A/N: Hey all. Happy saturday. Next week I get my second dose of the Moderna vaccine. Wish me luck.
Good news, the pace of my new stories is coming quickly. The Maegor story will be called "Dragonshield" and once published sometime within the week, it'll follow not just Maegor but the Conquerors and many more as they try to solidify the Targaryen monarchy in the early years. The comedy will be called "Bet of Dragons" and will follow Queens Elia and Lyanna as they compete with each other over finding a bride for their son Jon. That will be published on May 5th, the anniversary of the fucking bullshit episode "Last of the Starks..." seriously, fuck you Dumb and Dumber for that. Hope to see you all then :D
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 70: The Dragon Pack
"Jon," called out the Queen, walking down the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast at a fast clip. Any faster would cause her perfectly styled Dornish updo to fracture, and she couldn't have that. Not on this day. "Jon, where are you?"
"Prince Baelon's not in his room, your Grace," Ser Barristan noted, a frown of concern on his weathered face. "Nor is the Princess Daenerys."
Elia Targaryen huffed. "What has that girl gotten him into now?" she muttered under her breath.
As the Queen continued towards the rest of the royal bedchambers, Barristan quickly followed. "Your Grace, if I may? There is nothing that would hurt the Prince more than taking the Princess away from him… or him from her."
"I'm not planning to act thus… it's just frustrating sometimes." Sharing a chamber since in the cradle, from the moment they could walk both Jon and Daenerys were inseparable. It was the most adorable thing Elia had ever seen, except when little Dany and her dragon-like spirit got her more reserved son into all sorts of trouble round the Red Keep. The servants and guards loved them, so they normally got away with it.
If only they weren't so cute.
Knocking on Viserys' door, she opened it immediately after. "Viserys, goodbrother. Have you seen Jon and your sister?"
Fiddling with a dagger on his bed, dressed but looking quite bored, Viserys looked annoyed at the intrusion. "Do I look like I know where those brats are?"
Rhaegar would have scolded him. Lyanna would have shouted at him. His mother would have smacked him upside the head - Elia simply rolled her eyes and shut the door. Let Viserys stew in his sulkiness. He was a young lad and endured the worst his father could dish out, but everyone was simply losing patience with him when he got in these moods.
"He just needs maturity, your Grace," Barristan offered. "I could ask Ser Jaime to take him as a squire, or find someone that would."
Elia reached her son's chambers. "Best discuss that with Rhaella, good Ser." Without knocking she entered, to find Ashara doing her best to ease a child doublet over his head.
As soon as Egg's shirt was straightened out, his eyes sparkled at seeing Elia. "Muna!"
She walked in and knelt, kissing his head. "How are you, sweetling?" Hugging him, Elia buried her head in his silver curls.
"I'm fine, muna. Hurt earlier, but no more."
Looking concerned at Ashara, her friend and Lady in Waiting smiled sympathetically. "He's a strong dragon. Wants to see the King defeat all others in the tourney."
"Kepa's the strongest of them all!" Egg announced, pure adoration for his father in his expression.
Elia smiled. "He sure is." Kissing his cheek, she rose, looking at Ashara and Benjen - the latter with the squirming one-nameday old Allyria Dayne. An adorable babe the spitting image of her mother, but with the grey Stark eyes. A future heartbreaker. "Have either of you seen Jon or Dany?"
Ashara furrowed her brows. "No, not in their chambers?" Elia shook her head. "Ben?"
Benjen shrugged, trying to keep Allyria from pulling at his beard. "Haven't seen him since breaking fast… have you checked with Rhaenys?"
"Of course. Thank you." Bidding them farewell, Elia hurried to her eldest's room. If Jon and Dany were inseparable, then Rhaenys was a person they greatly looked up to. "If they're not with her… gods help us," she murmured to herself.
Again without knocking, Elia pushed open the door to find Rhaenys in the middle of her chambers, twirling a child staff that her uncle Oberyn gifted her for her sixth nameday. At the noise of Elia's intrusion, Rhaenys yelped and stumbled - landing on her rear. "Muna! You scared me!"
While her ire was real, the young Princess' adorable features - a portend of an immensely beautiful and sultry young woman - caused the scene to be quite amusing. Elia bit back a laugh, knowing it wouldn't help. "Are Jon and Dany with you?"
Rhaenys shook her head. "They're probably with grandmother Rhaella. She's watching over my aunt and sister."
"Thank you, little dragon." Elia took in the girl's tunic and trousers. Just like Lya. "Now put your dress on. We have to be at the tourney grounds promptly."
"Ugh… fine." She pouted.
Aye, just like Lya. The thought left a wide smile on Elia's face as she closed the door. The babes of her own blood had taken on Stark personality traits simply from nurture, while she saw some of her mannerisms in Jon as well. Somehow, it was all the way it was supposed to be.
The nursery was, as Rhaenys suggested, where Elia found her goodmother the Queen Dowager. Dressed in a black and red gown much as Elia did, it was far more severe. Unlike the softness of the Queen's Dornish dress, Rhaella looked like a dragonrider and relished in the look. She looked stunning even so, minus the crown that rested atop Elia's head. "Goodmother?"
Looking up from the crib, Rhaella picked up the squirming bundle as she regarded Elia. "Gooddaughter. What brings you here?" An eyebrow was raised. "Oh, has my daughter absconded with my grandson to places unknown?"
Snorting, Elia walked over to the other crib in the room. "Those two remind me of Jaehaerys and Alysanne. If they had dragons to ride, Daenerys would fly to Mossovy on a whim and Jon would fly right after her." She reached down and snatched up Princess Alyssa Targaryen, the perfect little Valyrian Princess that had celebrated her first nameday only days before. "The servants are already gossiping at when we formalize a betrothal between them."
She may have said it in jest, but Rhaella nodded seriously. "I believe it is too early for that - let them enjoy their innocence… stop that, Cella." Princess Myrcella Targaryen swatted her arms at the Hand of the King pin fashioned to her breast. "She always does this… and then looks at me so innocently. Gets it from her father."
"Jon and Egg do that all the time. They're so like Rhaegar that Lya and I let them get away with murder." An exaggeration, but with a kernel of truth.
"Jaime is lucky I love him, or I'd be quite cross that our daughter was passed his worst traits." Myrcella held the violet eyes and delicate bone structure of a Valyrian, but her hair was the characteristic Lannister golden-blonde. There was no denying her parentage, though few outside the royal family and confidants discussed it openly for fear of the Hand.
Cooing at Alyssa, who was quite active - far more than Rhaenys had been shockingly enough - Elia laughed. "Could be worse. She could take after her grandfather."
Rhaella shuddered. "True, quite true." Her lips pursed. "To tell you the truth, I know where my daughter and grandson are."
Elia's eyes widened. "You do, where are they?"
"Did you look at the doorway?"
"What…" Turning with Alyssa in her arms, Elia found the aforementioned cause of her harried mood standing bright and innocent right at the doorway to the nursery, wide smiles on their cherubic faces. Behind was a sheepish Ser Jaime, hand resting atop their shoulders.
"Hello, muna," Baelon 'Jon' Targaryen said first, genuinely happy to see his mother.
"Hello Jon," Elia said, trying to keep a stern face at her beloved boy. Three namedays old and growing like a weed, the Crown Prince of Westeros was a perfect mix of his mother and father. Hair dark, it grew in ragged curls that seemed to suit him, and it quite matched his Northern coloring. In all else, he seemed to look like his father - the eyes especially, rich pools of purple that could charm anyone. Not that he tried often… a more conscientious boy didn't exist in the Seven Kingdoms. He was more apt to brood in his room, again like his father, than get into mischief. "So just where have you been?"
"Nowhere," answered Princess Daenerys 'Dany' Targaryen. If Jon was quiet on his own, he was a terror when paired with his aunt Dany. Completely Valyrian in looks and temperament, the wild silver locks and dark violet eyes hid both mischief and fire. Dany questioned everything, explored everywhere, expressed a fiery temper at everyone, and included Jon in nearly everything she did. She did have a charm about her, but she was not shy in deploying it… as she did now with an innocent smile and adorable dimples. "Just walking."
"I'll wager." Elia approached Jaime. "And where did you find them?"
Jaime shrugged. "In the garden, playing with butterflies."
"Well, if that's all it was," Rhaella started, "Then it is fine." Both little ones seemed almost relieved. "But if I ask the kitchen servants, would they inform me of the origins of the crumbs on your cheek, Daenerys." Dany's eyes widened in horror, tongue swiping her lip - feeling the tiny specks of the apple tart she had been snacking on before the gardens.
Jon was indignant. "Dany, you said you know how to get away." Quiet he was, but he had the combined tempers of all three of his parents when truly ired.
"I didn't know…" Normally confident, Dany sunk into herself. It was a heartbreaking sight. "Please no be mad, we hungry." The kitchen servants loved the royal brood. Pastries were often pilfered with them turning a blind eye.
Chuckling, Elia couldn't be mad at her little boy. "Was it just one each?" They both bobbed their heads, and one look at Rhaella made it clear both she and Elia believed they were telling the truth. "Good, but you shouldn't have snuck off. Today is tourney day."
Both of them brightened up. "We see kepa?!" Jon asked excitedly.
"We see dwagons?!" Dany asked, equally excited.
"You will," Rhaella replied." And at least you kept your outfits clean. Mischievous as they were, the pair knew they were royalty and acted accordingly. "Alright, let's fetch your brother and sister and head out."
"Uncle Vis be there?" Jon asked, looking up at his grandmother, holding his little aunt."
"I'll make sure of it."
With a grunt, Lord Yohn Royce picked himself up from the ground. His muscles ached as he brushed the sand off his armor. "You alright, my Lord?"
Royce looked up to see King Rhaegar looking down at him - the man that had just unseated him in the second tilt of their joust. A man of complete honor. Royce bowed. "As alright as I can be, your Grace. Pride wounded though."
Rhaegar chuckled. "You were a worthy opponent, Lord Royce. I am glad that on the field of battle, you fought alongside me." While one was grounded and the other mounted, they clasped their hands in a firm shake.
"Go kepa!" Jon shouted, cheering for his father from the royal box, as he had for each joust of the tourney so far. The defending champion, Rhaegar displayed his power and skill by unhorsing every opponent that came against him to the delight of both the crowd and his children.
Now only one opponent remained.
Huffing, Rhaenys crossed her arms as said opponent emerged. "I can't believe anyone would challenge kepa, let alone a craven that keeps her face hidden." Smart beyond her years, her vocabulary was impeccable. "A Laughing Weirwood sigil, stupid."
Elia bit back a laugh at the obvious irony at it all. "It only adds to the drama to have a mystery knight, little dragon."
Rhaenys wasn't convinced. "Why would muna give Winter to him? Or Aunt Dacey be her squire?" Smart as she was, she didn't connect the dots.
"Your muna does enjoy sponsoring the downtrodden, granddaughter," Rhaella interjected.
"Why can't muna be here?" Egg asked expectantly. While Jon and Daenerys were too engrossed by the jousts, quiet Prince Aegon was more introspective.
Elia sighed. "She was feeling… under the weather." She bit her lip, not wanting to ruin the obvious surprise - she had been surprised at first seeing it - while the Knight of the Laughing Tree readied for the final joust of the tourney.
Winter and Moondancer had reached their positions opposite each other on the freshly sanded jousting field. Both Rhaegar and the Knight of the Laughing Tree kept their lances up high, shields tucked loosely into their sides. "I cannot watch this," Elia murmured.
"You need not worry, your Grace," Ashara whispered behind her. "They are both accomplished riders."
"A man died at a tourney in Lannisport only five moons ago," Elia shot back.
Rhaella snorted. "That was against Gregor Clegane. He is a brute and a fiend." Had she not been holding Dany and among her grandchildren, there was no doubt the Hand would have used harsher words. "There shan't be worry of grievous injury today."
Elia wasn't mollified. "You can't possibly know that."
Seated in the chair normally assigned to Rhaegar, Jon tugged on Elia's sleeve. "Cheer kepa, muna." His violet eyes were insistent.
Smiling, Elia kissed the crown of his head. "I do wish for your father to win, but a Queen must keep her dignity."
Rhaenys snorted. "I'll do it, Jon. GO KEPA!" she screamed out, to which Jon clapped his hands.
"Win, brother!" Dany screeched just as loud, which was enough to galvanize the crowd to cheer for Rhaegar as well.
"They certainly love their King," Ash smirked.
Elia smirked back. "As they do the mystery knight." The whims of the smallfolk would fritter when two favorites competed… none could hate either of them. Hence the real reason Elia refrained from rooting for any.
But her breath hitched as the horn sounded, beginning the first tilt of the final joust of the tourney. Immediately, the horses erupted from their starting positions - clouds of sand kicked into the air as the hooves gained traction. Both knights held on expertly, bouncing with the gait of their mounts. Down dropped the lances while they readied their shields, only moments away from contact...
A draw. Rhaegar's lance crashed into the shield of the mystery knight, shattering upon impact. Such also happened to the Mystery knight, though the King was less staggered than his leaner opponent. Both horses slowed, looping around back into alternate starting positions as Dacey and Monford raced forward with new lances for their masters.
"That went well for both of them," Rhaella mused, leaning back.
"Both are going easy on the other for now," Elia replied. "That won't last."
Dany looked up at her mother. "Brother will win, muna?"
Rhaella stroked her back. "One shall, but both are worthy of the honor." Dany's brows knit in confusion, but for once she didn't ask further as the horn blew again.
The second tilt ended in advantage for Rhaegar, the Mystery Knight's blow glancing off his shoulderplate while Rhaegar hit his opponent directly in the center of the shield. The knight nearly toppled from Winter, but only just righted and stayed mounted. The third tilt, much to Elia's worry, was the reverse, Rhaegar getting massive punch in the upper chest that made him grit his teeth in pain. The Valyrian armor was strong and didn't buckle, but it was certainly a tough blow.
"We're in for a good show," Arthur commented, crossing his arms.
"Gods help me," Elia muttered.
Four tilts turned into five, which turned into seven, and then into twelve. Any cheers from the crowd or errant discussions among the highborn had died down with baited breath at the titanic clash between the Sunrise Dragon and the Knight of the Laughing Tree, both living legends.
"This is amazing," Rhaenys said, her violet eyes lit up in awe at the clash. "Like Kepa fighting Lord Baratheon."
Elia snorted. "Robert isn't as good as the mystery knight is."
"I believe your sentiments are a bit biased, your Grace," Arthur replied just as the twelfth tilt finished in the third draw in a row. "But I was there. You are quite correct."
"That whoring fool was smart not to show up this time," Rhaella hissed. "I would've hauled him into the Black Cells as Rhaegar should've."
New lances held tightly in their mailed fists, the two competitors erupted as soon as the horn sounded. They were tired - nay, completely exhausted - but gritted their teeth and charged forward. Rhaegar stood straight, muscles tense, while the Knight of the Laughing Tree rested low in the saddle, hunched over and expression unreadable under the helm. Elia looked away as the lances clashed together.
The Mystery Knight was hit in the shoulder, but the feet tightly jabbed into the stirrups managed only just to stop a fall.
Rhaegar was hit in the side, staggering him and forcing him from the saddle… crashing into the ground. A hushed gasp overwhelmed the crowd. The King had been defeated, a Targaryen royal no less… such was unheard of in centuries, and the rare examples were against fellow Targaryens. Trotting to a halt, the Mystery Knight looked at the fallen King, tensing up as if whomever it was was truly concerned… Only to relax as Rhaegar stood, removing his helm and grabbing a towel from his squire.
The King was fine, and now the Knight of the Laughing Tree removed her own helm… revealing Queen Lyanna Targaryen to all - both those that knew the secret and didn't.
Each of the royal children were gaping in shock. "Muna?" Jon was confused.
"I can't believe it," Egg breathed.
Silent for a moment, Rhaenys lurched from her seat. "MUNA!" Her hands clapped as loud as she could, which was picked up by everyone in the royal box… and soon melted into the rest of the now adoring crowd.
"LYANNA! LYANNA! LYANNA!" If their great King would lose to anyone, they would want it to be the She-Wolf of House Targaryen. Resting in her saddle, Lyanna smiled humbly and bowed to the crowd. To Elia, she hadn't ever looked more beautiful.
Wiping the sheen of sweat off his brow, Rhaegar climbed the steps to the royal box with helm removed but still in his armor - much as he wished to strip it off, doing so in front of the large crowd wasn't advisable. Ser Oswell stepped aside to allow him entry, to which he was mobbed by his children. "You were amazing, kepa," Rhaenys beamed.
"You and muna the best," Aegon added, his voice halting but smile bright.
Jon was jumping up and down. "Up, kepa, up!" Laughing, Rhaegar lifted Jon into the crook of his arm, kissing his heir on the cheek… a move which coaxed another chorus of raucous cheers from the crowd. If there was anything that the smallfolk loved more than seeing their king and queens as mighty rulers, it was seeing them as a tight, loving family. After decades of Targaryen infighting, it was as refreshing as it was for the equally popular Aegon V.
Chuckling with his son, Rhaegar eased himself next to Elia. "My Queen."
"My King," she replied lovingly. "I believe it is time, lest you wish to be a bad sport?"
He snorted. "Can't have that." Motioning with one hand, a servant trotted forth with the crown of love and beauty. "Queen Lyanna Targaryen, present yourself to your King."
Handing off her helm to Dacey, Lyanna spurred Winter towards the royal box - where she normally sat, but where she quite enjoyed looking up at her element now that her husband and wife wore the crown. She bowed in the saddle. "Your Graces, it was the greatest honor to participate under your aegis." A tiny grin plied at her lips.
Cheeky wench. Rhaegar's eyes glinted in mirth as he took the crown of flowers. Where once they were blue winter roses, now they were red-orange Dornish Apple blooms. "You are truly a victor in every sense of the world, and today I proclaim you champion of the King's Tourney. The winner's prize of ten thousand gold dragons is yours."
"Your Grace, I ask that my winnings are distributed to the orphanage and healing houses of King's Landing. I have no use for such coin." The crowd went wild for Lyanna, shouting her name and tossing flowers of their own for the Winter Queen they so adored… if some of the highborns watching curled their lips in disgust. They shrank back as Lyanna glared at them, but she otherwise waved at the crowd with a smile until they died down. "I only ask to hold the honor of crowning the Queen of Love and Beauty." She spurred Winter till she was right adjacent to the box, able to look her husband, wife, and children in the eye.
Smiling at his wife, Rhaegar handed her the crown of Dornish apple. "Choose wisely. Kingdoms have risen and fallen by such wise or poor choices, my Queen."
Pursing her lips, Lyanna peered at the crown of flowers. "Hmmmm… I am curious as to the rules sworn to this tradition. Lady Hand?"
Rhaella, Daenerys sitting in her lap and riveted to the scene before them, blinked. "Yes, your Grace?"
"Since there is nothing forbidding a woman from participating in a tourney if she meets the requirements, would it be possible to crown a King of Love and Beauty…" Her grin widened. "Because I believe his Grace is deserving of such an honor."
Hearing her words, Rhaegar groaned and buried his head in Jon's curls. Lyanna speaking loudly, the entire tourney grounds had been able to pick up at least the gist of her words. A roar of laughter - or mortification in terms of the more traditional persons - overwhelmed the crowd, as it did the royal box. Elia merely giggled and Ser Barristan bit back a snicker, while the unabashed laughter of the others was infectious.
Young Jon, confused, looked from his father to his mother. "Kepa need all crowns, muna," he said both matter-of-factly and rather loudly, only exacerbating the laughter. Even Lady Melisandre and High Septon Meribald weren't immune to it.
Keeping her composure, a smirk gracing her lips, Rhaella cleared her throat. "There is no rule forbidding it, your Grace. Custom might, but women do not usually win tourney jousts so I cannot think of an example to guide you."
Nodding in understanding, Lya regarded her husband - finding the crown of Aegon the Conquerer on his head. "No, I think his current crown is deserving enough." Without undue delay, she shifted her gaze to Elia. "My Queen, if you would please?"
Blushing, Elia complied to another round of cheers - the throats of the smallfolk that adored them with adulation were undoubtedly to be hoarse for the rest of the day if their screams were any indication. Dipping her head, the ringlet of Dornish apple blooms soon made its new home atop her raven hair. She drew back, the deepest affection for Lyanna reflected back in her wife's eyes. "I am honored, your Grace."
"The honor is mine, your Grace," Lyanna replied, inconspicuously winking.
"Muna pwetty," Jon announced, leaning over from Rhaegar's grasp to kiss Elia's cheek sloppily. "She no pwetty, kepa?"
"She certainly is, my boy," Rhaegar boomed, wrapping an arm round her waist and kissing her on the lips. Releasing her, he drew Blackfyre one handed and raised it in the air. "To Queen Lyanna."
"TO QUEEN LYANNA!"
Sunlight streaked through the thick canopy above. An early morning mist still hung over the ground, creating a dazzling glow wherever the bright spears of light penetrated the leaves. Small groups of birds fluttered about, devouring the summer insects that took advantage of the rare warmth to multiply. A swallow snatched one between its beak, landing atop the branches of the great weirwood tree - its red body blended in well with the red of its leaves.
Watching the tranquility of nature, Lord Ned Stark let out a happy sigh. Up came his hand, clutching a washrag that stroked his fine Valyrian Steel blade. Polishing up to the hilt, he reversed course down Ice's massive length. Up and down, up and down, over and over again until the steel of the greatsword would shine as a looking glass.
He sighed in contentment, leaning against the large rock that served as his mount. Summer was finally here and with it life was brought to the North. Wintertown had emptied as men and women dashed to till the soil, keeps negotiated for massive deliveries of goods from merchants in White Harbor, and riders and ravens crisscrossed the flowering landscape as put off political positioning was restarted with a vengeance. Taking advantage of their newfound strength as the land of one of the Queens, many Northern Lords were holding out for significant political marriages with Southern houses.
All potential headaches for Ned, but here in the Godswood he could enjoy the beauty of summer. The rare peace and tranquility it offered to those of the North. As Warden, he required solitude more than most. Few were ever allowed to disturb him as he continued to rhythmically polish Ice.
While he should've noticed the gentle crinkle of grass behind him, Ned was so distracted by the rare tranquility that it didn't register on him till the intruder leapt on his shoulders. "Daddy! Daddy!" Tiny arms tangled around Ned's neck as Ice fell to the ground, Ned almost knocked off his perch. "I gotted you!"
Few could disturb him, but from his jovial chuckle his daughter was one of them. "Gods, Sansa, you're a true direwolf." Insistent, Ned reached up and pulled his baby girl off of him… and dropped her on his lap. "But you cannot match the alpha," Ned chuckled as he began tickling her.
Sansa wriggled about, trying to flinch away from her father's ticklish assault. "Stop daddy!" she squealed, laughing all the while. Eventually though, Ned stopped and Sansa composed herself. "Ewww, mud." She avoided the wet patch of soil and stood on the boulder next to Ned, smoothing out her dress.
Ned watched with amusement. "You know, pup, it's fine to step in the mud."
She looked at him as if he sprouted two heads. "Mama say a pwoppa lady need be clean." Dress unrumpled, she touched her hair to see if the feather pleats in her hair were intact. "Plus mud ewww."
Chuckling again, Ned kissed his daughter's cheek. Soft and dainty, Sansa looked exactly like her mother with the fire-red hair and willowy features - aside from the grey eyes, which were an almost mirror copy of Lyanna's. But there was a study in contrasts about her. One moment she was a perfect lady with the perfect mannerisms and agreeableness, and the next she was as wild as her aunt had been… aside from her manifest aversion of being dirty.
A she-wolf in Jonquil's clothing as Old Nan dubbed her, to which the proud father couldn't disagree with.
"Be with you, daddy?" she asked, fluttering her lashes sweetly.
How could he say no? "You most certainly can, Lady Stark… just be respectful of where we are." He pointed to the face carved in the weirwood.
Sansa nodded, suddenly solemn. "Yes daddy."
While Sansa had the wolfsblood, whomever now came to disturb Ned's peace broke twigs and struggled against the thick undergrowth of the Godswood - any hunter would hang their head in shame. "My Lord, have you seen…" Septa Mordane emerged in the clearing round the heart tree, a worried expression transforming into her normal sour frown. "Oh, there you are, Lady Sansa."
Ever so slightly, Ned felt his daughter cringe behind him. "What seems to be a problem, Septa?" He forced himself to be polite.
"Well… forgive me, My Lord, for disturbing you. But it seems that the young Lady chose to skip her morning prayers in the Sept."
"Is this true?" he asked Sansa. The girl nodded, her red hair bobbing up and down. "Why would you do that?"
Mordane huffed. "Because she is too willful and wild, like her…" Wisely, she trailed off from what she wanted to say, but Ned wasn't daft. Wild like her aunt. His eyes narrowed. "She needs to learn the discipline of a proper maiden or woe to any chance of a betrothal. Now, come along, Sansa."
"No."
The frown deepened. "Do not defy me…"
"Let my daughter speak," Ned spat, which halted her in her tracks. "Why did you skip your prayers?" It truly rankled him that Catelyn insisted in such southern pursuits for his daughter and heir, but the woman was a generally good mother and he tolerated it. "You may tell me, pup."
Sansa bit her lip. "Sept no like. Cold and stone hurt knees… it creepy."
"Understandable," Ned mused. "A Stark of the North must hew to the Northern tradition."
"Lord Stark." Mordane was indignant. "You can't possibly deny her a proper education in favor of…"
"Of what? The traditions and faith of the people she will rule as Lady of Winterfell?" Ned growled, shutting her up. "I've decided her morning prayers won't be necessary today. She shall spend the time with me instead."
Mordane sputtered. "Lord Stark… this is highly…"
He held up a hand. "I've made my decision. Leave us." Scowling at the both of them, Mordane nevertheless curtseyed and bid them farewell. "You don't like her, do you?" Ned asked Sansa.
"She mean," Sansa replied. "Smack hand when I slip words."
Ned sighed. "I'll have to talk to your mother about that." But not now… he still didn't wish to be disturbed, and now Sansa was his for the morning. "Tell you what." He sheathed his sword. "How's about we go to the crypts and I'll teach you about your ancestors. Only Starks are allowed there so it'll be just you and me." Beaming, Sansa clapped her hands.
As night fell, Sansa was long since tucked into bed - her little body at the brink of exhaustion after running around all through the crypts. Seated at his desk in the Lord's solar, he reminisced at how she asked about each of the sarcophagi and then only half listened. I'll have to explain it to her again when she's older. He looked forward to it.
Few could enter into his solar without permission. His wife was one of them. "Ned!" Ah hells… He winced at her shrill yell. "How dare you pull Sansa out of her prayers this morning!"
Taking a deep breath, Ned kept his voice soft and calm. "She's a darling child, Cat. One day enjoying herself at this age isn't much to ask."
Frowning. Catelyn waddled towards him. Her belly swelled with the gravid form of their second child, hopefully a son and heir as Catelyn hoped. Ned had decided long ago to keep Sansa as his heir as the eldest, but hadn't broached it to Cat. "You don't understand, Ned. Our daughter is the niece of the Queen, cousin of the future King, and heir to the Lord of Winterfell. She will be pursued by the most august of houses for marriage and she needs to know these things lest she fail to charm the knights and Lords of the south."
"Seven hells, Cat." Ned put his head in his hands. Mordane had the same argument and he found it perverse. "Sansa is three namedays old. Must we barter her about like a cow on market day?"
"If you don't wish to allow this land to ruin, then you'd listen to me. She needs to learn how to be a proper Lady inculcated in the Seven."
He pursed his lips. "Sansa is a northerner. She must learn the northern gods."
"And she will… once she memorizes these. Your rituals and ceremonies do not have the intricacies as ours do." He'd choose not to find that a patronizing insult… He learned to do that quite alot with Cat. "She'll spend double the time tomorrow in the Sept. I'll see to it personally." Without letting him answer, Catelyn waddled out of the solar.
Lowering his head to the desktop, Ned allowed his thoughts to occupy a forbidden place. Of golden hair and supple curves… of a face that smiled at him and emerald eyes that looked at him with adoration.
If only the fates hadn't been so cruel.
"Mmmmm, my beautiful knight," Elia murmured sultrily, pulling Lyanna into the bedchamber. The she-wolf was now removed of her martial outfit, the gown she wore a black and red one that mirrored Elia's for the most part. But at the moment, Elia was doing her best to rend the garment from her. "I believe you are overdressed."
"A sentiment I concur with." Rhaegar shut the bedchamber door behind him, toeing off his boots and removing his doublet quickly. Clad in trousers and an undertunic, he rounded his brides and sat upon the bed. A show better than any mummers troupe could perform. "Continue. I shall join in a minute." Lascivious purple eyes watched it with a lustful glint.
Lyanna moaned as Elia sucked at her neck, one a northern dress would have covered but the southern dresses she normally wore as Queen left deliciously bare. "Fuck… you have to bare yourself as well… but not the crown." Still resting on Elia's head was the crown of love and beauty, orange petals accentuating her olive skin quite beautifully. "Keep it… keep it on."
"I shall, my warrior queen," Elia moaned against Lya's skin, soothing a red bruise with her tongue as her gown pooled in a heap about her feet. In the great hall the feast was still merry, the sounds of frivolity even audible from Maegor's Holdfast. But the royals couldn't wait… they needed each other, and so to their bedchamber did they hurry.
Their bed was large enough for the three of them, Rhaegar not having to move aside as Elia pulled Lyanna atop it. The two women were kissing each other, hands frantically touching any piece of exposed skin. The last few years had been utter bliss in their family lives, whenever the stresses of ruling could be banished away for quiet moments together. Wonderful days with their children, awe at seeing the first dragons in centuries grow and train, and breathless passion that left their toes curled and sweat coating their bodies. "You're mine."
"Yesss…" Gods, it was perfect. Her life was perfect. "Oh fuck, Lya…" Elia moaned softly as her wife's hand made its way down her body to her core, already soaked with the dampness of her arousal. Two fingers entered her, immediately searching for her special spot. Elia nearly screamed when Lya found it. Her hands moved to paw at Lya's breasts, only to find them still clothed. "Gods… get… dress… off…"
Growling, Lyanna tried to sit upright, but it was hard as she still pleasured Elia. "My King…" she called out sweetly but huskily. "Your Queen could use your assistance."
Eyes hungry and cock straining against his trousers, Rhaegar practically lunged. He planted his hands at her waist to tug out her dress, starting to place kisses on Lyanna's neck. She tilted her head back, allowing her husband more access. The pleasure from his lips made her increase the speed of her fingers inside Elia.
"That's right, scream for us, viper," Lyanna moaned, then positioning herself between Elia's legs. "Is this what you wanted?"
"Yes, my loves, please…" Elia begged, her hand going for Rhaegar's rapidly hardening cock. At the feeling of her hand on him, he let out a moan. Rhaegar made a mad dash to divest himself of his clothes.
Once he was fully naked, he positioned himself - on his knees - next to Elia and put his cock right at her lips.
"Your mouth, my love," Rhaegar said. "Please."
Elia obeyed and immediately ran her tongue up the length of his shaft and let out a groan as Lyanna licked a trail up her slit. She fought a scream of pleasure, instead sucking harder. Hungering for his seed. One hand gripped his hip, while the other weaved into Lya's chestnut hair. The pressure quickly built after an entire day of denial and it was exhilarating.
"Oh fuck…" Rhaegar's deep grunts in Valyrian reached the cores of both Queens, Elia taking him deeper while Lyanna's fingers found her own flower to relieve the burning ache there. "You are perfect, my loves. So perfect…" He trailed off as Elia's hand softly stroking his stones sent him over the top, emptying into Elia's mouth.
Sucking it all up as if the best tasting nectar, Elia crashed over the edge as Lyanna hit her sacred spot just as her tongue swiped over her nub. "Seven bloody hells," she gasped, head falling onto the pillows.
Lyanna climbed atop her, tongue plunging in her mouth. "Gods, you taste good… as does our husband." They both looked over to see him stroking his cock, getting it hard once again. Lya ground her core against Elia's hips in arousal. "You better be ready to pleasure us, my King."
His eyes were so dark to appear black. "Do not wake the dragon, Lya."
Both grinned. "What if we want him awoken?" Elia asked innocently.
He rose, stare predatory… making them shudder. "I warned you… now to the consequences." Lyanna and Elia gladly submitted.
What had to be an hour later, all three were cuddled closely together under the thick down blankets, trembling in the aftershock of their pleasurable evening. "We need to do this more often," Lya sighed, kissing Rhaegar's chest.
Rhaegar smirked. "I still haven't taken either of you on the Iron Throne yet."
Elia smacked him on the chest. "Lecher." Though the thought was so incredibly naughty that she simpered in the delight of it.
There was a rapping on their door, intruding on the moment. "Your Graces." Poor Oswell was apparently the one stuck with nighttime guard duty… especially the pleasurable noises that would assault his ears. "You have a visitor."
Rhaegar groaned. "Tell whomever it is to bugger off," he called out, while the Queens wore similarly annoyed looks.
"I don't believe I can do that. You may wish to dress… your Graces." He was nothing if not formal.
"Seven hells," Elia murmured, her Dornish accent deep whenever she was irritated or angry. "If this is Varys with some song and dance his birds dredged up I do not wish to hear it."
Lyanna tossed a nightgown to her wife before letting one slip over her head and shoulders. "I doubt it's Varys." The gown ran down to right below her knees, scandalous for most women but one Lyanna didn't mind due to her own daring nature - plus it enticed Rhaegar just as Elia's much more risque Dornish sleepwear did… not that they really wore sleepwear in bed. "Probably Baelish. How Elbert Arryn saw potential in him is astonishing."
"He's somewhat competent so I put up with him," Rhaegar replied, already in a loose tunic and trousers. He didn't like the chief clerk of the Master of Coin, but he didn't think much of the man.
"Brandon always called him Littlefinger."
Elia snorted. "Three tries to where that name hailed from." Each of them shared a chuckle. "Let the visitor in," the Dornish Queen said, annoyance returning.
All trace of annoyance faded from all of them as the door opened and a tiny figure ambled inside on unsteady legs. "Muna… kepa?" Oswell flashed a ghost of an 'I told you so' grin before he closed the door behind the young Crown Prince.
Closest to the door, Elia rushed to her son. "Jon, my love. What's wrong?" She knelt and hugged him close, now thankful she had her nightgown on. The smell of sex was still in the room, but behind Rhaegar thought quickly and opened one of the shutters.
Jon, for his part, buried his face in Elia's shoulder. "No sleep."
"Oh, little pup." Lyanna was hot on Elia's heels, sandwiching their dragonwolf between them. "Did you have a bad dream?" He poked out of Elia's grasp and nodded, black curls bobbing even as unshed tears made his purple eyes shine. Lya sighed. "Wanna talk about it?"
Trembling, Jon bit his lip. "Fwire," he murmured. "And blue-eye monsters. And black… so many black…" It proved too much for him and he sought out Elia's embrace again.
"Shhhh… shhhh…" Lya placed a kiss on his head while Elia stroked his back. "Would you like to sleep with your kepa and munas tonight?" He bobbed his head again, enthusiastically, though the trembling didn't cease. "Rhaegar?" Elia already knew he'd absolutely agree, but Jon was growing too big for her to easily carry.
The King quickly scooped up his son. "'Ere we go, hatchling." Jon clung to his father as if he'd perish upon letting go. "The Sunrise Dragon and his Queens will protect you from the monsters."
One by one they settled into bed, Jon scrambling to crawl in between his munas. Rhaegar didn't take it personally, only wishing the court painter could quickly sketch this for a later work. "Kepa…" Jon murmured. "I's sworry."
He furrowed his brows, seeing Lya and Elia were equally confused. "Why, my son?"
"I's not a stwong dwagon like you or grammy." In his childlike mind, such was the worst thing in the world.
"Oh, hatchling." Rhaegar ruffled his hair. "Even a dragon needs the love of his creche. You need not think bravery means loneliness."
Lyanna kissed his cheek. "Remember, pup. Wolves and dragons are not meant to be alone. The Lone wolf dies, but…"
"Pack swuvives." Jon had heard it many times from his muna, and understood it enough for the words to calm his heart. "I love you."
"We love you too, sweetling," Elia cooed.
The door opened again, Oswell not bothering to announce a new arrival this time. It was soon apparent he didn't need to. "Brother." An equally small figure, hair and nightgown disheveled from sleep and panic, stared at the bed with wide, violet eyes. "Jon not in bed. I's scared."
Hearing her, Jon looked up. "Dany!" The Prince motioned for her. "I's here. Come." Dany needed no urging before she ran to the foot of the bed and climbed on… ultimately ending up between Rhaegar and Lyanna.
"You scared me, Jon," she almost scolded, but her lip quivered in past fright. "Don't leave me."
"I sorry… I won't." The two toddlers hugged each other over Lyanna's stomach, black hair mixing with silver.
Smiling softly at the sweet sight of his son and his sister, Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Want me to fetch your muna, Daenerys?"
"No!" she almost shouted. "I stay with Jon."
"Alright, alright," Elia said softly, trying not to giggle at how tooth-rotting the scene was. "But you two need to sleep." Reluctantly, they disentangled from each other… and were out like a candle not long after. "Some would say their closeness is weak, but I don't think so."
Lyanna nodded. "Bonds such as these cannot be severed, especially among dragons." Two mischievous eyes glanced at Rhaegar.
He shrugged. "Perhaps." With them both asleep, his mind turned elsewhere.
This caught the Queens' attention. "Rhaegar?" Lya asked.
Rhaegar sighed. "Those dreams Jon has… they could be dragon dreams. Portends of the future - Targaryens ever since Daenys the Dreamer have had them."
"Blue-eyes… they remind me of Old Nan's tales of the Long Night." Lyanna shuddered at the thought.
"But what of the blackness he talked about?" Elia's brows knit until it came to her. "You don't think…"
Rhaegar reached out to touch their shoulders, comforting them. "Whatever it is, we will stop it and protect our babes." Both Queens nodded.
Dragons answered to neither man nor god… nothing could hope to defeat them.
At the near edges of the known world, the frivolity and healing of the center of Westeros were nonexistent. Rule of the Iron Throne did not concentrate here, it followed its own way. An ancient way. The Iron Way.
Over a hundred men and women gathered in a sheltered cove, protected from the worst of the gales and storms that often tormented the Iron Islands. They parted way, armed guards escorting Lord Balon Greyjoy towards the beach. Only yesterday did Lord Quellon die, and the long-hidden plot reached its zenith. There was no choice but to commence it now, and with resolve and warlike excitement that they waded into the breach.
They did not reap. They did not sow.
Fresh seaweed tied into his hair, Aeron Greyjoy watched as his brother waded into the estuary, crabby face alight with an uncharacteristic zeal. Oh brother… you cheer that for which our destruction shall be forged from. But he was a Greyjoy, and he would never betray his house even if it were barreling towards destruction. Such was not the Iron Way.
With the remainder of his brothers, goodsisters, nieces, and nephews waiting by the shore in their finery - considering the nature of their people, not the sort that greenlanders would call finery - only Balon and two guards joined Aeron in the water. Brackish waves lapped at their waists as the wind blew against the shore, kraken banners whipping in the wind. "Who comes to seek the mantle of the Drowned God?" Aeron began, his voice powerful.
Balon's smile grew wider. "I, Balon of House Greyjoy, firstborn son of Lord Quellon Greyjoy and Lord of Pyke." Exhilaration filled him as he knelt in the water. Why shouldn't he be happy? For the first time since Black Harren Hoare, the Ironborn would assert their superiority over the greenlanders. It was truly time.
Without delay, Aeron seized the back of his brother's neck and shoved him in the water - bubbles fountianing out as Balon was so suddenly enveloped by the sea. "Let Balon, your servant, be born again from the sea as you were." The voice boomed across the cove, letting all present know what was being said, the momentous occurrence that it was. They faced it with hard stares and indifference.
"Brother…" a young boy asked, tugging on the soon to be Prince Rodrik's hand. "What are they doing?"
"Shut up," Rodrik hissed.
The boy's eyes were wide with fright. "But they'll kill him."
An open palm cuffed him hard upon the head. "Shut up, Theon," Rodrik hissed again. "Be a man." Lip quivering, Theon obeyed… the only thought in his head being of his father dying. Do they want him to die? Surely they weren't so heartless.
But he was in for a rude surprise. If Balon died, then he wasn't the strong leader their god wished for. It didn't matter. There were plenty of others who could lead them to victory.
For a reaver raised on a speck of wind-swept rock, sentimentality led to death.
"Bless him with sword," Aeron continued. "Bless him with salt. Bless him with steel and wind. Listen to the waves and to the god, for he is speaking to us." The writhing and faint gasping of a drowning man grew less and less frantic, blackness quickly overcoming the Lord of Pyke. "Listen, for he says we have no King but Balon Greyjoy."
"Uncle?" A short, pudgy girl looked up at Euron. "Is Theon right?" She looked worryingly at her youngest brother.
Euron shrugged. "Perhaps, Asha. We'll see if your daddy is strong enough." There was nothing comforting about his statement.
Balon's struggles ceased, his body going limp. "Let the sea wash your follies away - let it kill the old Balon. Let him drown as his lungs fill with seawater." One last gasp. "Let the fish eat the scales off his eyes. What is dead may never die."
"What is dead may never die!" shouted the collective throats of all those present.
"But it rises from the sea harder and stronger." Role concluded, Aeron let go and stepped away. Both guards grabbed the limp, floating body of their supposed King and dragged him ashore. Balon was tossed onto the rocky beach, hair matted to his forehead and ceremonial robes drenched… face white with cold.
His bothers and children formed a ragged semicircle around the still form, joined by the various Lords of the Iron Isles underneath their own house banners. They walked within about six feet of where Balon laid but didn't move. Didn't attempt to help, instead simply watching. Waiting. All in complete silence except for the wind and the cawing of seagulls.
Little Theon was close to tears. "Father…" He tried to move to him, but was kicked in the pit of his knee by his elder brother Maron. That dissuaded Asha, feeling the same way but far smarter in not showcasing it.
"Is he dead?" snorted Lord Orkwood.
"Let me see." Euron stepped forward, looked over his elder brother with a curious, contemptuous look, and then suddenly gave him a kick in the ribs.
At that moment Balon erupted, eyes wide as he coughed up torrents of seawater. Coughing, sputtering atop the ground in desperate retches, he had nonetheless survived the trial of the Drowned God.
Picking up the Driftwood Crown from where it rested atop a mossy rock, Aeron dropped it on his brother's matted, salty hair. "What is dead may never die."
"What is dead may never die!"
Beyond the shelter of the cove were the four hundred warships of the Iron Fleet, stationed at anchor and waiting for the order to sail against the Seven Kingdoms. An order their new King would soon give.
A/N: Aren't little Jon and Dany so freaking adorable?! Close even from the youngest age, not to mention baby Sansa. Can already spot the difference from her canon side.
And so we have the new additions to House Targaryen, Elia's daughter Alyssa and Rhaella's daughter Myrcella (yep, a Targaryen version of that Myrcella).
And fuck, the Ironborn preparing themselves.
Until next time, my friends. Be sure to comment :D