A/N: Hey all! I'm fully vaccinated and feeling great!

Great news! My new story about Maegor and the Conquerors have been posted. It's called Dragonshield and I would be so stoked if you guys checked it out!

And now on to the new adventures of our dragon family :D

Enjoy.

Chapter 71: Alight

The Red Keep was large. Besides the dragonpit - used to house beasts as large as Balerion the Black Dread - it was the largest single structure or set of structures in King's Landing. Such extended to the royal quarters of Maegor's Holdfast, the once protective fortress long softened into one of comfort and magnificence by Viserys I and Daeron II. Each of the King and two Queens spirited their own solar, and it was in Elia's in which the aforementioned Dornish Queen currently resided.

She was not alone, however. "In regards to whispers from far off lands," Lord Varys said. "A slave revolt in Yunkai has come to an ignominious end when the Wise Masters were reinforced by Unsullied forces loaned by the Good Masters of Astapor."

Queen Elia frowned. "I presume that the Unsullied were ordered to…"

"Kill them all, yes." Elia sighed. Her goodsister Mellario was a notorious slaveholder in Norvos, escaping charges in Westeros since the Norvosi were not under the jurisdiction of the King's Justice. "My birds song of the Yunkish running out of crosses to punish the rebels."

"Quite…" Elia had seen Mellario execute a slave by crucifixion once. Never again would she tolerate it. The Unsullied are also slave soldiers… "The markets and merchant fleets will be busy resupplying new slaves for the Yunkish."

Varys nodded. "An opportunity of our own ships to handle grain convoys."

Quite bloodless, taking advantage of mass human bondage campaigns… but the Seven Kingdoms weren't a part of it - they'd need the coin to replenish the treasury. All their projects had drained quite a lot of it. "Do it, but any captain taking part in the slave trade is to be hung or sent to the Wall. Understood?"

"Of course, your Grace."

Elia nodded. "You're dismissed." It was clear that Varys was done speaking, even if he had more information dwelling in his mind. Ruddy face and body starting to go to fat showed someone nonthreatening, but Elia knew better.

What are you hiding, Varys? What are you hiding?

Too engrossed in her dispatches, Elia didn't notice the footsteps outside the door till it opened, startling her. Wondering why her uncle let whomever it was disturb her, she looked up with an annoyed scowl only to find her husband entering. "Oh, it's you."

Snorting, Rhaegar shut the door behind him. "Such a declaration of affection, that was."

Elia sighed. "Apologies, my love." The weight of it all heavy on her slumped shoulders, she rose. Arms outstretching to take him in a tight embrace. "The songs never detail the stresses of an active sovereign." Lips searching out his, a shudder of contentment washed through her.

They kissed languidly, enjoying being together after a long day of pressing business. Times such as these were a refuge for the royal family, and they sought them out greedily. Rhaegar broke the kiss and leaned his forehead on hers. "I would suggest that you try to ease off yourself, but I cannot give advice that I wouldn't take."

"You're a good King, husband, and I hope that I can match your need in a Queen."

"You do." He kissed her cheek. "Perhaps I can grant her Grace some assistance." Rhaegar leaned against the desk. "I have experience in such matters, though not of her caliber."

Grinning, she moved to her seat while running her hand down his arm. "I could be persuaded to accept your advice, however unoriginal it shall be." Gods, for Elia it seemed as if their first four years of marriage - excepting the happy moments of bonding with their babes - were but a nightmare than reality. Everything now was simply… bliss. Even the mundane portions. Picking up another stack of dispatches, Elia could only bask in the happiness.

Unlike most, she would never take it for granted.

"Varys greeted me in the halls not long before I arrived," Rhaegar began. "I am aware of your feelings of mistrust to him, so what worries you specifically?"

"He… he is knowledgeable at this craft. Greatly so." Elia would be a fool to discount Varys' talents - even if one was an enemy, underestimating them as a form of ridicule was unwise. "While normally he would proffer his whispers at the Small Council, I wished to hear his findings myself." Reaching out to grab another dispatch, she winced. "Hells. Fucking shoulder. I told Lya that position would be difficult."

An eyebrow rose. "Oh? This is a story I do not yet know." He grinned down on her. "Given I did not witness this action of my disobedient Queens first hand, do share."

Elia rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't the letcher King like to know." He licked his lips, but when Elia reached up to smack his side, her shoulder ached again. "Ahhh…" Her grimace was evident.

"Easy, my love. Easy." Rhaegar eased her arms down, walking behind her. "You may be disobedient, but I cannot stand my Dornish beauty in any sort of agony." He pressed his powerful, calloused palms onto her shoulders.

"Rhaegar, love, there's no need…" Her voice trailed off, replaced with a drawn out moan of pleasure. "Mmmmm…" Rhaegar's hands kneaded the stiff muscles of her neck and shoulder and Elia adored it. "Gods, you're good at that." She relaxed, allowing him easy access to the olive skin.

Rhaegar smiled, letting his fingers dig into her flesh as she liked. "I've learned that my Queen derives great pleasure from her King's hands on her."

"Gods, you are correct… oh, Rhaegar." This was better than anything aside from sex.

"While I know that I am irresistible to you and Lya, may we move to the matter before us?"

He knows how he affects me, the bastard. She couldn't be mad at him, though. "Well…" Elia cleared her throat. "Varys' whispers bring much… on most Kingdoms. He knows a great deal which showcases his skill."

"How so?"

"Elbert Arryn no longer sleeps in the same bed as his wife."

"Oh?" Rhaegar pursed his lips. "Lysa Arryn… I cannot blame him for that." There was no denying that Ned's goodsister - and by extension their goodsister - wasn't the most pleasant woman. "But I do not like where this is going."

Elia nodded. "They discovered a bastard girl of his, one Della Stone. Elbert refuses to legitimize her, but is still taking her into his household."

Moving to her lower back, the King pounded the smooth skin and muscles there to her approval. "We may have a succession crisis in the Vale over this."

"Lord Royce is an ally of ours… at least he fought well on our side in the rebellion. I think he could watch over Lord Elbert for us, ensure matters don't boil over."

"A splendid idea, my Queen." He leaned down and kissed her neck, making Elia shudder with happiness. "But what is your worry of Lord Varys?"

Her smile turned to a frown. "My House… we've always been as drawn to the east as we have to our countrymen in Westeros. I know those people, the ones that hold power in the Free Cities - my goodsister is from Norvos, and my mother oft entertained Triarchs, Princes, and merchants in Sunspear. Varys… he is of that society transplanted here. He doesn't operate the way someone raised in Westeros would." Elia looked up, finding Rhaegar listening with rapt attention. "He will serve you ably, but if his interests differ from yours he will bend the truth… or even hide it."

Rhaegar was silent for a moment. "In what layer of information does he bend the truth in your opinion?"

"The Iron Islands."

"My love, it is quite hard to gain any sort of whispers from those godsforsaken rocks."

"That's just it… I have a whisper, through Oberyn mind you but it ended with me." Rhaegar's eyebrow rose. "A merchant in Volantis had sold a large shipment of timber to Pyke and Orkmont only moons ago. Sturdy logs, ones used to make ship masts."

"How large was the shipment?"

"A hundred logs. The Ironborn are building their fleet… I cannot presume this is for a peaceful purpose."

"And Varys didn't tell you?"

"He might have no little bird privy to this, but I doubt it."

Nodding, Rhaegar was more concerned with what had been told him by his Queen. "I'll speak to Lucerys. We'll call the royal fleet and signal Tywin and Lord Redwyne to do the same."

"May I suggest we do the same with the Manderly fleet?"

Rhaegar smiled. "Some men never speak to their brides of matters of state. I am all the better for not being one of them." Freshly relaxed, Elia looked up at him. Seeing his beautiful features, it ignited a different feeling inside her. Without delay she reached up and pulled him down for a kiss.

It was times like these that Tywin Lannister truly missed his dear friend, Loren Payne. Looking up at those in his current inner circle, each of them had a strike against them in his mind. Kevan was timid in his thinking, the kind of man that would have tried to parlay with Roger Reyne and Walderan Tarbeck - essentially their father but without the immorality. Tygett disliked Tywin and was quite antagonistic and sullen. Gerion was too adventurous and unserious, plus he wasn't there as he took the position of the Red Keep Master-at-Arms as per his deal with Rhaella. Finally, one of my own in that position. And Emmon Frey… the less said about his goodbrother the better.

Gods, Loren. Why did I lose you? He had always been on Tywin's side, but was bold and didn't coat anything in honey as the bannermen of Gawen Crakehall, Leo Lefford, and Roland Westerling were oft to do. People tended to bury bad news around Tywin, and he didn't like it.

Rolph Spicer on the other hand… but the man was simply beneath Tywin.

"Congratulations on your new child, Gawen," Kevan said, reaching out to pat the man's palm.

"Is this your second?" Lefford asked.

Gawen was a loyal man, but not a particularly formidable one. He was more inclined to smile and go with the flow. "My third. Another daughter - joins her brother and two sisters."

"Jeyne's a pretty lass, like her mother my sister," Rolph laughed, clasping Gawen on the shoulder. The man knew that being the goodbrother of Tywin's most loyal bannerman was the only reason he was here… much like Emmon Frey, but smart. Tywin resolved to keep an eye on him.

"Enjoy their younger years," Kevan added. "I do that with Lancel, and shall enjoy it with the new babe in Dorna's womb…"

Kevan was cut off as Tywin smacked his hand upon the table. "We're not women. Let's stop the idle bunk and get back to the male domain of ruling this Kingdom." Summarily chastised and shut up, he continued. "Gerion informs me of something intriguing. There are rumblings in court of discontent with Dowager Queen Rhaella as Hand."

"Oh?" asked Roland Crakehall. "Not surprising, as she is the living manifestation of fire and blood."

A snort came from Tygett. "Weak-willed and dainty Rhaella Targaryen, now a vicious dragonrider."

Emmon's eyes widened, as if in fear. Damn you father for this weakling in our family. "She… she rides dragons? There are dragonriders?"

"The King rides his dragon… we don't know if she does…" Tywin began, but was cut off himself as the door opened. Obviously someone the guards didn't believe they needed to bar entry for.

"Greetings, masters of this fair land." Oh no… Arrogant, amused grin on his lips as he loped into the meeting chamber, the second son of Tywin Lannister moved to hug each of his uncles. "Forgive me for being late, but the roads were dreadful."

"One cannot be late to something one was not invited," Tywin replied, scowling at his son. If his day and headache couldn't get worse…

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders. "Good to see you as well, father." The dwarf still had his traveling leathers, and they were splattered with dried mud, as were his boots. The boy couldn't even bathe or change clothes before taking the chance to irritate me. "I bring tidings of your granddaughter - your royal granddaughter."

Blinking, Kevan leaned forward. "Myrcella? Please, do tell." While certain… related topics were still carefully guarded, the news of Rhaella's newest babe was not. Unlike Princess Daenerys, Princess Myrcella's parentage was not up for debate - she was Jaime's. One look at her confirmed it, a perfect mix of Rhaella and Joanna.

Clasping his heart, Tyrion made an over the top dramatic gesture. "Gods, the most adorable little babe I have seen. First woman in King's Landing to earn my undivided attention that I hadn't paid with coin."

"So you didn't find a whore? I'm shocked," Rolph Spicer deadpanned, smirking.

"Seven heavens, no, I may be a highborn dwarf but I'm no begging brother."

Yes, the headache was getting worse. "Any sign of her personality?" Even at one nameday, he and Joanna knew what Cersei and Jaime would be - a manipulative, scheming lady for the former and a naive, gallant knight for the latter. His grandchildren were no different.

Tyrion shrugged again. "Quiet mostly, but I can see a bit of a lion's roar deep down. She will not want for intendeds, I promise you."

"Not that we'll have any say in it," Tygett pointed out. "She's not a Lannister, she was legitimized a Targaryen since my nephew's white cloak prohibited him from marryin' her." Tywin was honestly still amazed that the boy had the stones to pull this off. Since he ran off to join the Kingsguard… Tywin had sensed a certain cowardice in the boy. But killing the king then making the Dowager Queen his mistress… I underestimated the chivalrous idiot.

"Doesn't matter. She is my blood and therefore any match of hers will spread our influence." He just needed to get back to the capitol to oversee matters. The Westerlands were in his pocket, there was no use for him here. "Everyone leave except for Spicer."

"My Lord…"

"Everyone leave." Known for mercurial bouts that rose only to a sort of dead growl, the gathered Lords did as they were told. "You too, Tyrion."

"Pish, no fun, father. Now all I can do is pray that dear Robb hasn't grown taller than I…" he said in fake outrage.

Tywin was having none of it. "Out." The dwarf that was his son and his shame bowed and left. "If only he wasn't his mother's child… I'd have thrown him down a well," he said to no one in particular.

Rolph Spicer was the only one to hear it. "Odd, I'd have done it regardless." The upstart knight who managed to marry his family into an august house walked up to the seat adjacent to Tywin. "You wished to speak to me in private, my Lord."

"Yes, Ser Rolph. Have you kept watch?"

"Aye," Rolph nodded. "She's with child again. Maester suspects it's a son this time."

"Damn." Tywin lightly slammed his fist on his leg. "I was afraid of this." He didn't trust Spicer, but the man was Varys' close equal when it came to subterfuge. For a man in his position, Tywin needed that. "Deal with it."

Spicer's eyes widened for the briefest of moments before growing expressionless once again. "You sure, my Lord?"

A nod. "Aye, and do it quietly. You'll get an additional three estates once the deed is confirmed, and a Lordship if I get what I want."

"I will not let you down, Lord Tywin." Spicer stood and dipped his head in respect before seeing himself out.

As he was leaving, a small figure sprinted into the room. "Grandfather!" Golden hair glinting from the sunlight, the man cub leaped into Tywin's lap… arguably the only one who could do so and escape the rack. "Can you show me the lions again?"

"Robb!" Behind entered Cersei, face cross. "Gods, Robb. What have I told you about bothering your grandfather?"

Little Robb Hill, golden curls drooping over his forehead and green eyes wide and innocent, pouted. "But grandfather promised to show me the lions. They are the mightiest creatures in the land."

Even Tywin couldn't help a tiny smile at that. So much like Jaime at that age, but bolder. Stronger. Such allowed his bastard taint to be ignored by Tywin, the boy holding so much potential. "It is fine, daughter. I'll take him to see the lions after lunch." Robb beamed with glee. "Now get him to his lessons."

"Thank you, grandfather."

"Git to your lessons, boy," was the reply.

"Come along, Robb." With that, the intrusion was over.

Grandson, you will rule the largest Kingdom if I have anything to say about it. Hate him or loathe him, when Tywin Lannister made such proclamations, they had quite the high chance of succeeding.

Pudgy hands reaching for the door handle of the wheelhouse, Hand of the King Rhaella Targaryen snatched her up. "No, Alyssa. Do not touch the door." She sighed, the Princess immediately starting to wriggle out of her grip. "Gods, is it the Dornish in you or the dragon in you?"

"Allow me, Rhaella," said Marya Seaworth, her new Lady in Waiting. "We can switch. Princess Myrcella is a dear."

Rhaella took her little girl with a happy smile, tickling Cella's cheek and getting a giggle for her trouble. "She is a little angel… Lyssa is a terror, though. Gods help her husband."

Marya seemed to keep her calm though, the only naughty thing she tried to do being tugging on the woman's brown hair. "It's no trouble to me. Try raising four rowdy boys with a penchant for wrestling with each other. The Princess is a breath of fresh air for me."

"You should have a girl," young Egg said in his soft voice. "I love my little sister."

"You're a charmer, my Prince," Marya replied. "But I have what the gods seek fit to give me and my husband. We've been blessed so far and I would never question or regret it."

Many years ago, Rhaella would have been supremely jealous of someone like Marya - at least a highborn version of her, Aerys not seeing fit to allow her to associate with anyone but the most august houses. Alone with one child, multiple pregnancies ending in dead infants or stillbirths. Even now, they still hurt, especially remembering Joanna with her healthy twins or Mynara and her three easy childbirths. But now, four healthy babes and the love of her life with her… Rhaella was content.

"I want a little brudder!" Crown Prince Baelon insisted from where he and Princess Daenerys were huddled up, previously whispering things to each other in the way they always did.

Rhaella smirked. "It is not I you need to tell with that, Baelon." Of the family, only she persisted in calling him by his actual name. A dragon should be known by a dragon's name. It was all in good spirits though. "Rather your parents."

"I's tell them tonight," he announced, which caused the two ladies to grin at each other.

The wheelhouses jolted, Alyssa clapping her hands while Cella let out a cry - only a gentle cooing from her mother prevented a full on wail. Gods, the roads are horrible. There was for the longest time no need for those of the crown to make the journey from the Red Keep to the Dragonpit. Now they did, and while Rhaella would normally shun a wheelhouse as something far too extravagant for her, with the children, here she was.

"Are you sure about this, your Grace?" Marya asked. "They're still so young."

Rhaella nodded. "That one's namesake," she pointed to little Alyssa. "Took her newborn sons to ride on Meleys after childbirth. They're ready Marya, just as Ser Davos took Dale, Allard, and Matthos to sail so soon after their second namedays."

"He certainly loves the sea," Marya conceded. Rhaella was glad for the woman's company. Dignified and graceful in court, she also spoke her mind - the former denizen of the Flea Bottom slums proved to be more adept at court life than many highborn maidens that looked down on her. Mynara and Joanna would have loved her.

Speaking of Joanna… "We're here, your Graces," Jaime called from outside. Having dismounted, he opened the door to the wheelhouse. "After you." As usual, his eyes fell upon Rhaella.

Three years into their love affair and Rhaella's heart still fluttered the slightest bit at his gaze. Still holding their daughter, she took his hand and stepped onto the sandy ground. "Thank you, Ser Jaime." They were in public, but Rhaella pecked his lips regardless.

"There they are!" Rhaenys, mounted atop her new steed - a gentle mare, the first foal of Moondancer and Winter, jumped off the horse as if she was born to ride. Of course she was, Lyanna was her teacher. "Look, Jon! Dany! Egg! The dragons!"

"Dragons!"

Picking over charred bones, it was clear the dragonkeepers had soon before dropped off the dragons' midday meal. Sensing Rhaella there, Jaimexes immediately ambled to her, chirping happily. "Hello, darling." The Dowager Queen stroked the golden dragon's snout, earning a contented hum. "Yes, your siblings are here. Be nice."

Daenerys stared up at them with awe. "You dragon, muna?" She'd only ever seen them in the sky.

"Aye, my dear, this one is mine."

"Ride her?"

"Not yet, she's still too small, but your brother rides Aegarax." Already Rhaegar's brood was surrounding the growing green beast… though Aegon was far less enthusiastic. "Aegon, there's no need to be afraid."

"He scary?"

She sighed. "Just touch him. You're the blood of the dragon, I promise he will love you." To her delight, Egg listened. His fear was replace with a giggle as Aegarax snorted and licked his hand. They are the future dragonriders. They need to know these creatures before they ride dragons of their own.

Rhaenys hugged Aegarax's head, cooing at her father's mount. "I remember when you were so little." The massive dragon, his head larger than the size of the Princess, merely whined like a hatchling, leaning into Rhaenys' touch. "I'm gonna hatch my own dragon, then we fly together." A grunt came from Aegarax, telling his sister of his agreement.

Jon broke the moment, reaching for the green dragon. "Up, up!" Rhae glanced at Aegarax, who understood almost instinctively. Eyes almost twinkling, he lowered his head to the ground. Jon clapped his hands in glee. "Fly, dwagon, fly!"

"No, no flying for you, Baelon," Rhaella barked out, hoping at least Aegarax would understand. Hearing Dany's giggles, she looked over to see her daughter's arms looped around Jaimexes' neck, giggling like mad as she dangled. "That goes for you too, girl." Jaimexes trilled in response, ambling along while Dany squealed with laughter.

"I's Eggon, grandmother!" Jon called out, holding tight to Aegarax's head. The fierce mount of the Sunrise Dragon seemed completely unbothered at Jon's attention - rather enjoying it. He snorted out a blast of hot air, which mussed the Crown Prince's black curls.

Chuckling herself at the antics of her blood babes and her draconic children, Rhaella suddenly realized something. "Where is Viserys?" she asked aloud. He wasn't to be seen amongst his sisters, nieces, and nephews, while she distinctly remembered last seeing him standing awkwardly beside Daenerys. "Viserys?" she called out.

Marya tapped her shoulder, herself intrigued at something. "He's over there, your Grace."

Turning around, Rhaella's heart relaxed at finding her son… only to raise her eyebrow in curiousness. "What in seven hells…"

Alone as he seemed to prefer nowadays, the young Prince and brother of the King sat cross-legged on the sandy ground of the Dragonpit. Viserys was silent, not brooding but an almost distant look in his eye. Slowly, gently, he stroked the neck of Rhaella's crimson dragon, one she hadn't yet named since she was riderless. My gods...

Marya, still holding little Cella, grinned. "Seems your other son has bonded with a dragon."

"It's shocking to me," Rhaella had to admit to her friend. "She's always been the most temperamental of all the dragons." Jaimexes and she squabbled daily, while Aegarax was forced to wade in with his bulk and teach his smaller sister a lesson from time to time. But now, the dragon rested her head in Viserys' lap - perfectly serene.

"Maybe the Prince will finally come out of his shell. It worked for yourself, Rhaella," Marya noted.

Rhaella nodded, a slow smile forming on her face. "Aye, mayhaps with the gods' will." Clasping her hands together, she walked along the sand to where her son sat. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Shaken out of his almost daze, Viserys looked up at his mother. His blank look didn't change, but he was coherent. "She and I… is this what my brother refers to as a bond?"

"I believe so, my son." Reaching down, Rhaella stroked the dragon's scales, hearing a contented purr. "What shall you name her?"

"Muna?"

"The first rider of a dragon should name him or her. You've earned the right."

Viserys stared off into the distance, thinking. "Maerys," he finally said.

Rhaella's brows knotted. "Maerys?" The name sounded familiar, but she didn't recall a past dragon or Valyrian god named that.

He smiled softly and continued to run his hand down her neck. "Yes, like Meleys the Red Queen, but also of kepa." He leaned down and rested his head at the base of Maerys' skull. "I am a dragon, kepa. I shall make you proud of me from the afterlife."

Sighing, Rhaella kneeled beside her son, kissing the crown of his head and uncaring of the sand that would mar her dress. He still thinks highly of his father, in spite of what Aerys became. But now her son was a dragon, like her and like Rhaegar. I will teach him, mentor him till he is a proper dragonlord.

"I love you, my son," she murmured. "You are a dragon and I am proud of you."

Viserys looked at her and smiled, the first childlike happy smile she had seen in a long time. "Thank you, muna."

A shriek followed by a merry laugh drew Rhaella's attention. "Look muna!" Astride Jaimexes' neck, Daenerys looked down in triumph to where the golden dragon had pinned Jon to the ground with her snout. "I's Visenya! I defeat King in the North for House Targaryen!"

"No fair!" Jon blubbered as Jaimexes licked him with her large tongue. "Grandmother, I's Aegon! My Queen betrayed me!" His brother and sister couldn't stifle their laughs, while Aegarax rested on his hindlimbs with a twinkle in his amber eyes that could only be described as amusement.

"Sorry brother," Rhaenys laughed, clutching her side. "You're normally Aegon, but now you're Torrhen." Teasing her brother, that seemed to irritate Aegarax to the point where he nudged Rhaenys in the side, knocking her down. "Stop that! I'm telling kepa!" Aegarax cocked his head, as if daring her to.

Rhaella stifled a giggle herself. The last time children and dragons mixed, the Dance had occurred. Now seemed completely different - happy, delightful, loving.

With fire and blood, Rhaella wouldn't allow anyone to end such joy. Their house deserved it after so long.

"Well, my Lady," Maester Luwin remarked, setting his instruments down on the pewter tray before him. "I reason the babe is healthy and due for this world within the end of the moon."

A relieved Catelyn Stark sighed, wan smile spreading on her lips. "Thank you, maester. That is quite a weight off my shoulders."

Luwin nodded. "Please try to refrain from too many stressors and strenuous activity. Sudden onset labor in such circumstances is never advisable." Labor in any circumstance could turn deadly, but for the rather fertile and robust Tullys and Whents Luwin wasn't worried of natural occurrence turning against the Lady of Winterfell. "Three square meals a day, then."

"Of course, maester. Thank you again." Rising from the examination table, Catelyn saw herself out.

"All good, mi'Lady?" her chief maid asked, rather young but loyally serving her since arriving at Winterfell.

Catelyn walked - more akin to waddling these days as the large belly hindered her greatly - through the corridors of the east wing of the keep. "My son is due any day now."

The maid practically simpered with squealish glee. "I cannot wait to meet the little pup." Unlike most of her retinue hailing from the Riverlands, the maid had already found a lover in Ser Rodrik Cassel, and was becoming more northern in attitude by the day. "How do you know it is a son, by chance, mi'Lady…" She trailed off, hoping she didn't cross a line.

Not particularly in a sour mood, Catelyn ignored the possible breach in decorum. "Mother's intuition, as my mother had with each of her pregnancies with myself and my siblings." Ned also claims it from visions before the weirwood, but only a coincidence. How any man educated by the late, honorable Jon Arryn could pray to an overgrown tree was beyond her. While Catelyn respected Ned in his own piety, no one could get her to accept it… nor keep Sansa from learning how to be a proper Lady of the South.

Passing by the various maids and servants native to Winterfell, Catelyn didn't notice their formalistic bows and greetings - how their eyes still watched her with disdain, not even bearing two Stark pups lessening their dislike of her. She cared not, for her mind whirred at a fevered pace. How would she make a proper match if cloistered in Winterfell castle? How could she truly teach her with such distractions? It was impossible here with the redheaded scamp having wrapped her father round her finger.

The answer was obvious… fostering in the South. She had with her mother's family in Harrenhal, as well as a year in Highgarden that ended with her betrothal to Brandon Stark. The sooner the better for Sansa, and Catelyn had the perfect choice - Lord Leyton Hightower. Oldtown was the cultural and religious hub of Westeros, as well as the current Lord being the son of Celia Tully, thus being family. Many sons and grandsons born, Catelyn could see Sansa becoming Lady of the Hightower, august indeed.

"Where are we going, mi'Lady?" the maid asked.

"To the sept. I wish to see my daughter in her prayers, and to give tidings to the Seven for my babe's health."

The maid - Anya Piper was her name, a distant cousin of Lord Presten Piper - bit her lip. "Alright." She declined to tell Catelyn that she already accepted the old gods in her heart, her willing sacrifice now that she was to be Lady Cassel.

Built at her request and of Ned's desire to please his new wife, the Winterfell Sept was austere as the North was. No ornate altars or gold-encrusted plinths to the various gods and heroes of the Andal pantheon. Just the bare bones, which Catelyn didn't mind. Just being here among the Seven that were One was serene to her… or would be serene if her daughter wasn't currently butting heads with her Septa.

"Insolent girl," Mordane scolded. "You are not to touch the altar."

"Father say touch heart tree in prayer," Sansa replied defiantly. "I like touching. I feel old gods."

Mordane's cheeks flushed. "We of the Seven hold reverence for our holy relics, not the familiarity and flippancy as those tree-worshippers allow!"

Catelyn sighed. Why can't Sansa behave? It was always the same for the girl. Most of the time she was as prim and proper as a princess, always quiet, well-groomed, and eager to please, but there was always that wild streak about her. The 'wolfsblood' as Ned proudly dubbed it. It reminded Catelyn of Queen Lyanna and to her, it wasn't a kind comparison.

But this time Mordane was going too far in her insults. "Septa," she spoke. "We've talked about this."

Reddening again, the Septa managed to keep her composure. "Forgive me, my Lady. I allowed my patience to lapse."

"Just see that it doesn't lapse from now on." Taking a seat in one of the pews, Catelyn motioned for Sansa to sit next to her, which was taken up gladly. "How are you, sweetling?"

Sansa smiled. "I's good, momma. Ol' Nan tell me I can watch her sew." She seemed happy at that.

Catelyn was relieved. Embroidery was something any highborn Lady should know. Thank the Seven. "I am glad, and I am sure you shall be wonderful at embroidery." Her mind drifted to Oldtown. Sansa was much too young, but what harm could a trip there to acclimate her within the year cause? "Listen, sweetling, what would you think of a little trip south."

She looked puzzled. "South? To fat man?" Such was her name for Wyman Manderly, and the entirety of Winterfell's Northern residents thought it hilarious.

"No, not to White Harbor. Farther south, to Oldtown."

"Why?" She was a curious one.

"So you can learn to be a lady."

"I learn here. Be lady like Aunt Lya." Sansa smiled. "Poppa say Lya the bestest lady."

A sigh. "The Queen is deserving of respect, but no other Lord of the South would accept a wife that acts as a youthful boy sowing his oats." It was disgusting and uncouth what Lyanna did, but she dare not say anything insulting within Winterfell. Lyanna was revered like the maiden here. "You will learn how to be a true and proper lady in Oldtown, with House Hightower."

The prospect of leaving Winterfell seemed to Sansa as akin to death. She went white, eyes wide in fear. "I no go south. I like here!"

"Don't talk back to me, Sansa. This is for your own good."

"Poppa no let me go."

A little white lie, but Ned would agree with her. "Your father knows and is alright with it." Sansa reacted if punched. "This is important, daughter. You need to learn how to be a proper lady to marry a southern Lord - like the stories I read to you."

Her reaction was explosive. "I no lady! I a wolf! I'm not going!" She stood, stamping her foot on the ground. "No going!"

"You will go to Oldtown when the time is right, young Lady!" Catelyn scolded her loudly, something she never did, leaving instead to Sansa's household and Mordane. "I will not have you be a male-impersinating wildling as your aunt!"

"I hate you!" When the wolfsblood reared its head during an argument, Sansa's howls could shake the rafters. "I hate you, you stupid fish!" Before her mother could speak, the redheaded Stark fled the sept, running fast even in a floor-length dress.

Mordane was by Catelyn's side, her Lady almost numb from what had transpired. "I am sorry you heard that, my Lady. It seems she has picked up some of the ugly slurs whispered by the northmen here."

A fish. House Tully's sigil, only used as an epithet. "They say this?"

"Not Lord Stark or the highborns, but the guards and washerwomen mostly. I'll strive to keep Lady Sansa away from them." Catelyn could only nod, eyes closed.

Even an hour later, at her desk in her solar, Catelyn could only replay her daughter's words in her head over and over. 'I hate you, stupid fish!' Could she truly be so corrupted as to turn against her own mother? Young children were insolent, but was this a harbinger of things to come? Catelyn resolved to speak to Ned about this - she'd listen to him.

In need of a distraction, she looked over the stacks of papers and found a letter. A smile curled on her face as she saw it was from Petyr. His correspondence was a treat, Catelyn always able to confide in him when needed.

Dearest Cat,

I hope my words find you well, and can only be glad that winter has ended and the frozen wasteland you now call home has entered into more bearable weather.

Catelyn snorted… not on Petyr's candid sentiment but the idea that the weather would be any better here. This was a land of 'summer snows.' One would have to park five braziers into one's chamber along with a lit hearth in order to feel any sort of warmth most nights.

Sighing, she put aside her chronic complaints and continued with Petyr's letter.

By the grace of the gods, my standing in the capitol grows by the day. As you remember from our childhood lessons I was always good with figures and calculations - such has allowed me to assist the Master of Coin with matters involving the treasury, and I have already advanced several rungs in the hierarchy.

However, among the course of other business ventures I have entered into…

To this, Catelyn rolled her eyes. It wasn't lost on her that her childhood friend had bought a brothel. For all his failings, such was his greatest weakness - the desire to obtain wealth through means unbecoming of a highborn Lord. There was nothing she could do, though, and from when Catelyn read the next words, she promptly forgot about such things.

...Lord Tywin's brother, Gerion, indulges in the most perverse of tastes - which I cannot find myself shocked. The Lannisters have always been filled with immorality. But to one of my associates, he bragged about what he calls 'my half-wolf nephew.'

Cat, I'm so sorry, but it seems that the rumors of your husband and Cersei Lannister are true. My contacts are certain and trustworthy. The Light of the West has born his bastard, and I cannot rule out their bastard to end as the heir to Winterfell considering his moons older birth than Sansa and your husband's devotion to those of his blood.

Be careful. Trust no one.

Petyr

There was nothing she could say… or even think in that moment. Catelyn's blood turned to ice, her face paling. Ned… a bastard son… "With Cersei Lannister of all people?" Of course she knew the Light of the West - one that all heralded as among the greatest beauties of the realm.

And she had seduced her husband… of when it didn't matter.

"A son… a son that could usurp Sansa. Usurp…" Her hand cupped her swell, the son of House Stark that she would birth any week now. That would be the heir that the Seven commanded every proper wife to bear for their husband. And now a whore that spread their legs without consequence - protected and sheltered by a father without morals or oaths, only the pursuit of power - and bear a bastard.

Bastards… only to usurp their trueborn siblings. To covet that of those siblings and stab them in the back at the soonest opportunities. The lessons of the Seven Pointed Star, verified by the Blackfyre Rebellions, was part of her childhood teachings that she took to heart. And Ned… supposedly honorable like his elder brother, her beloved Brandon. Not anymore, just as debased as any other man.

Exhaling hard, she slammed her fist against the desk. Anger rolling over her in waves, Catelyn stood. It was time for Ned to explain some things.

"Cersei Lannister of all people… CERSEI LANNISTER!"

Huffing, Cersei Lannister cursed Robb's father. "Robb, get back here!" she called out, more in exasperation than anger.

"I heard something, momma!" Robb replied back, running towards a stream.

Seven hells, Robb… you have your father's endurance. While the direwolf she still loved with all her heart hadn't ever run in her presence, Cersei had seen Ned fight like a tiger against Arthur Dayne - among other things requiring strong endurance. "It's not safe, Robb, come back here!" A simple picnic out in the fields surrounding Casterly Rock with just her and her precious lionwolf pup had been tranquil and perfect… until the food was scarfed down and Robb grew bored. "Dog, go get him," she ordered her guard. The one her father insisted she take.

Sandor Clegane looked sour, but he didn't speak offensively. "I'd let the lad play. Too sheltered in that stuffy rock."

"If you want a child to drown, do it on your own brood." If a woman would ever want to bed you. Sandor was older than she, and as a child Cersei remembered being terrified by his scarred face. His brother terrified her more, but that wasn't the point. "Robb!" She ran towards him as he disappeared into some reeds.

But he emerged, holding something in his arms. "Look what I found!" It was moving slowly. "Our house!"

Cersei's eyes widened as the unmistakable face of a lion cub poked out of Robb's arms. It had to be a newborn, or close to it. "Impossible," she murmured to herself. "Lions are extinct in the wilds of the Rock." Only in the private collections of House Lannister did they live… or out in the outlying highlands where human presence was negligible.

There was no denying it though, Robb had found a male lion cub… a filthy and malnourished one at that. "Can we keep him? Please momma?"

Yawning, the lion cub was quite precious… even to Cersei. "It would be a horrible omen to kill the symbol of our House. We'll take him to the maester and kennelmaster, clean him up." Robb beamed and tickled the belly of the cub, which purred in delight.

While to anyone else it would have been a heartwarming scene, to Sandor Clegane he merely fought a retch. Familial moments had been nearly nonexistent in his keep since the first time Gregor punched him in the gut for making too much noise at two namedays. Watching mother and son… it was just annoying to him. Well… most things were annoying to him.

Looking away, bored, a glimpse out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. At first it didn't register, but slowly boredom turned to surprise and then tension. "My Lady," he called, low but gruff. "My Lady, we should leave."

Tickling the belly of the cub with Robb, Cersei ignored Sandor. "Let us alone, dog," she dismissed him.

"My Lady." He was insistent. "We need to go."

Rolling her eyes, she rose and was intent on giving him a tongue lashing when she stopped in her tracks, eyes widening. "Well well, what do e' 'ave 'ere?" Four men, one with a bow slung around his back and the others carrying swords, stood about thirty feet from them, having emerged from the woods. "Fresh meat." The leader flashed a smile of missing teeth.

Sandor narrowed his eyes. "Best be on your way." His hand drifted to his claymore sheathed on his back.

"Why? We's just gettin' started." The others laughed. "A fine cunt we 'ave 'ere."

"Momma? Who they?" Robb asked, tugging her skirts as he held the fussing cub.

Cersei's heart pounded. "Stay behind me, pup." Frayed grey leather, gloves, and salt-stained trousers, there was no doubting they were ironborn. Ironborn in the Westerlands meant only one thing… "I am the daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister," she announced, voice haughty and imperious. If she could put the fear of her father into them… "Any hand on me will face his wrath."

More chuckles from the reavers, who stepped ever closer. "See dat's 'da thing, bitch. We're not afraid of your fuckin' father. Gold Shitter will be on a pike soon."

"Don't talk of my grandpa that way!" Robb yelled, scowling much like his mother - brave as his uncle Jaime… or his father. The cub let out an angry meow, swiping with it's little paw.

"Fuckin' shut it, brat." The leader shrugged. "Kill the bear and kid, and get the bitch's cunt ready fir me."

Cracking his neck, Sandor drew his claymore, watching the man with a bow nock an arrow. "You cunts are fuckin' borin' me." With a speed uncharacteristic of a man his size, a dagger shot out from his left hand and slammed into the archer's chest, sending him sprawling as he dropped the bow. Ranged enemy taken care of, Sandor raised the claymore and charged.

Seeing blood spurt out from the fallen Ironborn, Robb's earlier bravado vanished. He trembled. "Momma…"

Cersei hugged him to her skirts. "Don't look, pup." But her eyes were riveted to the scene.

Though skilled trackers, the three surviving ironborn were no match for the man that could stand up to the Mountain in one-on-one combat. A reaver attacked him, only for Sandor to parry the strike and then punch him in the head - the blow cracked his skull and he crumpled. The second lunged, but he sideswiped it and hacked the man clean through the gut. The Ironborn became two halves of a corpse, spilling blood and guts all over the golden grass.

"Just you and me', pretti' boy." Sandor enjoyed the look of fear on the Ironborn leader. "Ready to die?"

"What is dead may never die." Bellowing a war cry, he charged, only for Sandor to lop off his arm. Cries became screams, ended when his head left his body.

"No, you die, prick." Hearing gurgled breaths, he stabbed the still twitching body of the man he punched, ending any hope of him getting out. "They're all dead, my Lady," he called out.

But Cersei wasn't listening. Her eyes were riveted to the scene before her… beyond the hills towards Lannisport itself. The whole harbor seemed on fire, the great carracks, galleons, and cogs of her uncle Damon Lannister's fleet burning brightly. Plumes of greasy smoke marred the blue skies as other ships filled the harbor - golden krakens adorning their sails. The Greyjoys…

Sandor saw but a flicker of this before his instincts kick in. "My Lady, we're gettin' the fuck out of here if I have to carry you and the cub!" That seemed to jolt Cersei out of her reverie. "Good, let's go!"

"Momma, what going on? Why fire?"

He was growing big, but the Hound cared little, hefting Robb and the cub up with one arm. "It's alright, little pup. Everything will be fine." Was Cersei trying more to convince Robb… or herself?

A/N: And the Ironborn Rebellion begins. Good thing Sandor was there to stop them from hurting Cersei and Robb.

Awww, the dragons are so cute with the little ones.

Fucking Littlefinger, though Cat trying to send Sansa away is pretty bad form.

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