asked.

"From my studies of the texts, there were many Targaryens described as sickly - whenever details were given they described weakness of the lungs." Rhaella blinked, going back to one of her late babes. Prince Jaehaerys had died of a breathing malady, while her sickly cousins had wheezes. I never knew… She had to fight herself from touching her stomach, instead praying silently that the babe would be alright. "Egg would have suffered it no matter what," Aemon continued, "And coming of age and a strong body usually eliminates it. But the treatment has turned it into something worse."

"What could be worse?" asked Lord Peake.

"It means my son will be stricken with this for life," Rhaegar murmured loud enough for all to hear. "An illness that could kill him… if he becomes King." The last shut everyone up.

Elia's hand tightened around Rhaegar's - she above all others knew about being sickly as a youth and how it made one suffer as an adult. "Please, husband. Will our boy live?"

"He will, a long and hopefully happy life." It was Aemon who answered. "A good wife, plenty of exercise and stability… all will improve his health, as long as he never becomes King."

"But he is the eldest," proclaimed Thorne.

"The stress of ruling or learning to rule will kill Prince Aegon," Qyburn shot back. "I am completely certain."

The Lord of Duskendale did not back down. "To say such is treason."

Richard Lonmouth scoffed. "Medical fact cannot be treason, Thorne. Stop being a fucking addled moron."

"We must make Prince Baelon the heir," stated Wyman Manderly.

"Do that and the Dornish will rebel," Rhaella commented, equally as morose as the others.

"I fear that the Most Devout will protest," Meribald added. "House Martell is of the Faith, while House Stark and Queen Lyanna are not. Given the changes his Grace has made there would be added tensions." That Rhaegar jammed him into the position over the objections of the Starry Sept only added to the threat.

And so the argument rocked the council chamber - back and forth, everyone shouting over the others. Different ideas banded about, but all focused on one issue: did Prince Aegon have to tough it out or would Prince Baelon take over and risk fracturing the Kingdoms. Each maester fought hard for the latter, Aemon deploying the Targaryen fire for the first time since his youth. He would be damned if he'd let Egg suffer just for political positioning.

Through all of it, the three monarchs were embroiled in a conversation of their own. One that could not be solved at the moment, but Rhaegar explained his thoughts - begged forgiveness for not coming to them sooner but stating why. More worried than angry, the Queens forgave him, fingers stroking his palm in a silent promise to continue the discussion later amongst soft sheets and even softer bodies.

But first came the small council.

Feet aching and stomach roiling from the new babe, Rhaella reached the breaking point first. "Silence!" She banged on the table with the fury of a dozen dragons, achieving the quiet she so desired. Many gaped at her in shock - the once meek Rhaella Targaryen was no more. She looked like Queen Visenya at the moment, strong and mighty. "I have a proper solution to tamp down the issue at hand."

Rhaegar let out a breath. "You have the leave to speak, Lady Hand."

"While I agree that Prince Aegon's life is the most important matter to conserve, the unilateral decision of revoking primogeniture will not sit lightly with the Lords. King Jaehaerys the Conciliator understood such when Prince Baelon died, and therefore called a Great Council to decide the succession. As it would allow the Lords to vent their frustrations, I believe that to be the best option." The best option in a list of only horrible ones, but Rhaella didn't say that.

Gods, Rhaegar wished Oberyn was still in the capitol. He could have used his advice. "I'm putting this to the floor. Raise your hand if you support the proposal." Only a third of the councilors indicated their support, the others concerned at either the loss of royal power or the likelihood of conspiracies. Glancing at his brides, both of them held their hands up. "The ayes have it."

In the Seven Kingdoms, turned out only one's vote actually mattered.

That night, the guards posted outside the royal chambers were treated to quite the show. Muffled chuckles and shared smirks predominated as the sounds of great pleasure resonated from within. Some might have been inclined to complain, had they not remembered the types of sounds from Aerys' reign. The screams of pain or anguish, the wild rants. In truth, they were relieved and elated at the happiness and joy felt among the royals...

Well… and slightly jealous.

Within, a sheen of sweat covered the three lovers. Hands caressed over soft skin and supple flesh, losing themselves in the distractions only each other could give them from their worries. As such, their coupling drew a sense of desperate urgency alongside their lust, grunts and moans drawn out through tight jaws and clenched teeth. The King and Queens were pushing themselves to the brink, and the pleasure they felt was he end result.

For over an hour they had been at it, from the King being held down while his Queens took their pleasure to each Queen pinned to the wall or the mattress while she was teased until reduced to a babbling mess. By that moment they had turned frantic, leading to their current position. Both Queens locked into a tight embrace with lips melding and fingers plunging into their tight heat. Something they were wont to do after their reconciliation - guilt and sorrow led to the need for intimacy. Sleep found them wound together and so did their couplings.

Behind was the King, tight cunts exposed to his attention. Like a madman, he drove forward, making his brides scream as he replaced the fingers with his own cock. His hands ghosted on the golden skin of his Dornish bride, happening to be on top, making her shudder while pounding the she-wolf underneath her.

Only minutes later, the guards heard he muffled climax ripping through the doors. "I'd vastly prefer watching over the children," Ser Lewyn remarked.

"Least not the Queen Dowager," Oswell replied. "Ser Jaime is not one to keep quiet… or keep her quiet." They chuckled again.

Collapsing on their bed, the three of them cuddled close. Lyanna and Elia threw their arms round Rhaegar, melded to his skin while clutching each other - Rhaegar's fingers ghosted down their spines, making them shiver even though the furs were pulled atop their bodies. One of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, even Rhaegar found himself panting, trying to catch his breath. "Gods…"

"Aye," Lyanna murmured, kissing his chest while squeezing Elia's hand. "Never ages, our couplings."

"Sorely needed, after…" Elia trained off. It needed not be said, but the hour of blissful ignorance in each other's bodies finally toppled over. Reality roaring back. "Damn them… damn that Iron Chair…"

"It cannot be helped, my love," Rhaegar murmured. "Such is the fate of those born of the dragon."

Elia nodded, but it was still almost toxic. "Egg didn't ask for such a burden or fate… neither did you, or even your father."

Lyanna sighed. "My father used to tell us that duty can be a choice, or innate - what is always a choice is your actions." She felt a tear well in her eye and fall onto Rhaegar's skin. "I almost lost Egg, and Jon." Not just them, but her entire family. The loves of her life… "We can't let Egg die…" She lifted her head, searching out Elia's eyes. "I don't mean…"

Leaning over Rhaegar, Elia kissed her wife. "Never bring such up, I know he's yours - as Jon is mine." They were beyond such petty jealousies after all they had been through, the kiss resuming… until Rhaegar groaned in pain from an elbow badly placed on his gut. "Oh," Elia murmured as they broke the kiss. "Apologies, husband." She nuzzled his neck.

"No need, just go easy on the King." They chuckled dryly. "I won't lose Egg, but am worried about another matter… what if he grows to resent Jon?"

Elia's eyes darkened. "That will never happen."

"My grandfather never intended for my father to resent my uncle for the throne, but it happened regardless."

"We'll raise them to love each other, as my brothers did," Lyanna reassured her husband "Of all that is threatened here, that won't be it. House Targaryen will break the fratricide and civil wars of the past - there shall not be a second dance."

Rhaegar closed his eyes, frowning. "How do I begin to decree that? My own father and I started a war against each other over the throne. When has this house ever known… love?"

Pressing a kiss to his pulse, Elia placed her hand on Rhaegar's heart. "Every time I see you with our babes, I see the love in your eyes. You will break the mold, I promise this."

Saying nothing, Rhaegar merely held them close. They had survived so much and were still here… still together and unsundered. Perhaps they would… no, they would survive this.

House Targaryen defied the odds before. The scaled beasts flying over the Red Keep as of now proved their renowned providence was returned.

Thwack!

Bow dropping, Lord Bronn of House Bell watched as it smacked into the bullseye, about half an inch from the absolute middle of the target. Closer than even the Rook's Rest's master-at-arms' arrow loosed directly before. "Good shot, mi'Lord!" Said man remarked, clapping his hands.

Bronn smirked sardonically, clicking his tongue. "That's the thing with you highborns, Harry. When ye' gotta fight to survive rather than fer' sport, then skills get picked up pretty quickly."

Harry Rivers, the bastard of Stone Hedge and baseborn son of Lord Humfrey Bracken, raised an eyebrow. "Grew up a wanderer?" Plenty unable to farm land or find work ended up living off the land, shiftless and subsistence hunters or scavengers.

"Do I look like a shiftless beggar?" Bronn shot back, walking out to grab his arrows - while a fancy Lord now, no amount of wealth would lead him to being lazy enough not to pick up after himself. Compared to Symond Staunton, previous owner of Rook's Rest and a rather imperious individual, the servants and bannermen rather respected Bronn for this attitude. "Contracted with the Golden Company for a while. You didn't perform, you didn't eat."

"Blackfyre fucker, eh?"

"Yeah," Bronn huffed. "Lasted like four moons before I realized no gold in the world would keep me with a contract I didn't want to keep."

Snorting, Harry Rivers grabbed his own arrows - brown eyes twinkling with mirth. "And yet yer' now a Lord, bound to the King for eternity."

"If you weren't my goodbrother I'd beat your ass right out of 'ere." Harry only laughed. Given the past maester, castillan, and master-at-arms were loyalists to the attained House Staunton, most of Bronn's household were given to him by his godfather, Jonos Bracken.

A fine match for any sellsword, only proving he chose the winning side in the war.

Daily training with Harry completed, the grime spattered Lord strode back into the keep - heading directly for his solar. To his appreciation, Bronn found it not empty. "Lady wife, your dreadful solitude has ended."

Looking up from stacks of paper, Lady Jayne Bell - formerly Bracken - offered a quick smile… one which soon became a frown. "I thought you said you'd take a bath."

"Don't expect me to take one before my exercise. Would be fuckin' worthless then." Toeing off his boots, Bronn poured a goblet of wine - a delicious Dornish red. Gods, I love being a Lord. "So," he kissed Jayne's cheek before plopping down across from her. "What's goin' on?"

Jayne eyed him underneath her pretty lashes before looking back through the papers and dispatches. "Lord Staunton left a lot of debts."

Bronn shrugged. "He's dead, so good luck collectin' em."

Said lashes closed, Jayne sighing. "They run with the land."

"Not followin'." He chose Jayne out of a stable of other pretty daughters cause she was clever. Quite sheltered and lacking experience in the world outside of the keeps and manses, but quite clever.

"It means these debts are held by Rook's Rest, not Staunton personally… or else that's what the Iron Bank is saying. Now that the plague wound down, they're keen on collecting."

He shrugged. "So don't pay the debts."

"We have to."

"Fuck those who say I have to do anything."

She rolled her eyes. Her new husband may have been a dashing rogue that charmed her, and their amorous activities were quite enjoyable, but he was quite brutish at times. I have my work cut out for me to culture him. "The Iron Bank always gets its money back… at least that's what my father told me."

"Your father said he'd get the Teats back from Blackwood - how's that workin' out for him." Her glare made him chuckle further, which softened the glare into a smirk of her own. One that accentuated her dimples. Bronn felt them her second best feature after the buxom chest. No wonder Aegon the Unworthy fell for two Bracken wenches.

A servant knocked, interrupting them. "Raven from King's Landing, mi'Lord. Mi'Lady." Another transplant from Stone Hedge, and he treated Jayne with more deference than his Lord as a result.

"Give that to me," Bronn replied gruffly. He scanned it. "Well shit."

"What?" Jeyne asked.

"Looks like you'll be dressin' fancy sooner than I figured. We've been summoned."

A/N: I thought Rhaella would be good as the Hand. Shows how far she came :)

Bronn finally gets his castle.

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