A/N: Hi all. Things are in a bit of flux right now. Changing jobs and moving, so yeah.

Can I just say... Emilia is awesome! I knew she thought the same as us about season 8, but is too classy to go full medieval on D&D... that's our job in her stead XD

Now to see Euron in action.

Some news. In the near to mid future on Archive of Our Own, I will be writing a Jonerys modern AU co-authored by the great Libradoodle. Hoping to see y'all there when it comes out!

Enjoy.

Chapter 77: Crow's Eye

Biting her lip, Queen Elia Targaryen stifled a moan of delight at the sensations rocking her core. Legs trembling, she gripped onto the headboard of the massive bed she and her beloveds shared. Her beautiful King wasn't here, preoccupied with fighting the Ironborn, but after so long her wife had returned… and here they were, celebrating the lives that dwelled within their wombs.

Her gorgeous Lyanna, chestnut mane of hair fanning out like a halo, was lapping up her cunt hungrily while she straddled her face - a position they both adored. Laughing throatily, Elia tossed her hair back and glanced behind her to see a wonderful sight. Lyanna worked her fingers in her gash, desperate to cure the ache between her legs. Getting a naughty idea, the Dornish Queen leaned back and pulled Lya's hands away, replacing the fingers with her own.

The reaction was instantaneous. Lyanna stiffened, crying out into Elia's cunt from the probing. Worried she overstepped her bounds in the midst of passion, the Queen began to withdraw her digits but was stopped by Lya's hand. Breathless, she looked down. "Do you want me to stop?"

But Lya shook her head, as well as she could, anyways. "No," she murmured, her hand gripping Elia's and holding it there. "I have no objections." Her eyes stared up at Elia, the darkest of greys brimming with lust and silently pleading for her to continue.

Licking her lips at the lusty look from her wife, Elia looked back. Watching as her hand began to thrust her fingers between Lya's legs. When she curled, Lyanna screamed into her core, suddenly grabbing Elia's hips with dug in fingers and pulling her tighter against her mouth. It was Elia's turn to bite back a scream as in one fluid motion the northern Queen's tongue buried itself as deep as possible into her wet cunt. "Oh fuck… right there…" she gasped, voice warbling.

Even in her desperate urge to taste Elia, Lyanna kept whimpering and shivering once the two… oooh, now three fingers started a firm pace into her cunt. No, Elia couldn't reach as deep as Rhaegar's cock but it was her beautiful Dornish ruby fingering her. That counted for much, and left Lyanna a pile of goo that could only grip Elia's ass tighter - fingers undoubtedly leaving indentations in her olive skin - and continue to lick like a woman dying of thirst. Lyanna's attention was thus torn. Her beloved's flower, all wet for her, was a delicious sight, but her gaze kept flicking up to the Queen's face. Elia's lower lip was trapped between her teeth, eyes closed and cheeks flushed as she concentrated on both rocking her hips and thrusting her fingers. "Goddess," Lyanna murmured, although she doubted Elia heard her.

But Elia did, and smiled sultrily down at her wife. "You… are…" she ground out when Lya's tongue stroked a sensitive spot of her inner wall.

With another push of her hips, Lyanna took Elia's fingers as deep as she could. She wept into her cunt, raking her nails from her ass to her hip and urging the beauty into a quicker rhythm. Eyes opening, she chuckled sultrily as Elia - forehead pressed against the headboard of their bed - rubbed furiously at the nub of her core. "Little, filthy whore… can't resist..."

Desperate to keep her balance, Elia was beyond caring. She was desperate - desperate to climax, desperate for Lya to climax. "You love it," she said, breathlessly.

Lyanna moaned, licking harder. "I do," she admitted, though in the midst of their tryst a sight softened her heart. Letting go of the claw-like grip of her wife's supple ass, she reached up to press her palm on the swell of Elia's belly. Caressing the proof of their growing child lovingly before sliding up between her breasts. Right over her heart.

Somehow, that tender gesture was worth more than a hundred filthy words or furious thrusts of the tongue. Elia gasped once, froze with her eyes flying shut, and threw her head back in a silent scream. Her fingers pistoned into Lyanna frantically as her core released its pent up juices in a hot flood, her inner walls shuddering around Lya's tongue as she felt herself spill over.

Her own walls sucking at the digits, milking them of seed they'd never release, the desperate bucking of Lyanna's hips as she slurped up her wife's release brought Elia's thumb ghosting over her nub. It was too much. Lyanna screamed into the Dornish Queen's cunt when she felt her own climax ripple through her, the muscles in her legs and ass tightening as she bucked and impaled herself on the fingers - riding out the aftershocks.

Finally, each of them went limp. Elia let out a low moan, slowly disingangling her legs from Lyanna's head before bonelessly falling atop the bed. "Seven hells…" she murmured, trembling as she clutched at Lya desperately - chest mashing into her side, head resting between the valley of Lyanna's ample breasts, and palm on her pregnant stomach.

Both of them were breathing heavily, but Lyanna smiled. "Aye," she panted, stroking the small of Elia's back. Making her squirm with the ticklish touches. "I missed this."

A scoff. "You had our husband every night. Don't complain in my presence." Elia still happily nuzzled the mounds she loved, moaning in contentment. "I am still glad you are back, lover."

"I am glad to be back." Lya pressed a kiss to Elia's soft, silky hair before leaning down as best she could and pulling the goose down covers to cover their bare bodies. "We're gonna be mothers again," she murmured, feeling her wife rub circles in her belly.

"It feels like a dream." Elia sighed. "As if any moment, I'll wake up and find out that Alyssa isn't real and my womb is still a rotted husk." She wouldn't cry over it, in sorrow or in joy - it had been long since Elia accepted the wondrous blessing the gods had granted her, even if she would have done what she did regardless of what happened to her. "But I'm delighted that he or she will have a sibling their own age from their other mother."

"That is something to be thankful for… though a bit premature considering I don't have the best track record."

Elia shifted her head off Lya's chest, looking in her eyes. "You better not be insulting the mother of my children, because I love her very much."

While Elia's words made Lya's heart flutter, melancholy still filled her resulting smile. "Two pregnancies, my love. Only one resulting in a babe of my own womb." Rhae, Egg, and Lyssa were hers, but not ones she created and grew and nurtured within her. Only Baelon fit that… and Visenya… "I failed her, Elia."

She hugged her close. "You did not fail her, Lya."

"It feels I did. And this new babe…?"

"Will not be threatened. Aerys is dead, and Rhaegar will kill anyone that even tries to threaten us… if you don't do it first." Her eyes shifted to Wolfsbane resting on the dresser across the room.

Looking at her brown eyes, Lyanna chuckled. "You know just what to say." They settled together, simply enjoying being together, each nurturing the newest little dragon. "I couldn't bear losing another babe."

"You won't, Lya. Neither of us will."

"Here, Dany!" Young Baelon slammed the little figurine onto a series of wooden blocks that represented the walls. "King on front with men!"

Rhaenys could have sworn that her three and a half nameday-old aunt rolled her eyes at her brother. "No, Jon." Never one to be deterred from anything, Daenerys grabbed the figurine and set it atop the large stack of blocks - all of the non-infant Targaryen children were gathered in Rhaenys' room playing 'Aegon's Conquest' with the carved blocks and figurines. "Black Harren go on top tower. He's coward."

"Kings no coward," Jon shot back, shoving Dany.

"He no dragon. He's coward." Dany shoved him back.

Laughing at the scene, Rhaenys waded into the brewing spat before it turned into something worse. "Stop it." She was but seven namedays, but the eldest and therefore most mature of the lot - one didn't grow up witnessing the things she did without imbibing a sense of wisdom, even at seven. "No fighting, please."

The thing about toddlers, their fights could be loud, but grudges never lasted. "Sorry, Dany," Jon murmured.

Dany bit her lip, tear welling in her eyes. "Sorry too." They hugged, crisis averted… until the next time. The two of them were always either running about together, tumbling around together, or fighting. To her parents and grandmother and aunts and uncles, it was adorable. To Rhaenys, it was either funny or annoying, depending on when.

This time it was funny.

Familiar with the stories her kepa and munas would read her before bed, the Princess decided to take pity on the confusion of her brother and aunt. "Valonqar, aunt, gotta get it right. Harren wasn't in Kingspyre tower or walls, but here." She gingerly took the figurine and set it in the middle of the large keep, where the Hall of a Hundred Hearths would be. "Right in the middle for Balerion to torch." Hearing its name being called, Balerion the cat looked up… only to lazily go back to sleep from her perch on top of Rhae's bed.

"I call the dragon!" Dany beamed, running to the carved figure of Balerion the Black Dread.

"Nuh uh! I call Balerion!" Jon shot back.

Whittled by the craftsmen of the Street of Steel as a gift from Rhaella to her grandson, the figure was one of seven dragons personally done for the Targaryen brood, alongside Vhagar, Meraxes, Vermithor, Silverwing, Caraxes, and Meleys. It was so well-made that there was even a tiny Aegon the Conqueror carved on the beast's back - Jon and Dany considered it their prized possession and treated it as if they were glass.

"I think," Rhaenys suggested, looking to the bed, "That Egg should hold Balerion." Both younger than her, she only called Baelon 'Valonqar,' instead referring to Aegon by his childhood name. "Egg, come and play with us."

Absentmindedly stroking the black fur of their cat, the quiet Prince Aegon - all of five namedays - looked up at his sister and shook his head. "I'm fine, Rhae." After a particularly bad morning in which both Aemon and Qyburn had to tend to him, his aches had subsided, but he was not keen on them returning if he joined his sister and little brother's rather boisterous play.

Rhaenys knew all of this, but gave him a cross look - one much like their shared mother did when scolding them. "Don't be an old fussy britches."

He may have been quiet, but Aegon was still a dragon. "I'm not a fussy britches!"

"Then come play with us. We'll let you be Aegon the Conqueror."

Torn between his worried and his sister's pleading, Aegon looked outside. A heavy rain bracketed the Red Keep, but was kept out of the bedchamber by an overhang. Every now and again, a bright white streak of lightning illuminated the sky… the resulting thunder making Aegon flinch involuntarily. He closed his eyes - he hated being so jumpy and afraid, knowing he was the son of a mighty dragon, but he couldn't help it. There was just so much pain.

"Egg." He looked down seeing Baelon look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Come play with us."

With both Rhae and Jon pleading him - and Dany likely to do so as well - Egg sighed. "Alright," he murmured, easing himself off the bed.

Jon was elated. "Come, brother." He grabbed Egg's hand and started pulling him towards the model of Harrenhal. "Dragon win."

"Here." Dany held out the dragon model to Egg. "Burn the squids!"

"Just like, kepa," Jon couldn't help but add.

Taking the dragon from his aunt, Aegon couldn't help but smile. Unable not to feel the dragonblood inside of him as he began to recreate one of the most infamous battles of House Targaryen.

Before long, all of them were laughing and running around, Harrenhal burned several times over as Egg brought Balerion on many attack runs. Rhaenys was the happiest she had been for a while, feeling that this was… just right. I can't wait for Lyssa, Cella, and the babes in munas' bellies to grow up. They'd have many more choices to play the Targaryens of history.

Usually, Baelon was Aegon the Conqueror and Daenerys was Visenya. Rhaenys oft chose to be her namesake, the Queen who Never Was, while Egg picked Jaehaerys the Conciliator. But two that never got picked were Orys Baratheon and the original Queen Rhaenys. Try as she might, Dany and Baelon refused to allow anyone to play them. 'No one right for them,' her aunt always insisted. Didn't matter, they were enjoying themselves regardless.

Her great-uncle Lewyn opened the door from outside to reveal their aunt Ashara with a tray of sweets in her arms - and Artie running in behind her. "I bear treats for the growing Princes and Princesses of House Targaryen," she announced with a flourish. "Nothing much, just a few fruit tarts." Something that the cooks loved spoiling the children with, and that the Queens insisted on rationing. Ash was about to ask if they would play with her nephew while she went on her other duties, but there was no need.

"Bend the knee, Torrhen Stark," giggled Jon in his best imitation of a kingly voice.

Gods, it was so wonderful to see the royal house so happy and tranquil.

"Steady! Steady!" Blinking, Euron Greyjoy had to cover his eyes with a cupped palm to keep the freezing rain and sleet tossed about by the intense storm. "Tiller amidships! Full ahead!"

Behind him, the two dozen oarsmen pushed the longship forward - oars slicing at the choppy sea doing its best to send the Ironborn back to the Drowned God. Not fucking today! Euron didn't wish to be fed on by the crabs. Neither did his men of the four ships braving the storm. They were going to make history today… and planned to live to tell the tale.

Ahead, he couldn't see past ten feet - he couldn't even see the rear of the longship - but Euron could see the glow of the city. The largest city in Westeros threw enough fire, candles, and gaslight to match the moon itself, and even through the winter gale he could spot it. A perfect beacon, damn them all. And through it all, finally the cliffs of Aegon's High Hill emerged… as well as the small strip of beach battered by the waves. "Let's go! Let's go!" As soon as the longship hit seabed, Euron was out into the waist-deep water. It froze his stones, but he grabbed the hull. "Beach them!"

The reavers and half the oarsmen followed their commander, the heaves of two dozen men managing to pull the ship onto the sandbar. Enough to keep it firm during the storm while easy enough to push back into the sea. "The others are coming, your Grace," proclaimed Blacktyde, hand on his sword. "Shall we go through the caverns?" Looming on the beach were two large maws of cave systems, infamously connected to the tunnels and crypts Maegor the Cruel had built centuries before.

"Get the archers!" Euron bellowed. "We won't be doing it. We're goin' over the top." His grin was wide.

Blacktyde looked at the towering cliffs and walls above, partially masked by the horrid weather bracketing the stone sides. "You're mad!" he gasped.

Euron's eyes shone. "We'd get lost for sure down there, and who knows how long this storm will last. Need to hit them quick and with the greatest surprise." All around him, the archers deployed their massive sea-bows. Instead of arrows, each had a grappling hook attached. Not even waiting for Euron's command, they fired their payloads directly at the walls. Each hook arced upwards, ten out of the twelve fired hitting true and dangling taut ropes down for the men to climb.

"We're all gonna die," Blacktyde muttered.

But Euron heard him, bringing out his hands and grabbing the man by the chin. "What is dead may never die, Blacktyde dear." Seeing the fear in his eyes and greatly enjoying it, Euron drew his blade. "What is dead may never die!" As the archers fired another half dozen ropes and hooks, the men shouted their approval… each bellow swallowed up by the storm.

Racing to one of the ropes, Euron gripped it tightly with his rough leather gloves and began hauling his frame up the cliffs. First one up, first blood would be his that day.

We don't sow. In that moment, Euron knew the true meaning of his House's words.

Rhaella was miffed. Well… more annoyed than anything major. With the late afternoon banished away by the sudden gale not unlike that which heralded her late husband's demise, Rhaegar's victory, and Daenerys' birth, her plans to watch the sunset with Jaime was dashed. Considering the former Hand of the King was more used to dealing with the vagaries of ruling the Realm, it seemed minute but it was important to her.

Jaime, damn him, found the whole thing comical. "Is my Queen truly saddened by the gods' foisting of her plan to seduce a member of the Kingsguard?"

"Shut up," she glared, scowling.

"Oooh, if Princess Rhaenyra acted like this, no wonder Criston Cole rejected her."

She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "Of course you'd partake in that particular interpretation." Rhaella went by the family lore that Cole was the father of the Velaryon sons rather than Harwin Strong, but such wasn't important now. "Don't tell me you weren't looking forward to our evening under the stars?"

Jaime smiled and leaned over to kiss the crown of her head. They were both walking, arm in arm, to her chambers for a private dinner alone followed with spending time with their beloved Cella - Daenerys was a treasure, but it would be an ordeal just to get her away from Baelon - delighted to openly express their affections once more. "I love you, my Queen, and I would be delighted to simply spend my time with you no matter where."

A snort, followed by a smirk. "You know just what to say, my lion." Rhaella leaned against his shoulder, arm wrapping around his waist. It was simply perfect… her happy ending, just as the songs. Quite ironic, given the circumstances. It took three decades, but I finally found my shining knight.

"Your Grace." Leaving Jaime's embrace at the call, Rhaella turned and was confronted by a ghost of her past. "Lord Varys informed me that I might find you here."

Feeling Jaime tense beside him - he knew her history as well as she did, and it wasn't shocking to her that the green-eyed monster of jealousy reared its ugly head in her green-eyed knight - Rhaella squeezed his hand. 'It'll be alright, I'm yours,' her smile said. He nodded, kissing her forehead. "I'll await you in your chambers, your Grace. There is no doubt that Ser Bonifer can protect you in my absence."

"Thank you, Ser Jaime, I shall see you then." Her violet eyes never left his form until he turned the corner, sighing as she fell upon the arrival. "Bonifer…" Given how close they had been, informality seemed the best tack. "It heartens me to see you well." Rhaella walked to him and took his hands, smiling.

He smiled in return, the once dashing face worn with years of battle and piety, but was still quite handsome. Not Jaime, but one who any maiden could want. "It is the greatest of joys to see you as well… and you haven't just survived, you are thriving."

She chuckled. "Aye, I cannot deny it, though it hasn't always been the case."

"I heard the rumors of what that… monster did to you." Closing his eyes, he willed the anger away. The Warrior didn't appreciate it of a true knight. "Often, I think of that moment long ago, during the tourney of your father…"

Rhaella took a breath, nodding. "I remember that tourney as well." It was right at the time that her kepa announced the betrothal of her to Aerys based on Jenny's prophecy - a prophecy that she was convinced now would come to fruition, but one that destroyed both her happiness and that of Aerys, denying him the hand of Joanna for eternity.

"Never a day goes by that I regret not taking you with me. Going to find happiness away from this filthy city and duplicitous court."

"It never would have worked out, Bonifer. My kepa would have moved heaven and earth to find me." Taking his hand between hers, she looked him in the eye. "You were my first love, Bonifer and I will always treasure the moments we shared, but the gods fashioned the two of us for different fates." His gaze was pained, but he understood. "Given what the Most Devout feel for my son, I am most glad you are as loyal to him as you were to me."

He snorted. "Fools, all of them. Rhaegar is favored by the gods, his victory at the Trial of Seven proved it." That had been a sight to witness - and he was there at Highgarden that day. Rhaegar taking down his enemies without even a drop of blood spilt by him. The Warrior favored him that day. "It was my honor to fight alongside him." Her smile never ceased to make his heart flutter… even if Bonifer would never know her affections again. "Ser Jaime Lannister?"

Of course the question would come up. "Yes, Ser Jaime."

"I don't think less of him… for killing Aerys as the others smear him for. He did what had to be done."

She sighed. "I know."

"Did you fall for him after, or before?" Sensing her discomfort, he clarified. "I am merely curious."

Nodding, Rhaella bit her lip. "We only acted on it after… but I felt it before."

"I'm glad you're happy… even if it isn't I."

She was happy to hear that. "As am…"

Suddenly, a clink came from the window. Not the patter of rain, but the distinct sound of metal scraping on stone. Head swiveling to the window, Rhaella saw a grappling hook embed itself on the window ledge, quickly straightening as the rope at the edge grew taut. "Your Grace…" Bonifer began but Rhaella was already close to the ledge, looking out into the swirling blackness of the storm… down at the depths of Aegon's High Hill. There was nothing but the clouds, though Rhaella swore she could see shapes moving about on an outcrop on which the walls of Maegor's Holdfast were built…

Out of the darkness burst a sour face, knife clenched between his rotted teeth as he hauled himself up the window. Eyes almost… hungry as they caught a glimpse of Rhaella. She screamed in fright, but the threat was over in a heartbeat as Bonifer's sword thrust straight into the attacker's middle. With a grunt of pain, he pitched out the window and into the void.

Rhaella was near collapse at the sudden fright, Bonifer at her side. "Your Grace?"

"The Ironborn…" She recognized them anywhere. "They're here."

And it was then that the bells of the Red Keep clanged, a booming cacophony that meant alarm. Alertness. Attack. Bonifer's warrior instincts were immediately fortified, especially as the noises of more reavers ascending towards the particular stretch of hallway filled the air. "Let's go!" he grabbed Rhaella and led her away.

Each hallway brought more chaos. Running servants and equally fast guardsmen, the former racing towards the gatehouse furthest away from the sea while the others ran towards the bayside. Occasionally the clashes of steel could be heard, joined by the salty cries of Ironborn as they brought the Iron Way to the Red Keep. How did they get here in such numbers?! Rhaella didn't have the answer to that, but it was too late for what ifs at this point. Bonifer dragged her past rooms in which they were in, either pillaging, killing, or in the process of taking the young maids and serving girls. She wished to stop them, but knew Bonifer alone couldn't stop them…

Turning the corner, they ran right into… "Jaime!" In an instant, she was wrapped in her love's arms. "It's alright. I wasn't touched."

He, on the other hand, was covered in blood. Not his blood. "Thank the gods." Joined by Ser Arys and Ser Lynn, their swords were encrusted in dried crimson. "Has to be Euron. Only he would be stupid or mad enough to scale the Red Keep with grappling hooks."

"They're going to burn the whole thing to the ground, send a message," Lynn Crobray hissed, cracking his knuckles nonchalantly.

Jaime shook his head. "No, Euron wouldn't just come here to burn, he's…"

Both he and Rhaella came to the conclusion at once. "The babes!"

"Arys, take the Queen away! The rest, with me!" Without hesitating another moment, the Lion of Lannister raced towards the holdfast while Bonifer, Ser Lynn, and the other guardsmen chased after him.

With dozens of Ironborn already in the keep, they stood a staggering chance. Rhaella closed her eyes as she ran, making the connection. Girl… can you hear me?

Yes, muna… are you alright?

Jaimexes' voice was a balm to her. I'm fine, but they're not. Dracarys.

You sure?

Kessa. Dracarys, burn all of them.

A loud screech echoed through the night just as a bolt of lighting crisscrossed the sky.

Locked in a tight embrace, the Queens had just come down from the high of their third round of carnal pleasure when the commotion echoed through the door. Elia felt her beautiful wolf tense, as if on instinct. Sometimes she forgot that Lya was a warrior Queen first and foremost. "Lya?"

"Stay here," she replied firmly, the 'wolf voice' returning though not in a pleasurable context. She disentangled herself from Elia's embrace and raced to where her tunic rested, pulling it over her bare body. No sooner that she did than Ser Barristan burst in. "What is going on?" she demanded of him.

He looked harried, and wore his helm - only the fact that the Queens knew each of the Kingsguards almost intimately that they could tell it was him. "The Ironborn have scaled the cliffs." Lyanna stiffened while Elia pulled the covers to hide her nakedness. "They're in the keep."

"The babes!" Elia cried, her mind going to the worst of places.

"I'll kill them all myself!" Lyanna quickly drew Wolfsbane from its sheath, fire in her eyes. "They won't touch my children!"

Barristan took her hand gently. "Please, your Grace, stay here. The guards are coming, and Ser Lewyn, Lady Dacey,, and Ser Oswell guard the Princes and Princesses."

Elia by now had risen from the bed, slipping on one of her dressing gowns. It wasn't see-through as some of her more… enticing pieces were, but its length and neckline left little to the imagination. The worst sort of thing to wear in a battlefield, but she had little time or choice. "Love," she murmured, hugging Lyanna from behind. "We need to protect them."

Before Lyanna could countermand Barristan, a great warcry echoed through the hallway. "Ser Barristan!" cried one guard. "They're storming the royal quarters!"

"Seven fucking hells," muttered the Lord Commander. "I must go, my Queens." He drew his blade. "Stay here and do not open the door for anyone but I or the other sworn brothers." He made his way for the door. "We will survive this yet."

His confidence died the minute he left the royal chambers, entering a nightmare. The once thought impenetrable walls of the High Hill had been scaled by a large number of Ironborn, enough to overcome the few guardsmen that were stationed in Maegor's Holdfast at any time. The four that Barristan had with him were overcome by at least a dozen Ironborn, discipline overcome by rage and hallucinogenic frenzy that left them butchered upon the ground. "We gots us another one!" hooted one of them, a particularly salty looking fellow with a slender neck and a scar about his face. "A fuckin' Kingsguard!"

"You shan't get past me." Barristan readied his sword.

A larger thug, eyes wide and muscles twitching as he hefted an axe, laughed maniacally. "Fuck off, old cunt!" Just as Barristan expected, he charged, axe held high - ready to cleave him in two.

But Barristan wasn't called the Bold for nothing. Out jabbed his left hand, steel gauntlet crashing into the Ironborn's arm and stalling his swing. Barristan took the split-second opportunity to run the blade through the Ironborn's gut up through his heart, killing him instantly. But his momentum and bulk plowed straight into the Lord Commander, sending them both sprawling.

No! No! No! Head spinning, Barristan heaved with all his strength. Pushing the corpse off of him in what had to be a quick pace, but interminable in the heat of the moment. Springing to his feet, it was too late. The Ironborn were at the door, while another reaver charged at him - this one with shield and less crazed, followed by three others. His heart pounded as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stood his ground, powerless at the moment to protect his charges.

"Stay behind me!" Lyanna barked to Elia, voice leaving no room for argument. "Do not risk yourself or the babe." Imagining another precious dragon lost drove Lyanna's fury higher.

Another bashing hit the door, close to busting it at the hinges. "You either." Sharing a tender look for the moment, Elia kissed Lyanna deeply. It was over just as the Ironborn burst in, each drenched in blood and seawater - looking like demons.

And it would be up to Lyanna to stop them - unlike with Vargo Hoat, squeezing the hilt of the Valyrian steel blade, she was ready to.

Once the men saw the Queens - two young, beautiful, scantily clad Queens at that - their hard savagery was replaced with an almost manic lust. "Well well," said the slender reaver in his soaked bearskin vest, clearly the leader. "The Drowned God has blessed us today."

"I'll take the tall one!" cried one of them. "A perfect salt wife to bear my babes." His leer made Lyanna want to vomit.

"Tis fine. The Dornish lass belongs to me." The leader eyed Elia with undisguised lust.

Lyanna hefted her sword. "I am Queen Lyanna Targaryen, and if you know what's best for you then you'd leave right now."

Laughs. "Ooooh, yer gonna fuck a Queen, Bluetooth," one hollared, slapping the leader on the shoulder.

"My lucky day," Bluetooth shot back. "Don't swing that sword, sweetheart. Not becoming of a lady."

"You'll die today," Lyanna retorted in a wolf growl. Elia, obeying her wife, saw at least seven men entering their chambers - dirtying the place that she, Lya, and Rhaegar called their refuge. Anger began to overpower her fear… anger and the Martell spirit. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. Eyes frittering to the bed, they widened as she realized what she needed to do.

"Feisty, I like em feisty. Much better fuck." He didn't even go for his sword. "Get em. Alive, but get em." The men didn't hesitate in charging…

Only for Lyanna's furious slash to disembowel one before he could even get his sword up. "Who else wants some!" she screamed at them, howling like a wolf as she countercharged.

Diving towards the bed, Elia felt her ankle grabbed at roughly. "Oh no you don't!" yelled Bluetooth, rotted teeth on display as he pondered the veritable Dornish feast before him. "Why so coy, pretty thing?" Attempting to drag Elia back, he suddenly cried out from a well-placed kick to the face. "You bitch!"

Not wasting time, Elia scrambled to right over the headboard. Grabbing the ornate spear hanging overhead. It had been a gift from Oberyn to Rhaegar - a commemoration of the first time the then Crown Prince beat the Red Viper in a first blood spar. And now it would serve House Martell once more.

"I'm gonna enjoy painting that cunt with my seed," Bluetooth leered, not bothering to care what Elia was doing trying to scramble up the wall…

He should have. With a scream, Elia grabbed the spear off the wall and turned around - lunging blindly. Only thinking of her and Lya's babes. The spear struck true, tip slamming into Bluetooth's neck. His lustful look turned to surprise, and then to agony as blood frothed in his severed throat and mouth. Elia withdrew the spear, spitting at the man as he collapsed to the ground.

When her great uncle entered the chambers, Rhaenys immediately knew something was wrong. "Uncle…" she began, only for him to shush her.

"Niece, get underneath the bed."

From where they were all playing on the floor, the others stilled. Jon and Artie stood alongside Dany, while Egg froze to the floor. They all stiffened when a cry of agony echoed through the hall, followed by manic cheers. "Ser Lewyn…" Dany melded herself to Jon's side. "What happened?"

"The keep is under attack, get under the bed and stay there." At Rhaenys' nod, he exited, shutting the door behind him. She swore she could hear his sword being drawn amid the chaos.

It spurred her to an innate action, contained in her dragonblood. "Get under the bed."

"Sister?" Jon was but four namedays, and looked frightened.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do it, valonqar. Protect Dany." He nodded firmly, joining Artie who was urging Egg with him. Beyond, Rhaenys could hear her uncle shout, followed by a furious clash of metal. Eyes frittering about frantically, her eyes fell on the training spear her uncle Oberyn gave her. She grabbed it on a whim, quickly joining her siblings, aunt, and friend underneath her own bed.

"Rhae… I hurt," Egg whimpered, scrunched tightly against Artie.

But Rhaenys thumped him lightly, miming to keep quiet. Her great-uncle was fighting hard given the scuffles and muted clash of steel from outside the door… She let out a gasp as a large sword punched through the door, bright blood coating it and oozing from around the edges of the hole. No… uncle Lewyn… Soon the blade was pulled back, followed by a slump.

Daenerys whimpered - the precocious four nameday-old could piece together something was truly dire. "Jon…"

She heard her brother hug Dany tighter. "It's alright. We'll be fine…" Perceptive as well, it sounded to Rhaenys as if Jon was trying to believe it himself. Unlike the last time this happened, there was no Dacey to save their lives with Lewyn dead.

"Shhh," Rhaenys urged, ears peeled to muffled voices outside the door.

"This is a fucking Kingsguard!" The voice sounded like her kepa, strong and authoritative - but without any of his warmth. "He wouldn't have died to protect a fucking maid's quarters!"

"Fuck this! I want some gold!" A muted gurgle followed. Rhaenys guessed the speaker wasn't among the living anymore.

Outside, a piercing shriek thundered above the storm as the window began to glow a bright orange-red. "That's the fucking dragon! They're gonna regroup!" At the sound of the doorknob turning, Rhaenys stiffened and flattened herself even more against the floorboards. It opened, revealing two dark-grey boots dripping wet from the outside. "You cunts find the Queens and the brats before it's too fucking late! I'll take care of these chambers." Puddles squelching as they pooled on the floor, the door closed and the intruder began stalking through the chambers.

It seemed as if the temperature around the children fell to below freezing, the sweat clinging to their tiny forms as their eyes tracked the walking intruder. Rhaenys' hands tightened around her uncle's gift, trembling even as she tried to be brave.

"I know you're here," the Ironborn stated, his voice syrupy sweet but no less malevolent. He toyed with the Harrenhal model with his boottip. "A good recreation of Harren the Black's death, one that made House Targaryen infamous, so I know you're King Rhaegar's brood." With a cackling laugh, he kicked the entire model into a pile of rubble. "Come out!"

Dany murmured a cry behind, while Egg shook with pure terror. Looking back, Rhae placed a finger over her lips. 'Quiet,' she mouthed. Jon helped bury their aunt's face in the crook of his neck, while Artie clamped a hand over Egg's mouth. They had good instincts.

He threw open the closet. "Where are you!" His voice was rising. "Too many have died tonight. Come out and it'll stop. You have my word of honor."

Every word this man spoke was a lie. Rhaenys had a knack to know who to trust, and this wasn't one of them.

The boots grew closer. "Hmmm… perhaps there is no one in here."

She felt her heart ease. Perhaps this would end without trouble…

Suddenly, the man's face bent down to peer under the bed, closely shaved black beard matted with saltwater and blue eyes shining with a manic hunger. "There you are!"

Her aunt screaming in terror behind, Rhaenys acted on pure instinct. The training spear shot forward, blindly even, but just as her muna elsewhere in the keep its aim held a seemingly divine power. The tip punched into Euron Greyjoy's left eye - not deep enough to pierce the skull but it pulverized the once beautiful eye that charmed many a woman and put at ease many a target. For once, Euron's composure dissolved as he screamed in pain, pitching back on the floor with his palms covering the bleeding eye.

Rhaenys pushed her siblings, aunt, and friend back as far as they could, clutching the spear frantically. "I'm gonna fucking butcher you alive!" he screeched, still thrashing about.

The door then opened. "Your Grace, we must leave!" The reaver burst in, only to see his commander wounded. "Your Grace!"

"Begone!" Euron bellowed, gritting his teeth and close to losing it.

"They're overwhelming us, we must go!" More boots plodded into the chambers, Rhaenys watching as they dragged their commander out kicking and screaming at the top of his lungs. But they didn't budge even as the chaos ceased, the chambers growing quiet. Rhaenys rooted in her position, the others too terrified to do anything. Daenerys still buried in Jon's embrace, Artie gritting his teeth and repeating the alphabet over and over again, while Egg trembled and cried softly…

"Children!" A familiar voice matched the boots, armored and a silvery grey in color. "Daenerys! Prince Baelon?!"

Jon's eyes widened. "Ser Jaime!" Rhaenys almost fainted in relief, guiding the others out from under the bed. "Ser Jaime, we're here."

Quite worse for wear and his sword bloody, Jaime let out a deep breath. "Praise the gods above." When he saw Ser Lewyn's corpse outside, blood pooled around it, he feared the worst had happened to the children. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Rising to her feet, Rhaenys had a haunted, faraway look - reminding Jaime of Rhaella after Aerys had… visited her chambers. "He… he… he came looking for us. Ironborn with blue eyes. I… I…"

"Rhae saved us," Egg murmured, grabbing at his leg and squeezing it to alleviate his aches.

"She stabbed bad man!" Artie proclaimed, a clear warrior of Bear Island in his bombast. Still comforting his aunt, Baelon nodded.

Looking at the bloodied spear resting on the ground, Jaime put the dots together. "Good show, Princess." The dragons continued to surprise him.

A blood and ash covered Barristan took that moment to enter, joined by an equally haggard Dacey holding her blood, brain-spattered mace. Artie raced to his mother, who dropped the weapon and embraced him tightly. Right behind were Lyanna and Elia, the former holding Princess Alyssa. "Muna!" Jon and Egg immediately raced to Lyanna, their little arms encircling her waist tightly.

"My sweetlings," Lyanna gasped, kneeling with the little one to accept their hugs. "Thank the gods."

Daenerys approached, the only one to notice how much dried blood covered Lyanna's tunic. "My… my muna?" she warbled, lip quivering.

"She's safe. She's alright." Dany exhaled in relief and joined the embrace, very close to her two goodsisters - almost like aunts to her.

"Where are they?" Jaime hissed to Barristan, voice low so that the children wouldn't hear. "Where is Euron?"

"Escaped," Barristan replied. "We killed about half their number, though they butchered nearly all the guardsmen on duty and a third of the keep staff - Lord Manderly also perished."

"Fuck." A chilling thought came to Jaime. "Princess Myrcella?"

"Alive." His heart unclenched at Barristan's words. "Lady Dacey and Oswell protected the nursery." Sighing, Jaime collapsed against the wall, head gazing towards the ceiling as the tension left his muscles.

Kneeling to hug her precious darlings across from Lyanna, Elia noticed that her eldest wasn't among them. "Rhae?" She looked to the side to see her standing there, face like stone. "Come, little dragon. Muna's here."

Composure cracking, the weight of it all finally sunk in on poor Princess Rhaenys as she fell into Elia's embrace, wailing uncontrollably.

A/N: So now Euron Crow's Eye is born, thanks to Rhaenys.

Hope the battle was up to expectations.

I'll publish this next Friday with 30 reviews :D